The phone rang. Sharply.
A groan came from under the scattered sheets of the bed. It was far too early in the morning for someone to be waking her up, even this late in the afternoon. Clasping her eyes tighter didn’t make the incessant clatter go away. Neither did pressing a pillow over her head. With a defeated grumble, she allowed a hand to snake out from under the covers to slap around the nightstand until her fingers successfully grasped a telephone resembling device.
With a few tugs, she was able to bring the receiver close enough to make out a voice. She let the caller babble without listening before calmly hanging up on them. With a sigh, she tossed over, and attempted to lull herself back to sleep.
That illusion quickly ended her as the phone rang out again. She didn’t even feign interest this time, and simply picked up the receiver and slammed it back down. The expected result to such rudeness is that the caller would refuse to ever try again.
Apparently the message was not properly conveyed. The phone rang once again, it’s persistence demanding attention. A muffled scream into the mattress, and she sat up in bed, clasping her eyes against the light of the sun filtering itself through ugly brown curtains. Ignoring the noise, she opened the night table drawer, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and thankfully treated herself to one.
She burned through the stick pretty quickly, and the phone was ringing strong. With no relief in sight and the butt of the cigarette in her mouth, she picked up the receiver, took a long drag, and answered the phone.
"Whoever this is, I want you to know that I hate you."
"Marlo?" came the reply. "Marlo? Marlo, that you?"
"Marlo hates you. Do you get me?"
"Marlo, it’s Win," claimed the voice on the other end as she blinked rapidly, trying to make out the numbers on the digital clock beside her. "It’s me. It’s me, Winston. I need to meet you."
She didn’t bother to reply immediately, taking another long puff from the remains of her smoke. Then, she decided not to reply at all, counting the seconds before he nervously continued.
"I need to meet you. I got news. I got you a job."
"I got a job, Win. I got a job that keeps me up ’til four in the morning. That gets me little fuckin’ sleep as is." A cough, her throat dry from just waking. "You are not helping."
"Not straight work, a job! A real job..."
Marlo frowned and cut him off. "I don’t need trouble."
"I’m serious. It’s a good job. A crew job."
"Crew jobs means trouble, Win. That’s spotlight work. I don’t need the jail time."
"It’s not spotlight. It’s a good group," he pressed, not giving her a chance to interrupt his pitch again. "It’s a low key crew. Low key job. Just make some money. That’s it. No one wants attention. No one wants egos. Just the one job, quick and quiet, and that’s it."
"Win..."
"Just hear it out, at least? It’s good, I promise. Meet me, I’ll give you the basics, and if you’re not game, then that’s it. We never talked, we never met." He waited a second, catching her silence as a moment of consideration. "Just a talk, it’s all I ask."
She squished the butt into the nightstand, and flicked it away. She looked around at the drab room, the tiny bathroom out one door, the kitchen through another. The lumpy mattress of the small bed taking up most of the laughingly labeled ’living’ room.
"Okay, Win, just a talk," she answered, tapping the pack to pull another cigarette. "Monty’s place at eleven."
"You’ll like it. You won’t regret it."
She put the cigarette at her lips, cradling the phone under her chin and her shoulder. She held the lighter to the end, flicking the spark to catch the paper and tar. She was regretting it already.
Still...
"Is it good?" she asked. "The job?"
"Oh, it’s good. It’s boss good."
She padded around the apartment aimlessly for a while afterwards, dressed in boxer shorts and a grubby T-shirt. Cereal seemed a quick meal choice, though she had let the milk expire. Again. The trouble with sleeping through regular business hours, she frowned. Grabbing the box of generic sugar coated cereal, she sat on the edge of the bed and snapped on the TV.
Munching handfuls of dry crunchies, she flipped through the channels without really looking at any of them. It all sort of blurred together in a haze of color and sound, endlessly merging program after program. After a while, it seemed to make an entertaining sort of sense; buy frosted news at six late night coming soon to slices and dices pacific standard stops on a dime.
