Page 29 of Roma King
“I know it’s a cell phone. What do you think you’re doing, holding it in your ever-loving hand like that?” Just like the kid in the orange jacket earlier, he has an accent, though his is even subtler. It’s thewayhe speaks, the inflection and the strange lilt to his words, that makes it sound like he isn’t one hundred percent American.
“Ahh. I don’t know. Just holding it?” I replied weakly. “Making sure it’s safe?”
“No cell phones allowed down there, sweet thing. You’re gonna have to leave it with me.”
“What? No. I don’t think—”
Patrin folds his arms across his chest. “You wanna go down or not?”
“Yes.” The truth is that I don’t want to go down. Not one bit. But the photo of Corey in my pocket can no longer be ignored.
“Then hand it over. Don’t worry. You’ll get it back when you come back up.”
“I didn’t see anyone else handing over their phones.”
Patrin scowls as he points at a small basket on a tiny table behind him. A table I haven’t noticed until he just pointed it out. Inside the basket are six other cell phones with pink coat check numbers stuck to their screens.
“Right.” Reluctantly, I give him my phone. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he applies a fresh coat check sticker to the screen, and then dumps it into the basket. I accept the corresponding ticket from him and slip it into my jacket pocket.
“Don’t lose it,” he warns. “You’ll be shit out of luck later, won’t you.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement that brooks no arguments. He turns his attention to Garrett. “What about you, big fella? Where’s yours?”
Garrett shakes his head, holding out empty hands.
“Fuck’s the matter with you? Let’s move this along, shall we? It’s cold and wet, an’ I don’t particularly want to be out here, dealing withyou folk.” The way he says ‘you folk’ makes it sound like we’re criminals or something. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
“He doesn’t have a cell phone,” I say tightly. “And he can’t speak, so don’t get shitty with him.”
Slowly, Patrin’s head turns, his intense gaze boring holes into my skin. “Well aren’t you a firecracker. Got a sharp tongue in your head, woman.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “And you have a mean streak a mile wide. We all have our crosses to bear. Are you going to let us in or not? Itiscold and wet, and we didn’t come and wait out here in the rain for the fun of it.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. Up until now, I haven’t given much thought to how he looks, apart from the fact that his expression is severe and angry, but in actual fact the man’s quite handsome when he smiles. He’s probably in his early thirties, and the tinge of grey at his temples gives him a rugged, strangely attractive edge. “I like a woman who speaks her mind,” he purrs. “Wouldn’t get too comfortable speaking to people like that down there, though. Go on,Gadje. I’ll see you later when you come for your phone.”
My insides flutter with adrenalin as I walk past him and descend down the steps. Garrett gives me a gentle prod in the back that I understand all too well:what the hell was that? Are youcrazy?
I grunt, taking care of where I’m stepping in the darkness, pretending like I don’t notice his silent comment.
The stairs are wide and slick beneath my feet. I can’t see if they’re coated in moss and slime, but it sure feels that way. At the very base of the stairs, the kid in the orange jacket is sitting on a high wooden stool, holding a flashlight in his hand. He jumps when he notices us; he clearly didn’t hear us coming down to meet him.
“Ahh, you made it! Where’s your friend?”
“Sarah? She wasn’t feeling well. She had to go home.”
“That’s a shame. All those different dead animals on her clothes. Looking at her was very confusing. I liked her.” It’s an odd comment to make, but the kid doesn’t mean to offend. His affable, wide smile and the bright twinkle in his eyes speak of genuine amusement. There’s something charming and innocent about him.
“Never mind,” he continues, his smile broadening. “You’re still here. You’re ready to eat, drink and be merry, then?”
His words remind me that Sarah told us not to drink anything down here. Seemed like a weird warning. The kind Alice should have been given before she tumbled down the rabbit hole. Shame. I could really use a drink right now. “We are,” I say, plastering a broad smile of my own onto my face.
“Hold out your hand, then. This stamp’ll get you into most of the attractions. There are a couple you might have to pay extra for, but hey…you’ll still get your money’s worth with this.” The kid presses a rubber stamp against the inside of my wrist. When he removes the stamp, an inky black mark has been left behind. A sickle moon surrounded by stars. “I’m Leo. If you need anything, I’ll be right here, ready to be of service.” He winks at me, and I realize with a twinge of embarrassment that he’s kind of flirting with me. The color in his cheeks is high, flushed a rosy red, and his voice has a nervous warble to it. Poor kid.
The beam of his flashlight bounces off the walls as he turns and opens the door behind him, and then an explosion of color, sound and light hits me right in the face.
The space is massive, far bigger than I would have thought possible. From my vantage point, it looks as though the underground station is at least the length of a football field, if not two.
Down either side of the abandoned station, rows of stalls stand, laden and overflowing with flowers, candy, puzzle boxes, children’s toys, stuffed animals, glass bowls complete with goldfish, and an array of games. There are people everywhere, milling between the stalls, pulling the flaps to tents back and disappearing inside. A crowd has gathered to the right, fifty feet away, apparently watching some kind of amusing performance that has them all erupting into fits of laughter.
The air is a confusion of scents and smells, all swirling and bleeding together: cinnamon, cardamom, sugar, all-spice, braised meat, chocolate, and the tang of smoke.
