Here's the first part of something that I've been working on. Let me know what you think.

2

There weren’t any lights along Baker street as we cruised past burnt out tenements to the center. There were no people in sight, but that wasn’t surprising. A few years back, a couple minor gangs (El Bucho Cohones and The Blue Death) got into a turf and open season was declared on anyone in this area. Between the two groups popping each other and the Slops that were sent in to tidy it up, there wasn’t much left. Most people don’t remember the reason for avoiding this area, but the carnage is burned into their collective memory. I don’t mind the area since it’s an empty wasteland and you only fear the living, not the dead. Besides, this is where I got my start.
Chaz stopped at the gate and one of the hombres walked up to look the truck over. His name was Domingo, and he is always looking to cause someone trouble.

“What’s up Dom?” Chaz said as he climbed out of the truck. I started to get out, but changed my mind.

“How you think? It’s raining and your bud’s Mom is late again.” He grinned at me with his inset gold and silver teeth. Someday he’s going to swallow them. He walked past the driver side door to the rear of the truck and kicked it. “Lemme see what you pack’in”.

Maab nudged me. “You gonna let him check out the load by himself?”. I looked at her and decided that she was right. I stepped out and walked back to make sure old Dom didn’t try to take a cut.

By the time I got back there, the truck was open wide and Domingo had started tasting the merchandise. Several kids had come around enough to react and started screaming or crying. He had pulled a few gags loose so he could hear them plead.

“Hey gringo, I think this one likes me,” He said as he felt up the body of one of the semi conscious preteens.

“It’s only the sedative that’s keeping her from running away. Hands off the merchandise unless you’re buying.”
“Don’t wanna buy, but how much for a couple hours?” He said and squeezed a nipple until she whimpered. Her eyes half opened, still glazed from the drugs. His grin was like a rat with metal teeth.
“You couldn’t last a couple minutes. No samples. Hands off the trim and get out of my truck”.
He laughed “Or what, pendaho?”. He rested his hand on his Bowie.
“Or I’ll kill you”.

Dom locked his eyes with me, trying to size me up. He wasn’t sure if he could take me or not and that’s fine. Chaz stared at him, then me, then Dom again, unsure of what to do. Eventually Dom decided it wasn’t worth it, mumbled something under his breath as he climbed out. He waved to the gate and walked away while we bolted the panel shut. Once the metal garage door was raised, Chaz carefully pulled the truck through. Domingo didn’t look at me or the cab.

“Smart Man”
“I wouldn’t call him ‘smart’ or a ‘man’” Maab said and grinned.

Chaz laughed and pulled the truck through to the second checkpoint. I knew the guards on tonight’s shift and there wasn’t any inspection. It’s standard for the truck and cargo to be quickly checked, along with an underbody look at the vehicle for explosives. It isn’t too uncommon for Slap N Tickle to try to car bomb the competition or the occasional Slop team will commandeer a truck and tries to bring us down all by themselves. If any kind of problem is suspected, the truck is directed to the infamous dock #18 where the problem can be dealt with. Tonight, we pulled through to dock 3 and waited for the crew boss to come over.

I climbed down and headed around the side to wait with Maab close on my heels. I heard that DAC’s do the same thing and know why I never wanted one. Chaz took a few moments to clean up the cab and stow his gear. It was the end of our shift and we were all glad to be in. I heard the yard director call out Dock 4 and saw another truck limp through the checkpoint.

Truck 7 pulled into the dock next to us and it looked like it had been shot to hell. Pockmarks and dents riddled the sides and one set of the outer tires were flat. The bulletproof glass along the driver side door was punctured in several spots and distorted with red spiderwebs. That was Dixon’s truck, someone I had known for all of five months. I was glad when I saw him step out of the driver ’s door without any wounds.

I waved to him but he was distracted. He and his runner (the third person in the truck responsible for hanging the meat) carefully pulled a body out of the cab and laid it onto the concrete. A dark stain covered Dixon’s coveralls and boots. It was Carla, his driver and it looked like the flak vest and bulletproof glass wasn’t enough to save her. The side of her face and neck were gone and one arm was hanging by threads at the shoulder. I walked over, looking down at the body and the slowly spreading pool, and my stomach turned. I still am not comfortable seeing this kind of thing, even after as long as I’ve been in this business.

“What happened?”
“Johannas. They musta made us when we crossed 53rd at Bowler. They caught up on bikes about three blocks later. They was armed like Ops.”

It’s always a risk hunting near gang territory, but the truck armor and speed is usually enough to get us out of trouble. The heavier weapons were bad news and something to watch for, but maybe this was an isolated incident. Carla was a good driver and had been his lover for several years so the loss would probably cripple his team. So much for team #4 coming up with a bullet.

