The Gateway to Sin

Her heart leapt as she found the manila folder containing all her life's papers. Transcripts. Birth certificate. Legal papers. It was all here. There were other important papers, too. Vanessa grabbed the trashcan, dumped the contents out over Adam's fallen body and then swept everything from the safe into it.

She closed the door behind her without a second look at Adam.

* * *

"OOooooooh God yes."

Travis thrust into Precious again and again, still hard enough to bump the headboard against the wall. Her volume gradually reduced, though, falling to simple, rather convincing grunts as she ran out of breath. "Uh," he mumbled, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," Precious huffed. "Yeah, just...oh, wow." Her legs slipped around Travis's waist. "This is... actually... oh... really good... seriously, keep fuckin' me like this and I'm... I'm gonna have to tip you."

* * *

"Ugh, she needs acting lessons so badly," Illyana sniffled as she heard the door open. The young blonde's cold made her Russian accent sound silly. She hardly looked up from her cheap bed, deciding instead to pull her pillow up around her ears.

Vanessa shut the door behind herself. "Illyana, how are you?" she asked her roommate urgently.

"Be better tomorrow," came the response, followed by a cough that led to some distinctly unladylike spitting into a bunched up bit of bath tissue.

The sight of her made Vanessa even angrier. The bastards couldn't even be bothered to go out and get Illyana an actual box of tissues, and probably not cold medicine, either. Hell, they'd only given Illyana the night off because visibly sick hookers didn't exactly rake in the big bucks.

Vanessa put it aside. "Honey, where's my boy?"

Illyana pointed toward the open closet on the other side of Vanessa's bed. There, curled up in the old plastic hamper full of dirty clothes, was Vanessa's little love. "How can he sleep through that racket downstairs?" Illyana asked.

"He's a good boy," Vanessa said, crouching down next to her. "Illyana, I need you to get up."

"Eh? Why?"

"Because I've got your passport, your visa and enough cash to start you all over again, but we've gotta leave right fucking now."

Illyana raised her head wearily at first, looking at Vanessa with bloodshot eyes, and then sat bolt upright when she saw the bounty sitting in the trashcan. "Bozhe moi!" she gasped.

"Get dressed. Throw something on, anything, doesn't matter what as long as it's warm. The car's just a couple blocks away."

"What car?" Illyana asked. "What—?"

"Illyana, you've gotta trust me here, okay? Get dressed. Wear the leather jacket. You've gotta carry Geronimo and hold onto him for dear life no matter what, okay?"

"Da. Yes. Okay." Illyana rubbed her face as she forced herself out of bed.

Vanessa went over to the hamper to collect her boy. "And you," she added, hugging him close, "if anyone asks you, your name is Chester, okay?"

Geronimo meowed.

* * *

"That's a fair hit!" Gio complained. He watched as the play was repeated in slow motion on the television screen, growing even more irritated as the announcers complained about roughness and the culture of the teams. "Oh, cry me a fucking—hey, Adam! Get down here! They're playing your whiny bitch song!"

He finally heard the shuffle of feet descending the stairs. Either Adam had trouble with the safe, Gio figured, or he had just waited until Precious quieted down again. The banging still hadn't let up yet, but at least her screaming had.

Seeing the approaching form out of the corner of his eye, Gio turned in his plush living room chair to taunt Adam further. "Hey," he said, "them mo'fuckers—AAAAGH!"

Vanessa caught Gio dead in the eyes at very close range with her pepper spray.

Gio lurched out of his chair, quickly becoming tangled up in his overly-baggy jeans. He fell to the ground with one hand on his eyes and the other fumbling for his gun. "Motherfucking bitch!" he wailed.

Illyana stood behind Vanessa in a leather jacket and jeans, holding the Serengeti housecat close and trying to alleviate his nervousness. She stepped further away so the smell wouldn't alarm Geronimo. "Since when do you carry that?" she asked.

Vanessa kicked Gio hard and snatched the gun from his waistband. With him down and disarmed, Vanessa searched his pockets for his phone, wallet and car keys. "Picked it up at a convenience store tonight," she explained.

* * *

Precious was just really getting into this guy and his relentless drive when she heard the scream. "What the fuck?!"

Travis immediately stopped thrusting into her. "Okay, just chill out here and I'll take a look—"

"Fuck that!" Precious blurted, shoving herself away from Travis. She leapt off of the bed, throwing the door open without a care for her nudity. Travis was not so immodest; he paused for the single second he needed to pull his sweat pants back up, grateful for the third time that he wore such convenient clothing tonight. He followed behind Precious, quickly finding her at the end of the hallway with her hands in the air.

"Go back in the room you just came out of," said Vanessa from behind her gun, "and fucking stay there until somebody comes and gets you."

