The Female of the Species, Part One
Billy dreamed about his soulmates all his life. He never went to bed with them on his mind, but if their words had ever been written on his skin, they were in his dreams. Some of it, he knew, had to do with his ridiculous amount of PTSD. When he was younger, and when violence was a normal part of life, he thought it was God’s way of taunting him. In Special Forces it was a combination of guilt and fear. He would watch as his soulmate picked up a grenade, or a bus ran over them while he was to far away to do much good. One time, when the one on his spine disappeared, he got in front of his soulmate in time- and then a bullet riped through his stomach and into his soulmate’s head. He woke tasting the blood in his mouth and feeling the blood splatter on his back.
Dreams about Becca were good. He was too haunted about what had actually happened for his dreams to taunt him. He didn’t mind going to sleep when he could wake up to the smell of her shampoo and the feel of her calloused feet rubbing his leg. In his dreams, she always aged with him, her eyes wrinkling slightly- her hair greying. It was bloody marvelous. Becca would take up weeks of his dreams.
Sparky, as he called her in his head, though her name was Samantha Michelle Jason, born on July 18th. She was born in 1988 on a farm in bloody Louisiana. He used up a few favors for the information. He got drunk on her supposed wedding day and then figured he tortured himself long enough.
He bloody well should have kept stalking her.
He always dreamed about Sparky working- big glasses on with wires in her hands, grinning. He could smell sweat and activated deodorant and burning. He always smelled something burning. Sometimes there would be fire around her, or gas slowly spilling near her work. Sometimes he could pick her up and run, sometimes he was stuck choking on smoking air. The Lion Sleeps Tonight would buzz in his head as he woke up.
But in the week he had known Hughie, he had only had nightmares. There were dreams that started out good- where they were fucking in the back of a van or in a seedy hotel room. The smell of Becca’s cigarettes and the hum of Sparky’s voice in the air. The lights would go on and off to the humming. Hughie would be calling him Billy and all would be right with the world.
Then Hughie would be pulled off him. Sometimes it was the Supes. Sometimes it was Homelander raping Hughie, sometimes it was Black Noir breaking his neck. Translucent kicking the shit out of him. Sometimes it was a W.E.T. team and they executed him before Butcher could 0say a word. They never killed Butcher in those dreams. He would be handcuffed and thrown into a cell or a paddy wagon with Hughie’s body, forced to watch as it decayed. The lights would flash bright, almost strobe. The smell of cigarettes would be overwhelmed by the smell of charred meat, the sound of humming replaced with a shrieking cry.
Butcher never woke up from those dreams, instead the terror would fold back into different dreams, leaving Butcher with a residual feeling of terror.
The morning after they had cleaned up after Popclaw (and uploaded the video to several different servers) Butcher woke up from a dream about Becca, but with his heart beating out of his chest.
Hughie was in the bed next to him. He was sprawled out on his stomach, drooling slightly.
Not a cuddler that one.
Sparky was on the other full bed, curled on her side. Her hair was a tangled mat and she was shivering slightly. Her eyes were pinched closed and her hands were shaking. Butcher sighed to himself.
He threw his legs over the side of his bed and walked over to her. He had kept his trousers on to make the Sparky feel a little more comfortable. She didn’t like him touching her, she probably wouldn’t want to see him starkers.
He tugged the blanket up around her shoulders instead of pooled around her waist.
She didn’t even halfway have to wake up, before she was on the opposite of the bed with a pair of needle nose pliers in her hand. She didn’t make a sound, but Butcher watched quietly as she slowly took in her surroundings.
Butcher hadn’t gotten a good look at her the night before, but her bruises were starting to fade. He could see his words, wrapped around her upper arm- a deep pink, like they had been burned into her skin. He didn’t want to look at her other words- didn’t need too.
“Fucking Hell, do you sleep with those things?” Butcher kept his voice low, trying not to wake up Hughie.
“Yeah.” She let her eyes blink closed for a moment. When she opened them, Butcher thought she looked a bit clearer.
“What time is it?” She crawled on the bed for a pair of scratched up glasses and Butcher took a few steps away so he wouldn’t startle her.
“No fucking clue. I don’t think we’ve had a decent sleep in a bit, though.”
