Page 20 of Gunslinger Girl
The Tin Man grabbed the digit that prodded him. Pity winced at the audible crack that followed. “Noted,” he said over the scream of pain. His gaze rose to Santino. “Sir?”
“Toss him,” replied Santino.
Another Tin Man seized the offender by the collar and dragged him, whimpering, back into the now significantly quieter crowd.
“Home sweet home.” Olivia smirked.
The bald Tin Man nodded at Pity. “Sir?”
“With us,” Santino replied.
“Welcome to Casimir, miss.” He opened the doors.
Welcome was not a word Pity would have used to describe how she felt in that moment. With Max at her side, she steeled herself as the cream and silver gave way to red and gold, velvet and burnished wood.
It did little good. Luxury unlike any she had ever seen assailed her. At least three stories high, the room they entered was so deep that the back wall was lost to dusky lighting and a haze of cigar smoke. Numerous as ants in a hill, people stood at tables, dealing cards and tossing dice, moving markers and tapping screens. They lounged in rounded booths or on the myriad of sofas and plush chairs scattered about. A hum of gaming, laughter, and the clinking of glasses enveloped Pity. Music played somewhere, its tune lost among a buzzing cacophony of delight.
Pity followed Max down a carpeted staircase, hardly watching where she put her feet as she struggled to take everything in. At the bottom was another fountain, a miniature twin to the one outside. Light shifted below its waters, and atop its center sat a golden mermaid with long hair and bare breasts. As Pity stared at it, the mermaid turned her head and winked.
Pity froze. She looked around the room again, eyes flitting from person to person, truly seeing this time. Her gaze fell on a woman in a tiny skirt, a feather boa, and nothing else, with her arm locked through that of a suited gentleman. A young man in fluttering azure trousers sauntered past the couple, beckoned by a woman reclining on a velvet chaise.
“Max.” Her voice cracked. “Casimir… is it a brothel?”
“It’s… a lot of things.”
“These people are prostitutes.” Pity took an involuntary step backward. Harlots… low people… From the orations on the commune, she knew there were prostitutes in Cessation. She simply hadn’t expected so many.
Max grabbed her hand. Hard. “It’s a brothel, sure, and a gambling hall and about a hundred other things. It’s also the safest place in the whole city. Casimir runs Cessation. Out there”—he pointed to where they had come from—“you take your chances.”
She glanced down at the fingers encasing hers. The pace of her heart, already faster than normal, quickened. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because all that matters is that as long as you’re with us, you’re safe.” Max let go.
Pity wished he hadn’t. For a moment, his touch had seemed to carry the safety he promised. “Are you certain?”
“More or less.”
That was all the assurance she was going to get, apparently. Pity looked back at the line of guards at the door and then to the brothel floor, where Santino and Olivia were waiting. The heel of Olivia’s hand rested on the butt of one gun. Pity’s jaw tightened. Get your guns. Then worry about everything else. For the thousandth time in the past few days, she wished Finn were beside her. Finn would have laughed at the spectacle—and at Pity’s reaction—before diving right in.
“Everything okay?” Santino called.
“Peachy,” she snapped, striding past Max.
They weren’t fooled.
“Don’t worry,” Olivia said. “No one bites unless you pay them to.”
Her face burned.
“Hey, San.” A lithe male figure pounced on Santino and wrapped his arms around the big man’s neck. He had short flaxen hair and angelic features—an innocence that stopped at his neck. The sparkling corset and tiny shorts he wore made Pity’s eyes plunge to the floor. “It’s been forever. You coming to see me tonight?”
Santino gave a wry smile and pushed him down, though not without affection. “Still on the job, chico.”
The young man pouted. “You know what they say about all work and no play.” He tossed a wink in Max’s direction as he strode to where a young woman with long dark hair and a handsome copper-skinned young man lounged. When he said something to them, they turned toward the new arrivals. The young woman grinned and blew a kiss at Max, who waved back.
“Well, there are our little lost lambs!”
Pity’s attention turned to the woman flouncing over to them. Her butter-yellow ringlets bounced as she approached, as did her bosom, which threatened to spill over the top of her pink dress, cinched so tightly that Pity wondered how she could breathe. With its skirt of white ruffles and lace, she looked like a disturbingly sensuous doll.
