Act of Revenge by Robert K. Tanenbaum Page A

for her record system, a swivel chair for her, and a ratty armchair for guests. She drew a couple of cups of black coffee from an urn, sat behind the desk with a grateful sigh, and gave her guest the once-over, focusing on Marlene’s soaked crotch.
    â€œWhat happened, you piss yourself or are you just glad to see me?”
    â€œThe dog.”
    Mattie raised an eyebrow. Then they both guffawed. Mattie had a deep, wet laugh, like an old man. Marlene had worked with the EVWS for a couple of years. Their clientele overlapped to some extent, and they more or less agreed on the principle that guys who persisted in trying to kill women should get their lumps. They were both unindicted felons, but Marlene was guilty about it and Mattie was not. Marlene related her recent experiences at the Chelsea clinic. Mattie was not sympathetic.
    â€œThat’s what they get for having glass windows. Uptown assholes!”
    â€œI think they were trying to make the place more inviting. Not everybody likes to work in a fort.”
    â€œLet ’em open a goddamn yarn shop, then. Speaking of uptown assholes, your pal Brenda Nero is back with us.”
    â€œHow nice for you.”
    â€œYou got to help me out, Marlene. The bitch is driving me crazy.”
    â€œUh-huh. The solution is simple. Walk up to her and say, ‘Sugar, get your young white ass out of my shelter.’ ”
    Mattie frowned, taking on even more of the aspect of a Toltec idol than she normally carried. “Marlene, hell, you know I can’t do that.”
    Marlene did know. “What’s she done now?”
    â€œOh, you know. Nothing you can put your finger on, but I got three women threatening to leave if I don’t get rid of her. That’s a laugh, huh?” She laughed dully to illustrate. “They’re threatened with death and dismemberment, and they’d rather skip than hang with Brenda.”
    â€œThat’s Brenda,” said Marlene, and looked long at her pal, and observed that she was genuinely suffering under the hard-girl mask. Blaming the victim was one of the three remaining cardinal sins among the liberati of New York, along with littering and smoking in restaurants, and Marlene struggled daily to resist it. That it was always the Man was not, however, an article of faith for her, as it was for Mattie. In many cases it turned out to be an unconscious conspiracy between a man and a woman to continue mutual torture until they were both dead. Thus she could see Brenda as a mere problem and not as a holy cause.
    â€œYou’ve talked with her, naturally.”
    â€œI’ve talked with her, I yelled at her, I made her cry. I came this close”—Mattie held thumb and index finger a pea-diameter apart—“to punching her face out.” She snorted. “That’d be rich, huh? Shelter operator pounds victim.”
    â€œWhy’s she here?” asked Marlene with a surreptitious glance at her watch.
    â€œOh, the usual. Chester’s acting up again.”
    â€œShe says.”
    â€œShe’s got a big bruise on her jaw, goddammit!”
    Marlene adopted the calming tone she used with dangerous fanatics, of which there were some few in her life. “Okay. Well, why don’t I go and have a little talk with Chester this afternoon? Maybe we can work things out.”
    â€œBreak his legs.”
    â€œIt’s an option. Was that why you wanted to see me today?”
    â€œNo, it’s this new one. Won’t talk, won’t say who she is. Looks like she’s been pimp-beat, but don’t look like a hooker.”
    â€œWhat, with a wire hanger?”
    â€œSome kind of thin whip anyway. Looks like it’s been going on for a while, the scars. She says he put his cigar out on her ass.”
    â€œAnd she won’t say who she is?”
    â€œNo, but—”
    â€œBut me no buts, girl. You got rules, I got rules. You know I don’t touch a client unless she goes