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"Gomez "Written By: Presser Pairings : 1x2 Disclaimer : Gundam Wing characters aren't mine Rating : NC 17 Warnings : This will involve graphic sex, though
not gratuitous sex. "Gomez"
Chapter 6 JULY 4, A.C. 198 I stared into my gym bag. /What am I missing?/ Couldn't figure it, but I knew I was leaving something out. It's not like I didn't have loads on my mind plus plenty of stress to distract me. I walked out of the bedroom, hoping something would jog my memory. The remains of a failed dinner were still on the table. Rich lipids, now stale, drifted toward me. I wrinkled my nose and grimaced. /I should clean up./ I did. Still not knowing what I was forgetting, I walked back to the bedroom. I glanced at the clock on the vanity. /Ten fifty. Heero's bound to be back soon, and.../ It hit me hard: Roy wanted me early, at eleven thirty instead of midnight. And his place was a good half hour away if I rushed. /Saturday night; people will be out, there'll be traffic in the district --/ I made my decision, grabbed my bag, and hustled out of the apartment. /Stupid, stupid idio --/ Halfway to the stairs, I stopped cold. /I gotta leave a note, I can't go without leaving him a note./ I hurried back to the apartment, fumbled with the keys, dropped my bag by the door. I found one of Heero's legal pads and a pen, and hurriedly scrawled a quick note. I left it in the center of the table, with the pen lying beside it. /That'll have to do./ I bounded down the stairs and into the muggy night air.
I walked quickly past Heero's Harley, not daring to consider borrowing it. Even at the best of times Heero's finicky about his bike. After what happened that night, there was no way he'd forgive me for taking it. <Especially after what you said in your note.> I got to the corner and looked both ways, indecisive. I turned right, deciding on the subway. /I bet they don't run late this time of night -- especially on Saturdays./ I made good time to the entrance, skipping down the stairwell into dank florescence, the faint scent of something uric in the air. Ticket, turnstile, rock on my heels at the yellow line. Once aboard, I checked to ensure I was headed the right way; looked at my watch: I'll make it. I breathed. /Why did I write that I'd be gone for two days? I have nowhere to go, and I'm sure as hell not staying with Roy./ I pondered that. /And it makes me sound like I'm way madder than I actually am./ <Really?> /Shut up./ "Now approaching Wickham. Wickham is the next stop. Exit is to the right at Wickham." /Who do they get to do that voice? Can't tell if it's male or female./ Something in my chest twinged. I got off, bounded up stairs to street level, got my bearings. Sagging awnings in front of two- and three-story crumbling brick cast inky shadows amid over-exposed neon glare. I narrowed my eyes, searching. There: Ming's Mini-Mart. I headed toward it. Ming's is situated near the end of the block, away from the main intersection. Busy, but not too. Makes for just the right amount of cover. Inside, daylight florescence illuminated a little freeze-dried man behind a large, wall-to-wall glass booth stuffed with wire racks of chips, rolls of lotto tickets, boxes of candy bars and lip balm and Bic lighters. Behind him was a wall of cigarettes and sunglasses. There was barely enough room between the entrance and booth for a person to stand and the pitted wood counter which jutted from the booth at chest level. Ming looked from the four-inch black-and-white perched on the register through coke bottle lenses to size me up. I noticed the sparse, grey whorls of hair on his head were blowing back and forth, and suddenly the sound of his fan was very loud. His eyebrows rose above his glasses, and I came to life. "Um, I'm here to -- " "Roy." Flat monotone from thin, wrinkled lips; deadpan eyes, weirdly distorted by the glasses. "Uh, that's right, he sent for -- " "Wait." He slipped off a high stool with surprising agility; disappeared through a door to the side. A moment later, a door in the left wall on my side of the booth opened. The tiny wisps of Ming's hair barely came to my chest, and I'm not that tall. He eyed me for a moment, raking my frame, gaze inscrutable. "Come." He held the door