Read Online Joe Pitt 2 - No Dominion by Charlie Huston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlie Huston
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snaps his cell phone closed.
--Sorry about that. She's not my regular thing, but she likes to think she is. I could
shine her on, but the girl is just so damn dirty, I don't want to lose the hookup. Know
what I mean?
--Sure, I know.
--Right you do. This is the place.
It's an old brick building, right next to the El Iglesia de Dios Church on 6th between B
and C. The place is turreted. Oxidized copper plating details the roofs and gables.
--You live here?
--Yeah, I know, all castlelike and such. Didn't plan it that way.
I eye the renovated lobby through the glass door.
--I was thinking about the money.
He takes out a set of keys.
--Oh, that. Well, I got like a trust fund I draw on. Money's no thing.
I look at my watch: almost five forty-five. Mid-January: sunrise just after seven. I look
at the sky. There's a heavy overcast. Even if I'm out right at seven, there shouldn't be
enough UVs hitting the street to do me any real harm. The Count catches my eye.
--Don't sweat the sun. You get stuck here, you can hang. I got some chicks staying with me.
All like to party.
--No thanks. We'll talk. I'll go home.
--Cool by me.
He opens the door.
We take the elevator. The Count looks down from the numbers as they light up.
--Thanks for getting rid of Philip, man. That guy, he starts tagging after you and there's
just no way to lose him.
--You hang out with him much?
--No chance. He just always shows up. Something's going on and he hears about it. One of
those guys. Nothing wrong with him. He's just, he's such aÉ
--Renfield.
--Yeah, he is. Didn't want to say. Thought he might be your friend or something.
--He's not my friend.
The elevator stops, the doors open and he leads me down the landing on the fourth floor. A
door at the end of the hall opens while he's still fiddling the key into the lock. A
twenty-something girl in a pink leather miniskirt and black camisole top, her blond hair
done up in pigtails, jumps into his arms.
--Hey, baby.
She wraps her legs around his waist and plants her mouth on his. They make out for a
couple seconds, then The Count pulls his face away.
--Brought a friend.
She looks at me.
--Hey, friend.
I nod.
She jumps down.
--Well, don't stand around, come join the party.
She spins and skips back inside.
The Count goes to lead the way and his phone rings. He looks at the number.
--Got to take this. You go in.
He opens the phone and starts talking. I go in, the door shuts behind me.
The apartment is a loft. An assortment of partitions have been used to separate sleeping
areas. One defined by two Chinese screens collaged with pictures clipped from fashion
magazines, one by roll-down bamboo blinds, and the last by an assortment of cast-off doors
clearly rescued from the street. The communal space is about one-third disaster-area
kitchen and two-thirds disaster-area couches, beanbags, TV and stereo.
The girl with the pigtails drops into one of the beanbags and a handful of Styrofoam
pellets squirts out of a splitting seam in its side.
--Careful!
Another girl, this one a brunette, in nothing but beige Ugg boots, panties and a scarlet
poncho, comes out from behind the wall of doors.
--You'll pop it.
Pigtails stretches her foot toward the TV and starts changing channels with her big toe.
--It's already popped.
Poncho kneels next to the beanbag and presses on a piece of silver duct tape that's peeled
away from the seam.
--It's not popped all the way. You keep bouncing on it and it's gonna pop all the way.
--So what?
--So I'm not gonna clean up all the fucking foam BBs.
--So what?
--So they stick to everything and they're a pain in the ass.
--So what?
--So stop jumping on it.
--OK. Where's the remote?
Poncho stands.
--Don't know.
She looks around for the remote and sees me.
--Hello.
I stand there.
--Hi.
She takes a long look.
--Do I know you?
--No.
--Uh-huh.
She nudges Pigtails with her foot.
--Darlin', who's
--Sorry about that. She's not my regular thing, but she likes to think she is. I could
shine her on, but the girl is just so damn dirty, I don't want to lose the hookup. Know
what I mean?
--Sure, I know.
--Right you do. This is the place.
It's an old brick building, right next to the El Iglesia de Dios Church on 6th between B
and C. The place is turreted. Oxidized copper plating details the roofs and gables.
--You live here?
--Yeah, I know, all castlelike and such. Didn't plan it that way.
I eye the renovated lobby through the glass door.
--I was thinking about the money.
He takes out a set of keys.
--Oh, that. Well, I got like a trust fund I draw on. Money's no thing.
I look at my watch: almost five forty-five. Mid-January: sunrise just after seven. I look
at the sky. There's a heavy overcast. Even if I'm out right at seven, there shouldn't be
enough UVs hitting the street to do me any real harm. The Count catches my eye.
--Don't sweat the sun. You get stuck here, you can hang. I got some chicks staying with me.
All like to party.
--No thanks. We'll talk. I'll go home.
--Cool by me.
He opens the door.
We take the elevator. The Count looks down from the numbers as they light up.
--Thanks for getting rid of Philip, man. That guy, he starts tagging after you and there's
just no way to lose him.
--You hang out with him much?
--No chance. He just always shows up. Something's going on and he hears about it. One of
those guys. Nothing wrong with him. He's just, he's such aÉ
--Renfield.
--Yeah, he is. Didn't want to say. Thought he might be your friend or something.
--He's not my friend.
The elevator stops, the doors open and he leads me down the landing on the fourth floor. A
door at the end of the hall opens while he's still fiddling the key into the lock. A
twenty-something girl in a pink leather miniskirt and black camisole top, her blond hair
done up in pigtails, jumps into his arms.
--Hey, baby.
She wraps her legs around his waist and plants her mouth on his. They make out for a
couple seconds, then The Count pulls his face away.
--Brought a friend.
She looks at me.
--Hey, friend.
I nod.
She jumps down.
--Well, don't stand around, come join the party.
She spins and skips back inside.
The Count goes to lead the way and his phone rings. He looks at the number.
--Got to take this. You go in.
He opens the phone and starts talking. I go in, the door shuts behind me.
The apartment is a loft. An assortment of partitions have been used to separate sleeping
areas. One defined by two Chinese screens collaged with pictures clipped from fashion
magazines, one by roll-down bamboo blinds, and the last by an assortment of cast-off doors
clearly rescued from the street. The communal space is about one-third disaster-area
kitchen and two-thirds disaster-area couches, beanbags, TV and stereo.
The girl with the pigtails drops into one of the beanbags and a handful of Styrofoam
pellets squirts out of a splitting seam in its side.
--Careful!
Another girl, this one a brunette, in nothing but beige Ugg boots, panties and a scarlet
poncho, comes out from behind the wall of doors.
--You'll pop it.
Pigtails stretches her foot toward the TV and starts changing channels with her big toe.
--It's already popped.
Poncho kneels next to the beanbag and presses on a piece of silver duct tape that's peeled
away from the seam.
--It's not popped all the way. You keep bouncing on it and it's gonna pop all the way.
--So what?
--So I'm not gonna clean up all the fucking foam BBs.
--So what?
--So they stick to everything and they're a pain in the ass.
--So what?
--So stop jumping on it.
--OK. Where's the remote?
Poncho stands.
--Don't know.
She looks around for the remote and sees me.
--Hello.
I stand there.
--Hi.
She takes a long look.
--Do I know you?
--No.
--Uh-huh.
She nudges Pigtails with her foot.
--Darlin', who's
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