Cutpurse (Warning contains explicit material)

She’d walked into my office a little after two, all legs, red satin and angry pout. She smiled at me, it should have calmed me but her smile felt crooked. It looked great though.

“Mr. Cutpurse I presume? Allow me to introduce myself, I am Ms. Vierge. But if you prefer you can call me Brelith.” She ushered me into the rear of the car, climbing in beside me before the car rolled off.

“You can call me Mr. Cutpurse.” I grinned. I felt the grumble as she took offence.

“Very well, Hobbs.”

Hmmm c*ck-sure. I like that.

“I trust Mr. Carne told you of our arrangement?”

“Yes he was very specific. Even told me your cup size. I think he exaggerated.”

She smiled once. I barely saw her fist connect. Then I woke up in my apartment.

I found a molar lying on my pillow when I opened my eyes.

It was after 9. Damn she’d hit me hard.

I felt around my mouth with my tongue sighing with relief as I felt the tooth had re-grown in my sleep. I pocketed the lost tooth and stripped off.

I showered fast before grabbing a turtleneck sweater, my black pants and my leather.

9:45.

A siren echoed along the streets outside. The sirens sang their songs of fear and discord along the forgotten, cigarette-lit streets that ran through the slum areas of the city. Fire-fighters racing to douse murderous flames, police pursuing criminals. And paramedics praying with offerings of adrenaline, calcium chloride and morphine. Bowing down to a defibrillated god. I listened for a while, clucking my tongue as I fastened the zip on my leather, hissing at the chill that crept like fog along the streets of The Row. Shrugging the sudden wave of nauseating depression off, I headed for the Gish.


The night air stank. Not in the smog-tainted way that Chicago or LA did. It had a certain pungency about it, like the streets were laid over rotten fruit. I wrinkled my nose, pulling my scarf around my face as a chill wind blew away the stench. Hailing a cab I decided to take a sojourn into the depths of the city.

As I walked along the rain, damp streets I swept my senses along each block. Feeling the dips and alcoves as my eyes adjusted to penetrate the darkness of each. Vierge had left me a note, as well as a dull headache. I grunted as I unravelled the piece of paper.

“La Trattoria. Benny the Shark.”

I muttered...Shark huh? Wonder if he has teeth.

Pocketing the note, I took a left on 53rd and within a few blocks the dingy, grease-painted sign came into view. Even from across the street I could tell the place was crawling with ‘roaches. I stood watching the front of the restaurant, and the service doors in the alley beside it. My leather and scarf making me invisible, well at least hard to spot with an untrained eye.

As I watched, a tall unkempt figure emerged from the alley. He looked just about diseased enough to be a Lost I smirked. But he wasn’t the man I was looking for. Another hour passed and finally my quarry emerged.

Benny stood just over 5’. He was frankly grotesque. His hair almost completely gone leaving strings of greasy blackness running over his ears. His face was squashed, like he’d boxed in his past but had always lost. And he had a beer gut that would have made even the most basic of human functions look obscene. I watched as he crossed the street, bringing him nearer to my spot, then as he passed me I spoke up.

“Hi there Benny.”

“What the Fu..?” He spun angrily, if he’d been closer he might have pistol-whipped me, but he obviously thought his empty gun looked impressive.

“That’s no way to greet a friend, Benny.”

He spat.

“Listen friend, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll beat it!”

Benny was a Thorn wannabe, and I mean was. Vierge had explained that Carne had ruined Benny’s patron. Left him looking like last years road kill. However, for all his rat-like features, Benny didn’t scare easily.

“Well I know your gun is empty. And I also know you know Carne.”

He stammered, not enough to be taken advantage of, but it was a start.

“I dunno who you’re blabbing about. And it’s Shark, not Benny.” He stepped closer, trying to see my face.

Mentally casting a shroud spell I was happy to oblige the rotund, fleabag. I felt the image rather than saw it. The spell, tainted by Tarnish, sent a mental snigger vibrated through my skull as whatever face it had shown him did the trick. I could smell the contents of his bladder snaking down the inside of his pants.

“What are you? What do you want?”

I figured being an Thorn familiar he’d be pretty tough-skinned. Thankfully I was wrong. I clubbed him with his .38 and dragged him into the alley. It took me a while. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no superman in the strength department. But the Tarnish granted me a bonus here and there. Finding a rope that looked strong enough was the next problem. Tying it to Benny’s legs and suspending him from the rooftop was problem number three.

The scream as he woke up made the effort worth it.

“Wait! Wait! Pull me up! Come on man!”

I shook the rope, just to tease him obviously.

