Karen Memory

Chapter Fourteen

When I walked into Madame’s office the next day, she looked startled and irate. Neither of which was how I was used to seeing her. She had been bent over an account book, pince-nez slipping down her scowl, and now she closed it with a snap that made me think she might be more mad at the accounts nor me.

That weren’t settling to my spirits. In fact, it plumb took me aback. But I grabbed up my courage anyway and I said to her, “I know how to fix all our problems.”

She cleaned the nib of her pen, still frowning.

“That’s a pretty tall order, young lady,” she said. “Are you sure you know what all our problems are?”

Da would say that first you make a list of everything that needs doing. Then you figure out a plan to get it done. If you can’t get it all done, you figure out what’s most important and you do that.

“No,” I admitted. “But I know the cause of most of ’em is Peter Bantle.”

Her fingers tapped the leather cover of the account book. “And what’s the cause of Peter Bantle?” she asked.

I must of meant to say something next, because I’d had that feeling of being on a roll you sometimes get. And with her question it was gone — poof — like so much snow falling on the ocean.

There ain’t nothing quite like the sensation of standing there with your mouth agape. “And what’s the reason, you think, that I haven’t moved against him yet?”

“I know you ain’t afraid of him.”

“Afraid?” She laughed gently, which worrited me more than if she’d brayed like an ass. “I’m concerned about him. I’m wary of him. I might be a little afraid — not of Bantle, but of the crazy stupid shit a man like Bantle will do. Normal people, they’re lazy. They want to protect what they got and they won’t risk it. Peter ain’t like that, Karen honey. He’ll risk all sorts of things just for a little power, or the chance to make somebody hurt.”

“But that ain’t why you won’t let me go put a stop to him.”

“Maybe I’m the lazy one here, protecting what I already have.”

I didn’t have no good answer to that, neither. So I just looked at her, because she was Madame and I couldn’t tell her she was full of shit.

“Everybody owes something to somebody, Karen. Bantle owes somebody, you see if he doesn’t. And it’s possible I owe something to somebody else.” She tapped the account book again.

I had the oddest sensation, that of somebody who had always seemed invulnerable, capable, prepared — invincible — showing or admitting weakness. I won’t say it was as bad as when Da died, because ain’t nothing as bad as when Da died. But what I wouldn’t of given for one real good barrage of profanity out of her, just then.

“He don’t have to know it’s us,” I said stubbornly.

She tilted her head. “And just how do you prescribe to prevent him knowing?”

“Sneak,” I said. I must of looked like a shooting dog leaning on the leash, because she shook her head and stared down at her hands and smiled. Indulgently, so I felt more like a child than I had in five years, or six maybe. She must of caught my consternation, because she smoothed that smile out right quick. Not quick enough to keep it getting under my skin like needles, though.

“Because he sure won’t put together the folks that have been stealing his indenturees with whatever it is you’ve got your mind made up about? You’ve been out running around so much I think you don’t know the constables have been here twice looking for that Comanche, and looking for any excuse they can find to shut me down.”

“But…” I thought about how much we all paid in the taxes, about the mayor’s officially nonexistent special relationship with Pollywog, about all the constables I’d taken a turn with. About how secure I’d felt that our position weren’t going to nohow alter. I’d been smug. Maybe I’d let myself feel safe.

Maybe wanting to feel safe was a mistake.

“If that happens, then where will we all be? I’m too old for whoring on corners, miss.” Madame straightened her shoulders. “Too old for whoring on corners. But old enough to know something you ain’t yet learned. This too shall pass, Karen honey. The luck will swing. And if we hunker down and husband our chips, we’ll still have some to play with when we get that killer hand.”

“I can save us!” I yelled, forgetting that no one never raises her voice to Madame Damnable. “I can break his machine! Then nobody will do what he says, and we’ll be safe! Priya knows where he keeps it. Her and me—”

Madame stood up, her chair scraping over the carpet with a final sound. She leaned her hands on the desk like a schoolmarm, and she let me see how disappointed in me she was.

“Karen.”

I shut up. I did. And I fixed my eyes on my hem and didn’t let my lips curl the way they wanted to, I was that angry. Da always said I had my mother’s temper.

“Karen, are you listening to me?”

I made myself nod.

“You need to trust me to handle this. I can’t have you running off to take matters into your own hands again.”

Once again, I made myself nod, though it hurt to do it. Apparently it wasn’t enough, though. Because Madame cleared her throat and said, “Look at me.”

So that was even more hard. I’m not sure how I did it. If it were Da, I imagined he would of been working up to giving me a hiding, but Madame didn’t strike her girls. When I managed to drag my line of sight up there, I saw her staring at me over the gold wire tops of her pince-nez.

“I value your spunk, girl. And your willingness to do what needs done without waiting to be told. But if you go up against Peter Bantle again — unless he directly started it — I will turn you out in the street. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, stunned. And still a touch rebellious, to tell you true — wondering if there weren’t a way I could manage it. Leave Rapid City; take what I had saved and maybe find work or a way to save more. I wouldn’t get another job in a parlor house here if Madame turned me out. And cottage girls worked harder and made less money. Maybe I could go on south to San Francisco—

I’d hate to leave Rapid. But it would be worth it to me to see Priya and the rest of the girls safe. And Madame too, even if she were hell-bent on thwarting me.

Maybe she read rebellion in the set of my lips, because she looked me up and down and said, “And don’t think I won’t turn your friend Miss Swati out as well. I think you care more about her than you do about yourself.”

Damn. “I’m listening, Madame.”

“Good,” she said. She came around the desk, limping heavily, but without her cane. She put her hand on my shoulder, and this time it was easier to look at her. “I’ve got a great affection for you, young lady. And some wisdom in the world. Please restrain yourself for long enough to let me use it.”