“Sorry about Carla”, I said and walked back to where Maab stood. She alternated looking up at me and past me at the body. I saw Jaeger, the crew boss heading over to check my count and started over to meet him.

“What happened to her?”, Maab said as I passed.
“Lead poisoning. It’s a bitch”.

That night we took the #2 spot by five trims three of which were cherries, but would have to beat Macy’s team for an entire week if we wanted to stay there. I figured we could do it if I talked to the right people and got a feel for this week’s streets. She didn’t like competition and any dead heat would have her bouncing her team off walls. Also, the chances of us having an accident were now a lot higher. The world would have been a much better place if her truck had run into the Johannas tonight instead of Dixon’s. I can handle Dixon, but she’s a verifiable nutcase. Sooner or later, she and I would have to talk.

Sooner came earlier than expected. I put my chop mark on the tally sheet and headed for the observation area when something hit me in the side of the head and again straight in the mouth. The world went white and spun sideways in slow motion. Someone pulled me to my feet by my hair and slammed me into the side of a truck. The numbness faded to pain as my vision began cleared. I recognized Macy ’s snarl and grinned through a bloody mouth.

“Hiya Bitch”

She growled and hit me in the gut with enough force to pick me up. My breath left me and my knees were water. I started to drop to the floor, but she held me on my feet with a forearm under my chin. Macy was a good six inches taller than me and used her size and bulk to good effect. She wasn’t straining at all from my weight, and could dish out punishment all day long.

“Motherfucker! No one takes my slot from me! Got it prick?” She shook me on every other word for emphasis.

“Let him go asshole”, Maab whispered. She pressed a sawed-off 12 gauge to the square of Macy’s back. She pushed on the shotgun on each word for emphasis hard enough that I felt it. I hoped she wasn’t crazy enough to pull the trigger since I was at ground zero. I also hoped that Macy wouldn’t try anything stupid.

“You got yourself a new girl, eh?”. Macy said, glancing over her shoulder. “She know how to use that bang-bang?”.

I heard a sound of one of the hammers fall in Maab’s shotgun and my heart stopped. Macy’s eyes got wide and her face lost its color.
We locked eyes for a moment like we were in this together.

“Oops. Guess it was the OTHER trigger.”

We stood there for a few moments and I wasn’t sure who was the most scared, Macy or me. Maab just stood there and grinned like a maniac.

“Now. Slowly. Let go of him and step A-WAY”. Maab drew that last word out and Macy complied, stepping clear of me. It seemed like everything around us was quiet.

“Now get the fuck out of here, BE-ITCH”.

Macy had regained some of her composure and started to speak when Maab pulled the other trigger. The click of the hammer on the empty chamber sounded louder than a gunshot and Macy shuffled backwards, gasping for air. I did the same and slumped to my knees.

My God, they’re both crazy.

I jerked my 10 mm from the holster in the square of my back and aimed it at Macy’s face. She had half pulled a vibro-machete from her hip, but stopped when I aimed at her. I could hear a low hum and see the edge of the blade was blurred.

“Put it away and get the hell out of here”.
Without taking her eyes from mine, she turned the blade off and let it slide back into its sheath.

“This ain’t over Mason. I’ll deal with you later bitch. Better watch your back”, she said and stared at Maab.

“Better watch yours” Maab said and gave her a sweet smile. The air seemed a little colder.

After Macy backed around the side of the truck and left, I put the weapon away and stood up slowly. I could feel a couple of my teeth were loose and my midsection was sore, but I didn’t think anything was broken.

“You just made an enemy”, I told her.

She shrugged and smiled again. “You’re welcome, don’t mention it!”.

I just laughed and smiled back. Sometimes she can be unflappable. I decided to head to the viewing area to watch how our take did.
Maab followed me past the slumped lines of drugged nude bodies. Trade physicians and appraisers circulated through the lines and made notes on the brightly colored number cards that were hanging around the necks of the victims. Occasionally one wasn’t of acceptable quality (damaged goods, obvious disease, malnutrition, etc.) and they were given an orange card. These unfortunates (were any lucky?) were pulled out of line by the clean up teams and taken for disposal. Or they were given to Him.

I could see the thing in the pigskin standing astride two of the posts along the pen, watching the trim lumber forward. He held a cattle prod in one hand and a wicked looking meathook on his belt. It was Pig Man, the Skin Trade assassin and cleaner. I made the mistake of meeting his eyes once and will never do it again. It was like looking into the pits of Hell. I could see that he fascinated Maab, but fortunately he was too interested in the meat below him to notice. I guided her by the arm towards where we could look out one of the gates.

