When Kendall dropped off the West End radar, she'd covered her tracks pretty well. But Marx had been stewing over her absence for over a month and a half, ever since he saw her wrapped up with the toff playing muscle. She was just one of the tricks turned runner, but none of the other tricks ever turned him down, especially not the way she did. Mocking him. Making everybody laugh at him. Then she dropped out, cagy when she started coming back, and it ate at him. What was she hiding" Where was she going"
So he started to ask around. Amy didn't say anything, but Lil " who could read, some " let slip that she'd seen Kendall's name up in the Post once or twice, with some toff named Bashir. And Xe, who worked the Marketplace as a light fingers, was able to point Marx toward the right District. So, step by step and patiently, Marx was able to pull the threads that led to Kendall and eventually, L"ks Condos. Ritzy place, swank. With a doorman. Doorman took smoke breaks around the corner in the alley, and rolled craps with Nan and Ryland.
Marx sidled up to the game, passed around a butt for a few days, and made himself at home. By the fourth day in a row he was chatting up with the doorman, too. "So how's th' gig workin" fer the toffs an' holdin" doors for"em' Standin" out in th' rain all hours an' that?"
The doorman - one of six, incidentally - was named Louis. 'Lou' to his friends and 'Louie' to the crowd he gambled with. He was able to take a break because the owners of the building liked to keep two on each shift - one working security inside and the other manning the door. Usually, they alternated.
Lou, he worked the morning shift. Had since the place opened. It was by far the best job he'd ever had, and he was paid well for what he did. But working there also gave him a good hard look at the things he didn't have.
When Marx asked him that, he glanced over to the shaggy-haired man with perhaps just the palest hint of contempt. But he shrugged his wide shoulders and answered him easily, reaching for the smoldering hand-rolled Nan held. "S'okay. The pay's decent, and the tips are good when ya get 'em. Holidays, usually."
"Yeah' Betcha get a pocketful th' weirdest days, then." Easy guess to make, as many people came to Rhydin from all over the multiverse. Marx flipped his head back to toss the bangs from his eyes, rolled the pair of dice across the cobbles with a clatter. Hard eight, and he snorted. "Man, yer th' luckiest sumbitch born, Louie. So you pick out yer big tippers?"
"Owner used t' live here. In th' Penthouse. B'fore he got married. Now 'is brother n'his wife have it. And there's a lady on the seventh floor that likes ta get tipped across the divan" he pronounced it 'deeee-van,' drawing out the hard 'e' "once 'er twice a month," he shared a knowing grin with the fellow, "Likes 'em big, like me."
Nan snorted and reached to take the smoke back, rolling her eyes at the pair of them and muttering something aside to Ry that made the man guffaw loud enough to scare off a bunch of starlings perched on the rain gutter overhead.
Marx's grin slid out, greasy-slick and just as knowing back at Louie. "Betcha ain't big as me. Maybe I should pick up a job here, take up th' lady's tippin" duties." He reached across to snag the hand-rolled from Nan with an eye-roll at Ry once the dice moved on. "Any of th' other ladies here worth th' tumble?"
"You wish!" he grunted back at Marx, his eyes fixed and narrow on Nan's smirk. He tore his gaze away only when the smile faded a little, and then Marx got his attention in full again. "Most all of them are shiny. What else do they have to do but be pretty, when them an' their men have so much glim' That blonde with th' accent th' boss married?" he sighed out a pang of lust just thinking about her. "She had legs up t' here," he made a chopping motion with his hand, nose level. "Could'a wrapped 'em round me twice."
"Soft where it counted, too. Not like th' boney bint th' brother married. She weren't nothin' but a delivery girl for some restaurant. Used ta let her in all th' time before they hooked up. Thinkin' she was deliverin' more than dinner, ya get me?"
"Slick. Gotta love th' gams, an' a good set of tits. But I ain't much fer blondes, yanno' Gimme one"a them exotics, or a redhead, any day." Marx took another puff on the hand-rolled to hide his quickened interest. That was what he wanted to hear about, the little trick. "Betcher right about them deliveries though. Girl's gonna angle fer a sweet set-up any way she can, sounds like she got it. You say married?"