She rubbed her eyes furiously, and stood up. Folding the cereal box closed and tossing it by the bed, she walked to the bathroom and into the shower. Warm water slapped down, and she took a sinful enjoyment of it for nearly ten minutes before realizing she hadn’t yet undressed. Again, she rubbed her eyes, cursing under her breath.
Coming out of the bathroom, she put on jeans and a sweater, afterwards looking under the piles of clothes and pizza boxes for her shoes. She considered picking it all up, but then she thought better of it. Clean, she’d realize she had a crappy little apartment. At least this way, she could blame it on the mess.
The shoes were more of a bother then normal, and at one point, she was wondering the worth of burning the whole fucking things in the stove and being done with them... Caught herself, and slowed her breathing, letting herself calm down. Calm down.
She deliberately stood up, went to the medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink, and grabbed her pills. She popped one in her mouth, swallowing it dry, rubbing her eyes.
"Easy, Marlo, easy," she mutter under her breath. Her nerves were awful when woken up earlier then usual, and walking back out of the bathroom, she considered taking another. She decided against it, putting on a tattered jacket and stuffing the pill bottle in the pocket.
Just in case.
She left the apartment into the haze filled hallway, not bothering to lock the door. In this neighborhood, she’d be amazed if anyone would take the bother to break in. No one had anything worth while.
Downtown was more of a yuppie stockbroker banker part of the city, and she used to avoid it like the plague. But Monty’s was down here, and the patrons were well off enough to heavily tip a friendly waitress. Thanks to Win, however, she still had hours before her shift, and she was out of smokes.
She popped into a small convenience store, skimmed through half a dozen magazines without actually reading anything, and spent the last of her petty cash on a new pack. She hoped Montague wouldn’t mind her mooching another free meal, tonight. Not that he would, she imagined. Past week or so, that was the only time she was eating decently. She smiled inwardly as she walked back out into the street. The old club owner was an old fan of hers, and more then a bit smitten... she once felt guilty taking advantage of him; borrowing money, eating his food. But only once.
"Look here," came a sarcastically jovial voice behind her. "I’ve managed to catch up to the ’lickety split.’"
Marlo growled to herself, shutting her eyes. The last thing she needed. Turning around with a sigh, she met Detective Nathan Phillips face to face. "Yeah," she managed to say casually, "How about that."
"Marlo, Marlo, Marlo," the middle-aged man preached, "Every time I go out of my way to meet you..."
"Bother me."
"...meet you, you give me this terrible look of bother and woe. I’d almost think you didn’t like me." The detective smiled, pulling out a lighter from his leather jacket, and nodding to her new pack. Marlo noted he still dressed himself like he was the hot shit on the police force.
Which he was.
Marlo surrendered a smoke to him, which he lit with a dramatic pause, followed by a gentle puff. "But that’s right. You hate everyone, don’t you?"
She frowned. "Whatta you want, Phillips. I’m busy."
"Busy?" he asked in mock surprise. "Your crap job and your crap place couldn’t be of much interest. Got a date?" He chuckled at her silence, obviously relishing the moment. "Maybe just a one night stand. Oh! Oh, maybe a ’quickie’!"
"Fuck you," she spit out at him, and turned to leave. His hand came down on her shoulder, and spun her around again. She felt the brick wall of the convenience store press up against her back as Phillips sucked his cigarette.
"I checked with your pharmacy. You haven’t picked up your refill; this week. You’re not going cold turkey are you?" His mood had shifted entirely to his serious bully attitude, a frown punctuating the dark tone of voice
"I still got some. I’m fine."
"And they say you didn’t have the money to pay for the last batch either. Say that you had the bar owner to dish out for them." he tsked slightly, like a disappointed teacher, ready to paddle her ass. "Not good, Marlo."
"It was a loan. I’m doing fine on my own."
"Bullshit. I’ve seen your place. I’ve seen where you work. I know you." He pushed on her shoulder, shoving her harder against the wall. "No damn pills are going to hold Zip still."
