Clockwork Firefly

Clockwork Firefly - Chapter Twenty-Six

  She pulled her coat on, her card punched and her check in her pocket. She walked out of the hotel and down the street, aware she was being followed.

"Just where do you think you're going?" The sneering tone oozed across her nerves.

"I'm taking the streetcar, I found a nickel in the hallway."

Hard fingers curled around her arm as he fell into step with her. "Not your nickel though, is it?" He snapped his other hand's fingers and held his palm out. When she didn't comply, his grip on her arm steadily tightened until she relented and set the five cent piece in his palm and then walked compliantly when he turned her around and guided her back to the car.

He closed the door and moved to the driver's seat. "Don't think I forgot it's Friday either. You just sign the check over and I won't have to be so damn handsy all the time. " He leered faintly over his shoulder. "Unless you're one of those gals who likes it a little rough."

"I assure you, I would rather eat a live eel backward than spend time with you by choice." She closed the pen and held out the check. "Drive."

He growled, wanting to smack the imperious look right off of her face, but she was to come to no harm, the boss said so. He hated every second of the drive to her apartment after she'd commanded it as if it were him taking the orders. One of these days... that leash that the boss had him on was either going to be dropped, or he'd break it himself. Thankfully he'd be off this detail in a couple more weeks. He'd had it with this stuck-up tomato.

He pulled up at the curb and she climbed out without a look back. She gave a nod to Mrs. Jennings behind the desk. "Any mail for me?"

"Not today."

Mary nodded and began the climb up to her room. It was good. Unlike the dozens of other letters she'd sent to the Walters since she'd left, the one with money in it they'd not sent back unopened. She knew why they were angry with her. When she'd left, she'd stolen a dress, and stockings and underthings and a hairbrush... a dozen little things that weren't hers to take even if she could not see any of them getting any use from them. She'd pay them back and maybe they'd forgive her. Unlike every time before, she had sent the cash with no return address, and posted it with the mail at work instead of sending it from here. They wouldn't have known it was her until they opened it, and by then, they'd know she was trying to make amends.

The third floor reached, she turned toward her room and saw a wide-shouldered man blocking the hall. She did not need to wonder who it was. "Go home, Mr. Becile. I have already given my check to your lap dog. There is nothing for you here."

He looked wounded and tsk-tsked at her gently. "Now is that any way to talk to someone who just wants the best for you, Mary? I don't know why you insist on making me a villain. "

She shoved the key into the lock and turned it. "Because you're a murdering, lying, thieving bastard and you want to hurt the people I care about?" She frowned at him and stepped into her apartment, shutting the door on him, but he blocked it with his foot and pushed his way inside anyway. She left it wide open and, gritting her teeth, moved to hang up her coat.

"Such a vicious tongue, after all I've done for you. I ensured you got a good job, a nice safe place to live..." he gestured around the small room. "Why don't you try being a bit more hospitable." He sat down at her small table. "Why don't you make me a cup of tea, Mary."

His eyes followed her as she did it. He could see the tension in her back and jaw, the hardness in her eyes. He had eyes on the Walter Manor since the day he'd come back from Mexico. All his men dead, a botched kidnapping plot the police had said, but he knew better. He knew who had done it. He'd returned to San Diego, intent to discover some way to get his hands on those machines. Imagine his surprise to see Mary sneaking out at four in the morning. He thought about just snatching her right then, but instead followed her cab all the way to the Hotel del Coronado.

He made it a point to secure a meeting with the man in charge of hiring after she arrived for her appointment. Paid him well to ensure that she would be hired, and that the manager made certain she received the business card for this place. She'd been quite terrified when he appeared at her door and even more so when he explained that it was his benevolence that kept her from the streets. He could not trust her to not throw a wrench into his plans. Not yet. He knew that to truly have her in the palm of his hand, he needed to sever the ties of affection she held for the Walters. He'd had Mrs. Jennings collect every piece of mail she sent, as well as put the postman for the Walter's neighborhood into his pocket. No letter she wrote ever got through, they all came back 'return to sender' and eventually, she stopped writing altogether.