For a moment, Travis wondered if she was talking to both him and Precious. When the redhead moved off, though, Travis saw an immediate change in Vanessa's expression. He also saw the man writhing in pain at her feet, and the blonde far behind her holding a cat.

His brows came together immediately. "Waitaminute," he said.

Vanessa strode past Gio and then Travis, moving to the first bedroom door in the hallway and throwing it open. She found Precious there, hurriedly dialing someone on her phone. This room was much more thoroughly furnished and decorated than the others. Vanessa pointed the gun at Precious once more. "I said the other room, bitch! Drop the phone and go!"

"Okay!" Precious blurted out, quickly obeying. Vanessa just scowled as the redhead rushed past. She picked up the phone, thrust it into her pocket and then threw the closet open. "Couple more things and then we're gone."

"Vanessa, what the hell's going on?" Travis demanded.

She pulled out a shotgun and two more pistols from a shelf within the closet. "I don't want to leave these assholes with their guns," she explained. "Careful, they're loaded."

"That's not—that's not what I mean!" Travis frowned as she shoved the shotgun into his arms. "Where's your son?"

"Illyana's got my boy," Vanessa said. "I never said he was my son." Her eyes met his, set in cold resolve. "Okay, I feel really bad about not telling you the whole truth, but he's still my responsibility and he's the only family I've got. Would you have come if I had told you he was my cat?"

Travis frowned darkly. "Don't give me that shit. I've got two cats of my own at home."

Vanessa's argument came to a halt. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Okay then."

"Is his name really Chester?"

"No, it's Geronimo."

"Good," Travis sighed. "Chester's a terrible name for a cat."

"Hey!" Illyana called from the hallway. "Can we leave now?"

"Fucking bitches," Gio tried to protest. There was a brutal thump. "Ow! Stop kicking me in the head!"

Travis and Vanessa returned to the living room. Vanessa paused to lean over Gio and issue him a final warning. "You have no guns, no phones, no money and no car keys. You're nothing but dumb muscle and you know it. Don't even think of trying to find me."

"Oh fucking shit just go away!" wailed Gio.

Vanessa walked to the bottom of the stairs to pick up the trashcan and dropped her stolen items into it. "Let's go," she said to the others.

Travis took the lead, wanting to keep an eye out for possible witnesses or problems. His eyes swept the residential streets as they hustled over two blocks and across the next, grateful once again for both the rain and the poor street lighting. He saw no traffic passing by. The street where they had re-located the Mercedes had been fairly empty, though now there was at least one other vehicle that hadn't been there before. It caught Travis's eye right away.

"Jesus, is that Rudy's car?" Illyana asked as she followed. She coughed again, holding Geronimo tight despite his protestations about the rain and being held.

"Yeah. I know where it'll get stolen and taken to a chop shop if we leave it overnight," Vanessa said as they crossed the street to get to the Mercedes. She opened the car and put the trashcan inside as Illyana moved around to the passenger side door. Then she realized her partner had fallen behind. "Travis?" she asked.

The tall young man with the shotgun strayed away in the street. He stared at the SUV parked on the other side of the street with its lights off and the silhouette of someone sitting inside. "Dad?" he asked.

"Travis?" Vanessa repeated behind him. She watched as everything about his posture and stride changed from wary caution to anger and purpose.

He rapped on the SUV's windshield. "Dad!" he growled loudly.

"Holy shit," Vanessa and Illyana breathed in unison.

The man in the driver's side, dressed in a vanilla sweater vest and a nice button-up shirt, looked to his left in surprise and obvious fear. A second form appeared inside just then as a young woman lifted her head up from his lap. "Travis, wait!" the man yelled.

His face twisting in rage, Travis hoisted the shotgun up over his head and brought the butt of it down on the windshield. The glass buckled and cracked in a spider web under the impact. "Travis, stop!" yelled the man in the SUV.

"Son of a bitch!" Travis growled. The girl jumped out from the passenger's side and quickly ran down the block. The driver's door opened. Travis's father stepped out, one hand up to ward off his son's anger and the other holding up his unfastened and unzipped pants. "Is this why you're so okay with Mom's sleeping pills, Dad?" Travis demanded.

"Travis, it's not what you think!"

"Oh, bullshit! It's exactly what I think! It's called fucking hypocrisy, Dad! And cheating! And—Jesus Christ, you are such a—!"

"Don't blaspheme at me, young man!" Travis's father ordered as if his commanding tone would turn the tables on the moment.

It didn't. "Fuck you, asshole," Travis scowled.

"Dammit, Travis, I can explain."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Travis said. He pumped the shotgun. His father went white as a ghost, stepping back from his son. Travis aimed the shotgun at the back wheel well of the SUV and fired. The tire burst immediately. Buckshot pierced the frame in a dozen little spots. "Explain all this to Mom," he snarled.

Travis turned from his father and walked away. He much preferred the company of the whore he'd just met that night. At least her lies were forgivable.

They didn't say anything right away as they drove. Vanessa kept her eyes on the road. Illyana sniffled. Geronimo complained. Travis stared off into space.

"Sweater Vest is your father?" ventured Illyana.

"Yes," came Travis's flat answer. He paused, then eventually turned to Vanessa. "Tell me you never—"

"Does it make any difference to what you think about me if I did?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away. It was hard to think through his anger, but for her sake, he tried hard to be honest. "No," he replied finally.

"No, I didn't," Vanessa said. "I hardly ever even saw him. That block is someone else's turf, anyway. He has a thing for Asians and black girls. That's all I know."

"Same here," Illyana chimed in. "They say he is kind of douchey."

Geronimo meowed loudly, scratching at the upholstery.

Vanessa drove. "Illyana," she said, "I need you to pull the cards out of all those phones and smash them. We're gonna go over the 520 and throw everything off the floating bridge, okay?"

Illyana nodded. "Will Sweater Vest call the police?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment. "I don't know," Travis frowned. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know. I'm so sorry. I just complicated the hell out of this, didn't I?"

"Don't worry about it," Vanessa told him.

"No, I did. I'm sorry. We were about to get away clean, and I just—" Then his phone rang. "Shit. Speaking of," he grumbled as he looked at it. "I really don't want to answer this."

"Give it to me," Vanessa said. She held out her hand. "I'll handle it." Travis looked at her as it rang. "Look, you came to my rescue tonight and helped me get out of this shit. Let me help you back. I know what to do." Travis's expression remained dubious, but he was out of ideas. He handed over the phone.

"Is this Travis's dad?" she asked by way of greeting. "Shut the fuck up. Shut up and listen to me. I know whose whores you were hiring and who pimps them. I know what they charge and what blocks they work. If you don't want trouble with the cops, you will call a fucking cab, go home, and then wake up in the morning and report your car stolen and act like you don't know a fucking thing. Don't tell me you don't know how to lie to your wife or the cops."

She waited. "It's the only way you don't wind up in jail, asshole. Your family life may already be in the shitter, but I'll put everything else in there if you try anything clever, you got me?"

Travis looked on in awe. "I wouldn't have thought of that," he mumbled when she looked back at him.

She put the phone against her shoulder. "You never lived on this side of the law. He still wants to talk to you. Want me to hang up?"

He shook his head. Travis took the phone from her. "Tell Mom," he said.

"Travis—" his father tried.

"When you finish with the cops, you tell Mom the truth or I will. I'm moving out either way. I should've gone a long time before this. Don't call me again. I'm busy. Probably for the rest of my life. Goodbye." With that, he snapped the phone shut.

"Do you know where you're gonna go?" Vanessa asked.

"Not really," Travis shrugged. "I've got a couple friends I could stay with until I figure that out, at least."

"Yeah," Vanessa nodded, and put her hand on his leg. "Yeah, you do."

He looked back at her a bit sadly. "Thanks," he said, "but do you know where you're gonna go?"

"Holy shit," Illyana interrupted. "Vanessa, do you know how much money this is in here?"

Vanessa smiled back at Travis. "Back to school," she answered.

* * *

The text message came earlier than he expected. Travis had his phone sitting underneath his computer monitor. He clicked away at mindless internet silliness, killing time until the work day ended. He was well ahead on his most recent project, anyway, and his team lead knew it. As long as Travis didn't make a spectacle of himself, the boss didn't mind allowing him a little lazy time.

Travis actually worried a bit when the phone buzzed. It was a little too early for her to be calling. She'd be in class until at least four o'clock. Travis picked it up, turned it over and glanced at the picture of Geronimo lazing in the sun before he opened the message.

"Prof sick. Class canceled. Came home early. We love the flowers. What's the occasion?"

He smiled and responded. "No reason."

By the time he had it keyed in, there was already a follow up. "I need your help with something. Come home soon."

Travis frowned. "What's wrong?" he replied. His mind wandered as he waited. Was something wrong in the apartment? Did something happen at school?

His eyes turned back to the computer, but his mind stayed on Vanessa. They hadn't had much in the way of problems since they moved in together. She was responsible with money. Serious about school. She partied, but knew when to quit, stayed away from drugs, and never once left him in doubt about their relationship. She even got along with his mother. He wondered what could be wrong.

Then came the picture mail. He opened it up. It was obviously a self-taken picture from Vanessa's phone. In the background he could see the cheap Ikea table in their dining nook, and the bouquet of roses in the middle of it, with Geronimo shamelessly munching away on the petals. In the foreground was Vanessa, looking up at him with an enticing grin and a self-evident problem summed by the follow-up text message: "All my clothes fell off again."

Travis took a deep breath. "Hey, Harvey, I think I'm gonna have to take off a little early today. I've got an emergency at home."