Marlo growled, and smacked his hand hard from her shoulder. "I’m not Zip anymore. I’m a waitress."
"You’re broke and your bored. I give you a month before your in your work clothes again. I know you. Its the life you lead. It’s the high you miss. Your type gets off on it. And sooner or later, you’re eventually back at it." He got close, and flicked out the cigarette at her with a smirk.
There was a tense moment, Marlo could feel the blood rushing to her head as the world slowed down. She could pop him one right here. Smack him, put him flat on the sidewalk, and curb stomp him. She figured at that speed, he’d have broken ribs at least, and she could be at the railroad tracks cross town before anyone had time to notice.
But she didn’t.
He was provoking her, looking for her to give him an excuse. She just stared instead, not blinking. He waited a good long time, and then stepped back, smiling. He nodded, and walked away, back down the street to his car.
Licking his lips, he called back, "Keep it slow, Zip." He waved with a mean spirited grin. He climbed into the car, a carefully washed new Corvette. Marlo bet he still drove like he was hot shit, too.
She watched him merge into traffic smoothly, driving away, before swearing loudly enough to get shocked stares from both sides of the street. This is shit! Shit! She followed the rules. She took her medicine. Short of some jaywalking, she walked the narrow; the least they could do is get that jerk off her back.
She violently grabbed the bottle from her jacket pocket and swallow another pill. Glad she brought these. She turned, stuffed the bottle back in her pocket, and made her way to Monty’s.
This was getting to be too much.
With low lights and loud eighties music going, Marlo went back to the bar for another tray of drinks. She smiled at a joking customer that she passed, tossing a glib reply to what could have been construed as a crude line. The low lights hide her occasional frown, as she waved over to Montague the bartender to fix her up.
Monty’s was a fairly packed and quiet place, where the teenagers of the late eighties were now the high money makers of the twenty first century. With their palm pilots and cell phones and designer sports jackets, they came here after work to have a drink, to make a deal, to reaffirm that they were still ’cool’.
She came here because it was one of the few places where she was trusted enough to hold a job. Never mind the fact her resume didn’t exactly have a variety of job related skills anyway.
She heard another yuppie patron whispering, thinking he was out of her earshot; comments on her ass, usually. Just bear it. Take the drinks to them, smile, joke, maybe even flirt a bit. The pay wasn’t good, but the tips helped.
Montague set up the drinks for her, hearing the rude babble. He gave her an apologizing smile, and she smiled back. You couldn’t work in a bar without having a bit of patience, but she was surprised she lasted even this long.
Patty came up to the bar beside her, putting her empty tray beside hers. She was smiling, chewing gum in that annoying way that cheerleaders do. All it did was remind Marlo that she couldn’t smoke ’til her break.
"There’s a guy here to see you?" Patty blurted out with a pop of here gum. "He’s says you know him?" Marlo almost breathed out a sigh of relief, and looked at the direction Patty nodded in. In a far table, she could see a slightly stout man with sparse white hair and tiny rimless glasses. Winston was here.
"Is he a date?" Patty suddenly asked. Marlo one day had to ask her how she managed to only speak in interrupting questions. She told Montague she was going on her break, and slid her tray over to Patty.
She took off the little apron as she politely pushed her way through the crowd to Winston’s table. He was polishing his tiny glasses, a familiar habit of the little man. She sat down across from him and stuck a fresh cigarette in her mouth, treasuring the taste as she lit the end. Winston frowned at the habit, and Marlo couldn’t repress a grin as she blew a smoky ring at him. The round man coughed fairly violently, and waved his hand in front of his face.
"I wish you wouldn’t do that. You know I hate it."
"That’s why I do it," she replied with a smirk.
Winston frowned as Marlo took another long drag. She really shouldn’t pick on him like this, but the episode with Phillips still left a bitter taste in her mouth, and Winston provided a nice bit of proxy revenge. She let the conversation hang, letting him shuffle a bit. Though she had only met the man three times before, his little quirks were near legend. Everyone loved to push his buttons.