“Yeah.” The Sparky picked up the alarm clock that was facedown on the bedside table.
Three A.M.
“So did we sleep for three hours or for twenty-seven?” The Sparky asked. Butcher had no idea.
“Closer to twenty-seven.” A mumbled voice came from the bed. Hughie didn’t even open his eyes to look at them. “You guys were actually up a few times. There’s food in the mini-fridge, by the way.”
Butcher was getting old.
“What, were we in a coma?”
“Frenchie is.” Hughie said. “Answered your phone- someone named Cherie is pissed off at you.”
“Par for course.” Butcher dismissed. “You’ve been up though?”
“Few times, yeah.” Hughie’s eyes opened slightly. “M.M. stopped by, gave me some really good pain meds and told me to let you guys sleep.” His voice was barely decipherable. “He’s been keeping an eye on the noodle shop.”
Butcher felt better. The headache that had bothering him for the past five days was gone, his muscles were no longer sore- even his ribs felt better.
He wasn’t going to let this go though.
“Just going to let me sleep-”
“Thank you, Hughie.” The Sparky interrupted him while pulling out cartons of Chinese and cold egg rolls.
“Don’t bloody-”
“You got somewhere to be?” The Sparky took a large bite of an eggroll, cabbage muffling her words. She swallowed, barely chewing. “I was under the impression this was your day job.”
“Fuck.” Butcher said. He pulled out his wallet and handed several hundred to Hughie. He grabbed his cellphone. “Pay for the room for a couple more days. I gotta see a woman about a cunt.”
Butcher grabbed one of the boxes of take out and ran out the door.
A thought occurred to him. He stuck his head back in the door.
“I expect to see you both here when I get back.”
Hughie threw up a hand, waving him off, but the Sparky opened her mouth to reply- only to have Butcher say sarcastically-
“Do you have somewhere to be? I thought you didn’t have a job.” Butcher slammed the door behind him, only to hear a large thump as something hit the door.
“Fucking amateur.”
His phone was charged, thank fuck.
M.M. picked up on the first ring.
“They still sleeping?”
“No, we ain’t.” Butcher said. “I gotta talk to Raynor, though. I left them back at the motel. Can you make sure they don’t do a runner?”
“I didn’t realize I needed to babysit two grown ass adults.” The voice on the otherside was chilly. “You can’t hold them hostage.”
“Trying to avoid that, ta.” Butcher found his cab pulled into the alley where he left it..
M.M. let out a choked groan. “Hughie isn’t going to leave. He’s got his heart in this.”
“Yeah, it ain’t Hughie I am worried about.”
“You never had a problem with your electrician doing her own thing before.”
“Finding out she’s fucking homeless changed my mind on that one.”
“Seriously?”
“Hughie confirmed it. She won’t even go to a shelter. She won’t come home with me either. Had to play like I was getting a hotel room anyway for her to agree to stay.”
“I wouldn’t go home with you either.” M.M. said dryly. “Soulmate or not. She sounds like she’s friendly with Hughie, will she stay with him?”
“Hughie won’t go home,” Butcher admitted. “But from what I understand his dad has to trick her into staying even one night. It isn’t a good long term solution. I need time to figure this out. I ain’t asking for you to hold her at gun point, just keep her occupied.”
“Fine.” There was a pause on the other end. “You know, Frenchie knows more about this stuff than anyone else, maybe ask him.”
“Cherie’s fucking pissed, mate.”
“Keep out of ball grabbing reach then.” There was a pause. “If you know where they are holed up, I can just grab Hughie and Sam and drag them over to them. Call it planning or something.”
“Make it sound vaguely dangerous to Hughie and Sam will demand to be taken along.”
With M.M. taking care of that particular problem, Butcher could focus on breaking into the C.I.A. building.
---
Kimiko was offered a shower once. Apparently, losing a nose and half your intestines made opening her cage door dangerous.
How strange.
She wasn’t particularly eager to see herself. She was grateful for the dirt and the soot covering her skin.. She needed something on it. She kept rubbing at her hand, hoping the words would somehow reappear.
They didn’t. She just rubbed a layer of skin off until it bled.
She kept staring at the TV, trying to turn it on, trying to find the will to keep moving forward.
