Read Online One Small Step, an anthology of discoveries by Marianne de Pierres Tehani Wessely - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marianne de Pierres Tehani Wessely
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do a perimeter sweep. This kind of otherwise useless rummaging in alleys could help with the setting, and setting helped mood and mood made stories. And stories, Merv assured her, sold newspapers.
She made a note in her notebook about the oily residue under her feet. Will I ever get the smell outta my shoes? is what she wrote.
“ Hey, Your Majesty,” she said.
“ Yup?”
“ Do you know anything about the residents of this building?”
“ Junkies,” the King said, with venom.
“ Okay. Know anything about the woman in Number 14? Tipsy Burrows?”
He snorted. “What kind of name is Tipsy?”
“ Well,” Kaneko began, but realised she didn’t have an answer.
“ What’s she look like?” the man asked.
“ I haven’t met her.”
He frowned hard and a spiderweb of lines opened up along his face. “Don’t be bringing me this rubbish. How’m I s’posed to know who she is if you can’t describe her?”
“ Sorry, yeah,” Kaneko said. You sound like my boss. “Thought I’d ask.”
She decided to try the apartment again. It had to be better than standing in filth.
This time when she entered the building, she could hear a washing machine on one of the floors and a television blaring through the thin walls. People were awake. That was a good sign.
She knocked loudly at Number 14.
“ Yeah?” A tired voice, barely muffled by the thin door.
Kaneko leaned forward. “Tipsy Burrows?”
“ Yeah?”
“ I’m Ai Kaneko, from the City Tribune . You called about a story?”
The door opened. Kaneko thought she heard three or four other doors open at the same time. She didn’t turn around, only kept her smile fixed on the girl. She was young, very young, smeared in mascara and lipstick, sallow underneath that with a fine face that would look like vulnerability to a camera. Kaneko would have described her as slim but for the round knobs of her wrists and the clavicle jutting out above her flat chest. Gaunt was a better word. She wrote gaunt .
“ Tipsy?”
Tipsy wore very little, some kind of singlet top over shorts where the pockets hung lower than the denim. The shorts looked like they should be tight, but they ballooned stiffly, held up by Tipsy’s pronounced hipbones and some kind of inbuilt gravity defiance.
“ Yeah?”
Kaneko said, “I understand you know something about a murder that took place last week?”
Tipsy perked up. “Hey. Yeah, I rang that newspaper.”
“ And here I am,” Kaneko replied. “I’m from that newspaper.”
“ Hey!”
Tipsy invited Kaneko in and then curled on her bed, the only piece of furniture in the tiny bedsit. To one side was a kitchen bench. To the other was what appeared to be a bathroom. In the middle was a window that looked grimy inside and out. The place smelled of stale air and takeaway something but it still smelled better than the alley.
“ What’s your name, again?” Tipsy asked.
“ Ai Kaneko.”
Tipsy frowned. “What kind of name is that?”
There was nothing in her voice but curiosity, so Kaneko told her it was Japanese. Then she pulled out her phone.
“ Can I take a photo?” Kaneko asked.
“ Of what?”
“ Of you, in your home. It’s just a memory prompt for later, when I write your story. I won’t publish it.”
“ But you’ll write the story, right?”
Kaneko had met this kind before. Almost exclusively this kind whenever Merv dropped one of his notes on her desk. They wanted to be famous, but they wanted the fame to be flattering, and they wanted to make sure of that first. Tipsy Burrows probably would consent to a photo, but only after she fixed her make-up and put on some even more revealing clothes.
“ Don’t worry about it,” Kaneko said. “Just an idea.” She looked down at her phone like she might be checking a number and hit the camera button with the side of her thumb. Tipsy didn’t seem to notice.
“ Let’s start with your age,” Kaneko smiled. She looked around for a clean place to
She made a note in her notebook about the oily residue under her feet. Will I ever get the smell outta my shoes? is what she wrote.
“ Hey, Your Majesty,” she said.
“ Yup?”
“ Do you know anything about the residents of this building?”
“ Junkies,” the King said, with venom.
“ Okay. Know anything about the woman in Number 14? Tipsy Burrows?”
He snorted. “What kind of name is Tipsy?”
“ Well,” Kaneko began, but realised she didn’t have an answer.
“ What’s she look like?” the man asked.
“ I haven’t met her.”
He frowned hard and a spiderweb of lines opened up along his face. “Don’t be bringing me this rubbish. How’m I s’posed to know who she is if you can’t describe her?”
“ Sorry, yeah,” Kaneko said. You sound like my boss. “Thought I’d ask.”
She decided to try the apartment again. It had to be better than standing in filth.
This time when she entered the building, she could hear a washing machine on one of the floors and a television blaring through the thin walls. People were awake. That was a good sign.
She knocked loudly at Number 14.
“ Yeah?” A tired voice, barely muffled by the thin door.
Kaneko leaned forward. “Tipsy Burrows?”
“ Yeah?”
“ I’m Ai Kaneko, from the City Tribune . You called about a story?”
The door opened. Kaneko thought she heard three or four other doors open at the same time. She didn’t turn around, only kept her smile fixed on the girl. She was young, very young, smeared in mascara and lipstick, sallow underneath that with a fine face that would look like vulnerability to a camera. Kaneko would have described her as slim but for the round knobs of her wrists and the clavicle jutting out above her flat chest. Gaunt was a better word. She wrote gaunt .
“ Tipsy?”
Tipsy wore very little, some kind of singlet top over shorts where the pockets hung lower than the denim. The shorts looked like they should be tight, but they ballooned stiffly, held up by Tipsy’s pronounced hipbones and some kind of inbuilt gravity defiance.
“ Yeah?”
Kaneko said, “I understand you know something about a murder that took place last week?”
Tipsy perked up. “Hey. Yeah, I rang that newspaper.”
“ And here I am,” Kaneko replied. “I’m from that newspaper.”
“ Hey!”
Tipsy invited Kaneko in and then curled on her bed, the only piece of furniture in the tiny bedsit. To one side was a kitchen bench. To the other was what appeared to be a bathroom. In the middle was a window that looked grimy inside and out. The place smelled of stale air and takeaway something but it still smelled better than the alley.
“ What’s your name, again?” Tipsy asked.
“ Ai Kaneko.”
Tipsy frowned. “What kind of name is that?”
There was nothing in her voice but curiosity, so Kaneko told her it was Japanese. Then she pulled out her phone.
“ Can I take a photo?” Kaneko asked.
“ Of what?”
“ Of you, in your home. It’s just a memory prompt for later, when I write your story. I won’t publish it.”
“ But you’ll write the story, right?”
Kaneko had met this kind before. Almost exclusively this kind whenever Merv dropped one of his notes on her desk. They wanted to be famous, but they wanted the fame to be flattering, and they wanted to make sure of that first. Tipsy Burrows probably would consent to a photo, but only after she fixed her make-up and put on some even more revealing clothes.
“ Don’t worry about it,” Kaneko said. “Just an idea.” She looked down at her phone like she might be checking a number and hit the camera button with the side of her thumb. Tipsy didn’t seem to notice.
“ Let’s start with your age,” Kaneko smiled. She looked around for a clean place to
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