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The Sisters part 3, making friends in Miami
At first I didn’t like Miami. I wasn’t too keen on the plastic fantastic superficiality and the rich get richer mentality. However, then came the famous vice, and we settled in real good. Also, Britney is a good name to have in this town.
We got to town without any more encounters, but Michelle’s getting worse. Erm… again. Long story. Anyway, we went to the Douglas Gardens hospital and sure enough, they were recruiting nurses and our names were on the list. We only had half of the qualifications needed but the guy in charge was our old pal Evan’s contact. Wisely, Evan had told them that we were trainee nurses who had been suffering under a sexist boss who made life hell for us (which was partly true, but the important factor is that he didn’t tell the guy about our stint in the loony bin) and this guy took pity and put us on a trainee nursing program usually reserved for students who want to start on the job ladder but can’t do full time.
So yeah, Britney and Michelle Moore, pseudo nurses. Kinda funny considering that we have more command of the human body than the high paid surgeons and doctors. Another bonus; around here, just being a nurse seems to get male attention. They all like nurses, and they buy us drinks and open doors. So long as nobody tries to get too friendly then it’s fun.
Got to say though, it’s been a long time since I had a man. It’s difficult with Michelle- once upon a time we could sleep with men and know that it didn’t affect our sacred relationship, but she’s become really dependant on me. Truth is, if I ever did hook up with a guy, I’d be worried about what she would do to him.
The meds that she took to keep her lucid, well, they just disappeared, and we didn’t care ‘cause she didn’t need them. I know there were in the first aid box in the car, but somewhere along the line we lost them. Thing is, it’s been about a month since we ran away now, and she’s regressing, becoming more agitated and dreamy. Might have to snoop around the hospital for something to calm her down.
I zipped my thigh boots up tight and checked my stockings, adjusted my short skirt. Tonight we go to the M1 bar and find Evan’s old pal Twist. I looked in the mirror and saw Michelle staring back at me. I fixed my hair and checked that no obvious scars were showing. My eyes look sunken and my skin’s not too good, in fact I look like a insomniac with blood loss, and my sister looks worse. Neither of us are anywhere near our recommended weight. It’s okay though, we aren’t here to win Miss America. Michelle was on the other side of our leaky apartment’s bedroom, stripping the bloody bed sheets and putting out our candles. These last few nights have been wild; it’s the first time we’ve had a place to ourselves in years. I thought I had forgotten how to do the magick in the mental institute, but Michelle reminded me and I guess it’s like riding a bike. They did say that cutting was compulsive after all. We are saving up for one of those Chinese nail beds.
We left the house hand in hand, Michelle taking up the passenger seat in the Mazda and me taking the driver’s, always the way we did it. She sat there, occasionally shaking or giggling. Right up until we got to this town she had been lucid, but now I’m so scared that she will revert to before or maybe even get worse. Goddess willing, she’ll settle down after a few months here. She looked into my eyes and knew I was thinking about her, making us both smile. We are beyond words, our very souls are entwined. Soppy, huh? I turned the key and the car came to life.
Oh hell yes. That vibration, the roar, the power in this vehicle. I love cars, and so did the guy we stole this baby from. Stupid fucker tried to rape Michelle, thinking that a girl who doesn’t talk won’t tell anybody. Can you say ‘genital tissue trauma?’
We cruised down to the beachfront, avoiding cop patrols, all the time trying to memorise Miami. I put Kidneythieves on the cd player and let it fill the car with noise. I admit it, I’m nervous. If we want to take part in the racing scene, we need to make an impression.
…peeling, layers / stripping my skin, over again / shivering pale, under my nails…
So after a while, here I am at the M1 bar. There are about four cars lined up on the beach and the roadside, each one a big bad racer, with decals and neon lights. People are milling around outside and the bar itself is stood a little higher than the street, stretching out over the beach, held aloft on those wooden stilt things. It’s mostly made of windows and the main doors are open, spilling customers onto the street. Looks like a real university hang out, with representatives of all nationalities, social groups and creeds. Wonder if there are any mages here? The man who introduced me and Michelle to the existence of a wider occult underground had told us to look for people with that knowing look.
“Ready baby?” I asked Michelle. She nodded and together we opened the doors and stretched our legs. People took notice; some looked disdainful, some looked jealous.
We walked hand in hand into the bar and tried to take in all the various groups scattered around the sofas and pool tables. Jocks, Goths… hmm. One guy stood out like a sore thumb. Sycophants orbited him satellites and on the glass table in front of him was a line of cocaine, just there on display like the law meant nothing to him. He wore a white string vest and urban camo trousers, and his hair was in long scratty dreads. What made him eye catching was a hump on his back, not massive like the hunchback of notre dame, just a birth defect, and also heavy scarring over one eye. He favoured one arm which also looked a little disfigured, and spoke loudly and coarsely in a Jamaican style voice, despite being white.
I heard the name ‘Skarpion’ and did a double-take. Surely not the hip hop artist Skarpion? He was one of those underground hip hop rappers, even had his own pirate station. He would be worth befriending later. Michelle tugged on my arm and indicated two guys, one black and one white. The black guy had a shaven head and was heavily built, and the white guy wore a blue t-shirt and had spiky blonde hair. Michelle looked at me insistently, must have heard the name Twist. I went over.
“Hey boys, either of you racers?” I asked in my best girly sex kitten voice. The black guy instantly went defensive, while the white one smiled like a dork, his eyes kinda wired.
“Yeah, I race,” said the black man. “I’m Kane, this screw up is Twist. What’s your gimmick?” Not the type to be won over by pretty girls, then. Either gay, or dependable, either way a potential friend. Plus, here was Twist! That was easy.