She didn’t sleep in the bed. She curled up under the table and watched as the workers shifted around and put packages together. Some of them used to dose her with the blue mixture, but she had gotten too strong. Her captors became weak.
They watched her from one side of the cage.
She watched them from the other.
She had been on the other side of the bars once. She had seen prisoners beg and plead to be let loose, for mercy. They did not understand the risks, they thought they were somewhere where mercy played a role.
Kimiko had no such delusions.
The only mercy she wanted was to be left alone. She insured it by tearing off limbs and pulling out organs. She did it painfully and without mercy.
She had hoped the blue mixture would wear off, that her words would come back.
But they didn’t and the strength that replaced the words wasn’t the equal of a soulmate. It was just terrifying.
She stared at the blank TV. She stared at the people outside the cage.
She had painted her nails, once- but now the nail polish sat unused in the drawer by the unused bed.
She felt disgusting and dirty, but it was better than being clean. It was better than having to see blank skin where there once was words. She used to cover the words with dirt when she worked with the army. She could pretend with dirt.
She stared at the blank TV. She stared at the people outside the cage.
The people behind her talked about children and adults and talked around things Kimiko had no interest in.
Then the worst thing occurred.
They forgot she was there. Days would pass and no one would feed her (not that she could tell.) They walked by her like she was furniture.
The anger she had reached a boiling point. She was a person who used to have a soul. They had ruined her life for no reason. They had taken her bond with her brother and pulled at it, pushed at it, till it was just by sheer will she held on. They had taken her soul and dissolved in blue acid.
They forgot she was there.
She turned to the TV and turned it on. She chose her favorite music. She turned it up to an unbearable level.
And she ignored them.
---
The moment Butcher was gone, Sam started eating food like it was going out of style. She would have savored it if she could store it in her backpack, but she couldn’t really store noodles in her backpack.
“Wow, that’s impressive.” Hughie said. He had rolled over onto his back and was staring at the ceiling.
“How high are you right now?” Sam asked, vaguely curious.
“Hella.” Hughie snorted. “You’re going to have to go to the front desk.” He held out the bills to her.
“Nope, he gave that to you-”
“Only so you don’t run off into the night and disappear.”
Sam nearly choked on her noodles. “What makes you think I won’t.”
“You aren’t going to leave me here alone, high as a kite.” Hughie said with a smug self-satisfaction.
Sam envisioned doing just that.
“Plus, I’ll pay to restock your backpack with those stupid granola bars.”
“Yeah, I can just take your wallet, bozo.” Sam picked up the offending wallet, which was sitting on an old green chair with his shoes and threw it at Hughie’s head. Hughie didn’t even flinch when it hit his forehead.
Sam sighed. Her joints ached. She had an urge to turn the room upside down to see if Hughie had anymore pain meds. Her back hurt, her thighs ached from sleeping in one position for too long.
“I’ll pay for the room- and I’ll stay until you come down off that high of yours. Afterwards, I’m gone.”
Hughie blinked at her slowly. “You don’t want to help-”
“Despite all evidence to the contrary, I am not actually suicidal.” Sam lied. “I don’t like to stay in one place long, you know that.”
“Robin never told me why.” Hughie said.
“Yeah, and I won’t either. Go back to sleep, I’ll be right back.”
Sam watched as Hughie’s eyes closed. She picked up one of the key cards from the bedside table and the scattering of hundred-dollar bills from off Hughie’s bed and floor. She made sure to have a jacket on covering her soulmarks.
She was careful when making her way to the hotel front desk, aware her clothes were in poor shape and her hair in worse shape.
She was ready to be done with the whole thing.
She had enough cash to get a ticket or a really cheap smart phone. The cash was all in ones and fives, but it was better to annoy the clerks than go without.
The hotel clerk was less than impressed with her, frowning at the way her nails were cut and the amount of cash she had on hand. Sam didn’t react when she was given the price for the room, she just silently counted out Butcher’s money and internally cried.
The girl ringing up the bill was wearing two bracelets. One of them said, ‘find marriage material”, the other said “not soulmate material”.
“Will you and your family be needing anything else?” She had a row of eyebrow piercings that glimmered under the fluorescents and green eyeshadow that made her eyes seem huge. It was only because Sam was looking into her eyes that she noticed the interlaced infinity pins coming up behind her. Sam swallowed and slowly moved out of the way.
