Chapter 2

"So that was, what, like, your good deed for the year?"

I don't know why it is that all hookers seem to feel that popping gum is the equivalent of punctuation. This statement got an emphatic pop, I guess designed to show her depth of feelings. Amazing what a practiced jaw can do.

I looked at her, bent over and struggling to pull on a stocking that was more runs and holes than fabric. She tried to play it off that it had come that way, and was more valuable and exotic as a result, but a few years back she had told me that they were just old. Over the years I had seen them come ever-so-close to just shredding all together, but they held on somehow. Sorta like her.

Red was a hooker I had met back in my single days. Well, met might be a little too nice of a word. She picked me up, and I went willingly. Our arrangement was that I paid her for sex, but after a few sessions I realized that she wasn't really all that good and started to use her as a shrink, too. It helped that Red was dumb as a stump. Friendly, to be sure, and always willing to listen, but not too bright. She was the perfect confidant, though, especially for the stories I had to tell. Who would believe a crack-addicted hooker's crazy tales about people who see the future? Exactly nobody, that's who.

"Something like that, I guess." I had told her about the hooker on the street. Apparently Red knew her, and said her name was Amber. I frustratedly told my inner librarian to file that information away far far in the back shelves. I didn't care if her name was Fifi the wonder poodle. Actually, that's a lie. If her name was Fifi the wonder poodle, I'd care.

"Well, why did you do it? I mean, you let that poor nice fella at the blackjack tables lose that wad of cash when you knew his wife was gonna castrate him for it! You're not exactly a nice guy, Lenny, so why help out Amber?"

God help me from bubbly redheads with gum that sounded like it was made by the same people who made Pop Rocks.

"I don't know, Red. And most people wouldn't call what I did helping."

"Oh, Lenny, you know that's not true! She was gonna get killed, right there in front of you!" Red's eyes could get really wide, and right now I was sure if I looked just right I could see the clouds of hot air fighting a turf war between her ears.

I rolled away and started looking for my cigarettes. I wondered why I had ever told her what I could do, and that annoying, chipper inner voice piped up that I needed to tell someone to keep from going crazy. I wondered if I could burn out that inner voice with my lighter... probably not without it getting messy.

In one brief weak moment I had told Red about my... condition. She responded with all the innocence of a five year old. Before I could stop her she had me mentally decked out in spandex with a cape blowing in the wind, championing the downtrodden of the world. I popped that bubble quick, but she was left with a head full of noble purposes. I knew she had been on the streets for a long time, and I think that the thought of someone who could actually escape the life she was stuck in was like hope for her.

I took it all in stride, though. She was around, and she was someone who I could really talk to, as strange as that seems. We still slept together, but it was sporadically at best. Most of the time we just visited. When I lost my hand, she had been so supportive of me, telling me that it wouldn't keep me down, and that I'd find something else to do with my life. I think I might have disappointed her, but the fact remains that she was the only one left anymore who really knew me, and what I could do.

"Lenny, you could do so much good if you would just try! What about me, Lenny? What do you see for me?"

I closed my eyes. I had seen this particular question coming, like it always did. She wanted to know what was coming for her, and I always answered the question the same way. I took a deep drag off my cigarette and held it in for a few minutes before slowly letting it seep from my lungs.

"Red, you're going to live a long life and wind up marrying some rich john and having 5 kids. You're going to live on a huge estate and be happier than anyone has a right to be."

She smiled softly, grateful for the story. She knew I lied, and she was just smart enough, or maybe just skeptical enough, to guess why I lied. Red had AIDS, or she was going to get it. I didn't know for sure which. All I saw was her dying, alone, in a hospital, with nobody to care or see. That was my one vision for her. Fun, ain't it? Don't you wish you could see the future too?

I stumbled back home that afternoon. I glanced at the casino doors as I passed, rolling my good buddy chips between my fingers in my pocket. I thought about going in there and giving it another run, maybe going down in a blaze of glory, but decided to pass it up for now. Let them wonder where I got off to. I needed to head home and see if there was some way I could get the gas turned back on without paying for it. A great friend of mine who I had shared an intimate craps game with had been railing on about a way you could jerry-rig the meter or some such nonsense. Once upon a time I was pretty good with my hands, so I thought I'd give it a try. Of course, now I guess I'd be half as good, huh?

I chortled a little bit to myself at the joke, and noticed a large black man walking beside me, trying to be unobtrusive, but watching me warily. I thought for a moment and told myself the story of the large black man who was going to one day watch his daughter give birth to triplets. I refocused my eyes and looked at him closer. He was studying me, deciding something. I kept walking, but sped up a little bit. I owed money to some people who wouldn't be above sending someone to beat down the cripple, and this man looked like he could squash my head like a melon.

"Mister Leonard Crier?" He ventured.

Well, that was promising. I stopped and wheeled to face him. From the fact that he not only had my real name, but that he hadn't yet showed a weapon, I was somewhat encouraged. I took a quick look up and down the street but saw nobody else for a good distance. Ah, the Las Vegas Strip on a weekday afternoon. Dead as a doornail.

"I'm Lenny. What can I do for you?"

"Sir, I represent Fallon, McDaniels, Walters, and Evans. Our firm is handling a matter which concerns you. I've been asked to make sure that you get these." With that he handed me a thick-looking manila envelope with my name on the outside of it.

"What is this all about?"

"Sir, all the information you need is right there. Have a good day, Sir."

With that, he turned and headed towards a black car parked across the street, leaving me holding this large envelope and running through my head what it might all be about. I idly watched the man unlock the car and get in, then slowly drive away. I tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of my jacket and headed on home.

I buzzed to be let in when I reached the entry of our charming little concentration camp, rather than have to dig out my keys, but I got no answer. I figured that Janice was probably still pissed at me. It might have had something to do with what I did to her shampoo before I left, I guess. Some people don't have a sense of humor.

I slapped all the buttons on the panel, and got a bunch of squawked "Hello"s, but someone helpfully just buzzed me in, and I opened the door and started the climb up those narrow rickety stairs. I actually had a fondness for the noise thy made in the mornings lately, as I could pretend that the racket was the stairs and not my joints.

I huffed and puffed my way up the three flights of stairs, then hooked a left and headed for my place. I could see something on the door, and figured it was probably someone looking for money. Someone like the gas people. When I got there, though, it just said, in scrawled handwriting, "Goodbye".

I tore the note down and pushed open the door, which hadn't even been fully closed. I glanced around and noticed two things... One, there were no flying projectiles headed in my direction, meaning Janice wasn't in the room at the moment, and two, most of the items that were USUALLY projectiles were gone. I pushed the door shut behind me and heart it click shut. I looked stupidly around the room, trying to sort it all out in my head. This was impossible!

When I was a kid, my grandfather and I had been dragged along on some horrendous excursion to the mall. I hated shopping and so did he, so he and I would sit and talk while the ladies flitted back and forth from store to store, squealing and screeching like stuck pigs over every bargain they found. I remember asking Grandpa what he was doing as he watching people walk by. He seemed to watch them very intently as they passed, and his face would change expression as they left his vision. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he looked a little sad, and sometimes he just looked confused. He seemed to be enjoying himself, though, and he had me curious.