Certain Dark Things(2)

A young woman wearing a black vinyl jacket walked by him. She was holding a leash with a genetically modified Doberman. It had to be genetically modified because it was too damn large to be a regular dog. The animal looked mean and had a green bioluminescent tattoo running down the left side of its head, the kind of decoration that was all the rage among the hip and young urbanites. Or so the screens in the subway concourse had informed Domingo, fashion shows and news reels always eager to reveal what was hot and what was not. That she’d tattooed her dog struck him as cute, although perhaps it was expected: if you had a genetically modified dog you wanted people to notice it.

Domingo recognized her. He’d seen her twice before, walking around the concourse late at night, both times with her dog. The way she moved, heavy boots upon the white tiles, bob-cut black hair, with a regal stance, it made him think of water. Like she was gliding on water.

She turned her head a small fraction, glancing at him. It was only a glance, but the way she did it made Domingo feel like he’d been doused with a bucket of ice. Domingo stuffed the remaining chocolate back in his pocket, took off his headphones, and pushed his cart, boarding her subway car.

He sat across from the girl and was able to get a better look at her. She was about his age, with dark eyes and a full, stern mouth. She possessed high cheekbones and sharp features. Overall, her face was imposing and aquiline. There was a striking quality about her, but her beauty was rather cutting compared to the faces of the models he’d viewed in the ads. And she was a beauty, with that black hair and the dark eyes and the way she stood, so damn graceful.

He noticed her gloves. Black vinyl that matched the jacket. She wasn’t wearing a fancy outfit, but it fit her well; the clothes were of good quality, he could tell as much. The subway car stopped and Domingo fidgeted, wondering where she was headed, trying to build an imaginary biography for her and failing, distracted by her nearness.

The young woman patted the dog’s head.

He was looking at her discreetly, and he knew how to do discreet, so he was a bit surprised when she turned and stared right back at him.

Domingo froze and then swallowed. He found his tongue with some effort.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “How are you doing tonight?”

She did not smile back. Her lips were pressed together in a precise, unyielding line. He hoped she wasn’t thinking of letting the dog loose on him for staring at her.

The subway car was almost deserted, and when she spoke her voice seemed to echo around them even though she spoke very softly.

“Should you be out by yourself at this time of the night?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he replied. “It’s early. It’s just before midnight.”

“No curfew?”

“No,” he scoffed. “I live on my own.”

“Ah, a man about town.”

There was laughter in her voice even though she didn’t laugh. It made Domingo feel stupid. He stood up, ready to push his shopping cart to the other side of the subway car, to leave her alone. This had been a terrible idea, what was he thinking talking to her.

Her gaze drifted, skipped him, and he assumed this was goodbye. Goodnight. Go to hell. Which was the only reasonable response from such a girl.

“I’m looking for a friend,” she said unexpectedly.

Domingo blinked. He agreed, uncertain.

“Would you like to be my friend? I can pay you.”

Domingo wasn’t in the habit of prostituting himself. He’d done it once when he was in a pinch, after he’d left the circle of street kids. Times had been hard, and one did what he could to survive. He’d been cold, hungry, desperate for a few pesos. He wasn’t any of those things now.

“Sorry, I’m not sure I understand,” he said. “Did you—?”

“I’m getting off at the next station. Would you like to come with me?”

Domingo looked at the woman. He’d seen her walk by those other nights and he’d never thought she’d speak to him. When he’d tried to talk to a girl on the subway the previous year, she’d recoiled. Domingo couldn’t blame her. He did look grubby. And now this pretty woman was chatting him up. Who was he to imagine a babe of that sort was gonna give him the time of day?

He nodded. He’d never been a lucky guy, but maybe he was in luck today.

*

Her apartment building was located just a few blocks from a busy intersection. It looked rather run down, a box of bricks built in the ’50s that had not been updated. The tiles that had once decorated its fa?ade might have been green and lively in the beginning, but they were now a muddled brown. Many of them had slid off, revealing the naked cement beneath. The apartment’s name was written on a plaque by the entrance, but someone had defaced it.

Though he was reluctant to part with it, Domingo left his shopping cart near the front door of the building. People stole your shit if you didn’t keep an eye on it. Garbage pickers were notorious for it. You could spend hours gathering glass bottles only to come back and discover they’d disappeared. That’s why you kept your stuff close. Domingo didn’t think he could ask her if they could take the cart into her apartment, so he hid it behind the stairs and prayed nobody chucked it out.

They climbed the stairs and he noticed that the building was in better shape inside; there were tiles with cracks here and there, but some retained their original coloring. There were potted plants running down the hallway and he realized the apartments were organized around a center square. He leaned against a railing and peered down, spying the laundry area below, which had stone sinks and several clotheslines.