She was hoping to make a quick get-a-way, but her way was blocked by a short man in a rather snug suit on.
“Hello! I haven’t seen you here before, I’m Commander McDell.” The man was a bit broader than her, so Sam couldn’t quite move past him to get to the door out of the lobby.
“Pleasure, excuse me.” Sam tried to smile, but felt her eyes pinch as she tried to walk out.
“We don’t mean to bother you, we just don’t see many people up at this time of night.” His partner- unremarkable by all accounts, had the look of a business man, which gave Sam a bit of a headache already.
“I had a long day at work.” Sam said. “Please excuse me.”
“Oh, my friend at the front desk told me you were off work..”
Shit, fuck and damn it. I should have made Hughie go down.
“An interesting conclusion.” Sam shifted slightly. “I paid for the room, however. I’d like to go back to it.”
“Of course, of course.” The short man said. The light was highlighting the makeup he used on his scalp, probably to hide the tattoos on casual days. “And we won’t keep you, but we represent a charitable organization that would like to help you, if you ever needed it.”
“I don’t.” Sam tried to put more space between herself and the man in front of her.
“Well, maybe you know someone who does?” He held out a business card, but Sam shook her head.
“It won’t bite you!” McDell laughed. “Its just a number and an address. There are meals and get togethers on the weekdays and classes on the weekends. They can help you get your G.E.D., find you a job, find you housing.”
Yeah, and then the bidding war comes. Sam thought to herself. While the Menelaus Army was technically an atheistic organization, it wasn’t hard to trace the roots of it back to the Church of England, and in a way, to the Salvation Army- which it was put up as its rival. It was also protected under Freedom of Religion.
Soulmates were, textually, supported by biblical inspiration- with differing interpretations on the matter. Marriage was held in higher esteem, as a religious service. The problem came when, in the 1800’s, the church got involved in social issues and discovered soulmates could come from different social classes, different races, even different religions. Some of the Church used such examples to claim support for social welfare and abolition, some of the Church ignored it, and some people split off from the Church completely.
One group was the Army of Menelaus. They claimed marriage was the only way forward as a society. Soulmarks were a burden to the truly intelligent and good in society. Marriage was the best way of insuring happiness and stability. If the marriages produced happened to be racist, classist, monogamous, and exclusively heterosexual- there was no reason to accuse them of eugenics. Its just how people matched up.
The AoM was an outcast in some religious circles, worked closely with others. The Church of the Collective loved them.
AoM would clean up and educate people (of a certain type). They would be fed, educated, medical needs would be taken care of- all while being told how necessary and incomplete they were without a spouse. Then they would be shown to a group of people called sponsors, who were also looking for spouses. They would pair up the people, using desperation and cultish thinking to match what personality couldn’t. After marriage, a “parson” would ritually burn off each soulmark. Once someone went in, it was almost impossible to get them out of the organization.
Sam had family that had fallen in with AoM. Her father lost several sisters that way, and he tended to threaten members of AoM with a shotgun.
“I am not interested.” Sam said firmly. She was in a public place- and she had been kicked out hotels before- so she didn’t feel like she could be rude.
McDill laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “Listen, Lauren at the desk, she called us because she’s worried about you. She said you looked like you had gotten in over your head. The manager here- he isn’t fond of people who are down on their luck. Lauren was hoping to get you a place to stay before her manager makes her call the police.”
“I am not homeless.” Sam said. “I just got done with a reno job and haven’t had time to go home and change.”
“Sure.” McDill’s friend smiled. “Maybe we can take you home then, so there isn’t any trouble, eh?” He placed a firm hand on Sam’s upper arm.
Sam couldn’t scream. She had paid for the room, but she hadn’t remembered to get a receipt. The police wouldn’t hesitate to take her in. She had her prints in the system for the problem with the Transformer and then several other misdemeanors that occur when you are homeless and just exist.
If she got arrested, Micheal would be called. If Micheal knew where she was, other people would know-.
Sam started feeling her breath come rapidly as pressure was put on her arm. She should probably make a run for it, but then Hughie would be left alone in a hotel room they may kick him out of.
