Page 38 of Gunslinger Girl
“Now, sir.” Flossie leaned closer, her smile as doll-like as the rest of her. “If you ever try to come here again, Olivia will shoot you. Happily. Understand?”
He nodded vigorously. At Olivia’s command, the Tin Men dragged him away.
Flossie put her arm around Kitty. “Come here, sweetie. You wanna take the rest of the night off?”
“Thanks, Flossie. I’m okay.” She rubbed the tops of her arms. “He wouldn’t quit pinching me. It hurt! I told him that wasn’t my thing and someone else would be happy to accommodate him, but he just wouldn’t stop.”
Olivia returned to her spot behind the bar. She picked up the pitcher and pointedly refilled Pity’s and Max’s glasses.
“Message received,” said Duchess. He and Garland wandered off. Luster was already engaged with the appreciative customer, sitting on her lap and offering a pill from a silver tin.
Pity raised an eyebrow at Olivia. “You’re pretty dangerous for a bartender.”
“Well, bartender and deputy head of security.” Olivia grabbed a bottle. “For all the professions I’ve pursued in my time, they all seem to come down to the same thing eventually.”
The same thing. The thought echoed in Pity’s mind. Selene… Casimir… they didn’t hesitate to protect their own. She saw Finn fall again, murdered by thieves who cared no more about putting a bullet into her as they would a rabid dog. Would you have hesitated to see them executed for it? The answer came quick and clear: No. But what did it say about Pity that she’d leave the difficult part to someone else?
The only steel in her is in those guns.
That wasn’t true. She might not be tough enough for security work, might have failed to save Finn, but she wasn’t a coward. She wasn’t. And Max was right. There were some folks the world was better off without.
She turned to him. “Okay. I understand.”
“Understand what?”
“What Olivia just did… and the Theatre and Beeks. It’s all different kinds of justice, right?”
He thought for a moment. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
Justice, she repeated to herself. I can handle justice.
“Look,” Max said, “even if you’re in a show with a Finale, what are the chances the audience would pick you? A bullet is fast. Simple. The Theatre’s audience? They want a show.”
There were no clocks in the Gallery, and Pity had no idea what time it was when they finally stumbled back to her room. She was exhausted and barefoot, shoes dangling in one hand.
“How in the world does Luster get around in these? My feet are killing me! Wearing them is like trying to walk on river stones!” Despite nursing her drinks all night, Pity felt warm all over. Words tumbled recklessly from her mouth. “Have you ever walked on river stones? You know how they get all mossy and slippery?”
Max laughed. “I can’t say I have. Have you ever gone swimming in the ocean?”
“Are you kidding? I think Cessation is as close to an ocean as I’ve ever been.” She unlocked the door and tossed the shoes into the corner. “Good riddance.”
Max pointed. “Looks like someone left you a present.”
On the table was a small satchel with half a dozen boxes on top of it. An orange note sat beside the pile.
“‘Dearest Pity,’” she read, affecting dramatic intonation. “‘A little something for tomorrow’s rehearsal. See you at noon, sharp! Ever yours, Halcyon.’” She picked up one of the boxes. It rattled when she shook it. “I know that sound!”
Inside, bullets were stacked in neat layers. She picked one out. The smooth, cool casing was oddly soothing.
“Halcyon gives the best gifts.” Max took the note from her hand. She felt a fresh flush of warmth when his fingers brushed hers. “Noon? I should let you get some sleep.”
Pity gripped the bullet. She didn’t want to sleep. And she didn’t really want Max to go, either. Her earlier anxiety was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar energy, and she knew that if Max left, if the night ended, then the energy would, too.
But there was Selene’s mandate to keep in mind. Pity hadn’t earned her place in the Theatre yet. And if she failed in that, she’d be saying good-bye to Max for more than a few hours.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s late. And if I want to stick around, I better be able to shoot straight, right?”
Yet when he was gone, Pity lay wide-awake in bed, rolling the bullet back and forth between her fingers, back and forth, until it was so warm it felt a part of her.