The cup set down before him, she glowered and stood with the table between them as though she feared he'd pounce on her. He sipped the tea, which was as good a cup as one could hope with a hot plate and a saucepan instead of a good flame and a kettle. "Very nice." He smiled as if they were merely friends having a nice evening. "Do you intend to just stand over there staring daggers at me all night?"

"No. Only as long as it takes you to finish your tea and leave. Come to think of it, you don't even have to finish the tea." She did not raise her voice, her tone calm and even, despite her fuming.

"You aren't feeling even a little bit grateful?" He asked, peering at her over the edge of his cup. "Not in the mood to eat this week?" He set down his cup and patted his knee with a sigh. "Come sit and be nice, Mary." When she merely lifted her chin and stayed where she was, he glanced toward the window. "There's a lot of men on the street who'd be thrilled to see you thrown out in the middle of the night all alone." He patted his knee again. "You can't prefer that to just sitting here."

She was afraid to push him too far. She knew that she had nowhere else to go. No family, no friends. Swallowing the rising bile, she moved around the table and stood in front of him. She sat down, her back ramrod straight, her hands pressed to the tops of her thighs, her eyes facing forward. The only betrayal of her disgust was the faintest of flinches when his hand laid against the small of her back.

"Now was that so hard?" He smiled up at her. "Who bought you this dress, Mary?" his fingers brushing across the fabric between her shoulders.

"You know that you did." She swallowed and blinked slowly.

"I do have excellent taste, don't you agree?" He trailed a fingertip down her spine. "Do you like this dress I bought for you, Mary?" He asked quietly.

She knew there was no answer that would not bring her misery of one sort or another. Say yes and she was forced to thank him for it. Say no, and he'd tell her to take it off and put on one she liked better and the question would be asked anew. "It fits well and I do not mind the color." She said quietly simmering. "Thank you, Mr. Becile, for your generosity."

He smiled, satisfied it seemed. "I like buying you pretty things, Mary. I'll buy you another if you ask. A truly nice one. Something pretty I can take you out dancing in. All you have to do is ask nicely and I'll give you anything you want."

"Truly?" She inquired with a raise of her brows. "So..." She turned and looked down at him from her perch on his knee. "Pretty please... may I have your head on a platter?" She didn't care if he threw her out. Didn't care if he cost her her job or even her life. She was sick of playing this game with him. Her palms pressed to his chest and she pushed herself away as she sought to stand, but he grabbed her around the waist and followed her up.

His furious look slid to a sharkish smile. "Oh, so bloodthirsty tonight. If you want a head, I'm sure I can find you one somewhere that will do far more good for you than mine would." He chucked under her chin with the side of his curved index finger. "You think that you are the only one I can touch? What about those pretty young girls who you work with? Who are always inviting you to come dancing and to attend parties with them. Such bad influences, it's a wonder nothing bad's happened to them already. "

"Leave them alone, Mr. Becile." She knew he was quite serious.

He stepped back and walked toward the door, closing it softly. His unhurried stride carried him back to the chair. He could feel her tension, her awareness she'd pushed him too far tonight, and that it was going to cost her. With a soft sigh, he sat down once more, leaning back a bit in the chair and looking up at her. "Persuade me to change my mind."

"Mr. Becile, I am not going to beg. If you hurt anyone it's you who did it, not me." She folded her hands in front of her waist. "That said, if you have a reasonable request, I will not argue with you over it."

The smile, again wholly reminiscent of circling predators, spread slowly. "Is that your way of saying you'll do whatever I ask?" He lifted a finger to stop her from interrupting. "So long as it is a reasonable request. Who decides what constitutes reasonable?"

"I won't hurt anyone, and I won't break any laws." She considered what she would consider unreasonable, knowing that if she pushed too hard on the defining lines, it would be refused and she'd risk more lives than her own. "Or help anyone else to do harm or break a law. I will not prostitute myself to you, or to any other. "
"Is that it?"

"Yes." She braced herself for what he might now ask. Doing her level best to show nothing of the panic she was feeling inside.

