I stood in the small waiting room and studied the framed prints hanging on the walls. They were simple images of flowers and colorful fruit in glass bowls held in cheap plastic frames. I have never seen fruit or flowers with that bright of colors and wondered what kind of sick mind came up with the images. The wall behind them was concrete that had been hit with a wash of surgical green, I guess to give everything a weird look. The orange vinyl chairs and red plastic tables didn’t help the eyes. The day-glo room was making my head throb.
There were muted voices and the occasional scream from behind the door, but the three people in the room besides me didn’t seem to notice. Martino was sitting behind the receptionist’s desk and working a wetstone along the edge of a 9” Bowie. His favorite toy was closer to a sword than a fighting knife.
“So Mason,” he began. “I heard you took the #2 spot from Macy. How’s it feel?” His eyes traced the stone as he moved it along the blade. He looked like a teenage boy masturbating in slow motion.
“Not bad, but I don’t really think much about it. Just doing the job.”
“I unerstan that chu dohn like bloodshed much. Seems like to me, if you in-tend tuh stay on top, you had better git used tuh it.” Boudreau said with a thick Bayou accent, drawing out his words. He was a short fat black man who always looked like he was on vacation. He wore flowered shirts, baggy shorts, and a white straw hat. For some reason I always pictured him with a camera around his neck, at least until he became business-minded. He could turn from jovial to violent in the blink of an eye.
“Yeah, what stupid’s saying is brace for impact man. That bitch don’t give ground” Sheba piped up. She was a tough redhead that must have been pretty at one time, at least before someone rearranged her face. Rumor has it that she used to work in New Paris as a hooker until she dis’d her pimp. He wanted to make sure she would never work in that field again and cut up her face. Now she’s in the supply end of that business and runs it with her own flavor of cruelty. At least a third of her catches are so beaten up they can’t go to auction. She makes up the difference in volume and sells most of her cargo for the organs.
Martino again. “Sheeb is right. You better watch your back, man.”
“So Mason, how DID you manage to climb over Macy. You got contacts?”, Sheba asked.
“Yeah I got contacts, but mostly I don’t kill the ones I bring in. That and I got a good team.”
“Uhh-huh! Thuh boy sure has got himself a Good team! That girl he got is a sweetie!”. Boudreau was a connoisseur of several things including women, but he wasn’t by any means a lady-killer. At least not in the traditional sense.
“I seen her,” Sheba said. “She’s cute, but I doubt she’s got the instincts for someone that’s been there.”
“Like you? You think he oughta take on a partner like you?” Marino asked and looked up from his knife.
“Yeah, like me.” She said and cocked her head.
“I’m sure you been there. You been everywhere else but I don’t think you’re instincts are gonna help him do anything except get dickrot!” Marino laughed. Sheba sneered and pushed him off the desk. He stood up laughing and sat in the chair to continue sharpening the blade.
“Suh, my hon-uh forces me to re-mind you to treat any wo-man like she a lady…” Boudreau began. He looked at me and winked before continuing. “Of course, there is some de-bate that this is uh woman.”
Sheba smacked his hat into his lap and we all laughed for a while. It was good to be able to talk and joke without being competitors for a few minutes. Sheba sat down, crossed her arms, and cursed.
“Fuckers. Every one of you is exactly alike. You never let the past go.”
“So Mason, how do you manage to snag the big hauls? Sheeb had a good question.”, Marino asked.
“And I answered it. Mostly I don’t use a gun to bag ‘em. I feed them a line of some sort to draw them out of the crowd, feel ‘em out to see if they’re a Slop, then guide them to the truck where we bag ‘em. I just do it differently than some of the others.”
“What kinda lines?” Sheeba had stopped brooding.
“I don’t know, anything that comes to mind. The sillier the better.” I wasn’t about to tell her my technique but I didn’t fee like lying to her. Marino took the heat off with a verbal snipe at her.
“You know what he means, Sheeb. Any kind of line that a guy could use to get you in the sack. Anything from ‘scuse me, wanna fuck’ to ‘hey didn’t I use to live next to you, wanna fuck?’” Boudreau and I lost it and started laughing. Sheba kicked the chair out from under him and he hit the floor with a boom. When she saw that he was still laughing, she started kicking him.
The door opened and Dr. Koslov looked out to see what was going on. He was wearing a thick butcher’s apron and surgical mask with goggles that were stained crimson. The sound of Marino’s fat ass hitting the wall brought him out. He raised his voice to be heard over the laughter.
