Part IL: Yvette's Sensitivity

Harry Guakomoli and Yvette left the shit show the bungalow had become. Our hero had some questions, but he certainly wasn't going to press his companion for answers. At least not at the moment. Yvette stared out the window and resumed smoking her pot from the ceramic pipe.

"I feel I owe you an explanation," Yvette said as her gaze remained fixed on the scenery as The Guak started the trip back into The City.

"Only talk if you want to," responded The Guak. "You don't owe me an explanation or anything else."

"Like I said earlier, to keep the shop open, and us from getting evicted, I've had to do some things I'm not proud of. I borrowed money, a lot of fucking money, from some shady people. They sold my debt to someone else. Someone who's in the flesh trade. I told 'im I wasn't gonna be a whore, and he said that was okay, that I could just be a dancer."

"Sounds like he changed the arrangement without filling you in," answered our hero.

"Yeah," the lady said sadly.

"Your usual driver picked some night to not show up."

"That fact is not fucking lost on me," she said while she continued to stare out the window. "Fuck, I don't know what's gonna happen now. Do you think all those guys are dead?"

"Most of them," our hero replied. "Probably all of them."

"God, I hope so. I don't want a murder charge."

"I might be able to help if it comes to that," remarked The Guak, thinking of the obvious government connections Dinah's weird shadowy organization must have. "I know some people."

"Oh, really?" said Yvette. "You better. You're the one who turned that place into a crime scene. Well, more than it was already becoming. Fuck, Leisure is going to flip."

Leisure? Where did The Guak know that name?

Right! our hero recalled. That girl that pederast Travis was "sweet" on. Lori? Lola? No, it was Lily. She "works" for Leisure.

"That guy's a pimp," our hero commented.

"No fuckin' shit. I just said that. And that motherfucker tried to turn me into a call girl."

"I mean he's got teenage girls tricking for him," The Guak clarified. "He turns kids into hookers."

Yvette ended the conversation by not uttering another word.

"So...uh..." The Guak said. "Your voice inside my head..."

"I'm sensitive," the lady answered.

"Really? You strike me as thick-skinned."

"I mean I'm psychic, you ass," said Yvette. "I kinda am. I can read people's thoughts. The ones on the surface. I can go even deeper the more I come in contact with someone. I can talk to people's minds with mine too. That's how I haven't been outed as a fraud. I probe the bitch's brain for somethin' that she's dwellin' on and then blow some smoke up her ass. Unlike Momma. She's the real deal."

The Guak always thought ESP was a load of bull, but he has been around a lot of odd shit as of late, even by his standards. So reading minds was no longer completely outside the realm of possibility he decided. And he definitely heard her inside his head.

"So why didn't you know those afterbirths were going to pull that shit before they really did?"

"Because alcohol fucks with the connection," she replied. "The emotions intensify and rise to the top. It brings out the...um...what's it called? The id. Their thoughts become so primal. So raw."

"It doesn't get much more primal than rape," our hero theorized.

"True. But all I could tell was that they were horny. The guys at these things are always like that. I should have smoked more trees. It helps me channel."

"Dies ist verdammt verrückt," The Guak commented as he subconsciously shifted to German.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," he replied. "What am I thinking about now?"

"Pull over," Yvette answered.

Our hero did as he was told and pulled off to the side of the street. Yvette finally pulled her eyes away from the window and faced The Guak. She cupped his stubbled chin with her right hand and guided his face toward hers. The band of her silver skull ring was cold on his cheek.

"Now think of something, anything, that's completely random," she instructed. "And concentrate on it really hard."

She stared into his eyes and his into hers.

His mind wandered, blocking out the previous events of the night, the beautiful woman gazing into his eyes, the things he had seen during the drive. Just between you and me, dear reader, he began to think intensely about a playing card, specifically the ace of spades.

"Got it?"

"Got it."

"I read nothing," Yvette concluded. "Just like when I tried earlier tonight and the other day. That's not true; I did sense something. Like a faint buzz. Something that's running interference. You're a weird fuckin' dude, Guak."

"I guess," our hero said with a shrug. "But you talk to me mentally?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I discovered that the moment you stepped into the shop, when I told you to shut the door. I don't know how this shit works."

"I'm...I'm sorry I let this happen tonight," our hero said changing the subject. "I fucked up, and you got hurt."

"Knock that shit off," said Yvette. "I didn't sense anything fucked up was going to go down, and I can read minds. I should have told you about the ESP thing, but I keep it under wraps. Like a trade secret. Bidness would go completely tits up if people figured out it was a sham without Momma. And you stopped it before I got really bad. I was scared more than anything. I've suffered worse than a fat lip and a few bumps."

The continued look of remorse on The Guak's face must have been obvious because Yvette cradled his face with both hands.

"I can't imagine what would have happened if I had gone alone. You might have went overboard, but you saved me. You. Saved. Me. You're a bad ass. Your apology is sweet, but it's unnecessary. So knock it off. But can you do me a favor? I mean another one?"

"Name it," said our hero.

"Can I stay at your place?" she asked. "I should lie low for a few days. Or forever."

"Sure," The Guak replied. "But it's a dump. And what about Yvonne?"

"She'll be fine. Momma's in her room in the back of the shop, but Leisure and his guys won't fuck with her. They're scared she'll hex them or something. And if they do show up my cousin Bomo is there with a shotgun."

"'Bomo'?" our hero asked. "What was that about white boys and their code names?"

"Shut your cracker mouth," responded Yvette with a chuckle.

The Guak shifted the Dodge back into drive and continued on his way, changing course to the Resplendent Auberge. Yvette smoked a bowl, called Bomo and told him to stay with Yvonne until she said so (it was quite a lively conversation with lots of colorful back-and-forth!), and then smoked another bowl.

Our hero parked the car across the flop house he called home. Dawn had arrived, starting the brief four-hour window in which none of the corner girls could be found. The pair exited the Aries.

"Later I'll go out and get you some clothes," said The Guak as he looked at the lady, her trench coat buttoned all the way to the very top.

"No need," Yvette replied as she grabbed the car keys from our hero. "I got my getaway bag."

"Getaway bag?" inquired The Guak.

Yvette sighed.

"Sometimes when I'm out driving," she began to answer. "I get an urge to disappear. To leave Momma behind and start over. So I packed a bag and decided if the calling got to be too strong I would take off and not look back. That was two months ago. I'm still here."

Our hero nodded and escorted the kinda psychic into the Resplendent Auberge.