The music was still ringing in her ears when Caridad
shut the dressing room door and flopped down into her
chair. "I think my legs are falling off," she
muttered, wiping away the sheen of sweat on her
forehead, the back of her neck. She pulled on a
tshirt and the cheap cotton snagged just a little on
her newest ring, but she was learning to be careful.
The music was still faintly audible even through the
cinderblock walls - bubblegum pop, Cindi must have
been on - but she could ignore it by focusing on the
crumpled bills in front of her. She pulled several
free from her garter to add to the small pile Tera had
collected while she danced. Cari smiled a little,
glad it was Tera and not some of the other girls. Not
everyone was that honest.
~Like stripping draws honest types,~ she thought while
she sorted and tallied the bills. ~Cynical, cynical.~
But she was finding herself thinking cynical thoughts
more often lately. ~Means you're getting old, girl.~
At 23, Caridad was ancient. A lot of the girls told
her this kind of work would tire her out, suck out her
soul. She didn't know about the last bit, but the
former was definitely true. ~Careful, girl, keep
thinking like that and Heather will start beating you
with that wand again.~ Her roommate had developed a
slightly annoying habit of hitting people with a fairy
godmother style wand whenever they got too gloomy for
her tastes.
It sucked sometimes, but it was better than
waitressing, where you were treated like shit and
stiffed tips. At least here, she got paid when a
customer grabbed her ass. And sometimes she got the
satisfaction of watching Rog throw them out. It paid
better than most of the shit jobs she had taken in the
past. The money was even better with the private
dances, parties and things, so long as the customers
understood it was _just_ dancing, nothing more. And
it left room for some of her other jobs.
~Happy me.~ A grand total of sixty two dollars for
the night. Coupled with her next paycheck, she would
have enough for rent and the bills, with enough left
over for groceries. ~Tonight, we dine!~ Maybe she
could treat herself to some Thai... ~No, no, save
your money, grasshopper.~
Caridad pulled her jeans on over the bit of black
cloth that technically counted as a costume, and a
sweatshirt over the shirt. Berkley University, it
said. A few years back, she had been a student there.
Anthropology major. It had not worked out. Smart as
she supposedly was, she had not made it through her
freshman year. ~But what would you have done with a
degree in anthropology anyway? Teach?~ Her feet
complained loudly as she pried them out of spiked
heels, but quieted down when she slipped them into
thoroughly broken in sneakers.
There was a method to her madness. In Keds, sweats
and jeans, with her hair pulled up under her low cap,
no one was going to recognize her from the stage.
Some audience members were under the impression that
they could buy anything, and got mean when they found
out otherwise.
Caridad folded up her tips for the night, clipped them
inside her jeans - people stole shoes sometimes, and
leather jackets, but she'd never heard of jean thieves
- and clocked out. Time to go home. With a quick
wave to Tera, she went out the back and into the cold
night. The last bus went by an hour before her shift
ended, so she was stuck walking once again, but that
wasn't too bad. The night was relatively mild, and it
wasn't like she ever got lonely. She could always use
some exercise.
A little over a mile later, she caught the shadow out
of the corner of her eye. Something high up, the
rooftops maybe, moving with her pace. She forced
herself to keep walking, to act normal, as she scanned
hastily for a cop car, for someone else on the street,
anyone. No one. ~Ah hell.~ She sped up, just a little,
and kept going. ~Victims look like victims. Don't be a
victim. You are confident, you are strong, you can
defend yourself, you are not an easy mark, not a
victim, not a victim...~ They got her when she hit
the corner, hands reaching out of the dark and yanking
her in, over her mouth, arms pulled back, kicking and
biting, trying her best. "Callate," someone growled,
and there were hands clawing at her sweatshirt. ~Oh
god...~
Almost as fast as it happened, they were gone, being
pulled off of her. As soon as she could see, there
were two of them, punk kids probably more than five
years her junior. They were slammed against the
pavement with a sickening sound. One didn't move, the
other was making some kind of effort to crawl away.
He was picked up by invisible hands and thrown all the
way across the street, into the brick wall of the
KwikStop. He didn't move after that. Caridad
shivered, pulling herself to her feet. The fall when
the thugs were yanked away had scraped her knee up
pretty badly. A hint of liquid liquid red glistened
through the rip in her jeans. "You didn't have to do
that," she whispered under her breath. She turned
away from the prone body and that was when she saw
her.
Standing a few feet away was a girl. The first thing
she noticed was the mask, one of the not exactly cheap
black ones the stores sold around Halloween that
covered her face from forehead to just above the
mouth. The second was the sharp glint of metal under
her jacket; at least one gun and several blades in
some kind of harness. Caridad backed off, ready to
run. She didn't want to see. "Not again."
But the girl put her hands up in a 'see, no weapons'
gesture and actually smiled. "I guess you don't need
my help after all." The voice was so young that it
made Cari give her a longer look. She was just a kid,
in black jeans and some kind of thin body armor under
the harness and jacket. But there were muscles under
the jacket, not the kind you got from dancing, and the
weapons were very real. As she gave her the once
over, the girl was doing the same. The smile slowly
disappeared. "How did you do that? You're not a
mutant and that wasn't magic."
"I didn't do anything," she said quickly and turned to
leave. She wanted off the streets, now, before
anything else could happen. The girl started to
follow, and she felt her being lifted up - "NO." - and
set down just as quickly as Caridad exerted her will.
Breaking into a sprint, she ran and did not stop until
she got to the apartment.
Heather was gone, off at her boyfriend's place.
"Good." Cari latched all three locks on the door and
collapsed on the sofa. The shakes were coming on,
panicked shivers that she could not stop. From the
corner, the cat hissed and crouched under Heather's
desk. "Shut up," she muttered and reached into her
pockets. Just like the last time, there was money,
close to a hundred dollars. Along with that were a
switchblade, three gold chains, a ring, a pack of
cigarettes and a beeper. "You know," she said out
loud, voice still shaky. "I can't do anything with
this. They're marked, so I can't sell it." Not that
most of them knew. They weren't very techno-savvy for
the most part. Cari tossed the pager, stepped through
the shower and straight to bed. She turned her music
up a bit louder than normal and popped one of
Heather's valiums before curling into a small ball and
pulling the covers up to her chin. She wasn't up for
the guys tonight. If she didn't think about it, the
faint hands that stroked her hair were almost
comforting.
Caridad Sanchez was never really alone, had not been
for years. The spirits started showing up when she
hit puberty and had not stopped since. Mostly they
came and went, content to have someone actually
acknowledge them or do some simple task. Others
wanted more. Others hung around longer. Some of them
tried to be scary, but they couldn't do much to her.
Some of them were helpful, or thought they were in
their own way. Like tonight. It was the fifth time
that had happened. The same one had been responsible
for all of them, and he never failed to rifle the
pockets of her would-be attackers. He had no interest
in waiting for her to pull her mace or fight on her
own. It was almost like he waited for the chance,
enjoyed it. Just like he had when he was alive. She
had known him then. Enrique, one of her brother's
friends. He was a dealer, among other things, and
scared the hell out of her when she was little. He
got shot when she was fourteen, and seemed to latch on
to her, hadn't left since. It made things very
strange when she caught sight of him out of the corner
of her eye at bad times.
And then there were the other ones...
Caridad shivered, pulling the blankets tighter around
her. The valium was kicking in quickly and she let it
pull her under. In the morning, most of them would be
gone.
