Free A Smaller Hell by A. J. Reid Page B

at being shut down.
    Rachel pulled me towards the room the hooker had shown us.  The only source of light came from the hole in the wall where the stone tooth had been pulled.  We closed the door and through the peep-hole, we saw the two women smiling at each other.  The elder pushed the younger's hair out of her eyes and stroked her face.  They were about to kiss again when the door slammed open and the client prowled into the room: another woman wearing an old wedding dress.  Her face was obscured by the veil, but I could see that she was large and walked like a man.  I looked at Rachel and circled my temple with my index finger, mouthing the words let's go.
    Ignoring me, Rachel leaned closer in to the cavity.  Her eyes twitched, registering every dysfunctional frame of this 2 a.m. matinee.  I leaned in closer myself to observe the bride unpacking a small leather case, such as that which a traditionalist doctor might carry.  From it she drew a pair of white uniforms similar to those used by the kitchen porters at the department store, finishing off the outfits with a pair of Marigold gloves for each of the hookers. 
    It was difficult to gain a clear view through the small hole, especially with Rachel so eager to take it all in.  I could only see the bride from the back, but upon closer scrutiny, it was obvious her dress had been altered across the shoulders and that it wasn't a trick of perspective that had caused her to appear much taller than the other women.  The bizarre scene ground to a halt once the girls had dressed in the uniforms, Marigolds and had their hairnets in place.  They waited in silence, all staring at the ground, resembling the kitchen workers Rachel had been working amongst that day at the store.
    We could not see, but we could hear the footsteps down the cellar staircase, then the door open.  The expensive scent that Doyle wore carried through the hole in the wall.  Unable to see past the broad, lumbering bride, we could only hear whispers, followed by a chopping sound, some scraping and then two deep, prolonged sniffs.  The sound of the bride's clenched Marigold glove connecting with bone and flesh.  Quiet sobbing.  Now that the bride had moved, we could see the older hooker sprawled face down on the table, holding her mouth.  She was ordered to remain silent and still by a voice of broken glass and syrup. 
    Rachel mouthed the name Graziano . 
    Doyle made her way past him over to the younger whore who was still bent over the table, face down and sobbing.  Doyle was wearing a green paper surgical gown and a thick black rubber apron, like a huge glob of tar running down her front.  She rustled and squeaked into position and hiked Emma's white jacket up on to her hips.
    Rachel’s grip on my arm tightened as she whispered, ‘Let's go’.
    I had no qualms about leaving even before I heard the scream.  It made the hairs on my neck stand up as I stopped in my tracks.
    ‘We can’t just leave her,’ I said.
    I shook free of Rachel's grip and wrapped my hand in my belt to protect it from the damage Graziano's granite head might inflict.  The Captain’s sword caught my eye from the corner of the room.  I imagined the steel tearing Graziano's skin, puncturing his hot organs, making his body gurgle and shudder and felt damned just thinking about it.  I looked down at my leather-wrapped fist and reasoned that one more broken nose wasn’t going to send me to Hell.
    I told Rachel to stay and hide, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back.  
    ‘No.  Let's just go,’ she said.
    ‘We can’t just leave her.’
    ‘She’s getting paid for this.  It’s her job .’
    As I tried to move away from her, we both stumbled and knocked an empty steel keg, which created an unmistakable gong in the darkness, making our decision for us.  We both scrambled up the cellar staircase as quickly as the rotten wood allowed.  Just as we reached the last step, the door burst open and a tornado of