“Okay Benny-boy. I know you know Nestor. And I know that this rope doesn’t look too healthy. So let’s say we cut to the chase. Where is he?”

“Honest man, I don’t know. He was here earlier but...”

The rope creaked with the strain.

“But?”

“I’m tellin’ you man! I dunno where he is!”

“Why did he come see you then Benny? To make up for lost time?”

He was blubbering now, the wetness had returned to his pants, but now it crept towards his shirt.

“Okay, okay! I gave him a place to crash! But that’s all I know. I swear man, now pull me up! Please!”

“Awww Benny. Don’t you want to see how high you bounce? Give me the address and you can go.”

He stammered the address, the rope jerking made him speak more clearly. He wasn’t lying. At least I knew that much.

Pulling at the rope, I dragged him bawling onto the tarmac roof.

“Thanks Benny. You’re a pal. If Nestor asks, I’ll be sure to tell him how helpful you were. Don’t be a stranger.”

I walked towards the maintenance door, climbing down the steps until I hit ground level. Dragging his fat, be-hind had left me thirsty.

I decided to clear my head a little and in my humble opinion the best way to relax is to take in a show at Rosie’s. When I say show, I don’t mean theatre or any suchlike. Rosie’s was a bar, well a club really. The place attracted everyone for miles around. Mutants, norms. It didn’t matter who you were at Rosie’s.

The chalkboard outside said a live band was playing, not that that was uncommon. The name said Lament, or Anthem. Usual flowery Gothic stuff I expected. I pushed open the doors, my senses sweeping the room as I nodded at Rosie.

Rosie was pretty easy going, and even easier on the eyes. She had the hourglass figure, the eyes that could cripple you with a glare just as quickly as enamour you to the point of obsession. Her bobbed, black hair would bounce as she worked the bar. She returned my smiles as I pulled up a barstool.

“Good evening Hobbs. Usual?” I nodded, folding my coat on the bar next to me.

“Sure Rosie. Busy night again I see. What’s the band tonight?”

She handed me a glass. Scotch, water. Glenfiddich was my poison.

“They’re called Lamenth. Pretty good from what I heard. Place is crawling with Goths though. Wait a sec, I’ll be on a break soon. We can talk then.” She smiled, her glittering green eyes brightening as she joked with her audience. I couldn’t help but notice however, that her “gifts” now attracted other eyes. Turning with my drink and coat I saw them watching from their vantage points. A few men, even a few women, sat or stood admiring the classic looks of the club owner. Grinning I took a table out of the light and waited for the band to come on.

The band were certainly a motley crew. They all looked waif-like under the harsh spotlights. A young Asian boy, holding a guitar came out first, plucking his strings as he warmed up. As he entered a series of melodies the rest appeared. The lead singer, a young girl, stepped out swaying dreamily to the choral sighs of the guitarist. The bassist standing by her side was a sudden and stark contrast among the others. Bull-necked, she stood like an ebon goliath, her shaven head gleaming with sweat. As they started harmonising the drummer piped up, giving the proceedings a backbone. I flinched as the initial crash of discord sailed out. Soon smiling again as the girl singing became bathed in yellow light. Her pouting lips giving her a sultry, breathless voice as she sang about love’s indiscretions, of faerie dust and hopeful rust.

I found myself enjoying the songs, wanting to hear more as each song ended. I barely noticed Rosie sit next to me as the guitarist took centre-stage.

“Told you they were good.” Her voice caught me off guard, spinning my head I smiled.

“Yes, yes you did. Strange that I’ve never heard of them. The crowd approve that’s for sure.

The club was packed. The majority now swaying in front of the band, captured by the hooks and riffs. Mesmerised by the words, now sung by the Asian kid.

Rosie poured another glass, one for herself, one for me. The bottle was nothing you’d see stocked. Blue glass, embossed with silver filigree. Her own personal supply of blood-laced Scotch. I toasted her before sipping from my glass, the harshness of the whisky offset by the purity of the water. The kid singing entered the last chorus of his song, straining I decided to actually listen...

“wasn't so.
"too quick for you"
was the phrase you used,
guess you were right.
Too slow witted for my heart to move...”

The crowd exploded as he drifted to silence.

“So. You working or just looking to relax a bit, Hobbs?”

“Both. Got something on, just needed to unwind a little. Figured you could help me out.”

Rosie nodded, an invisible gesture separated the crowds as the band had an intermission. Downing my glass I poured another.

“I’d hoped Erin would be around. You seen her tonight?”

