Part 4
Claudia laid on her couch in the living room flipping through the channels. The news had shown video tapes from the robbery and she was shown in them. Much to her chagrin. Johnny and Patrick had been arrested and police were still on the lookout for her, complete with eye-witness descriptions of her height, weight, hair and eye color. They called her 'The Holocaust'.
They painted her up to be some sort of superhero vigilante stalking the streets for crime when nothing could be farther from the truth. She was only defending herself, she couldn't control her anger and it only fueled her powers.
She felt like a prisoner in her own tiny ramshackle apartment and refused to leave for fear of being apprehended by the police on trumped up charges or framed and imprisoned. It consumed her every thought and kept her awake into the late hours of the night until she fell unconscious from exhaustion.
Suddenly her phone rang. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she reached into her pocket for her phone.
She pressed the answer button and held the phone to her ear, "Ahoy," she said quietly.
"Hello, Miss Claudia Holocaust," Theresa said on the other line. "I was at the boardwalk today and noticed you were not performing. I was hoping that perhaps we could have lunch together but you were nowhere to be found. Have you gone into seclusion?"
"Yeah, a bit," Claudia said. "It was an accident. The one fucker slammed my head against the counter thing and it knocked me out and I woke up pissed. It's unwanted attention. I'm not some vigilante. I'm not Mr. Incomparable. They just fucked with me so I fought back, you know?"
"I know the feeling very well," Theresa said. "It is no reason to become a hermit, however."
Claudia huffed, "It's plenty of reason. Did you see the tapes?! They have me on them! They show the fire! It's fucking proof I'm a freak and I'm positive anyone who sees me will recognize me and call the cops."
Theresa chuckled, "Yes, they will call the police. The police will bring you in for questioning and then you will be given a pat on the back and released. Not only that but I am sure other parties will be quite happy with your actions as well."
"Someone is. Some . . guy," Claudia said with a shrug. "I think he's an investor at the bank or something. He called me on a pay phone right when I was walking by it, it was fucking freaky. And he called me a cab," she paused for a moment. "Thing is though, it got there too fast for him to call it after he hung up the phone so he had to call it before he called me on the phone. He said we'd keep in touch."
"Hmm, very strange. How did he sound?" Theresa asked.
"I don't know. Like some guy. His voice wasn't anything special, he didn't have an accent or anything like that. I mean, he was charming but that's all really," Claudia said, sitting up on the couch.
Theresa paused for a moment. Claudia lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.
"It was just really weird," Claudia said, smoke rolling from her lips.
"Indeed," Theresa replied.
Claudia reached into her pocket and drew out the envelope she had received from the clerk at 7-11. She lifted the flap and peered inside.
"Did he leave you anything?" Theresa asked.
Claudia paused, "Yeah . . an envelope."
"An envelope given to you by a skinny kid at 7-11?"
"Yeah, how'd you know?" Claudia asked, snuffing out her cigarette.
Theresa chuckled, "We are all creatures of habit, some more than others. Should I come visit for lunch or will I coax you out of your self-imposed exile?"
Claudia sighed heavily, "Come over. I don't want to dye my hair or wear platforms."
"Fair enough, I should be there in . . . is fifteen minutes good?" Theresa asked.
"Yeah, sure," Claudia said with a shrug.
Claudia pressed the red phone button and turned her attention back to her TV. She idly flipped through the channels for a few moments and let out a heavy sigh.
"Fucking nothing on, ever," she said to herself, thinking aloud once again. "Maybe she's right. Maybe the cops will just talk to me and I can go on with my life. Even still people will recognize me though. Stop me on the street and want me to do some fucking show for them. 'Dance for me, freak.' I'm not some monkey, damn it."
Meanwhile, Theresa lounged in the driver's seat of her black sedan. She sat sideways in her seat, her feet resting on the dashboard as she gazed at her side-view mirror. Behind her across the street was an olive green van parked outside a small grocery market. Her eyes moved to the face of her watch, then back to the van in the mirror.
Minutes passed as she sat in waiting. Finally a man exited the door of the market carrying a brown paper bag with both hands. He disappeared for a moment behind the van and reappeared at the driver's side door, unlocking the door and climbing in.
Theresa drew her feet from the dashboard and sat squarely in the driver's seat. With a quick turn of the keys and a tug on a lever near the steering wheel she started the car and shifted it into drive. Her foot gently pressed against the gas pedal and she slowly pulled out of her parking spot and took off down the street. A few moments later she heard the sound of an explosion. Her eyes looked to the rear-view mirror at the van as it burnt and the people rushing to it and encircling the remains.
