Free Husk by J. Kent Messum Page A

knowing how much I love the look of my clothes on her. Behind my dresser is a long crack in the wall that Ryoko inspects.
    ‘Tell me again why you live here when you can afford better?’
    ‘All part of my master plan,’ I say. ‘I can’t make my nest egg by spending money on frivolous things.’
    Ryoko smirks. ‘Couldn’t help notice the new HG out in your livingroom.’
    ‘That’s a gift from a client.’
    She raises an eyebrow. ‘Someone sure is happy with you.’
    I don’t say anything, not wanting to bring up the topic of clients. Ryoko wants to pry, I can tell by the look on her face, but Solace Strategies’ discouragement is a constant nag. Besides, when it comes to Husks and maintaining intimate relationships, casual or serious, the less said the better.
    ‘So, your roommate was leaving for work when I arrived,’ Ryoko says, tipping her head toward the living room with a smile. ‘Fancy cuddling up on the couch and watching a flick on that new toy of yours?’
    ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

8
    Later that night we hit the bar where Craig works. The Rochester is packed: cheap bar rail drinks and craft beer deals. Some of the best prices you can find in the city. There is an undeniable energy in the air, one Ryoko and I feel like static. How we earnour living puts a perspective, a spin, on the rest of existence. The East Village comes alive after dark, its inhabitants throwing caution to the wind at the end of their depressed days. It’s almost vampiric, the way people rise with the setting sun, leaving their homes to prowl for some form of satisfaction: flesh, fantasy, or pharmaceutical. Celebration comes one night at a time, a reward forthe day-to-day. As the Big Apple rots, it also ferments. Ryoko and I soak it up. We could go uptown, spend more money, but we don’t. After you’ve done your fair share of Husking, you want to stay away from the wealthy as much as you can. It’s a comfort being off the clock; out of sight, out of mind, out of range of the things that can haunt you if you’re not careful. Down here, most of our clientswould call it slumming. We call it living.
    Ryoko is more affectionate than usual, though I wonder about her motives. She stands close, sneaking kisses when she thinks no one is looking. Over the din of the clientele I yell another order to Craig behind the bar. Within aminute he brings us two Brooklyn brews and two shots of Don Julio.
    ‘To Miller,’ Ryoko says, raising her shot glass. ‘Takentoo soon.’
    There was no right time to tell her about Miller, but I broke the news halfway through our afternoon movie. She didn’t seem shocked, didn’t shed a tear. She just sat on the sofa and kept watching the film as I explained how he died covering an unknown client of mine. Maybe there was an underlying desire to smash a thing or two in anger, but the girl kept it together. I expected nothingless. Ryoko might look soft and lovely on the outside, but inside she’s a rock. You’ll break against her before she even chips. We knock back the tequila and chase it with beer.
    ‘So what did Tweek say?’ Ryoko asks.
    ‘About what?’
    She taps behind her ear. ‘Y’know …’
    ‘Nothing,’ I say and frown. ‘The tests he ran say everything is fine.’
    ‘Are you still having problems?’
    Her face gives nothingaway, but I can see it in her eyes, the growing concern over what has me so worried. Ryoko is the person I’m least likely to lie to, but I’ll do it in a heartbeat if it will ease her worries. More beer finds its way down my throat, stalling a reply. The buzz from it further delays things, the hamster wheel slow to spin. My pause is too long. Ryoko knows I’m sparing her the truth as I speak.
    ‘I’m fine, babe. No need to worry –’
    The Rochester suddenly goes dark, every light in theplace failing simultaneously. Hoots and jeers rise from the patrons as Liaison screens glow in the black. Bartenders and bouncers call for calm. The sound of