What’s that saying? Speak of the devil and up he comes? Well Erin never was one to disappoint. Rosie grinned as I finished my question, tipping her glass towards the bar. I turned slowly, blocking out the increasing scents, sights and sounds as the crowd became a rabble again, growing impatient with the band.

Erin hunched at the bar. She was pretty, she could even be beautiful if she didn’t hide under the Gothic make-up and the permanent sneer. Her raven-black hair hung, shimmering under the bar lights, ribbons of dark, scarab blue running through the length. She gulped from the Bud, taking in raking, false gasps between mouthfuls. It detracted from her looks even more. But then I wasn’t looking for a date with her. I kissed Rosie’s cheek.

“Be right back Rosie. Don’t go away.”

I knew Rosie would wait. We’d grown pretty close in the last few years. Her peers would frown upon the very notion of us being together. Couldn’t sully her name by seeing a street level detective, not even casually. I didn’t mind. When you’re brought in at the bottom you learn to steel yourself against the insults. And the beatings only seemed to strengthen me.

I nodded at the barman, the expression telling him to match my drink with Erin’s.

“Hey there Butterfly!” I spoke softly, leaning towards her.

Had anyone else called her that they’d spend the next few hours on the floor or worse. Luckily Erin took it on the chin when I was around.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a b...”

“Bullet?” I grinned as she turned to face me.

“How’re things Erin? You’re looking surly as always.”

“Oh can’t complain Hobbs, can’t complain. I see you’re still dating that dilettante. When you going to find yourself a real woman Hobbs, huh?”

She had never liked Rosie. Though I could never understand why. A woman thing I guessed.

“That an offer Erin? You think you’re woman enough for a tough guy like me?” She knew it was a joke. Just as I knew she could punch me across the bar before I could blink. She wouldn’t though.

“In your dreams Hobbs. In your dreams. So what’s the deal? You on a job?”

“Sorta. Had hoped you’d be around tonight. Could use the muscle in case things get rough. You game?”

“Rough huh? Oh Hobbs, you know I like it rough.” She curled her tongue mockingly. I just smiled, Rosie was on my mind big-time.

“Yeah Erin I know. Ok here’s the deal. Carne is looking for something, he’s paying top dollar for me to find it. But my nose tells me there’s trouble nearby. I might need to call for back-up. 30k sound fair?”

Her eyes lit up. “30k huh? Must be something nasty if you’re that worried about it. Sure Hobbs, just give me a time and a place. I’ve got your back.”

I tapped my bottle against hers, I was hardly going to risk a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks Erin. You take care now ok? I’ll see you around.” The slap on my back as I turned almost floored me. Her harsh laughter made me laugh rather than lash out.

“Yeah you too Sam. Watch out for that step.” She smiled uncharacteristically warmly. It looked good.

“It suits you Erin.” I smiled back, patting down my shirt.

“What does?”

“The smile.”

“Yeah bite me.” She replied sardonically.

“Maybe next time.” I replied, swigging another mouthful of the crude beer.

Rosie was waiting patiently. Erin was fun, she was solid. But tonight I was looking for something a little smoother.

I’d left Rosie sprawling over the sheets. A look of sheer satisfaction creased my face just as clearly as the wanton expression on her own. We’d spent almost the entire night enjoying each other, and it had even stretched onto the following day. I was exhausted, not physically, but certainly mentally.

The taxi dropped me off outside my apartment, the dust trap I always left invisibly along my doorstep had been disturbed. Not that anyone would see it without lenses. I pulled Benny’s .38 and stepped slowly into my hall.

The faint, dying sound of “The Cure” drifted from my bedroom. It was accompanied by the darkly sweet smell of hashish. I shook my head before holstering the revolver. The smell mingling with that of evaporating bourbon.

“Hello Erin. Nice of you to drop by.”

She didn’t move. I guess the alcohol had hit her harder than she’d expected.

“Wakey wakey sleeping beauty.”

Erin rolled over, sleepily looking at me through her tangle of black curls.

“Well hello there Hobbles. Finished eating Rosie-Petals?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes thanks. You dining alone again?” She just growled drunkenly.

“No man is man enough to eat me Hobby hoss. So don’t get ideas.”

I must admit, lying there, her hair tousled over her face and shoulder. Her pale skin shining from under all that black. She did look sexy.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Erin. Don’t think you could take the strain.” I smirked, pouring the remnants of the Jack D into her glass, downing it with a sneer.

“Budge up Erin. I need sleep.”

I felt her press into my back as I lay on the bed, the sheets clinging to my skin.

I couldn’t help myself. Yes she was rough, even crude at times. But from time to time she would surprise me. Maybe she was badly treated in the past. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to ask. If she wanted to tell me someday I knew she would.