for me. I shuffled into hell. ~ ~ ~ I had been here twice before, but it still made the creeps crawled my spine. A dark, narrow corridor lined with bare cinderblock and graffiti; a doorknob set in a field of flaking paint at the far end. I swallowed, turned to look at Ming, but he was already through the door to his side of the booth. I made my way to the end of the corridor, turned the knob, and plunged down shadowy stairs. At the bottom, grit and puddles on concrete, and a right turn; a shorter hall; a Christmas-green glow from a bulb hanging naked to the top of another door. /Green means go, so.../ I put my hand on the knob, turned it, then remembered that I was supposed to knock. I paused, my knuckles an inch away. /What the hell's the rhythm? I can't --/ The door opened. "You're late." "Roy." "Get in here." ~ ~ ~ Roy could have been Danny DeVito's older, uglier brother, except that he was too tall for the role, maybe half a head taller than Ming. That brought his oily, grey-yellow hair almost to my chin. Barrel-chested, like DeVito, enfolded in lipids custom-made from cheeseburgers and full-on lattes, his face was creased, pale, clean, but somehow still grimy. Rheumy eyes of green-grey above a hooked nose. His smile folded the bags under his eyes in half. That night Roy was dressed to the nines -- or what passed for it in his book. Powder yellow suit, pants solid, jacket embellished by pairs of navy pinstripes two inches apart; navy silk tie with pairs of garish yellow pinstripes an inch apart; leather sneakers in mustard and maroon. The sea of yellow against his fish belly skin made him look more than sickly. The whole effect was of an aging midget mobster tripped out on bad acid. He leaned up toward me, and sickly sweet pheromones hit my nose. I thought of a third-rate blues album named /Butane Fumes and Bad Cologne/ by Big Rude Jake. I wanted to puke, but kept my face from moving. He growled: "I told you eleven thirty." "I know. I tried to -- " He laughed, a wet, gargling sound. "Stow it, kid. I'm just jerking ya. It's just eleven thirty-five; yer fine." The smile; I looked away. "Client's not here yet -- lucky for you. He's anxious, which is why I told ya to be here early, in case he showed ahead of time." Roy smacked his lips as though he had just gotten honey on them and was trying to clean them with his teeth and tongue -- a disgusting habit, seemingly unconscious. "You can go ahead and change." "Um -- " "To the left, kid. He just wants ta watch -- for tonight." Roy's eyes raked my body, and I started to shiver. To mask the fact that I couldn't stifle the impulse, I dropped my gym bag and quickly squatted beside it. Roy snorted; I looked up into a big, leering grin, overshadowed by his nose grown enormous due to the perspective. "You gonna change here? You think I wanna show or somethin'?" I stood, head down. "N-no, I -- I just -- I -- " He laughed again, but the act morphed into a coughing fit. Angry at himself, he shouted. "Get yer ass in the room on th' /left!"/ He pulled back his foot as he spoke; I dodged it easily, but scurried, just the same, to the door. I turned the knob, then froze when I heard him speak. His voice, gravelly at best, fell to a deep, abrasive rumble. "Listen, Duo, I know tonight's yer last night, but...well, yer good, really good." I closed my eyes. "Could be great, if you'd jus' loosen up. We could pull major cash together. For real." His attempt at sweet-talking me brought another wave of nausea fluttering up my chest. "Well, it's somethin' ta think about, idn't it?" I opened the door; took a step into -- "Hey, I almost forgot. Did you bring it?" /Shit./ "I -- I d-didn't remember, Roy. I -- I'm sorry." I hung my head, my back to -- what was Roy to me then? I waited, expecting an explosion. What I got was another low, phlegmy laugh, followed by that sickening "I'm being gentle with ya" voice. "Figures. You've got shit for brains, kid, but lucky for you, I think about these things. I got some. Now get dressed. Time's gettin' close." I took another step, another; closed the door. In the darkness, acrid smells, cloying heat, a claustrophobic sense of being in the bottom of a very tall cage. /It's the last time. Roy said. I don't have to do this anymore after tonight./ TBC |
