All in a Day's Work

by krazydiamond

May Clare greeted the day with the usual custom; well past sunrise to the rusty chime of the ancient salvaged grandfather clock. She groaned, snuggling deeper beneath her scrap quilt, trying desperately to ignore the internal twinges and aches where flesh met metal or plastic. The chimes scraped to a halt at ten.

Her first appointment of the day would burst through the parlor door whether she was ready or not. She threw back the quilt, noting the empty space on the mattress her overnight guest vacated long before she rose. He'd be back.

May squinted against the late morning light, waiting for her right eye to settle. Whirs and clicks sounded in her ear as the artificial piece attempted to focus in sync with her biological left. It took several seconds, much longer than it should have. She sighed, another visit to the Workshop was in order, though she would owe Sage a favor for the work. She hated owing anyone.

Filling her washbasin, she rushed through bathing, scrubbing off the grit and nightmares. She bought the filtered water from the Authority approved traders after the factory had another slurry spill two days ago. The tap water left a greasy film on everything it touched, along with the scent of burnt meat. Bad enough, but doubly so when her profession came with high expectations for personal hygiene. Smelling like the grease trap from Bronson's eatery would offend her customers' sensibilities. As it was, she'd have to bribe the traders for as many jugs as they would give her. Who knew when the Authority would deign to send the necessary clean up crew. Boomtown dangled from the bottom of the bureaucratic totem pole; it would be weeks.

Freshened up, May shrugged into her customary black silk robe. Her one true luxury; she'd bargained for it with three jars of slurry, the equivalent to one of those York 3 snobs maxing out a credit stick. The intricate embroidery of lush pink cherry blossoms and branches felt exotic and she couldn't deny the power of a little glamour, like the intricate loops she braided into her hair, or the dash of color she painted on her lips. The extra bit of effort earned her better tips.

The parlor door sounded with the clang and clack of the empty cans she'd painted and tied to the inside handle. Right, show time.

May carefully tied her robe closed and shimmied around the partition separating her living quarters from Madame Clare's Parlor of Earthly Delights. She'd barely seated herself on the velveteen floor pillow when Mike Mulligan burst through the bead curtain, his pants already half unbuttoned.

"I've only got half an hour until my shift, May, let's make this a quickie."

May blinked, gesturing to the nearby hot plate and waiting kettle. "No time for tea then?"

Mike's pants hit the floor. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck

"Just tell me how bad it is?" He grimaced, closing his eyes tight.

May sighed. It was too early for this shit. She crawled over, studying the afflicted area. "Wouldn't it be cheaper and more effective to see an actual doctor, Mike?"

"Those butchers?" He snorted. "Wouldn't trust them with my mum's rotting bones. 'Sides, that lot are terrible gossips, May. I got a reputation to uphold."

"If you thought less with your 'reputation' and more with your brain you wouldn't be in this mess," said May, prodding the area as Mike squeaked. The even parallel drag lines across the inflamed skin were a puzzle. "Have you been scratching it with a fork?"

"I was awfully itchy," said Mike.

She raised a brow, her mechanical eye whirring through the long pause. "Unless you want Sage to outfit you with a mechanical willy, I would knock that off right quick." She got to her feet, retrieving one of her special ointments from the small cabinet at the back of the room. "Continue application, every day, three times a day. Do not scratch with any foreign objects and stop doxing the Mill Road girls before you rot your junk off."

Mike gingerly took the jar from her, appearing properly chastised. "You won't tell anyone right?"

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Unlike the doctors, I have a strict patient confidentiality clause." When he continued to shuffle from foot to foot, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "If anyone asks, you were here over an hour, even I was satisfied."

He beamed at her. May prodded him in the chest. "No more Mill Road girls. Your lucky you got out of there with your knee still attached."

He flinched at that, rubbing the mechanical limb. "Thanks May, you're a doll."

"I am a doll you pay," she said.

"Oh, right," said Mike, yanking on his trousers. He pulled a small jar from his pocket, setting it on the table. Dark red brackish sloshed as it settled.

May tapped the lid, ruefully wondering what it would be like to be paid in jewelry or actual credits.

"Is it enough?" Mike sounded anxious.