“No gimmick, Mr. Kane, just two racers looking for fun,” I replied. I ran my hand down Michelle’s arm to re-assure her. She just watched the men like a hawk.
“Hey, I’m Twist,” said whitey. He thrust out a hand to shake. Much more friendly than most street racers! Usually there was more attitude and posturing, but this guy just blundered out a friendly hello. I wondered why he hadn’t been eaten alive yet. “Welcome to the neighbourhood,” he continued. I chose not to shake the hand in case it was some kind of test. No harm in being aloof- it was easier to be a bitch and then open up to people later, than to be seen as a push over and then try to get the respect back.
“I’m Britney, this is my sister Michelle.” This guy nodded enthusiastically and asked his friend to go and get us drinks. This Kane guy just sighed and went to the bar, doing as he was told, looking like he was used to his friend’s hyperactive joviality.
“I race in the big black and yellow one outside. Is yours the pink one with the scissors on?” I nodded, wondering if this guy was playing dumb or just was.
“Yeah, the Mazda. Listen honey, do you know a guy called Evan living in Lecompte, Louisiana?” Michelle leaned forward, and Twist looked really nervous of her.
“Ah yeh, right, he said something about some women he was sending my way. I suppose I should show you guys around Miami. Oh, and don’t mind Kane. Everyone in the street racing scene has the whole tough attitude thing and nobody makes friends easily.” Kane brought fresh drinks. Twist was drinking coca cola and as if it wasn’t enough buzz, he was pouring in a couple of sachets of sugar into each one. Kane had graced us with martinis.
“Gonna have to race if you want to prove yourselves around here,” challenged Kane. I felt my guts rising instinctively, the need to prove myself. Childish I guess, but there you go. Michelle was on the edge of her seat, and I unconsciously toyed with a necklace I had been given by Michelle when we were little girls. It’s a simple silver chain with a small white diamond set into a silver sphere.
They introduced us to two guys, sat near Skarpion. One was big and both looked and dressed like Hartigan from Sin City, chiselled, short blonde hair. His piercing eyes watched us closely as we dealt with his small, young friend. The big guy was introduced to us as Stammer and the other guy, who looked about 19, was called Casper. He appeared to be the accountant of the set, personally trusted to do all the paperwork and cash handling, and Stammer was his bodyguard.
“St-stay right th-there, ladies,” mumbled Stammer. He very closely watched us hand over what we agreed with Kane- $1000 from us, $1000 from him, a ‘friendly’ race. Casper did the sorting, smiling and not even once checking out our bodies. I’ve never met someone exude such innocence except Twist. Maybe that’s why Stammer has a bulge under his jacket that looks a whole lot like a big gun.
Money swapped hands and before I knew it, me and Michelle were sitting in our car, Kane’s car beside us, with the streetlights stretching out into the distance. Michelle was checking out our Miami street map, helping me sort out the route, adrenaline starting to flow through me. I put Jack off Jill on the CD Player and turned it up until it blocked out unnecessary thoughts. Some black woman with a huge afro stood in the middle of the road with a napkin for a flag, and while the kids outside the M1 bar cheered, she waved the white cloth.
Boom! I pumped gas and felt our tires grip the road like a Chinese burn. I glanced over and Kane was ahead, a really good shifter. I was slow to change from second to third and had to watch his car pull ahead, hitting the first corner ahead of us. The flashing street lights and road signs are a pain at this speed but hitting the corner, I was back on game, pulling up behind Kane, who had slowed to avoid hitting the curb.
Michelle points at the map and I glance across- she’s found a short cut! I could kiss her. I make a snap judgement and as Kane pulls out onto the freeway, I cut right, into a park. Trees and benches fly at me, and I pull the car left and right, expecting to be crushed at any moment. With a prayer to the Goddess and some luck we rushed out of the other side, avoiding any people or lampposts. Yes! There’s the freeway exit, and I can see Kane’s dark blue car in the rear view.
“Woop! Here we go, ‘Shell, $1000 coming our way!” I was laughing with joy until suddenly his car came alongside ours, pushed forwards by nitrous. I flicked our switch to keep up with him, and Michelle grabbed my arm, pointing ahead with panic on her gorgeous face. Shit! Shoulda looked before I leapt- a truck is pulling out ahead of us. Ram Kane to get past, killing him but saving us, or slow down, saving us but destroying our chances? Decisions and maths ran through my head, but Michelle was the one to act- she quickly leant over my and sunk her teeth into my stomach. FUCK! I screamed with pain as she bit.hard.into.m.y.fl.e.s.h,.a..n...d….
A room. . . . . .. . . . . .. . . …
Cold floor…… .. . . . . . . . . .
Blood… so..much…. … .. ..
Angry faces.. ..angry spaces...
Broken toys for broken boys … .
Shit and slice and al.l.th.i.n.gs..v.i.c..e….
…I know your secret / it’s way too way down / everything was clean / now everything’s brown…
…Sorry, I think I blacked out for a second, but then the charge Michelle gave me kicked in. I used it immediately, felt the magick reroute synapses, run down my nerves, fire my thoughts. My hands moved like lightening, adrenaline mixed with magick turning a split second impossible calculation into dexterity for dummies. We weaved between Kane’s car and the truck, barely touching either, spinning out of control and then pulling back into check at the precise moment. A glance in the rear view mirror showed Kane screeching to a halt, his face gaping at my control over the car, allowing us to pull away and have the race in the bag. The boosted dexterity will last a few more moments, then I’ll probably collapse from all the adren…
ervae | profile | Jul 26, 06 | 10:26 am