Her hand slipped from the steering wheel to a small button on the rear view mirror.
"Welcome to-" A voice said from the speakers.
"Dial," she interrupted. "Eleven."
The voice replied, "Dialing."
The line range several times, the line carrying through the speakers as Theresa sped through the streets. After a few moments a man answered.
"Yes?" He answered.
"When should I stop by?" She asked.
"Hmm . . . how is tomorrow at 10:30?" The man asked.
Theresa shifted in her seat as she reached into her pocket and withdrew her cell phone. She blindly skimmed through the menus, swerving in and out of traffic. Finally she glanced down at the screen.
"10:30 is good," she answered, shoving the device into her pocket.
"Good. Have you gone to visit the prospect?"
Theresa rolled her eyes, "That would be my current destination, if you must know. I do not see why you do not simply deal with her yourself. Is there finally someone that could give his his Greatness a fright? Or is that still the mute's job?"
The man chuckled, "Oh, how I've missed your faciety, Seven. No, I'd simply like to know her before meeting her. Her temperament most especially. Saying the wrong thing and being turned into a roman candle ain't exactly a good time for me. Besides, you could use a friend. Life must be very lonely for a monster."
"How dare you mention that," she muttered under her breath.
"I do this for your benefit. Strangely enough, considering your 'history' I've developed this strange urge for you to have some resemblance of a normal life," he said. "I could deal with her myself easily, you know that. I ask you to do it because I think that it would be good for you."
Theresa's teeth clenched, "Are you playing father to me now?"
"No, I'm not," the man said. "I know the risks of that. Enjoy your visit, Seven, I hope that you have fun."
The line clicked and Theresa shuddered, both of her hands still gripped firmly to the steering wheel despite having parked in front of Claudia's apartment building. Moments passed and she sat deathly still gazing mindlessly at the speedometer. Her eyes lifted up to her white knuckles clenching the wheel and she let out a quiet sigh.
She slipped her hand to the glove compartment and popped the latch. Her fingers snatched an orange pill bottle from the assortment of papers. She quickly twisted off the white lid and reached inside with her fingertip, retrieving two pills and eagerly popping them into her mouth, swallowing them down with a loud gulp.
"Bastard," she muttered under her breath as she replaced the bottle cap and hurled it into the glove compartment.
She slammed the glove compartment door shut and shoved open the driver's side door, her typically delicate movements now more a series of angry, violent jerks.
Moments later there was a loud pounding at Claudia's apartment door. She sat up on the couch and glanced to the door.
"Who is it?!" She yelled.
"Open the fucking door!" Theresa screamed back.
Claudia climbed over the back of the couch, dragging her feet across the floor to the door and slipped the chain lock. She opened the door slightly, peeking out at Theresa who stood outside. Her hands curled up into tight fists as she stood stiffly, staring back at Claudia.
"You look pissed," Claudia murmured, opening the door.
Theresa stormed into her apartment and Claudia shut the door behind her.
"What's wrong?" Claudia asked curiously.
"Bad day," Theresa growled.
Claudia wandered into the kitchen to her refrigerator, opening the freezer and pulling a frosted bottle of vodka from inside.
"Wanna talk about it?" She asked, snatching a glass from the cupboard and setting it on the counter.
"Someone reminded me of something," Theresa answered as she removed her blazer. "Where is the fucking coat hook?!"
"There's one in the bathroom," Claudia said loudly as she filled the glass on the counter with gin.
Theresa stomped off while Claudia returned the bottle to the refrigerator and stepped out of the kitchen with the glass in her hand. She wandered into the living room, turning her eyes to the hallway as Theresa came into view once again, her dress shirt and blazer now hanging on the coat hook in Claudia's bathroom.
"Oh, my fucking shit!" Claudia said loudly, staring at Theresa.
Theresa stopped suddenly, looking down at her shoulders and arms. She bit her lip as she gazed at the numerous scars covering her arms, the largest encircling her shoulders, elbows, and wrists. Her undershirt concealed many more.
"How the fuck did you get those?!" Claudia asked nervously. "No wonder you wear coat all the time, Jesus."
Theresa sighed and sat on the couch beside Claudia.
"It is a long story," she muttered, taking the glass from Claudia's hand and taking a sip.
Claudia anxiously lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, "I'd hope so! What did you wrestle a pile of razor wire? You're not a cutter, are you?"
Theresa shook her head, "I do not know what that is so, no. I . . . have had many surgeries."
"No shit," Claudia murmured. "Why?"
Theresa took another sip from the glass of vodka and grimaced. It was rare that she drank anymore, especially anything stronger than a red wine.
