Everybody went through bad times. You endure them. Got no other choice. ’Cause things will get better eventually. Just like the old blues songs said.
For the most part, she was quite content. She had freedom. Lot of folks couldn’t say that. A clock told them where to be and when. Always rushing somewhere. She’d been in a few places where the people always pooh-poohed her ideas on being able to sit outside and breathe the fresh air. Those were the same people who assumed she wanted a damn bath. Even though Dorothy tried her best to follow the words of Christ, these people tried to shove their own version of religion down her throat. And of course, those were the same people who tried to take her bottles of gin away.
No, thank you.
No, fucking thank you.
The humid summers didn’t bother her. She knew places to stay where the wind cooled her in the summer and where it was warm in the winter, places where skyscrapers vented billowing clouds of tropical heat. The rest of the time, the world was hers. And she had her friends, some in the regular world of nine-to-five jobs, mortgages, and clocks, and some who had fallen or jumped through the cracks and ended up living on the other side of that regular world.
The canvas bag moved again. It twitched.
Nobody noticed. Qween Dorothy knew it wasn’t because she was invisible, as reassuring as that might be. The uncomfortable, real reason was that people simply didn’t want to see her. Their gaze slid around her and her cart like oil over a light bulb.
She pushed her cart across Washington, ignoring the light. Brakes squealed and horns split the air. She paid little attention to all the racket. The last time a cab driver had gotten impatient and nudged her cart with his taxi, knocking it over and spilling her possessions into the street, she’d hauled the little bastard out of the car and kicked him until she got too tired.
Most of the homeless in the Loop didn’t bother with a cart. It was easier to just leave their stuff under whatever ledge or overpass they’d claimed; pushing a cart across the wildly uneven asphalt and concrete of downtown was too much work. At least, this was the tendency of the folks that were truly homeless.
The Loop was also flooded with imposters jangling paper coffee and soda cups at passersby, pretending to be destitute, but they actually had a hot meal, a soft bed, and a family waiting for them after a day of panhandling in the streets. She didn’t have much patience for the pretenders.
The frauds had learned the hard way to avoid Qween Dorothy at all costs.
She continued north on Clark, and the sidewalk that bordered City Hall grew wider. The crowds grew thinner. She left her cart near the revolving doors and unscrewed the bolts that secured the back wheels to the frame. She didn’t like to leave it out on the street if she could help it, and taking off the hockey-puck-sized wheels seemed to deter most thieves. Without the wheels, to move the cart, you had to damn near carry the whole thing. You couldn’t easily grab anything inside either. Everything was wrapped in two separate tarps and anchored with ropes and bungee cords. She told herself not to get her hopes up and tucked the wheels into her cloak.
She adjusted her plastic Viking helmet, grabbed the twitching canvas bag, and went into City Hall.
Qween Dorothy knew the eyes of the two policemen at the metal detectors, not to mention the cameras, were locked on her as soon as she pushed through the spinning doors into the cool darkness. The younger cop looked like he’d just as soon club her and dump her ass back on the street. She’d seen the older one before. He’d been patient with her requests, and even if his eyes betrayed his bemusement, at least he kept a patronizing tone out of his voice.
The corridor was crowded. City employees, young couples searching for the County Clerk for marriage licenses, a few listless protesters, and self important politicians who tried to look busy while casting glances around to see if anybody recognized them, clogged the metal detectors. She ignored everyone except the two cops and stepped up to the desk, surreptitiously depositing the bag on the floor, between her feet and desk.
“Afternoon, Qween,” the older one said.
She clasped her hands and smiled. Without the cloak, the horns, and the All Stars, she might have been a kindly old lady on her way home from church. “Good afternoon”—she squinted—“Officer Nabor.”
“What can we help you with today, Qween?”
“Well, sir, I’ll tell you. You folks know me. You know I been here a long time. Seen lots a things. I’m telling you right now, there’s some bad things going on.”
“Bad things, Qween? Like last time, maybe the time before? When you were yelling about the city?”
Qween frowned. “I be lett—I was letting off some steam then.” She found her smile. “Punks be stealing from me, moving into my spot. Fuck—messing with me. I was down here trying to get the city to do something different then.”
Officer Nabor knew this. Today he understood Qween Dorothy was trying very, very hard to be polite. “Okay. So what’s different today?”
“Rats are dying, Officer Nabor.”
The young cop snorted.
“And this is a problem . . . how again?” Officer Nabor said.
Qween tried to be patient. “Have you seen the river? I counted fourteen dead rats in it. Last week I saw over twenty-five in one day.”
“Okay.” It was almost a question.
“When’s the last time you saw that many dead rats? Where you been? Ain’t you seen the subways?”
“We drive to work,” the young cop said. “Free parking.”
“You need to go down there. See for yourselves what’s happening.”
Officer Nabor leaned on the desk. “I’m sorry, Qween, but I’m just not following you. Dead rats. So what?”
She stared at him for a moment. “If you ain’t never seen this many dead rats before, why you suppose they be dying now? What you suppose is going on under this city?”
Officer Nabor shrugged.
“It’s like a warning. A sign. I dunno, gotta be some scientific name for it.”
“You mean like a portent?”
She considered this. “Maybe,” she said slowly. It was hard to tell if he was mocking her or not. If she couldn’t get them to understand that something was dead wrong, she wasn’t sure how to convince them. The suspicion was creeping back. She’d come in here, trying to get the Man to listen. She should have known better. She realized she was being stupid. Must have been drunker than she thought earlier in the morning. The peace was beginning to wear off. Without thinking, she touched the side of her cloak, just enough to brush the bottle inside her down vest, just enough to double-check it was still there.
Both officers saw the change in her face. It was like watching the side of an iceberg slough off. It started in almost slow motion, then caught speed, until gravity took over completely. The kindly old woman on her way home from church was gone. Qween Dorothy’s street face was back with a vengeance. She tried to smile again, and the effect was chilling. This time the young cop touched his canister of pepper spray much the same way Qween had reassured herself.
“If you two dumbass dog dicks ain’t smart enough to see that I be trying to help y’all, that ain’t my problem. I got me a meeting with the mayor.” She wrapped the cord that tied the bag shut around her wrist and moved briskly for the elevators.
The cops were in front of her in a heartbeat. Officer Nabor had his hands up, palms out, still trying to resolve things amicably.
“Now, Qween, let’s not take this too far,” Officer Nabor said. “The mayor’s a very busy man, and I don’t think they’re gonna fit you into his schedule. I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Well, I know what to tell you. You get the fuck outta my way.”
“We can’t do that, Qween. You know that.” He moved to take her by the arm. “Let me help you back outside, get you on your way.”