Which, in Fanhattan, was apparently a real possibility.
“Watch your step,” Sal warned as we reached a steep staircase. “Building code violations are the least of my concerns these days.”
The stairs creaked under our weight with the kind of sound that suggested the whole structure was actively debating whether to continue existing. I noticed Shep holding his breath with each step, his enormous frame making the wood groan like a ship in a storm.
We emerged into a hallway that smelled like radiator dust and microwaved sadness. Dingy floral-print carpet. Four doors facing each other, each one leading to what couldn’t have been more than 200 square feet on the other side. The walls were so thin you could probably hear your neighbor’s thoughts, let alone their conversations.
╔══════════════════════════════════════╗
║ LOCATION: Sal's Upper Level ║
║ Residential Quarters ║
║ ║
║ Structural Integrity: Questionable ║
║ Occupants: 3 (minimum) ║
║ Fire Exits: 0 ║
║ ║
║ This building would not pass ║
║ inspection. Nobody is going to ║
║ inspect it. ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════╝
As we reached the landing, a door burst open and a lanky guy with dark skin and a flat-top charged out like the building was on fire. He couldn’t have been much older than me, but he had bright, intelligent eyes that made him look wise beyond his years.
Right up until the part where the old woman chased him out.
She wore a headscarf and was screaming what sounded like obscenities in some Eastern European language. I half-expected her to be swinging her handbag at the man’s head, but she wasn’t. Yet. From her expression, that upgrade was absolutely on the table.
“I know, I know, Mrs. Trcka, I’m sorry! For the thousandth time, how could the Falcons come back from that one?” The young man pleaded, backing away from the furious woman like she was a bear and he was a poorly secured trash can.
More Eastern European obscenities. The volume went up. So did the pitch.
Shep and I looked at each other. Through the bag, through the eye holes, despite the fact that he couldn’t actually see my face, we shared a grin.
Sal turned on his thousand-watt smile. “Mrs. Trcka! Sorry about that bet. You know, Fade God here? Maybe you should stop listening to him for a little while?”
The dark-skinned man frowned.
“But I use all of the advanced analytics! I account for every… single… variable in the games…”
╔══════════════════════════════════════╗
║ NEW CONTACT: "Fade God" ║
║ Real Name: Marcus Webb ║
║ Class: Analyst (Level 3) ║
║ ║
║ SPECIAL ABILITY: Reverse Oracle ║
║ His predictions are wrong 82% ║
║ of the time. ║
║ ║
║ NOTE: This is statistically ║
║ impressive. Being wrong 82% of ║
║ the time is actually harder than ║
║ being right 82% of the time. ║
║ He does not appreciate this ║
║ observation. ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════╝
Sal nodded. “Yeah, and you hit at what? Eighteen percent? I mean, I like that you’re good for business and all, but not that good for business, ya know?” He turned to Mrs. Trcka. “You know, Mrs. Trcka, maybe start fading this guy’s picks like everyone else?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
She looked at Sal. Looked at Fade God. Looked back at Sal.
Then she slapped each of them in the face.
Just… open-palmed. One after the other. Whap. Whap. Like she was taking attendance and attendance was painful.
“Chislers!” she screamed in broken English, trailing $20 bills behind her like a furious paper trail. “Tricksters and chislers! The lotta ya!”
EVENT: Mrs. Trcka's Wrath
Damage taken: 0 (you were not targeted)
Comedy value: Extremely high
Trust with Fade God: +1 (shared suffering bond)
I chuckled. Couldn’t help it.
“Well, that’ll wake ya up,” Shep said, rubbing his cheek in solidarity even though he hadn’t been hit.
“Eh, nice lady,” Sal rubbed his reddening cheek. “Billy Brownbag, meet the Fade God. Fade God, this is Billy.”
Fade God sized me up. It took approximately one-point-five seconds.
“What’s with the bag, man?”
“Every damn person with the bag questions…”
“I’m just saying it’s kind of odd is all!”
I huffed under the brown paper. “I made a promise that I wouldn’t remove this bag until I found my Dad and restored our family’s good name.”
Shep, Sal, and Fade God looked at me like I’d just told them I was addicted to licking toads.
“Right…” Fade God said slowly. Then he turned to Sal with the air of a man pivoting to business. “Sal, man, I dig the hustle we got going here…”
“What hustle? You’re just really crappy at making picks.”
“Be that as it may.” There it was. The switch. Sometimes Fade God adopted an academic, almost British accent. Like a younger Frasier Crane who’d grown up in a totally different neighborhood. “I thought we might talk about, you know, a raise here at some point? I can only live in these sorts of…” He surveyed the hallway with its peeling wallpaper and suspicious carpet stains. “Sorely in need of gentrification conditions for so long?”
Sal’s eyes narrowed. “You wanna nicer place? Go work at a freakin’ bank!”
“I used to.” Fade God’s eyes narrowed right back. “But one day I left the vault open and someone made off with twenty grand!”
I blinked. “Wait, is that true?”
“It’s a very complicated story,” Fade God said.
“It’s really not,” Sal said.
A shrill whistle pierced the argument. All four of us looked at each other. I guess they thought it was me, since they couldn’t see my mouth.
But the whistle came from another doorway. In it stood a long, leggy redhead dressed in a brown duster with striped brown pants and a decorative brown corset. A brown cowboy hat was perched at an angle over piercing green eyes.
She looked like she’d walked out of a poker game in 1880 and decided the future was underdressed.
╔══════════════════════════════════════╗
║ NEW CONTACT: "Lady Luck" ║
║ Real Name: Zsa Zsa [REDACTED] ║
║ Class: Professional Gambler (Lv 6) ║
║ ║
║ SPECIAL ABILITY: Fortune's Favor ║
║ Can manipulate probability once ║
║ per day. Costs vitality. ║
║ ║
║ DISPOSITION: Intrigued ║
║ ║
║ NOTE: She knew your father. ║
║ She speaks of him in present tense ║
║ sometimes. Draw your own ║
║ conclusions. ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════╝
“Easy, fellas,” she said. “It’s not so bad here.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor. She was gorgeous. Maybe five years older than me, but radiant, confident, carrying herself with the kind of natural ease that came from knowing exactly how good she was at what she did.
I was smitten the moment I set eyes on her.
“Who’s the weirdo with the bag on his head?” she asked, nodding at me.
“I… uh…”
Fade God grinned. “That’s Billy. He’s pleased to meet you.”
“Lady Luck.” She snorted as she closed the distance and doffed the brim of her hat. “You’re… not going to take it off?”
“It’s some kinda revenge thing, right?” Shep offered.
“Yeah, revenge, and I think something about his family being shamed or somethin’?” Sal added.
I rolled my eyes under the bag. The world’s most pointless gesture. “Can we talk about why I’m here instead of the bag?”
Lady Luck’s eyebrow arched. “Touchy subject. Got it.” She stepped closer, examining me with the focused curiosity of a jeweler appraising an unusual stone. “Sal says you’re a Shark.”
“A what?”
The room went quiet. Four pairs of eyes stared at me with expressions ranging from surprise to something that looked a lot like pity.
“You don’t know?” Fade God asked.
“Know what?”
Lady Luck exchanged a look with Sal. He nodded.
“Come with me,” she said, gesturing to her apartment door. “We need to have a talk.”