Era

13

The laundromat before her was unassuming, with paint peeling from the brick front and the Sorry, We Are Closed sign hanging askew from behind a window spiderwebbed with thin cracks. Past the glass door were rows of rusted washing machines, all shrouded by darkness past the dim lighting of the streetlamps. It was a place one wanted to hurry past, somewhere you would never think to duck into except as a last resort. All of this by design.

Era pushed open the door, ignoring the jingle of chimes as she adjusted the medical mask obscuring the bottom half of her face. Luckily her features had always been plain so that, along with her bulky clothes, should be enough to hide her from prying eyes. The mask itself wouldn't cause any suspicion; it was common for patrons of these kinds of places to hide their identities in one way or another.

She stepped past the broken down machines with purpose but not eagerness, adjusting her pace and posture to match that of someone who was meant to be here but didn't want to make a big fuss about it. Era had thought long and hard about the kind of person she'd need to be tonight and, as usual, the trick would be a careful balance of extremes.

Someone sat behind the counter, and though they were partially obscured in the darkness Era could see the edges of their face illuminated by some game on their phone. The person looked up with a bored expression, leaning backwards in their chair.

"Didn't you read the sign? We're closed."

"Do you see a laundry bag? I don't care." Era made sure to pitch her voice a little lower than usual, and to hold herself with more confidence. She couldn't entirely erase her age but with boots, the mask, and the leather jacket she wore—in case things got ugly and someone flashed a knife—Era knew that she could pass for at least 18. There would be plenty of younger people down below, kids from off the street working under villains who'd plucked them up for some purpose or another.

"Don't know what to tell you, then. This place is for paying customers only."

Era grinned beneath the mask. This kind of double-talk, the intent hidden by layers of euphemism and false pretense, this she could handle. She'd take it over calculus any day.

"Well lucky for you, I pay very well." Slowly, so as to make her motions as obvious as possible, Era drew a wad of bills from her pocket. She saw the gatekeeper tense and reach for something beneath the counter, only to relax when Era set the money down on the table. "I don't have references, but I feel like a deposit should do?"

They eyed the money critically, picking it up to flip through the bills before setting them down again. "Money's gotten a little tighter, lately. A lot of crime in the area, you know the deal. I don't want any trouble."

Are you a cop?

"I'm not interested in trouble. Well, except maybe the good kind." Era might have flashed a wild grin if her mask wouldn't cover it. Still, her eyes glinted in the dim light from the streetlamps and she let them crinkle at the corners with what might be a smile. "But I can understand the precaution. Anything I could do to assuage your fears?"

She caught the hint of a smirk on the person's face as they leaned forward. "Well, you know what they say. Money makes the world go 'round."

Fuck. Not very subtle, was it? Era had scraped up all of her savings for this venture, and anything she gave up now would just mean a deeper hole to dig herself out of later.

"Wise words," she said, reaching out to take the cash back. "But I feel like I've heard quite a few people say it can't buy happiness, either."

The person shrugged, looking back down at their phone. "Well, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree."