The pink nail polish on the dollar bill brought a few questions to Stutshi’s mind. ‘What kind of girl could he ever get? Half a fossil… He was a good tipper.’ She scrunched up the dollar and the nail polish cracked in several places revealing the purple paper underneath. ‘Cheap stuff. I wear better nail polish than this.’
She shrugged and placed the money in the back of her kitchen drawer. The next day she placed her tips atop the old bills and there it was left for nine months.
Stutshi threw open the kitchen drawer and grabbed everything inside, patting the sides for any stuck bills. She hunched over the kitchen table and spread it out into piles of ten for each denomination. She tallied on the inside of a cereal box dotted with sweat. She went through every note and sighed.
A hundred dollars went back into the drawer, ten went in her small purse and the rest stuffed into her sock.
Cautious in her steps down the bare cement stairs, she brought her bicycle to the street and rode west. She rode easy and when passing two patrol officers she swung out the normal distance and tried her best to smile.
Still sweating, Stutshi went to the corner store and purchased their strongest painkiller downing twice the recommended dosage. The bottle read it took a short time to take affect and she prayed for fifteen minutes till the medicine kicked in in force.
She kept west. The small shops gave way to commercial offices bearing modest placards four or five names on each two-room floor. Then those gave way to a small cluster of freight truck depots opposite the causeway.
The bridge climbed a hundred and fifty feet between embankments at the center. From her side, the hazy edges of Wax Island melted into the sea. She squeezed her eyes shut and continued to peddle.
On the causeway cars hurriedly passed, amongst them breezy eighteen wheelers and other cyclists undaunted by the traffic. Bicycles were topped with balance defying stacks of clothes and bags of flour which blocked a decent view of the road ahead. Mundane routes only interrupted by the odd slow cyclist unaccustomed to their part in the flow of traffic.
Stutshi had heard many things about Wax Island. She, like many people her age, had fond memories of visiting the island’s apiaries, sampling the perfect honey and bringing some home along with a few long candles. Her routine customer informed with grave authority how all of that had changed. Criminals had assumed de facto control of the island and turned it into a battlefield where no one was safe. It was the only subject he brought up. She suspected it was the only subject he would ever talk about.
After their last discussion, she went to a bar where the barkeeper was reputed to be good source of information on Wax Island. She threw down a generous tip and quaffed a triple glass of grain vodka. She left with an address and a price, then went to collect the funds.
The causeway’s checkpoint was lined with cars and trucks and bikes waiting to be inspected. Aggravated, she tried to look past a flour sack laden bike and caught glimpses of an imports officer happily waving cyclist after cyclist through. She walked forward with the line and swallowed another painkiller to maintain.
When she reached the front of the line she looked at the imports officer in his pressed blue hat. He stared back trying to remember her face. Much attention went to her bruised left cheek. She brought a foot onto a peddle but he placed his hand on her handlebars. Immediately the old woman next in line grumbled shaking her head.
Stutshi stared at the officer with pleading eyes and feared the alcohol on her breath. Everyone had that stench but all the man needed was a reason.
He held out a hand. “ID.”
She gave it to him without hesitation though she fumbled to get it out of her purse.
He read it briefly. “Not carrying anything?” He looked at her bike paying close attention to the soldering lines.
“Nothing,” she replied.
“Purse.”
“I’m sorry–”
“Purse,” he insisted.
She handed it over keeping an eye on his hands. Behind him stood a windowed booth with a countertop. He flipped through the contents befuddled and disappointed. In broad view he pulled a ten-dollar bill out and gave her purse back then waved her along. She peddled on with the haste the officer expected and squeezed her eyes shut to pray.
When she opened her eyes she was face to face with the climb. The hump in the causeway marked the halfway point. She flipped her bike into low gear and started the climb.
She craned her neck up and only saw the hundred and fifty vertical feet she had to push through. It didn’t help her pain, but every few seconds she looked up not believing how short her progress was. Even in low gear she had to push the bike hard to keep momentum; occasionally slipping into the road she pushed harder and righted the front wheel on the sideline.
Again she looked up but she was under the azure sky. Not a storm cloud. Not a distant squall. The wind blew into her face pushing her tears back. She’d made it to the top of the climb and her pain ceased.
Ahead was the skyline of Wax Island. A bright row of neon signs distinguished at a distance by their large trademark symbols of dice and roulette wheels and the water buffalo and giraffe and other animals known from folk stories to possess great luck and fortune. But beyond the front facing displays were plumes of smoke by the dozens. The neon glow failed to pierce the fog.
Stutshi hesitated at the top of the hill wondering if everything her customer said had even a kernel of truth. If there were door to door gangsters extracting payment from all too-curious visitors who drunkenly slipped beyond the casinos and whore houses. If there was a violent struggle for control of the streets. If the entire island would explode. ‘If…’
But as she thought, her back wheel rolled over the crest and the causeway dragged her down towards the island. Once at the bottom she recited the address the barkeeper told her. “115 Fasa Road, Floor Three, between Ninety Sixth and Ninety Fifth.”
The streets didn’t bear the obvious signs of struggle she’d been told by her customer. The streets were clean, the buildings stood strong. Some of the sidewalk was divoted in places but she easily swept into the street and back. She found hope in the several children riding along with coolers strapped to their bikes. ‘They wouldn’t be out if there was anything dangerous happening,’ she thought.
She approached her destination, the address visible only as the clean outline on a brick wall where the numbers used to hang. After judging the distance back, she carried her bicycle up the exterior flight of wrap around metal stairs.
She knocked on the door and almost immediately a woman in pink scrubs answered.
“Is this Tohwama Dental?”
“Yes,” the woman answered with a welcoming grin.
“I’m looking to get a tooth pulled.”
The woman noticed the obvious dark blue bruise on Stutshi’s left cheek. “You poor girl. Come inside, we’ll take care of your bike.”
She led Stutshi into an office which looked off compared to any other medical center she’d visited. The operating chair was in plain view of the reception desk without a separating wall in the small space. There was also no pretext of casual enjoyment, no photos of customers with bright white smiles, no large diagrams pointing out the different teeth and their purposes.
She stood in before the reception desk as the woman walked her bike to the corner of the room and shouted down a hallway. “Katashi! We have a patient!”
A man’s voice bent around the hallway. “Give her the preliminary Rusk. I’ll be right there.”
The woman guided Stutshi to the big chair, reclining it in whiplike jumps from a foot pedal. She looked into her mouth, the issue evident. “Your tooth is cracked in half. What happened?” She kept her gloved fingers in her mouth for a few seconds more.
“A drunkard punched me at my work when he ran out of money for more booze.”
“Poor girl. It must be a bother for you.”
“It has been.”
“You took anything for it?”
She reached in her purse and pulled out her painkillers. “Five so far, and some liquor.”
“You shouldn’t take these with alcohol.”
“It’s not everyday I get my tooth cracked. I’ll live through this and get back to work tomorrow.”
Rusk slipped her fingers into her mouth again. “Only with pluck like yours.”
Once the preliminary determinations were made, Rush left with a promise to return soon. She did so with a white-haired man in a slumped posture.
“Dear, this is Dr. Katashi.”
“It’s good to have you doctor.”
“As you ma’am,” he said in a bass voice. “My nurse tells me your tooth was cracked; may I see it?” The doctor performed his inspection. “The third bottom tooth on your left side is broken in three pieces. There is no saving it. It will have to be pulled. I can also install a wire to hold the adjacent teeth in place but I suggest you achieve that goal via a more advanced method back on the mainland.”
Stutshi’s brows furrowed. “I’ll just take the extraction.”
“Very good. I’ve heard you’ve taken painkillers. That leaves me with only local anesthesia. The procedure will cost three hundred dollars.”
‘The barkeeper was correct.’ She pulled off her shoe and handed over the money.
After counting the various assorted bills, the doctor had Rusk grab the requisite cotton swabs and liquid numbing agent which smelt like floor cleaner. Applied to the gumline for ten minutes, it was only meant to ease the tissue for the injection of local numbing agents. Though dulled, Stutshi held onto the armrests awaiting the extraction.
The doctor inserted a heavy clamp and fitted it over the tooth. With a small amount of pressure and a pop resonating in her skull, the tooth was broken up. He pulled the small pieces out with a tweezer and dabbed the open wound with a dab of clotting agent. It didn’t hold long and he offered her several soft napkins.
“No solid foods for a day. No hard candy or chewy foods for five days. Gargle a strong mouthwash when you get back.”
“Thank you doctor.”
“Nurse, check on the bleeding and let her go when she’s ready. I’ll be in my room.”
Rusk raised the chair so she could lean her head forward and let the blood drip from her mouth.
“You let the manager handle the drunks from now on. Save your pretty face.”
Stutshi smiled. “You know… Thank you… I wasn’t expecting, all this.”
“Well it might not be fancy but it sure is cheaper than any dentist on the mainland.” She tried to laugh but the nurse’s face shifted. Stern, she said, “It’s your clothes, your bike. You show the wrong fear. It’s not what’s out there, it’s what you have to be afraid of out there.”
“I rode this far. Wax Island doesn’t seem as bad as I’ve heard it described.”
“By who?”
“I know a man, a big player in the government. He likes to talk about imports and exports and how this island’s stealing all the business. He’s been, frustrated as of late.”
“Please stop.” Stutshi looked disappointed. “Don’t come back here. There are many stories about this place but it is not worth your health to try and get familiar with this city.”
She didn’t reply. The nurse checked her mouth and said she should go.
Down the stairs and back onto the streets, Stutshi took another two painkillers as the numbing began to wane. Staring ahead at the buildings she’d passed before she picked up the turns that’d take her back to the causeway. ‘What does she know about it anyway? I got all the way here with a broken tooth. If I wanted to stop in a casino every other weekend and see about some action then I could do that easy. A salaryman from the main island is no different when he arrives at one of these casinos except he’s drunker and looking for a way to celebrate at night. I could get three hundred in a week. I wouldn’t have to see that balding oaf anymore. I could even go down the streets a bit if I felt like it. I–’
A thunderclap explosion funneled down the street. Stutshi looked back as a three-story building was consumed in pouring brown smoke. Brick and twisted metal flew over the adjacent rooftops. She kept riding away but couldn’t take her eyes off the unfolding destruction.
When most of the dust cleared it was evident the explosion came from the blasted shell of a van parked on the street. The sidewalk had been churned up and burnt black in an expanding arc. The building’s façade had disappeared. Granular concrete poured out in pale brown waterfalls. A dusty arm fell out and vanished in the billowing smoke.
Stutshi turned her head and peddled desperately for the causeway.
Colin Klawans 