"It's sufficient," said May, "I have other appointments soon." She waited until the cans at the door signaled his departure before she picked up the jar. Slurry, the currency of their piss lives. Slurry to oil the mechanical parts stringing her body together. Slurry to pay for food and clean water. To Slurry she would return when she died, like all Boomtown citizens. It was written in the town charter. She forced her morose train of thought to derail. There was time enough to pout later, in the privacy of her own bed where only her lone house guest could see her tears. He kept a better secret than she did.

May tucked the jar away when the parlor door slammed open with a bang and crunch as her painted cans lost the fight against the unyielding wall. Sage rushed into her shop, panting and sweat streaked. She double over, bracing herself on her knees as she fought to catch her breath, tools popping out of the mechanic's metal fingers.

"Help me," gasped Sage, falling to her knees, as if the act of speaking was simply too much to handle. May was at her side in a blink.

"What is it? What happened? Is Lowry okay?"

Sage held up her mechanical hand, swallowing and coughing on air. She scowled at the visible tools, shoving them down until her fingertips reappeared. "Lowry stayed overnight at that idiot Finkin's place."

May couldn't help but grin. "Good for her."

Sage glared. "This isn't about her or her beau. Gem's here."

That made the other woman suck air through her teeth. "He has been gunning for you ever since those missing slurry drums."

"They never proved nothing," Sage snarled, setting her jaw. "But, as I currently have some rather illegal parts on my person right now, I'd rather not have a close encounter with the Authority's poster boy."

May's eye twitched. "He's on your heels isn't he." It wasn't a question. Of course he was and Sage knew May had the closest safe spot.

"Get in there," she snapped. The mechanic didn't argue, stumbling behind the partition as the front door slammed open for a second time. The painted cans gave up, their sad crumpled remains falling to the floor.

Gem Reed, the highest ranking member of the Authority who deigned to set foot into Boomtown, waltzed through her poor door. A handful of officers flanked him, crowding her small waiting room to capacity with broad shoulders and jaws of granite. Lovely, thought May, leaning against the opposite doorway, the robe casually falling off one shoulder. Her suggestive posture made a few of them look away with a faint tinge of red on their cheeks. A small smile played on her lips. Weren't they precious? The smile died as Gem Reed stepped forward, invading her personal space.

May narrowed her eyes. Nobody got that close to her without payment.

"Where is she?' Gem spat the word 'she' through his teeth. Oh yeah, he had a total hate on for Sage.

May looked down her nose at the Authority Captain, her eye whirring as it focused on him. "Fraid I haven't seen her in days," said May, carelessly gesturing at her eye. "Though if you run into her, tell her I am due for a tune up."

Gem roughly shoved her aside, stomping into the main room. He kicked over the small table, sending her kettle and hot plate crashing to the floor, flipped her floor pillow, and tossed the folding partition across the room. Fury burned in her veins as he stalked into her modest bedroom, yanking down blankets and turning over her mattress. He found nothing. He would continue to find nothing.

He spun, growling and snorting under his breath as he stared at her. Unlike most of Boomtown's residents, Gem Reed was all flesh. If he had any clone parts, it wasn't obvious, that was the point of clone parts, and he maintained a mightier- than -thou when dealing with the citizens of the lowest tier.

Gem inhaled, wiping a hand through his hair as he turned to the waiting officers. "Out, all of you, while I...question the witness."

The dark innuendo in his voice matched the leers on the men's faces. A chill skittered with a spider's delicacy up her spine. May clenched her teeth, pulling the robe back over her shoulder as the officers filed out. Alone with Gem Reed, she braced herself, cursing Sage nine times over for landing her in the situation.

The man paced the length of her bedroom, before finally throwing his bulk on her flipped mattress. He sat with his head in his hands and groaned. "I hate this place. I don't know why I keep taking the assignments to come down here."

May stared at him for several long seconds. "It does seem terribly unfair to keep saddling you with such a miserable task," she said, casually righting her floor pillow.

"Ever since my failure to retrieve those missing barrels of slurry, I feel like they've lost faith in my ability to deliver," said Gem.

May nodded, setting the table, hot plate and kettle to rights. "Nonsense. You are still their number one guy. Tea?"

