There weren’t a lot of questions about each other’s past; instinctively they both knew the other had secrets not for sharing. Nevertheless, they just sort of fell in together and the start of their friendship felt like they were already in the middle of it.
The last five hundred miles of the trip flew by and before they knew it, Max and Original Cindy were tooling through the streets of Seattle, still a striking city despite the squalor of post-Pulse life.
“Everything’s so green,” Max said, over her shoulder.
“That’s why it’s the Emerald City, Dorothy girl.”
“Dorothy?”
“Boo, you ain’t got no sense of culture whatsoever.”
“I might surprise you, Cin...”
At Fourth and Blanchard, Max eased the Ninja over to the curb in front of a place called Buck’s Coffee. The sign looked as though it used to have four letters before the B, but they couldn’t be made out.
“Caffeine calling,” Max said.
“Original Cindy hears it, too.”
Inside, the pair of striking women walked up to the counter behind which stood a heavyset man barely taller than Max, a lascivious grin forming on his fat, five-o’clock-shadowed face. At a counter behind him, a blowsily attractive blond woman about their age — wearing knee-high pink boots, a blue miniskirt, and a pink top that bared both her midriff and most of her formidable chest — hovered over a sandwich in the making.
“Ladies, don’t even bother orderin’ no frappes, lattes, cappuccinos,” he said. Staring at Original Cindy, he added, “I serve my coffee just like I like my women — hot and black.”
The blue-cheeked guy seemed proud of himself, under the illusion he had minted this deathless phrase.
Max could tell that Original Cindy was considering jumping the counter to bitch-slap the white right off this horse’s ass; so Max gently said, “Come on, Boo — let’s go someplace where we can get a grande.”
“Yeah... instead of the limp mini this mope is peddlin’.”
Max giggled, and the blonde toward the back giggled, too... but the counter guy did not laugh; in fact, he reddened and fumed.
He started to say something, but Original Cindy cut him off with a wave of a finger accompanied by a sway of the head and shoulders. “Don’t hate the playah, baby... hate the game.”
Max and Original Cindy bumped fists and the blond woman laughed out loud.
The counter guy turned on her. “You know what’s really funny? A skank like you lookin’ for a new job in this market, is what’s really funny.”
The blonde fell silent.
“Hey,” Max said, taking a step toward the counter.
“Butt out,” the counter man said. “This ain’t no concern of yours. And you...” He turned to the blonde. “... you’re movin’ on to bigger and better things. Get your fat butt outa here!”
Max leapt the counter, landing between the blonde and the counter guy, who was startled and a little afraid by this sudden impressive move. “Hire her back.”
“What do you—”
Max lifted him up by the throat; his eyes were bulging as he stared down at her, too afraid and in too much discomfort to be properly amazed by the petite woman lifting him gently off the ground, a fact neither Original Cindy nor the put-upon blonde picked up on.
The blonde touched Max’s arm. “It’s all right... he can’t fire me, ’cause I quit... I’m tired of workin’ for this sexual-harasshole.”
“Good call,” Original Cindy said.
Max shrugged and put the guy down.
He was leaning over the counter, red-faced, choking, when the three women strolled out onto the street together. They stood at the curb, near Max’s bike, and chatted.
“My name’s Kendra Maibaum,” the blonde said, extending her hand.
Max shook it. “Max Guevera — and this lovely lady is Original Cindy.”
“Pleased,” Original Cindy said and shook hands with Kendra too.
“How did you do that?” Kendra asked. “Handle Morty like that, I mean.”
Original Cindy raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Girl had training.”
Max at that moment realized she would have to watch herself, from now on — she had been entirely too careless around Original Cindy.
“Training but no coffee,” Max said. Her X5 skills would have to be better concealed. “And we haven’t even started talkin’ about findin’ a place to crash.”
Kendra asked, “You guys need a place to crash?”
“We’re kind of new in town,” Original Cindy explained.
“Like five minutes new,” Max added.
The blonde shrugged. “If you don’t need a lot of space, you can stay with me. I’ve got a place. Room enough for two, maybe three.”
Original Cindy glanced at Max, who shrugged, asking, “Why would you do that for us? You don’t know us from nobody.”
Kendra gestured toward the coffee shop. “You stood up for me with Morty.”
“Cost you your job, you mean,” Max reminded her.
Laughing, Kendra said, “Yeah, but it was worth it, seein’ Morty, scared shitless... and, anyway, that job sucked. Besides, it wasn’t my only means of income.”
“Workin’ girl?” Original Cindy asked, again glancing at the pink top filled to the brim and the postage-stamp miniskirt.
Kendra’s hands went to her hips. “Why would you ask that?” She didn’t sound hurt, exactly — more surprised.
Original Cindy’s eyes widened. Max frowned at her friend, who said nothing about the former waitress’s provocative attire, merely saying. “Uh... uh, don’t know, girl, it just sounded like maybe you, uh...”
“Oh, I work a lot... but not at that. I do some translating, language training, transcription work. I’ve done a buncha things, but never that.”
“Sorry — Original Cindy didn’t mean no offense.”
Kendra shook her head. “Not to worry. Anyway, ’fyou guys need a place to crash, I’ve got room.”
“Sweet,” Max said. “Where?”
“Not far.”
“Walking distance? I hope so, ’cause it’s gonna be a bitch gettin’ three of us on my bike.”
“Oh yeah,” Kendra said, with a dismissive wave, “easy walking distance.”
They wound up walking for most of the next hour, Max pushing the Ninja, Original Cindy lugging her backpack, but they didn’t complain — after all, a roof was a roof. But Max didn’t know quite what to make of Kendra. For a woman who knew languages well enough to work as a translator, the blonde seemed remarkably like a clueless airhead.
Nice one, though.
Finally, when Original Cindy gave Max a rolling-eyed look, signaling she was sure she was about to drop, Kendra said, “That’s it over there! Told ya it was close.” And pointed to an apartment building two doors up and across the street.
The building didn’t look like much, six stories, most of the windows plywood-covered; and, as they got closer, a piece of paper tacked to the front door became all too evident.
“The place is condemned?” Original Cindy asked.
Kendra shrugged a little. “Not really condemned — more like... abandoned.”
They got to the door and Original Cindy studied the notice on the door. “Original Cindy ain’t no translator, but she reads English... and this says ‘condemned.’ ”
Shaking her head dismissively, Kendra said, “That’s just to keep out the, you know, riffraff.”
Max asked, “How many people live here?”
Kendra shrugged. “Fifty or so.”
“Fifty?” Original Cindy blurted. “Fifty people live in a condemned building? Thank God you’re keepin’ out the riffraff!”