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I force my feet to move. As much as I’d like to spend the night in my new place, snug in my sleeping bag with Bitsy next to me, Beefer’s got a job for me. Those jobs are going to keep us fed and safe, so no matter what he asks of me, I’ll do them.
7
Leka
“You handling this shit okay, kid?” Beefer asks. I glance over my shoulder. He’s at a folding table behind me, counting out bills.
“Yup.” I turn back to the faucet and scrub under my nails again.
The big enforcer comes up behind me. “Your hands are clean. I think they were clean five minutes ago. Wash them again and you’re going to run out of skin.”
I eye the clear water that streams over my knuckles to spill down into the drain. “Just making sure.”
Beefer reaches around and turns the faucet off. I shake my hands briskly and accept the towel he’s holding out.
He leans a hip against the metal sink and taps his chin with a stack of bills.
“Whaddya need all this cash for? You doing drugs?”
“No. I don’t touch that stuff.” First thing Beefer ever said to me when he recruited me off the street was to stay away from the product. Using any of the product gets you killed and usually in a nasty way. Sometimes a finger gets cut off. Sometimes it’s the whole hand. Sometimes you get electrocuted until you piss and shit yourself and then you get chopped into a dozen pieces. I resist the urge to look over at the black garbage bag leaning against the stairs.
Instead, I focus on the scratch on Beefer’s cheek.
“Good, cuz otherwise, you’ll end up in the chair down here and that would seriously bum me out.”
“I’m saving up.” I decide to give him a tiny bit of truth so he gets off my back.
“For what?”
“Better digs.”
He huffs out a laugh and slaps the money against my palm. “You sound like my fucking wife. Always wanting some new place. You watching home and garden shit in your spare time?”
“Nah. Need a safe place to store all this.” I hold up the stack. It feels substantial. The cash I have is piling up, which is both good and bad. I’m getting worried about leaving both Bitsy and the cash in the apartment that’s got all of two locks on the door. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, though. I can’t go into a bank and deposit it. As for Bitsy, she’s safer in the apartment than on the street.
“You keeping that at home?” he says in astonishment. “Hope you’ve got a strongbox. Bolt that shit to the floor or someone will just carry out the safe.”
Shit. A safe. That’s what I should get. I wonder if the thrift store has those. I wonder how I’m supposed to “bolt the shit to the floor.” I didn’t read the papers that I was forced to sign before I could get the keys to the apartment, but I’m guessing one of the many clauses says no bolting anything to anything.
I’m too lost in my thoughts to catch Beefer’s expression change from cheerful to concerned, but I hear it in his voice when he says, “This type of work is rough.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “You sure this is the path you want to go down?”
As if I have so many options. “You got other ideas?”
“There’s school,” he suggests.
“School?” I’m startled.
“Right. That thing with the pencils and chalkboards and books and shit?” He twists his wrist so his watch is face up. “The place you should be today.”
Holy fuck. Bitsy is probably missing school. I haven’t gone to classes regularly for years. I went in the past if I couldn’t escape the truant officer, but every minute you spend with your butt in a chair is a minute you’re not making money.
Beefer sighs. “Okay, I know I’m the last person to give anyone lectures, but this sort of shit can take the strongest of us down. If you’re going to do more of it, you need to find something to hang on to. Family, pussy, something. You got anything like that?”
I zero in on the one thing that’s important in the mess of words he just spewed out. “You’ve got more of this kind of work for me?”
He sighs. “Did you hear a thing I said?”
“Yeah.” This is the longest and weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with Beefer. Do I have something to hang on to? I have myself. What more do I need?
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come back tonight. I’ve got another job for you.”
Already? My stomach tightens. “All right.”
“It’s not like tonight. It’s a delivery, but since you know how to handle a piece, you can ride along.”
I try not to let my relief show, but I’m not ready for another one of these torture sessions. I check my fingernails again to make sure they really are clean. I don’t want to touch Bitsy with someone’s blood on them. “Great. I’ll be there.”
