Page 1 of Devin
Chapter 1
Val
Feisty Cherry could not be this woman's real name. But when Val saw Feisty Cherry, she was pretty sure Feisty Cherry wasn't a woman either. Val had nothing against gender bending, but simply putting on a fire red wig and matching lipstick did not make for an attractive woman, especially when your beard was gray and you were sitting behind a pane of bulletproof glass, perched on a stool as if you were ready to take off running any second.
Feisty Cherry did not inspire trust in any way, shape or form.
"Hello, I'm here to reclaim my pawned item," Val said as she slid her ticket under the glass. Feisty just looked at it, then at her, then back at the ticket, and then leaned over, and pushed a button on the right hand side of the little box she was encased in. The door buzzed and Val pulled back the handle. The door swung open, but instead of letting her into the pawn shop, a dimly lit stairway opened up and led down to a basement. Val took a deep breath.
"Thanks!" But Cherry had already disappeared. Val took a deep breath. She'd already come this far, and there was very little left to do but proceed down the dark stairs and follow through on this plan.
Carly had done it a hundred times, she had assured Val. Simone too. It was easy and no one really paid attention to the black market anyway.
It was the first time that she'd attempted it, but it was either follow the plan or sell herself to her landlord. Just the stench of him alone made her want to gag, so that wasn't really an option either.
Val had one bad streak of luck after another, most of them having to do with lecherous assholes that couldn't keep their hands to themselves. First, it had been her stepfather, and the first time she'd socked him, her mother had given her an ‘or else’ speech. The second time he'd put his hand on her seventeen year old ass, she'd thrown a cast iron skillet at his head. When her mom had returned from the hospital, Val had already packed. From then on, she'd hopped couches for a while, until she hit her eighteenth birthday. She'd moved from waitress stint to waitress stint, not because she was a bad worker, but because she was not willing to tolerate the unabashed attempt of some customers to cop a feel.
Her last boss had thrown her out, even though she had politely asked the customer twice to remove his hand. The third time, when his wife had returned from the restroom, she'd demanded, while making eye contact, that he remove his hand or she would remove some fingers. The wife had not taken kindly to the surprise and had demanded to see the manager who in turn found the owner and suddenly, Val was out on her heels. The world was just not fair.
The stairs ended in a corridor, or more aptly, a tunnel that seemed to wind its way under another building. It was probably an old invasion tunnel that had been repurposed. There were plenty of those around, as the people had gotten resourceful in ways to hide from the golden lizard monsters.
Val didn't remember what they looked like, even though she'd apparently come face to face with one during the war. He'd killed her father and was about to grab her when she had been rescued by a particularly handsome Mahdfel. In reality, most of the memory was shadows of trauma. He could have been old, scared and ugly as all get out, but she, in her five year old imagination, had created a little fantasy that downplayed the fact that her father had been torn to shreds in front of her.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and another man, this time in a neon green wig, sat at a table. There were little glass vials littered all over his table and an ancient fridge hummed in the background. This man at least didn't have a beard, but his lips were still the same green color. He must have noticed her staring because he smiled and winked at her.
"You are wondering about the wigs?"
"I'm wondering about the wigs."
"Generally, it helps keep our identities under the radar. When someone is asked for our defining features, all they say is a man in a wig with matching lipstick. I'm Ginger. Ginger Lime, by the way. Nice to meet you."
"I'm-"
"No! No today, you are Esmeralda Hipsley of-" he paused to read a name off a card. "113 Carlsbad Avenue." He handed her a vial of the liquid sitting on the counter behind him. "You need to drink this about thirty minutes before you take your DNA at the center, and you'll be fine. Just remember, Esmeralda Hipsley. I'm pretty sure she's done this before, so she knows the drill on her end."
Val looked at the vial. The liquid inside was perfectly clear. It was water, or vodka for all she knew. There was one thing she didn't know.
"So when do I get paid?"
"The credits will be in your account by the time you get home. We don't cheat our contractors. That's no way to do business. Now, time to hurry. Head out the second tunnel on your right and there will be someone to let you out."
Val pocketed the vial and headed out to the tunnel. This one seemed to curve upward and to the right. Soon enough there was a door. She waited a moment but no one appeared to open it for her. It was innocuous enough and when Val opened the door, she found herself on a busy street. She headed straight for the waiting cab, mainly because the driver was sporting an orange wig and bright lipstick.
It did strike her how all the employees were male. Of course, how could such an organization, an illegal black market DNA swap to cheat the lottery, hire females? It was also possible that the girls were smart, and that they were the only ones who stayed hidden from the world.
113 Carlsbad Avenue was all that Val expected. It was an outrageously designed display of someone who had made way too much money off the backs of people like her. The alien tech and the faux Georgian columns were supposed to look stately. Instead, it looked like some alien monstrosity that needed to be demolished and put out of its misery.
Val stepped out of the cab and onto the curb. A portly woman wearing an honest to goodness maid's outfit opened the door and ushered her in. What should have been a foyer with clean lines and a simple centerpiece was instead cluttered with every available space filled with a trophy of distaste. Val recognized several paintings from ones on popular postcards and the walls of cafes. There were mini statues, but not marble, no. They were all covered in gold. It was entirely possible that someone had gone out and covered them in gold spray paint and then passed them off as genuine, solid gold. Val had the urge to scratch test a few just to see.
A Latina dripping with one too many bracelets and hair teased up in the most ridiculous updo, stood at the foot of a staircase. She must be the aforementioned Esmeralda Hipsley that Val was going to supplant. The likeness wasn't that bad. Val was taller than Esmeralda, even though it was clear that Esmeralda favored three inch heels and skinny leopard print jeans. Her blouse was billowing and white and it took a moment for Val to realize it had a dog tucked away inside it.
The little thing barked as she got closer.
"Oh Marta, this one will never work. She's far too plain," Esmeralda said as she circled around Val, jingling her braceleted hand at her.
"It just has to pass a basic inspection,” Marta said, “and I'm sure once we manage to change up her clothes and put some big glasses on her face, no one will care. No one looks closely anyway. My cousin Perlita went for her sister twice and no one ever said a word."
Val looked at her outfit. She wore a pair of well worn jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of comfortable sneakers that had saved her life multiple times while on double shifts at the restaurant.