Best plan of action was to make a break for the room and try to get Hughie out as quick as possible.
Sam was preparing to stomp on the instep of McDill’s friend when she heard-
“Baby! Whatcha doing up this time of night? I thought you were going to sleep for the next week.”
M.M. seemed to come out of nowhere, hooking an arm around Sam’s waist and pulling her to his side. Sam had never been so grateful to see anyone in her life. Sam lifted her head and smiled at him.
“Just paying the bill. What are you doing here so early, anyway?” M.M. leaned down to kiss her nose.
“We will see about getting a refund then, because I just got word they finished cleaning out the apartment.”
M.M. looked up at the two men and shook his head. “Pipe exploded and they just got around to cleaning up the water damage. I told them I was going to report, so they were taking as long as they can on the damn wall. I don’t know a damn thing about mold, but I could fix that wall. Your little brother around, baby?” M.M. raised an eyebrow.
“Up in the room.”
“Lets go get him then, I tell you he is going to sleep on the floor if he ruins the new sheets. My mamma just sent them up-,
M.M. pulled Sam and pushed past McDill. He kept up a stream of chatter as they went up to the hotel room. Sam felt her breathing slow as she listened to M.M.’s heartbeat steadily beating.
---
Raynor’s husband was a cunt. Raynor knew he was a cunt; Billy knew he was a cunt. Billy had met him once before the wedding and had told Raynor he would throw the man into a woodchipper if they were ever in the same room again.
In more detailed terms.
Raynor shot him, changed the locks and ‘accidently’ left the keycard to her office in his pooling blood.
Billy knew she had a bit of a soft spot for him. He exclusively broke into the house for a year afterwards, (if he was going to fuck her, it was going to be in her own home with her husband upstairs, unaware). He only went to her office on business.
The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the security guards weren’t particularly bothered by him walking up and sitting in Raynor’s office. He took a peak into her files and noticed some lovely cold cases, one of which was particularly interesting.
It was a missing persons case from about thirty, forty some years ago. A kid who had participated in the ‘soulmate registry’ that Vought and a few other companies had tried out. He was one of the first scientifically documented cases of a soulmark disappearing.
Butcher was familiar with the case, everyone was, but he was interested in the description of the fading soulmark. He had been born with many soulmarks -with several faded- but only one of them had faded like the description in the file. The date on the disappearance was familiar somehow. He just couldn’t quite place it. He flipped through the kid’s profile. Kid was seven- close to eight. He was tall for his age, slightly overweight, but no health problems. Mum was a pediatrician, dad was a construction worker. After the kid disappeared, his dad had committed suicide and his mother had died from some sort of overdose. Both of them received-
20 million dollars. Butcher’s eyebrows went up. The money had been for putting their kid in the system, but an agent had scribbled down the money had not been paid until after the kid disappeared.
Butcher sat down and perused the file some more. Something about the whole thing was bugging him. Why in the world would Raynor have this particular file in her office. Butcher opened the drawer and started rifling through. The drawer was filled with missing persons cases and one-
Child endangerment case? Butcher opened it up and started reading. A nurse reported parents who brought in their child two days in a row. One day, covered in soulmarks- next day, all of them gone. Kid was groggy, dizzy, wasn’t reacting well to certain stimuli.
Now, why is this here? Butcher flipped further into the file to see the nurse had redacted the report. Underneath the redaction was a missing persons report for the nurse.
“Let me know if you get anything from those, the rest of us can’t figure out anything either.”
“Susan.” Butcher put the file away. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Obviously.” Raynor started pulling things out of her purse and putting them on her desk.
“What’s the connection with those?”
“We don’t have a clue.” Raynor said. “Each case has something odd that connects it to another case, but nothing else. Its like a connect the dot. Everyone my grade or higher has copies of those files. They disappear or get coffee stains or fires destroy them otherwise.”
“All missing persons?” Butcher asked.
“Most.” Raynor nodded. “How domestic bliss going for you Butcher? Should I throw a housewarming party?”
Butcher felt his eyes slide towards her. She seemed genuinely pleased to see him.
“Na,” Butcher got into Raynor’s personal space. She just leaned against the desk. “You know me- all work and no play.”
