“To have a civil conversation, is that so hard?”
My nails bite skin. If she wanted civil, she shouldn’t have slammed the door in my face the first and last time I asked her for help. Real help. Yonni was sick, Central Medical wouldn’t approve her treatment without more money than we had, and Yonni was out of pills. Greg, my cousin, could have fixed that problem. He has contacts. Lord knows, he deals in every other pill on the planet. At least these were legal. Except when I opened the door to his place, I got Dee.
Her jaw tightens, fist curling, and I shift for the blow. Dee has a mean one. But she doesn’t swing, she smiles. “You know Greg’s trying to ditch that life. I couldn’t let you slam him right back into it.”
Yeah, at the time he was trying so hard that I’d found him splashing naked in Low South’s water channel. I’d dug up his clothes and hauled him off the main thoroughfare before the City Enactors showed up, while he waffled between laughing, trying to eat my hair, and searching my pockets for more pills. Not that Dee knows that. Greg and I never told each other’s secrets, back when we were close enough to have secrets to share.
“Besides, I don’t know why you’re still harping on that,” Dee says, “it’s not like you didn’t get the pills without Greg.”
Our eyes lock. Dee’s a mask with a smile, and I can’t tell if she is fishing or knows how I pulled it off.
If she knew, she’d have made use of it.
All for pills that didn’t even work.
If the power technician had just minded his own business, I wouldn’t be stuck in this conversation right now.
“What do you want, Dee?” I ask again.
She pulls another cigarette from her pocket and lights up. “Greg needs Mom’s place.”
Yonni’s place. Mine.
“No,” I say.
She dangles her burning cig, ash floating to the carpet. “The suite is mine by right, and I’m giving it to him. I know Mom’s death hit you hard, so I’ve given you grace. But it’s been six months and that stops now. I want Greg in by the end of the week. You can take it up with him if you stick around or not.” She shrugs, even grins. “You two used to get on well. I’m sure if you pay rent, he’ll work something out.”
So sure, so matter-of-fact, as if she has a leg to stand on. And she might, but for one key point.
“Yonni left me the suite,” I say.
She leans in, eyes very wide, soft brown rimmed in purple. She’s soft all over, rounded chin and puffy cheeks. Angelic even, on a good day. “I’m the oldest, and by Right of Inheritance all Mom’s things are mine.”
“That only works when there’s no will,” I say. “Yonni’s is at the Records Office. Look it up.”
“She was too sick to know what she was signing.”
But Dee already tried that line when the will was read and got nowhere.
I open the lobby door and throw out a smile as soft as hers. “Good seeing you.”
Her lips thin, but only a little, her voice husky soft. “I didn’t want to tell you this, what with your mother’s recent little incident—”
“You mean, blowing up a national icon and its night crew?”
“But Greg needs this suite. He has to have a steady job and permanent address, and he’s running out of time. The City Enactors are after him.”
“Aren’t they always?”
Her hands twitch like she could spear her nails through my neck. She doesn’t, though. Point to Dee.
“Just give them yours,” I say. “Isn’t he staying with you?”
“My place is only zoned for one occupant. My landlord would kick me out.”
“Since when did you move to a singles suitetower?”
“What do you care?” she shoots back. “Greg will lose everything without a home base. He needs Mom’s suite.”
Greg is forever on the verge of losing everything. Even if he wasn’t, Yonni laid down the law so close to her death it was practically a last rite. Don’t you dare let Dee and her worthless spawn in my place—not even a foot inside, you hear me? Give me your word.
And I had.
“He’ll land on his feet.” I pull the door wider. “He always does.”
Her hands clench, but she fights it. “You don’t understand.”
“The suite’s mine, it’s on record. Go home.”
She straightens in slow motion. “Fine then, ruin his life—but don’t expect any favors from me.” She flicks her cig at my bare feet. Her aim’s perfect, but I’m faster—jumping back and releasing the door. She grabs it before it swings shut, shoots me a perfect Franks smile over her shoulder, then slips through and slams it behind her. The echo booms; the door frame shakes.