The “distribution center” was an abandoned coliseum built for what was considered a revolutionary team bloodsport that never took off and got dropped by SIC in under a week. Gorezone killed the sports star. I have to admit that I never had an interest to watch much TV, but Gorezone immediately hooked me as a favorite. The commercials are pretty good also.

The center has been heavily renovated for the convenience and comfort of patrons of all tastes and budgets. In a lot of ways it’s like a theatre for some sort of dominance play. There are several levels of seating ranging from the higher priced luxury boxes (whose occupants bring opera glasses or binocs) down to the common man’s pit area that is at the base of the auctioneer’s block. The parade area and stall system is lined with heavy-duty fencing and electroshock prods that the trim is driven through. Sometimes I notice the differences between the dehumanized chattel and the inhuman crowds and it makes me shudder. After all I’m the one that brought them here and help keep the place’s life blood flowing. What does that make me? I look away before the question answers itself and concentrate on guiding Maab towards the viewing area. From the corner of my eye, I know that Pig Man sees my reaction and starts to smile. Despite everything he has gone through, he still remembers me. Another thing in my past I wish I could leave behind.

The auctioneer’s cacophony is deafening, but at least it masks the groans and slurred pleading of the merchandise. Billy Joe Williams is the man’s name with the whipcord voice and the thick southern accent. He makes every sentence sound like royalty is coming through the gates at Mach 4.

Lines of flesh stand huddled together for protection and warmth until they are forced forward and divided. Occasionally, the popping bug lamps put one in a trance and a stall hand gives them a shock to keep the flow going. Under the blue lamps, they are scarcely human. It’s easier to think of them that way when you have distance. Up close, their eyes are dead from the drugs. Dead like they are.

I take a few moments and hit the refreshment stand for something cold. I’m hurting badly enough from Macy’s beating that I think I’ ll need a painkiller or kickstart to be able to enjoy the drink. I swallow the pills dry and put the cold cup to my face. Damn she can hit hard, but the bad thing is she enjoys it. I hope we can avoid her for a few days so she’ll cool down and I can have time to heal up. Otherwise I hope Maab’s gauge is loaded.

I look at Maab’s profile and wonder about her. She seems healthy, has good skin tone, and good teeth. Probably came from a decent home if there is such a thing, but I can’t figure why she would want this kind of life. I wonder what she’s running away. She breaks my train of thought by looking at me and leaning close enough to hear her voice. I can feel her breath in my ear and it sends shivers down my spine.

“You ok, boss? Look’in a little pale”.
“I’m ok, just a little sore. Once the 3b kicks in, I’ll be fine.”

A few minutes later, I decided that I wasn’t ok and needed to lie down. I tapped her on the shoulder and waved as I limped away. All of the on-shift crews had quarters available here, but I seldom took advantage of them. I like to sleep in my own space, but for the time being, anything softer than concrete would be fine. Sleep was coming quickly with the drugs in my system and I needed to relax to let the healing start. Maab caught up to me and walked at my side until I had gotten to the truck. I climbed into the third seat and laid down on my wadded jacket and she climbed into the passenger seat then locked the door. After a moment, she switched to the driver’s seat and sat so that she could see my face. She waited until I had settled before starting to speak.

“How did you get into this?”

“A friend brought me in.” I knew the drugs were kicking in because a warm tingling was growing in the bruises. I was a little groggy, but would be fine by the time I woke up.

“You ever think of getting out?”. The question must not have come out right because she rephrased it. “I mean, you seem like…like there are a lot of other things that you might be happier doing.”

I opened my eyes and carefully turned on my side so that I could see her. Her face was barely lit by the florescent lamps outside, but her eyes were bright. I wasn’t used to her serious tone.

“No. I’ve tried other things, and I’m not good at anything else. What do you want?”.
“Hmm? I’m just asking. I just wanted to-”
“That’s not what I mean. Why are you here? What are you running from?”

She thought about it for a moment and took a moment to answer.

“Not running from anything. I made a promise once, and I’m trying to keep it”.
“Must be a helluva promise.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“That’s why I don’t make promises. If you’re worth anything, you’re held to your word. That makes you predictable and gets you killed. If your word isn’t worth crap, you aren’t either.”

She snorted and shook her head.
“Aren’t you too young to be cynical?”. It was a funny thing for her to say since I had at least a couple years on her.
“Maab, you’ve got a lot to learn a few things if you’re going to survive”, I sat up slightly to see her better and repositioned my coat pillow.
“The first thing is that being a cynic is being a realist”. I carefully rolled onto my back to make breathing easier.
“What’s the second thing?”
“Tell you tomorrow grasshopper. I need to rest, so shut up”. I pulled part of the jacket down over my face and tried to hide from the world in my dreams and from her eyes.

What in hell is she after?

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