me.
Within the span of five days, I’ve isolated myself from an entire city. Going to work is out of the question, unless I want to be murdered by the Pesconis. For too many reasons, I can’t visit the bar underneath the Holiday Inn. I can’t peruse the south side of town, where I’ve earned the reputation of prostitute with not only the residents, but also the police and the real prostitutes too.
The only safe place left in Ilium is my little apartment—which I’m now beginning to question truly is safe as I turn the key to my apartment door.
It’s unlocked. Did I accidentally leave it unlocked? Unlikely, given the compounding paranoia from the five days. I stare at my door handle, listening to my heart thudding against my chest. It’s just paranoia, nothing else.
The door hinges scream as I gently push the door open. My apartment is dark, the blinds are closed, and the air is silent. Everything is the way I left it. Nothing seems out of the ordinary—nothing except the unlocked door and my shattered nerves. Overreaction or not, it’s time to leave Ilium—time to move to a bigger a city, a city with no Freddie, no Carmine—a city where I can be invisible.
I pull my duffle bag out from under my bed and fill it with only the essentials: clothing, toothbrush, and my deodorant. The next tenant can have everything else—I don’t care. Ten thousand is enough money to rebuild, to start over, enough for a few months in a nice apartment. A few months is plenty of time to find new suppliers, new hangouts, and new clients. A few months is plenty of time to start a new life.
I go to my closet to retrieve the stash. It’s gone. The shelf is bare—nothing but a note. On the note is nothing but a smiley-face. I’ve been robbed.
And I know exactly who did it; I can smell his cheap cologne on the little piece of paper. Even his note has a shit-eating grin.
“Fucking prick,” I mutter.
“Want the cash?” a voice says.
I muffle my scream with my hand as I spin around. Freddie is at my kitchen table, laughing, too happy to get a rise out of me. In one hand, he’s holding the cash. In the other, he’s playing with a pocketknife, flicking it open, and collapsing it repeatedly.
My shock quickly settles into anger. The sight of his face brings back one too many repulsive memories. “Give that back to me,” I say, pointing at my money.
“Why? It’s mine.” He smiles as if he told a joke that I would get at any second. The only joke I can see is sitting at my kitchen table.
“It’s not yours. You stole it from me.”
He rolls his eyes and says, “You wanna get into this again?”
“I just want my money so I can leave.” I say it slowly, so his small brain has time to process each word.
The big smile returns—still waiting for me to clue into the hilarious punch line he never told. “I’ll tell you what—I’m a nice guy. I don’t want to make this into some big thing. To be honest, I’d love it if I never had to see ya again. The cash is yours if you just give me the rest of it.” He places the cash down and nods his head.
The rest of it? The rest of what? There was nothing worth anything in that bag, aside from those gold coins and the pack of condoms I threw in the trash. “The rest of what?” I ask.
“The rest of the stuff you stole from me—the territs that were in my bag.”
“The what?” I ask.
“The big crowns. Give ‘em back to me and I’ll leave ya alone. I’ll leave ya with your precious cash.”
The big crowns? Is that some sort of slang? He must be talking about the little gold coins, but I don’t have his little gold coins. They’re sitting in a box at the No Hold Gold. They’re as good as gone. Anyone who’s ever driven past the No Hold Gold has seen the signs: No refunds.
He nudges the cash forward again, still waiting for my reply. I have nothing to say to him. He can
Within the span of five days, I’ve isolated myself from an entire city. Going to work is out of the question, unless I want to be murdered by the Pesconis. For too many reasons, I can’t visit the bar underneath the Holiday Inn. I can’t peruse the south side of town, where I’ve earned the reputation of prostitute with not only the residents, but also the police and the real prostitutes too.
The only safe place left in Ilium is my little apartment—which I’m now beginning to question truly is safe as I turn the key to my apartment door.
It’s unlocked. Did I accidentally leave it unlocked? Unlikely, given the compounding paranoia from the five days. I stare at my door handle, listening to my heart thudding against my chest. It’s just paranoia, nothing else.
The door hinges scream as I gently push the door open. My apartment is dark, the blinds are closed, and the air is silent. Everything is the way I left it. Nothing seems out of the ordinary—nothing except the unlocked door and my shattered nerves. Overreaction or not, it’s time to leave Ilium—time to move to a bigger a city, a city with no Freddie, no Carmine—a city where I can be invisible.
I pull my duffle bag out from under my bed and fill it with only the essentials: clothing, toothbrush, and my deodorant. The next tenant can have everything else—I don’t care. Ten thousand is enough money to rebuild, to start over, enough for a few months in a nice apartment. A few months is plenty of time to find new suppliers, new hangouts, and new clients. A few months is plenty of time to start a new life.
I go to my closet to retrieve the stash. It’s gone. The shelf is bare—nothing but a note. On the note is nothing but a smiley-face. I’ve been robbed.
And I know exactly who did it; I can smell his cheap cologne on the little piece of paper. Even his note has a shit-eating grin.
“Fucking prick,” I mutter.
“Want the cash?” a voice says.
I muffle my scream with my hand as I spin around. Freddie is at my kitchen table, laughing, too happy to get a rise out of me. In one hand, he’s holding the cash. In the other, he’s playing with a pocketknife, flicking it open, and collapsing it repeatedly.
My shock quickly settles into anger. The sight of his face brings back one too many repulsive memories. “Give that back to me,” I say, pointing at my money.
“Why? It’s mine.” He smiles as if he told a joke that I would get at any second. The only joke I can see is sitting at my kitchen table.
“It’s not yours. You stole it from me.”
He rolls his eyes and says, “You wanna get into this again?”
“I just want my money so I can leave.” I say it slowly, so his small brain has time to process each word.
The big smile returns—still waiting for me to clue into the hilarious punch line he never told. “I’ll tell you what—I’m a nice guy. I don’t want to make this into some big thing. To be honest, I’d love it if I never had to see ya again. The cash is yours if you just give me the rest of it.” He places the cash down and nods his head.
The rest of it? The rest of what? There was nothing worth anything in that bag, aside from those gold coins and the pack of condoms I threw in the trash. “The rest of what?” I ask.
“The rest of the stuff you stole from me—the territs that were in my bag.”
“The what?” I ask.
“The big crowns. Give ‘em back to me and I’ll leave ya alone. I’ll leave ya with your precious cash.”
The big crowns? Is that some sort of slang? He must be talking about the little gold coins, but I don’t have his little gold coins. They’re sitting in a box at the No Hold Gold. They’re as good as gone. Anyone who’s ever driven past the No Hold Gold has seen the signs: No refunds.
He nudges the cash forward again, still waiting for my reply. I have nothing to say to him. He can
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