Nan's sudden laugh was scornful and raucous as she leaned across to grab back the tag-end of the cigarette. "You talkin" about exotics, Marx" Ain't could even get th' Parker chick t' slip you a lay, no way you score sommat spicier.?
So he started to ask around. Amy didn't say anything, but Lil " who could read, some " let slip that she'd seen Kendall's name up in the Post once or twice, with some toff named Bashir. And Xe, who worked the Marketplace as a light fingers, was able to point Marx toward the right District. So, step by step and patiently, Marx was able to pull the threads that led to Kendall and eventually, L"ks Condos. Ritzy place, swank. With a doorman. Doorman took smoke breaks around the corner in the alley, and rolled craps with Nan and Ryland.
Marx sidled up to the game, passed around a butt for a few days, and made himself at home. By the fourth day in a row he was chatting up with the doorman, too. "So how's th' gig workin" fer the toffs an' holdin" doors for"em' Standin" out in th' rain all hours an' that?"
The doorman - one of six, incidentally - was named Louis. 'Lou' to his friends and 'Louie' to the crowd he gambled with. He was able to take a break because the owners of the building liked to keep two on each shift - one working security inside and the other manning the door. Usually, they alternated.
Lou, he worked the morning shift. Had since the place opened. It was by far the best job he'd ever had, and he was paid well for what he did. But working there also gave him a good hard look at the things he didn't have.
When Marx asked him that, he glanced over to the shaggy-haired man with perhaps just the palest hint of contempt. But he shrugged his wide shoulders and answered him easily, reaching for the smoldering hand-rolled Nan held. "S'okay. The pay's decent, and the tips are good when ya get 'em. Holidays, usually."
"Yeah' Betcha get a pocketful th' weirdest days, then." Easy guess to make, as many people came to Rhydin from all over the multiverse. Marx flipped his head back to toss the bangs from his eyes, rolled the pair of dice across the cobbles with a clatter. Hard eight, and he snorted. "Man, yer th' luckiest sumbitch born, Louie. So you pick out yer big tippers?"
"Owner used t' live here. In th' Penthouse. B'fore he got married. Now 'is brother n'his wife have it. And there's a lady on the seventh floor that likes ta get tipped across the divan" he pronounced it 'deeee-van,' drawing out the hard 'e' "once 'er twice a month," he shared a knowing grin with the fellow, "Likes 'em big, like me."
Nan snorted and reached to take the smoke back, rolling her eyes at the pair of them and muttering something aside to Ry that made the man guffaw loud enough to scare off a bunch of starlings perched on the rain gutter overhead.
Marx's grin slid out, greasy-slick and just as knowing back at Louie. "Betcha ain't big as me. Maybe I should pick up a job here, take up th' lady's tippin" duties." He reached across to snag the hand-rolled from Nan with an eye-roll at Ry once the dice moved on. "Any of th' other ladies here worth th' tumble?"
"You wish!" he grunted back at Marx, his eyes fixed and narrow on Nan's smirk. He tore his gaze away only when the smile faded a little, and then Marx got his attention in full again. "Most all of them are shiny. What else do they have to do but be pretty, when them an' their men have so much glim' That blonde with th' accent th' boss married?" he sighed out a pang of lust just thinking about her. "She had legs up t' here," he made a chopping motion with his hand, nose level. "Could'a wrapped 'em round me twice."
"Soft where it counted, too. Not like th' boney bint th' brother married. She weren't nothin' but a delivery girl for some restaurant. Used ta let her in all th' time before they hooked up. Thinkin' she was deliverin' more than dinner, ya get me?"
"Slick. Gotta love th' gams, an' a good set of tits. But I ain't much fer blondes, yanno' Gimme one"a them exotics, or a redhead, any day." Marx took another puff on the hand-rolled to hide his quickened interest. That was what he wanted to hear about, the little trick. "Betcher right about them deliveries though. Girl's gonna angle fer a sweet set-up any way she can, sounds like she got it. You say married?"
Nan's sudden laugh was scornful and raucous as she leaned across to grab back the tag-end of the cigarette. "You talkin" about exotics, Marx" Ain't could even get th' Parker chick t' slip you a lay, no way you score sommat spicier.?