Cartio D'or

Nylon

It's maybe a minute or two past midnight; the hands on my watch blur in the closeted shallow of the alley. Black-brick walls stained with the occasional poster loom in all directions, but it's safe here. I pace, boots clinking against the wine-dappled stone, and begin to sing.

"Oh, what a beautiful morning."

A street cat pricks its ears up, scampers away as I turn past the trash cans it calls home.

"Oh, what a beautiful day."

I'm casting shadows in the pool of street lights, adding my own silhouette to the dark as my jacket glitters in the night.

"I've got a wonderful feel-ing."

The high note soars, flutters up to rest on the handrail of the stairs, where I see it rustle the snow-white hair of the person I'm here for.

"Everythings going my way."
I finish quietly, the smile overtaking my face as she steps out, returning a bashful smirk.
She looks the same as always; she's a staple now, a staple in my head. Her bleached-white hair waves tightly down her shoulders, fawning over her fake leather jacket, which is draped over a tight low-cut blouse. It's a leather skirt and fishnet stockings this time - she would usually come to see me in black jeans, but she came straight from work, this time.

"Bonjour, mon coeur." She whispers it into the dark, a cat toying with the attention of the human beneath.

Her roots are showing - that's different. Not new - from time to time she'd slip like that, as the pressures of the day got too much. But still - different.
"C'est vraiment trop longtemps, maintenant." She scolds, descending the stairs like an unhailed princess, short heels clicking on the metal steps.
"Je sais, je sais." I chuckle, walking to meet her at the bottom. I take her hand, kissing it with my classic comical smirk, our routine well-rehearsed and flawless by now.

My accent still makes her beam with maternal fondness, and as I walk her back to the wall I start to shake, because she's right, it's been too long, and her roots are showing and she's thinner and it's cold and I didn't bring my jacket. I always bring my jacket for her.

But like a butterfly of the ether, trivialties are nothing to her. In seconds the pace of the night shifts - the alley is suddenly the size of a cupboard as the space between us is cast aside.
I'm pinned against the wall; I hear her breathing, quit relief, as my arms curl around her waist. My fingers pluck gently at the fishnet encasing the back of her thigh.
"Nylon?" I chuckle. Then, sternly:
"Cartio hasn't been paying you too well, I see."
I see her flush a little, duck her head, shy away. A simple truth had slashed the mask of a strong assassin.
"It's all part of the charm" she mumbles, regaining confidence. "I can't walk the alleyways of Paris in silk, now can I?"
"He does." I say. She's still shifting uncomfortably. I change the subject.
"I have some, with me. Do you want it now?"
Her eyes widen slightly - I can see the faint hint of desperation on her face.
"But-"
"Shhh. Look, I have connections. It's a pretty much unlimited supply. I can't sell all of it, not on a large scale at least, or we all know what the police would do. I might as well put it to good use...I can see you're suffering."
I say the last part quietly, subtly. This is the only time when I have power over Steph. Half the time it's her saving me from Cartio, her risking her neck, her keeping me sane. But under her fierce exterior is the true shaking terror of an addict.
I steady myself, her torso safe in my left grasp now, my right digging into my pocket. Mother would call me a thief of the day sometimes, the way I was so obvious with what I was hiding. I still managed to be the best liar, even when I cried about it afterwards.
A clink; five little vials of blue glitter crowd my palm, the streetlights burning them gold in the dark. I didn't keep them in craft bottles for fun - well, yes, I did. But it was mostly for her benefit. In the early days I'd slip each one round her neck and whisper, "A siren's kiss to taste the bliss." into her ear. And she'd laugh. And I'd kiss her. And Cartio didn't even know.

"Ju, are you sure? This is...too much. If anyone saw you with this..." She tails off as I shake my head, trying to reassure her, shifting oddly in this archetype of myself.
"I'm sure. Now, go. I know you're tired. It's best now if you get some rest." I try not to look at her disconcerted expression as her pale fingers close around the sinoriam, shaking a little with the sudden chill of the night.
It's always like a dream with her - it's like I blink and she's standing there, again and she's kissing me, one last time and she's at the top of the stairs again, whispering her good wishes into the darkness.

I check my watch.
Ten minutes past midnight.
I walk out of the alley, turning left.