Falling

Eighteen (Squito)

It woke up with a buzzzzzz, reach'n out like invisible fingers flutter'n the sultry air.

The buzzz be insist'n that his ears pays heed to its message.

A dark hand reaches out, blind fingers dance on the floor, grab'n for the buzzzing.

I lays a grip on the buz'n an' it be nudge'n against my ear.

"Ya."

"Squito?"

"Ant no one else sleep'n here."

There's a impatient sigh on the other end.

"Boss Man has a job for ya."

"Dangerous?"

"No. He just be need'n some info."

"How much he pay'n?"

"One k."

"An' expenses?"

"Yeah."

"What info he be need'n?" Squito's narrow cot groans as he shifts his weight to a sitting position. The memory of a brownish whiff of an afternoon fish fry, feeds his growl'n stomach with some hope for a fill'n.

"He's look'n for someone...Name's Sam."

"Never heard of 'im."

"He been work'n down at Grace's Kitchen...Gots himself a special talent." Trip wasn't sure how much to let loose..But Squito be need'n some wheres to start.

"Got a picture?"

"Oh! Yeah! I'll text it to you."

Trip flashes the picture into the unseen space stretch'n between him and Squito, The one he'd taken that day when Boss Man show'd up at the Kitchen for a little visit and made Sam show his eye.

"Okay...I'll look into it." Squito checks his phone for Trip's picture.

"Alright, call as soon as ya know some-thin."

Squito pushes the little red circle on the cell phone's lit-up face. Time to be have'n a little talk with the Witch.

Them words, Public Market, crawls across the fade'n wood wall that opens underneath a gray roof like some giant's yawn-in mouth.

A soggy haze wiggles with jostling bodies weave'n through a narrow hallway.

People be argue'n...Coins clank'n, cradled in hands reach'n out to drop some treasure into a seller's invite.

I ignores the smiling pig heads hang'n from the ceil'n, eyes shut tight.

A gang of smells...sweet...sour...moldy...be a slither'n into my nose...

This is where I is usually look'n for food and jobs.

Start'n with food of course.

The trick is to snuggle up to fish monger's window, just to the left of where everybody else's is lined up, give it a tap. Sure 'nough I get my buddy's attention.

He be know-in what I wants, cuz I be his best customer. It helps to slip in an extra coin in the hand that's be return'n a tasty slab of butter-browned fish, folded into a page of a yellow'n newspaper.

Every body knows old Squito at the market. An' they knows I'm good for a little sting when the show'n of a customer 's extra coin gives sight to the fact that  some extra treasure can be picked out a unguarded pocket. We'll just say it's a little extra tax for do'n business at the Market.