The City Under the Skin

8. BACKLESS

A long basement room, not quite a cell or dungeon, but small and dark, with one narrow, high, barred window, a row of a dozen or so single beds, a TV playing in the far corner, and on the wall a framed cartoon map of Manhattan, faux 3-D, with a goofy King Kong hanging off the Empire State Building. It was morning and Genevieve had slept well enough once Akim had finished taking care of her.

She woke now because there was somebody standing in the room, the woman she’d seen briefly last night in the conservatory, Laurel, and she was carrying a tray, delivering breakfast, part maid, part jailor, part would-be friend. Laurel’s morning attire wasn’t so very different from her evening wear, heels, a backless sheath dress. She put the tray down and turned to make sure that Genevieve got a good look at her tattooed back. Genevieve scrutinized the tray and Laurel with equal suspicion.

“What’s this about?” she said.

“It’s just breakfast,” said Laurel. “It’s bacon and eggs. Want me to be your food taster?”

Genevieve shook her head and began to eat, slowly, methodically.

“I meant, what’s this whole thing about? Who is he? What is he? What is this place? Why did he have me brought here?”

“He’s Wrobleski. He’s a crook. This is his place. He had you brought here because of the tattoos.”

That answered all Genevieve’s questions, and it answered nothing.

“What? He really likes tattoos?”

“No, he really likes maps. But tattooed maps: those he doesn’t seem to like so much. They worry him. I don’t know why, but they do.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all got our worries,” said Genevieve.

“Wrobleski doesn’t like being worried.”

Genevieve chewed sluggishly.

“Is that meant to sound scary?” she asked.

“Mr. Wrobleski can be very scary indeed.”

“What happened to you?” Genevieve asked, although she thought she already knew.

“I’m a call girl, okay?” said Laurel. “High class, whatever that means. I’m expensive. I’m tough. I got called to an address. I drove myself there, went alone. It wasn’t a bad part of town, but the address didn’t exist; the street did, but not the number. While I was wondering if it was my mistake, I got dragged out of the car, blindfolded, tied up, taken to a basement. And then this happened.”

“Sounds familiar,” said Genevieve. “You never saw his face, right?”

“Right. But I survived, and I had money, and I thought about getting the tattoos removed or maybe getting new tattoos done to cover up the old ones, but the weird thing was, while I was thinking about it, I found I could make more money with these crappy tattoos on me than I ever made without them.”

“Yeah? What’s that about?” asked Genevieve.

“I think it’s because most men are totally fucked up, and they like women who are totally fucked up too.” Laurel shivered just a little.

“So you kept the tattoos to make money?”

“And because the men are right. I am totally fucked up. Maybe the tattoos stop me forgetting what I am.”

“Who needs reminding?” said Genevieve.

“And then,” Laurel continued, “I got another call, to come here and service Mr. Wrobleski. His guy Akim made the arrangements, brought me here. And at the time obviously Wrobleski didn’t know about the tattoos, had no idea. But we started, and we did this and that, and eventually I got completely naked and he turned me over and started fucking me from behind. He must have seen the tattoos then, of course, must have seen them straightaway, but I guess he was distracted at first, didn’t take a really good look at them, or maybe it took a while for him to realize what he was looking at, but then suddenly he saw something there, something in the tattoos, and I didn’t know what, and I still don’t, but it made him go crazy. Totally fucking crazy. I thought maybe he was going to kill me then and there. But he didn’t, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“How long?”

“A couple months maybe. It’s hard to keep track of the time, you know. I’m like a trusty around here. It’s good to have some company.”

“Is he planning to kill me?” Genevieve asked.

“I don’t know about that. I honestly don’t. But at least he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.”

“You think he really wants us dead?”

“I think it’s one of his options. But we could give him other options.”