“What’s going on?” he asked. His eyes looked several inches wide because of the thick goggles.
“I need to talk to you about supplies.” I said. Yes, Marino had been there longer than me, but he was getting kicked at by Sheba and was still laughing too hard to object. Kids.
“Ok, come with me. And watch your step, the floor is wet.” I stepped into the next room where he did most of his work and saw that he and Dr. Vogel were cutting on a body that was strapped to a table. A bloody cooler sat on a nearby table filled with bloody red meat and ice and the smell made my stomach jerk. I averted my eyes, held my breath, and followed him into the next room. The floor alternated between sticky and slick as something trickled into the drain.
“What do you need, Mason?”
I started to hand him the list, then he realized he was still wearing the bloody surgical gloves.
“Ah- Excuse me,” he said and put them in the front pocket of his apron. Taking the list, he pulled a key on a chain from around his neck and used it to unlock a wide gray cabinet. After a few moments I was fully stocked on 3b’s, painkillers, sedatives, and chloroform. He locked the cabinet, took my payment, and led me back to the door.“See you soon, Mason” he said as he opened the door.
“Lets hope not.”I was glad to be out of that room but a little surprised that the kids had stopped fighting and wandered off. I guess one of the lines that Marino mentioned must have worked. Boudreau was the only one left and he looked bored as he read through a ragged fashion magazine. Waving goodbye, I entered the hall and looked around. There were usually few people up here to see Koslov, and it was always the same group. Beyond being one of the primary docs for the meat lines in the stockade, he also was a skilled butcher and did a lot of “recovery” work on the meat that was too damaged to use for anything except donors. He gives me chills when he says goodbye with a “See you soon”. It was like he hopes to have you on the table next. I don’t associate with ghouls unless I absolutely have to.
I hung a right and headed for the stairway towards the docks. Maybe I would get something to eat and relax a while before I bedded down for the night. The sound of my shoes echoed ahead of me.
I got that feeling again and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something wasn’t right and my stomach felt unsettled, so I unsnapped my holster and began to look around. In the shadows below me, something moved. For a moment the top of the head was all I could see, then he rounded the landing. His expression was completely blank.
“Oh, Dieter. What do you want?” I asked.
He didn’t answer and came forward staring through me. The bandage across his nose and cheek had a slightly stained furrow where Ruez ’s blade had taken him. When he didn’t answer, I began backing up. He didn’t need to explain what he wanted.
“We can talk this over…”I started, but he wasn’t buying. I guess this is what Macy had in mind.
I reached for my 10-mm and had just cleared the holster when he dove and slammed me backwards into the wall. My head rebounded off the concrete and my vision blurred, but I didn’t drop the weapon. His light blue eyes bored into mine and he locked his hand over my wrist. It was like a vice and as he squeezed, and my grip loosened on the pistol. His hand moved up and enclosed mine on the weapon then gradually pushed it to bring the barrel in line with my head. I winced and pushed back as hard as I could, but he was winning. The only emotion he showed was a growing sneer on his lips.
I pushed against him and he pinned me to the wall with his chest. No longer able to move, I brought my knee up hard and caught him square in the groin. He must have been wearing a cup because it didn’t drop him. I repeated it three more times and he groaned, then locked my knee with his legs. It put him off balance and we fell to the floor where we both scrambled for the pistol. His longer reach spun the pistol off my fingertips and he put his knee on my back to hold me in place while he got it.
I scrambled to pull the supplies free of my coat and popped a couple syringes free of the bubble wrap. Flipping the plastic caps off, I rolled over and slammed them into the inside of his upper left thigh. He growled and gave up the attempt to grab the pistol, deciding to wrap his hands around my throat instead. I drove the plungers home and gave him enough juice to drop a Stormer. I must have shot the dosed right into the femoral artery because his eyes quickly glassed over and his grip went slack. I shoved him off me, leaving the syringes in place and gasped for air. My back and ribs hurt, but I was alive. Scooping up my package and the pistol, I looked back at Dieter. He wasn’t moving, just lying on his back staring up at the ceiling.
Anger swelled in me and I stood up and aimed the pistol at his face. I put the front sight between his eyes and stood there. I thought about it for a few moments and lowered the weapon.
He was dead already.
I tore Ruez’s cross of his chest and left his body on the landing for the rats.
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