Chapter 6

"What's going on here?"

The quiet voice startled Red and I, and we both looked up to see Sandy standing over the pieces of bed, looking down at us.

"We're discussing the benefits and inherent risks of matching Red China and White Tablecloths," I replied. Red and I were tangled up into an assorted pile of arms and legs, lying on a broken bed. I knew what it looked like.

Mandy just stared down at us for a few moments, then suddenly turned on her heel and left the room. Red stared up at me, embarrassed.

"I wonder what could have woken her?" She giggled up at me.

I have always believed that Sybil was intended as a documentary for the male gender to have an insight into the female mind. This was the woman who, moments earlier, had been so overcome with (grief? Lust? Fear? Hangnail?) that she had tackled me to the bed, crying. Now she was making bad jokes. God help us all.

I struggled to get out of the bed, before Red finally got into the act and we managed to untangle ourselves. As we stood up, I saw her mouth start to work, and ducked back into the bathroom with all haste. I breathed a soft sigh of relief as the door clicked shut behind me. I gratefully locked the door and sat down. I took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it out.

We needed a plan. Hiding out at my apartment didn't qualify, because it was sorta hard to be inconspicuous when you were the newly-bald guy with one hand whose wife just left him. People in my building were about as trustworthy as a teenager swearing he'd pull out. But we didn't have anywhere else to go, that I knew of. Red's apartment was far from secure, as she had several regulars who came through whenever the urge struck them (usually around payday), and they'd probably notice the aforementioned bald, one- handed man lying on the couch. Mandy obviously had no place to go, otherwise she wouldn't be HERE.

Dammit.

I flushed, more for show than anything, then ran some water in the sink to give the illusion that I washed my hand. I turned the door handle and eased the door open just a crack. I put my eye to the opening and cast my gaze around the room, looking for angry pimps and emotional hookers. Neither presented themselves, so I opened the door and made my way into the room. I looked around the floor for something approximating clean clothes, and realized that the jeans I had been wearing these past... three days?

Four? Anyhow, those ones were the cleanest I had. I debated a clean set of underwear, but just did without, to save myself the hassle.

I made my way down the hallway and could hear the sound of two hookers sharing an intimate conversation on my couch. In any other scenario, this would be a beautiful thing. I hoped, though, that they were coming up with a workable plan, as I would love to hear one. I snuck by (ok, they probably just weren't paying me any attention) and made my way for the kitchen. Once there, I fished out another beer. My buzz was starting to fade, and this day was one that desperately needed a buzz. Besides, we had some heavy decisions to make, and everyone knows that you make better decisions when you drink.

"Lenny?" Red's voice came from the direction of the living room. I carried my beer in and sat down in the old rocking chair. There was a horrendous groaning noise, accompanied by a variety of grunts and squeaks. And the chair made some noise, too.

Red watched the process, wincing at the noise, then looked at me with a look that said

"We've got it, Lenny... the perfect solution... wait'll you hear this". I tilted my bottle back in a toast to her mental faculties. Things were gonna be all right.

"Lenny, what are we gonna do?" she wailed, bursting into tears. After a second, give or take a few lifetimes, Sandy joined in, the two of them keening out a concerto of sorrow and pain. Shit.

I chugged the rest of my beer and went for another one.

"This is a plan?" Sandy asked, for perhaps the third time. I reminded myself again that all I had to do was get enough for bus fare and I could put the two of them on a bus to anywhere, USA, and get back to my life. I had a week and three days until my next check came in, and I had cards to pawn, and my seat at the blackjack table missed me.

We were stationed outside of the local bus station, watching fleet after fleet of long, grey buses leaving the station. Of more interest, though, were the tons of people walking into the station. We were set up in a huddled little group on one of the stone benches in front of the depot. We were watching the people walking in, me telling their stories as fast as I could, looking for someone who would have money. Someone who was due for a big accident would be better. Someone who was about to do something incredibly charitable.

Basically, we were looking for a sucker. Someone who we could get money out of. We were just using my 'heroic' ability to do it.

So far, though, we hadn't had much luck. It was a very unpleasant experience, as I got to see slideshow after slideshow of death, terror, mayhem, abuse, and heartbreak from person after person. And the girls were getting bored. Their particular moneymaking skills weren't much help in this arena, so they had turned to me. And this was the best idea I had. As ideas went, it pretty much sucked. The only money we had made so far was from someone who had dropped a dollar into Red's hand, thinking we were beggars.

The girls were at first indignant (indignant hookers are hilarious), but I saw the promise and tried to make us look shabbier than before, in hopes that someone else would make the same mistake.

So now I was sitting on a bench, trying to look as slovenly as possible, with two bored, scared, and annoying hookers wanting to know what I saw. My power was intriguing, especially to Sandy, and it was a respite from the boredom. They turned to me for entertainment, wanting to hear all sorts of fun and amazing stories. But I had resisted.

They didn't want to know the kind of darkness that I saw, and it was disorienting enough trying to sort through hundreds of images, looking for someone we could get money from.

Sandy seemed more irritated by my continued unresponsiveness to her incredibly well thought-out and phrased inquiry. With an exasperated sigh, punctuated by a loud crack of her chewing gum (thanks Red), she looked around for a clock. The last bus out of town was due to leave in about 20 minutes, and if we didn't do something here, I wasn't sure what the next move would be. Hell, I hadn't been sure that this was the best move.

But when I had proposed it, both girls had looked at me like I was some sort of savior.

Although there had been a bit of a stir when I mentioned that they would go it alone. My reasoning had been sound, though... it's cheaper to send two people than three, and we were dead broke.