Raynor’s eyebrow went up and she gave him a half-grin. “Sure.”
“Anyway, I know how we can keep supes from getting into the military.”
---
Cherie did not like Serge’s other soulmate. She had not minded sharing him with Jay, for she bore his words as well. Serge’s other soulmate was a liar- and Cherie did not lie. He also left Serge in such a state. She had seen him take many things, but it took Butcher and his soulmate to make him let it overtake him. Cherie had plans for the day Serge was wasting on her couch, breathing deeply and trying not to vomit. She had hoped he would be well enough to at least accompany her to a drop, but non, non.
Sergie was going to be hungover on the couch.
Cherie was up to six packs a day and was one more business problem away from packing up and going somewhere else. She had heard good things about Italy.
But while M.M. was in the United States, Serge was going to stay in the United States. M.M. who did not share words with her and refused to be with Serge. Cherie resented the fact Serge had lost his wits right when she had gotten herself together.
Cherie was a networker. She was a networker of poisons (fun and fatal), of arms, of information. She had to learn after Serge stopped working robberies.
After Jay died.
Cherie had done more risky things before, but she enjoyed the freedom she gained with working by herself. She missed working with her soulmates, but she did not miss Serge’s more chivalrous nature on jobs. He was always willing to be the one who took the fall. He never complained.
Cherie did not have time to figure out if Serge was doing something because he wanted to do it, or because he was being a self-sacrificing twit. She had things to do. Pleasures to be explored. Money to be made.
She did not understand why Serge must always be doing something for them. It was not enough for them to be with them. Did Cherie love Serge? Yes. Did she feel the need to care for Serge? No. Serge could take care of himself.
Generally.
She was sitting on a nice job, however- and now that Serge is down for the count, there is no one to do it.
She had never extracted information before, but there was a first time for everything. She pushed Serge off the couch and curled up at the end, and pulled up a google page.
Its not like her name was connected to the phone.
“Uh, salut.” Frenchie groaned.
“Go make coffee. You’ve been out for a while.” Cherie didn’t look at him as he wandered off.
Then there was beeping at the door.
And someone just let themselves into her fucking space.
“Frenchie?”
Cherie was calm.
“Oui?” Frenchie looked slightly startled at the intrusion.
“Answer your damn phone, I’ve been trying to reach you for the past few hours. We need to borrow your shower and Butcher’s coming and talking to us after-”
M.M. seemed to spot Cherie at that point. The child was with him and-”
And Oh, wasn’t she pretty.
“You need more than a shower.” Cherie said, pulling herself up to her feet. “Do you need clothes as well?”
“We took care of that.” M.M. didn’t seem too happy about it, but the way he glanced at the bags in her hands meant he wasn’t going to go against it. “Also, I told her you probably have hair clippers here.”
“Oui, we do.” Frenchie came in, still looking worse for the wear. “I think we can still save your hair, if you wish.”
The woman shook her head.
“I got stuck with some AoM stooges at the hotel.” The woman seemed a bit weary.
“I would volunteer to help, but Serge has steadier hands than I do.” Cherie took her face in her hands and twisted it from side to side. “If you do not go back on the street, you will not need it for warmth.” Cherie said, looking at the woman’s backpack and shoes.
“Sam, this is Cherie.” Serge said. “Cherie, Sam. And she will not be going back on the street I am sure.”
“I took a shower before I passed out-” Sam deliberately ignored Serge, which Cherie found unwise. She may not always wish for Serge to interfere, but if she does not pay attention to his plans, she would be blindsided.
“Take another shower.” The boy said. “We’ve moved locations, no harm done. You’re good for another twenty-four hours, right?
“Hmm.” Cherie put her hands on Sam’s arms and pulled slightly. “Take a shower, then a bath. I have enough hot water for as long as you would like. Then we can take off the hair.”
Cherie watched as Frenchie raised his eyebrows, and she did not like the look in his eyes.
Cherie showed Sam to the bathroom and came back to see all three of the boys rifling through her stash.
“What are you looking for?” Cherie asked.
“Petit Hughie cracked a rib, we think.”
“I gave him some stuff,” M.M. looked a little embarrassed, but Cherie had stolen pain medicine off of him before, so it was only fair he take some of hers now.