Gem sniffed, actually sniffed, and nodded. "Yes, please. I used to rough up pretty, rich boys in York 3."

"Do you miss it?" May set the kettle boiling with filtered water and gathered her tea supplies from around the room.

Gem shrugged. "It wasn't as challenging, but my men respected me."

"What makes you think they don't now?"

The Authority Captain rubbed his face. He looked worn out. If she wasn't certain of the violent backlash she would have snorted. Welcome to Boomtown, sir.

"I don't know, they just don't have the same fearful glaze in their eyes when they talk to me. One of them invited me to Sunday dinner."

"Did you refuse?"

"Of course not," Gem snapped. "His wife makes a wonderful roast. But isn't it better to be feared in my line of work?"

"Hard to say, sir," said May, placing a steaming mug in his hands. "Do you truly wish to be feared?"

Four hours later....

"I really must be going," said Gem Reed, placing his drained mug with care on her night stand. He stood, tugging his uniform down. "This shall remain between us, otherwise I will be forced--"

May cut off the threat. "Customer confidentiality, Captain, my lips are sealed tighter than a church confessional."

"Right," said Gem. "Those priests are terrible gossips after a couple pints."

"Do you want me to look a bit roughed up? Though I rather not tear the robe. It was expensive," said May.

He blanched. "I don't hit women, no matter their station."

"That is fair noble of you, sir," said May.

He hesitated. "However, I do have a certain image to maintain."

"Say no more, sir, if anyone asks, you were forceful but considerate," said May.

"Right," said Gem. "Right. Good day Madame."

May kept the smile plastered on her face until the Captain departed through the abused parlor door. She counted under her breath for a twenty count, well assured the idiot wouldn't come bursting back in, before she crossed the room and hit the hidden latch in the crown molding along the wall.

The hidden door swung open, revealing a sleeping Sage curled up in the corner of the concealed closet.

"That's rich," said May, scowling. "I spend hours entertaining the Authority, after they trash my house, while you take a nap."

Sage startled, falling out of the small room in a tangle of limbs. May sighed, dragging the woman to her feet.

"Thank you," said Sage, wincing as she cracked her neck.

"Don't thank me yet," said May. "You owe me an afternoon of lost customers."

"Ah, come on May--"

"Four hours, Sage!" The Madame snapped, holding up her fingers for emphasis. "Four hours of listening to that brute whine. Your fault!"

Sage gaped at her. "How is this my fault?"

"You are honestly going to ask me that question after dragging him through my door?"

The mechanic had the grace to look embarrassed. "Right, um, about compensation," she said, rubbing the back of her neck in a gesture all too similar to Mike Mulligan.

May felt another headache coming on. "You'll owe me a favor," she said. "After you re-calibrate my eye."

"A favor and a fix? That sounds a little--"

"Four hours, Sage," said May.

The mechanic threw up her hands. "Alright, alright, take a seat."

May squinted at her. "Help me turn my mattress back over."

Sage departed an hour later, after settling May's eye back in her socket and helping set the parlor back in order. She still owed a favorite. Four hours, lost to that whiny bureaucrat! The damage ran deeper as the quiet evening crawled on. After such a long visit from the Authority, her regulars kept well away, scared as jackrabbits after a circling hawk. She couldn't blame them; though she certainly blamed Sage.

When the rusty grandfather clock scraped through the eleventh hour, May clicked off the parlor light. All she had to show for today was the small jar of slurry from Mulligan, most of it gone when Sage fixed her eye. She prepared to retreat back in her living quarters for the night, after a modest dinner when a moving shadow caught her eye.

May smiled, her nighttime companion returned. The madame opened the door wide as the waif stepped from the shadows.

"Come in, love, I'll get the kettle on," said May. Ghost was one of Boomtown's foundlings, small and beautiful. He wandered through the streets by day, fussed and fawned over by others. It takes a village to raise a child, and Boomtown took care of its own. Though he wandered all over, he found his way to her doorstep almost every night. She gave him food, and a place to sleep, nestled tight in her arms. He gave her a chance to treasure the child her body could never have.

"How was your day, Madame Clare," said Ghost, his voice a soft rasp.

She ruffled his hair, slipping an arm around his shoulders as she lead him inside. "Oh, long and boring, as usual."