"The human body is frail," she said, still looking down at her body. "Parts fail and must be replaced."
"So she says as she drinks," Claudia said with a smirk.
Theresa shrugged, finishing the glass of vodka and setting it on the coffee table. She sank into the couch and rested her right foot on the table.
Claudia stared at Theresa's foot for a moment then curiously leaned forward, tugging up the leg of her slacks to reveal another scar encircling her right ankle.
"Are you sure you weren't in some kinda horrible war?" She asked.
Theresa stretched, rolling her shoulders.
"No, I was not," she replied. "Someday I will tell you the story, but not today."
Claudia asked curiously, "Why not today? I could just pour you another glass. Get you all liquored up. Then your secrets will be mine!"
"You could, yes. Though my answers may not be intelligible and you have gained nothing. I will tell you when I feel you need to know, Claudia. That I promise you," Theresa said, sitting up on the couch. "We have other business to discuss however far more important than my past. The envelope, where is it?"
"Oh! Right!" Claudia exclaimed as she reached into her pocket.
She pulled the folded, white envelope out and dropped it unceremoniously in Theresa's lap.
"There. What's it about?" Claudia asked anxiously.
With her fingertips Theresa withdrew the contents, two playing cards. The first was the Ace of Clubs, the second, the Seven of Diamonds. Theresa scoffed.
"What?" Claudia asked.
"How much do you make in a week?" Theresa asked, looking at the backs of the cards.
"Um . . . less than two grand on a really, really good week."
Theresa shrugged, slipping the cards back into the envelope, "Not so bad then."
"What do you mean?" Claudia asked. "I don't get it. What the fuck do cards have to do with anything?"
Theresa dropped the envelope into Claudia's lap and said, "They are not merely playing cards. They are credits from my employer. Each employee or prospective employee has a specific deck. Certain cards bear certain meanings, you will discover this all in time. Hope you never get the Jack of Spades or the King of Hearts. Aces are denominations. Ace of Hearts is one hundred. Ace of Clubs is one thousand. Ace of Diamonds, one hundred thousand. Ace of Spades, one million. It becomes more specific with other cards. The Seven of Diamonds in this case represents payment. Essentially what you have in that envelope is one thousand dollars."
Claudia sighed, "But they're just fucking cards!"
"To anyone, yes," Theresa said with a nod. "Would you rather one thousand dollars in cash be in the envelope instead so that the kid at 7-11 could take it? The cards, while odd, serve the purpose in that if one does not understand them or know who to return them to, they are worthless. One loses two cards and can easily buy another deck, however if one lost the actual money that they are worth they would be quite unhappy."
"So who do I give them to?" Claudia asked. "Do I have to give them to whoever or can you do it for me?"
Theresa shook her head, "No, you must return them yourself. However, by returning them it is essentially signing the contract and you become an employee."
Claudia rolled her eyes, "What's it the fucking mob?"
Theresa paused, "In a way, yes. There are criminal activities involved though most I have personally been involved in are aimed toward greater good. Such as burning an arsonist alive in his own home, for example. I suppose 'vigilante justice' would be the term. There have, in the past, been territorial wars but that was long before I became an employee."
"Are you serious? A paid vigilante? They're already saying I'm a fucking superhero," Claudia said with chagrin.
Theresa chuckled softly.
"Hmm . . . is the pay good?" Claudia asked, peeking at the cards in the envelope.
"There are variables, but yes. Overall the pay is more than sufficient," Theresa said.
Claudia slipped the envelope into her pocket, "Variables how?"
"More difficult and dangerous jobs are more lucrative than ones that are not," Theresa explained. "Certain authorities are not happy with what my employer has us do. They want to apprehend the criminal and have their picture in the newspaper and spend money on a trial and even more on feeding and clothing them while imprisoned before ultimately either letting them go or doing precisely what we do on deserving occasions. We are something of a thorn in their side."
"Wait, so do you always kill the bad guy?" Claudia asked inquisitively.
Theresa shook her head, "No. Admittedly it is somewhat of a frequent demand of us but it is targeted only towards those who have repeatedly escaped the 'justice system' or have committed an especially ghastly crime. However in most cases that is not called for. One man, for example was beaten and transformed into a eunuch. Chemical castration has been attempted but it requires the guilty to be apprehended and forcefully injected with another dosage of the medication. The old-fashioned way seems much more effective. Albeit a bit more . . . messy."
Claudia chuckled, "That's the nicest way I've ever heard someone say 'We beat the fuck out of him and cut off his balls'."
Theresa shrugged, "If you learn to speak, why should you not learn to speak well?"