Murder City Stories: NaNoWriMo Day 8

Marv walked Susan to the makeshift rooms in the back of the factory. The workers removing the sewing machines had tried their best to remove the metal studs that had held the machines to the concrete, but the floor was pockmarked by holes where the studs had been beaten out of the floor. Susan tripped over one of the studs that had simply been hammered close to the ground because it wouldn’t break loose. Marv held her well enough that she did not fall onto her face, but she did restart the blood flowing in one of the bad scrapes on her knees.

The sound of sex got louder the closer they made it to the shanty town. There was already a line of men coming in from a door in the back. From the way they were dressed they were probably being shuttled in from the docks. Big Nose was not wasting any time or money on his new project. Marv pulled the sheets to one side and laid Susan down on the small palette next to another woman who was trying to cover her eyes from the lights so she could get a little sleep between johns.

After a few hours the line of johns had been shuttled off. Word spread of the bloody woman who had been dumped in the bed next to Chinana while she was trying to get some rest, and some of the women came out of their tents to investigate the new arrival. One woman peaked her head in and saw the mess that had been made of Susan. She said, “Dear lord child. We need to get Rita down here. She used to be a nurse or something. She’ll get you fixed right up.”

A few minutes later, Rita came her tent with a couple rags and some warm water. She said, “Turn, face me. Does it hurt too much?” Susan croaked out a sound her lips were still too swollen to make proper words. “One of the guards had two Aspirin. You’re not allergic, are you?” Susan shook her head lightly. She had to wince against the pain.


Steve was refreshing the day’s coffee. He reached up into the cabinet and grabbed the tin of grounds. It lifted too easily and the grounds made a soft hiss as the remnants slid across the bottom of the tin. He didn’t even bother to open it up. Some ass-hat had used the last without writing it on the dry erase board. Normally, he brought the coffee in from home where he could buy in bulk, but he remembered that he had seen some at Juang’s market two blocks over.

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