To her surprise, he stayed quiet, letting her finish her smoke. She crushed the butt into a convenient ashtray, and nodded at him finally.
"Okay, Win."
The man almost leapt at the invitation. "A couple guys are looking to pull a job. Nothing spotlight, it’s just a bank. Grab the cash, hand it off, and disperse. No moes, nothing fancy. They’re looking for a fourth to go along."
"This where I come in?"
"They’re mostly low key, they don’t get caught. They don’t get noticed. Unfortunately, they can’t come up with the cash to pull it with a name." He paused. "You’re a name. You’d be recognized by the sponsor. You don’t have a moe to throw around..."
"And I’m broke," she chimed in.
Winston stopped, a bit agape, but nodded. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Honestly, yes. You need the cash, you’re gonna want this to go off without a hitch."
Marlo sighed, and considered another cigarette. Instead, she pressed on. "So who’s in?"
"Snappy is the tools. Pooh is muscle..."
"Pooh is one of Copa Koopa’s thugs."
"Copa’s in the hospital. Neatos dragged down two months ago. All of Copa’s guys are either holing up or with other crews." Marlo nodded at the explanation. She had been out of the loop for a long time. Maybe she should stick to one channel at a time again.
"You’d be guest star, of course," Winston went on, "And P’d be the brains."
Marlo was quiet a bit, then looked at Winston with mild shock. "Conspiracy P?"
She gaped at Winston’s confirmation. Conspiracy P was a reclusive albino who big names came to for bidding rights on services. His secretive nature was second only to his strategic mind, coming up with airtight formulas, and deductions on the fly.
"P’s doing this himself? Like, in person?"
"Apparently. Don’t know why, of course," he shrugged, "It’s all very hush-hush. But you see the opportunity, don’t you? This isn’t fodder, this is a play. A good one."
"Good," Marlo muttered, lighting another cigarette. "Boss good." She pulled in the smoke, leaning back thinking. P was notorious for hatching schemes. He never came out of hiding himself, why bother? Others pay him for the plans, he doesn’t need to pull a job himself. Wasn’t a major thing that went down that he didn’t have a hand in laying out.
But if he’s crew on this one, if he’s there in person, then the common screw ups may not be so common after all. And on a small thing like a bank.
And she could use the money, that much was a given.
Winston leaned forward a bit, lowering his voice to her. "It’s a job, Marlo. A real job again," he baited her. He knew he had her. "You’re wasting yourself here for what? Come-on lines, bad tips, and the reputation of being the fastest drink server in the city?" He frowned. "This isn’t you. Those pills they make you take aren’t you."
She shot him a cold glare, and he leaned back, sorry. There was an awkward silence before he chimed in again. "Look, what I meant is the pills are good for you. This... this life isn’t. You can be Zip again."
She leaned back, the forgotten cigarette hanging from her lips as she just stared away at nothing. He droned on in the corner of her mind as she contemplated what she had. That quickly turned to what she used to be. How she could be it again.
Zip. The ’Lickety Spilt’, the quickest crook alive. She butted out the smoke, putting a sudden stop to Winston’s chatter, and just sat there. The decade old music mixing in with the low lights like the TV earlier. A blur. Its what she missed most. The movement. The thrill. The blur.
A wicked smile came across her face as her eyes darted over to a quiet Winston.
"I’m in."
Hello folks! It’s been a long time since I put words to screen, but there’s been a bit of a shake-up in my life recently, and I find I get more creative the more down I am. Sparks of creativity, the urge to complete forgotten projects, reasons to just let *something* out, even if its super-hero fiction.
I re-read the couple issues of Marlo Vivo I had previous released, and hated how it was all coming out. I like some of the beats, but I had done a poor job of realizing a couple key elements, making a couple important factors clever, etc. So I’m throwing most of it away, opting to redo it. This is the first issue of the rewrites... and it is very nearly the same as before. Someone once reviewed this issue, saying it had a really strong set-up. This time, I hope to live up to that. :)