Cherie nodded and went to find the clippers.
“Does she believe Butcher will throw her out?” Serge asked. His voice was incredulous. He was not very clever this morning.
“You’re telling me you would have gone home with Butcher, five, maybe six, days after knowing him?” M.M. asked. Cherie found this to be an excellent point.
“She is his soulmate.” Serge said, like it fixed all the problems in the world. But then again, Cherie had been homeless once- finding Serge and Jay had been life-changing.
“She doesn’t like staying in one place.” Hughie said. “I don’t know why. Also, she won’t go near Queens?”
“That is a very large area.” Cherie said. “Any particular part?”
“We, Robin and I, thought North Queens, particularly Astoria.”
“She owes someone money? She wary of the ghost of Costello?” Cherie tried to find a cigarette.
“Money, I think.” Hughie shrugged.
“She did say she went into a lot of debt.” M.M. shrugged.
“Does she have any thing else?” Cherie picked up her backpack and started rummaging around, cigarette hanging from her mouth.
“She doesn’t like-” Hughie started, but Cherie saw something interesting. They were just plain electrician’s scissors- but if you turned them sideways.
Cherie dropped the backpack. Ah.
“Mon cher?” Serge asked.
Cherie shook her head. “Why have you brought her here?” Cherie snarled at M.M..
“I can leave.” Sam appeared behind her with a towel wrapped around her body. Then she looked around Cherie’s apartment. There were guns and drugs on many surfaces and a large knife stuck into the side of one of the doors. When Sam met Cherie’s eyes again- Sam’s eyebrow rose sarcastically.
Cherie considered the matter.
“Let me think.” Cherie said. “Go take a shower, first.”
When Sam walked back into the bathroom, Cherie waited until the door closed before picking up one of the guns.
Which she pointed at M.M..
“I want her out.” Cherie snarled. “I don’t care-”
“Cherie, what is wrong?” Serge stepped in front of Cherie’s gun. Idiot.
Cherie kicked the backpack over to him.
As he rifled through the backpack, Cherie moved so her back was not towards the bathroom door.
She watched as Serge rifled through the backpack. She watched his face as he saw what she did. His face was grieved, and he looked up at her.
“Mon cher, I will make her leave, but please- will you not hear her side. The person who has been here, I do not believe she is a person who could do these things.”
“Frenchie, do you want to tell us what is going on here?” M.M. kept his eye on the gun in Cherie’s hand, but she could feel the concern. “Is there something we need to know?”
“Non.” Serge said. “Cherie, all of us have a past. Please, surely she has paid for-”
Cherie considered the supposition for a moment.
“If she were to come after me, would she live?” Cherie asked.
“I am assuming you would kill her long before she had designs on you.” Serge said dryly. “If she somehow got past your guard, she would not live to see another sunrise, but she won’t do it.”
“Wait, are we talking about Sam?” Hughie seemed surprised. “I’ve seen Sam being beat up before and she hasn’t struck back. The only time I’ve ever seen her violent a few times- and only in situations were I was in Oh-Help-Me-God-I’m-Going-to-die danger. She gave a bouncer a blowjob in order to get me out of jail, if she were dangerous she could have just-”
“She what?”
Cherie considered this information for a moment. “Was she alone when this occurred?”
“Me and Robin were in the room.” Hughie said. “She doesn’t really let Butcher touch her, but she was willing to go down on a guy-”
Cherie hummed under her breath. Some women were kinky enough to do something like that, but if Cherie had to choose….”
“She is like you?” Cherie asked, raising an eyebrow at Serge.
“Yes, she is like me.” Serge seemed to relax at Cherie’s comment, but M.M. went very tense.
It is not good for one to be so stressed.
“How, exactly, is she like you, Frenchie?”
“That is no one’s business but her own.” Cherie’s mind had turned to her work again and she was still annoyed M.M. was not giving Frenchie the benefit of the doubt. “She must stay here, though.”
It was Serge’s turn to raise an eyebrow at that. “Are you quite sure? You wished to kill my soulmate a moment ago because you did not wish her around.”
“I would like to keep my eyes on her.” Cherie took a drag of her cigarette. “There might also be a job she can help me with.”
Serge laughed.