"Then I know what I will ask. You will grace my arm when I attend the All-Hallows Ball next Saturday. I will have you fitted for a costume that I promise, will not break any laws..." He rose as he spoke, his fingers lifting to turn at the curl just beneath her earlobe. "Although it's possible you might kill someone if they have a particularly weak heart. I cannot be held responsible for that. You will remain by my side all evening, accept what I offer as far as food and drink are concerned without throwing anything, dance when bidden, and only with me. Is that too strenuous a sacrifice for your friends?"

"I do not know that I won't have to work. Busy night after all." She dampened her suddenly dry lips. "But if I don't, I agree to go, yes."

"I can talk to your boss. Ensure you have that day off. All of them though, would be better. You don't need to work as I already provide everything you need." His fingers took her chin and lifted it to look into her eyes. "And I can give you so much more. But you bite the hand that feeds you, Mary and then I have no choice but to react poorly."
"I like my job and I enjoy keeping busy." She crossed her arms over her chest, a visual and physical barrier erected between them.

"And I can't be with you all day and attend to my own business ventures. So, it's agreed. I will allow you to keep your job for now, and you will be my bit of arm candy for the party. " There was always a deviousness in his look, as if he woke from his bed plotting, but at the moment it was vibrant in his demeanor that she had agreed to something he had not expected to get, and he was pleased with himself. "Walk me to the door, Mary." He waited for her to step around him, then moved in her wake, appreciative of her backside as she crossed the room. She opened the door wide and gestured him out. Already getting so rude.

"Ah ah... don't let your pride ruin what has been, on most accounts, a good evening."

She grit her teeth and nodded, folding her hands in front of her waist. "Good evening, Mr. Becile."

"Good evening, Mary. " He leaned down and kissed the cheek she offered to him, heedless of the grimace. She'd tipped her head without his having to tell her to. It was a small step, but one in the correct direction. Slowly but surely, he'd have her trained. He stepped out and set his hat upon his head, whistling a jaunty tune as he walked out. This was less to do with a cheery mood and more a way to remind her, and those who were there, that she'd had a man in her room, alone. She must have the worst sort of reputation by now.

The hard shut of the door, the sound of the lock engaging, as if he didn't have his own key, it amused him. He had thought only to force her to go back to the Walters and leave a door unlocked for him, but she was too stubborn. She would not break. They were her friends, she cared for them. Well, he assured she believed they didn't care for her. That she was forgotten and alone. It had been enjoyable thus far, and he looked forward to the moment she caved. Of course, he'd have no use for her after that. What was the fun in riding a broken horse?

Inside her room, she listened to the whistling fade away. Her hand dropped to her breast, the swift heartbeat under her fingers as they moved along the edge of her brassiere, a small poke of pain and she patted the spot. It was still there and safe, the ten dollar bill folded and hidden from them. They didn't know about Mrs. O'Halloran. A rich widow in her mid seventies, she had stepped on her train on her way down to dinner one evening, and Mary had quickly whipped out her sewing kit and fixed the tear. The woman had taken a bit of a shine, and whenever she had a task too big for herself and too demanding of a lady's touch to ring for a bell boy, she paid Mary to do it. Attend her hair, help her dress, simply being present and paying her heed. For this, she'd given Mary ten dollars last week, and now, another. She would mail it tomorrow, enclosed inside one of Mrs. O'Halloran's note cards from her room. Mixed in with the other mail from the hotel patrons, no return address or hint of where it had come from. She did not know what she'd write inside, but since they seemed willing to accept her letters when there was money inside of them, she could at least be satisfied her debt was being paid off.

She thought often of that day in the park with Peter, walking beside him and how it felt warm and contented. She could have done that every day for the remainder of her life and not found herself disappointed when her allotted years had passed. As she sat in the dark, she wrapped her arms around herself and curled up in the center of her bed, her hand sneaking under the pillow to assure her knife was there still before she closed her eyes and let herself sink into a world where she could tell him all she felt inside and he would say he felt the same.