The Blue Blazes Read Free Page B

the cup, finds it lacking. Skint’s dusty eyebrows lift in a curious arch and he pops the top. He sees the money curled inside. “Yeah, OK. What?”
    “Don’t act so surprised I’m coming to you.”
    “I just figured you were done in this town. Hadn’t heard much from you in the last few months. One minute you were selling Blue, next minute, poof.”
    A jogger in a blue knit cap almost knocks her off her feet. She gives him the finger and barks some profanity about the jogger’s mother, then turns back to the albino. “Yeah, well. Things cooled down. But I’m back. I need you to get word out.”
    “To who?”
    “To everybody. All the gang heads.”
    He looks at the cup. Then back at her. “This for that?”
    “It’s enough. Besides, when I’m done, there’ll be more. A lot more.”
    He’s dubious. That’s fine. Let him think she’s blowing hot air. He says, “I think you’re a bad investment, so let’s just call this charity, eh? What’s the message?”
    “I want you to tell them that the Boss is a dead man. That it’s time to take back the city. You tell them I have a guy on the inside and a plan to bring it all crashing down.”
    He laughs. “Big talk. And sounds like bullshit.”
    “Just tell them, already. Unless you like all this?” She sweeps her arms as if to encompass the grandeur of standing on a shitty city corner. “The Organization doesn’t think a split-skinned freak like you is fit to kiss Zoladski’s dirty shoes. You’re a nobody out here. A piece of monster trash. But that can change. You can make them kiss your feet. Then kick them in the teeth as they pucker up.”
    He pauses. Shifts from foot to foot, all anxious-like.
    “Yeah. Yeah, fine. I’ll tell them.”
    “Tell them all. And let them know I’ll be in touch.”
    Skint lifts the coffee cup as if to toast. “To the future, then.”
     
    Wila’s.
    Counter on the left. Register. Seats at the counter and a bunch of rickety tables and ratty booths. Everything cast in a color like old lemon meringue pie.
    No hostess here. Just a tired-looking waitress with hound-dog eyes and hair dyed so red it’s almost purple. She shows off a set of nicotine teeth, tells Mookie he can sit anywhere. He shakes his head. Points upstairs.
    “Oh,” she says. Then she gives him a sad smile. “You look like a growing boy. You want something to take up? Pierogie?”
    He does. He wants a pierogie. Or a link of kielbasa. But no time. He feels his mouth water like a dog staring at a steak.
    The waitress leads the way upstairs.
    The smells of the kitchen are strong here. Paprika and vinegar. Sharp bite of fennel. Garlic, too. Mookie wants to pause here on the steps, take it all in.
    But–
    The Boss awaits.
    At the top of the steps is a door with peeling blue paint. Mookie walks through.
     
    Nora stands across the street. Under the awning of a little café, pigeons dancing around her feet.
    She watches her father go into the Polish joint. Dumb monkey. The old man looks rougher than usual. Her poison did a number on him, but here he is, anyway. She knew it wouldn’t kill him; that was never a question. The Snakeface that sold it to her made sure it wasn’t the deadly stuff – just the “go the fuck to sleep” stuff. (She’s not sure how they know to milk different venoms from their nasty little… fang glands or whatever, they just do. And she’s content with that answer.)
    It’s in this moment that she realizes she has a lot of power.
    Right now, she’s privy to a secret meeting of lieutenants and higher-ups in the Organization. All gathered under a single, ill-defended roof.
    I could call the gangs.  
    I could leak it to Smiley.  
    I could stir up a pack of pissed-off gobbos looking for a chance to get back at the group of humans who have helped keep them bottled up and kept below.  
    I could call up some hobo with a shotgun to kick down the door and blast all those a-holes into bloody bits.  
    But she just stands there. Eating a