by Brian Ewing
Ama was his friend and more recently a co-worker. He wasn’t sure he was ready to potentially mess up a great staple in his life. She kept him grounded. She put up with his shit. She liked who he was and accepted how very different he was from anyone else she would normally come across. They were not lovers but she was the only companion he had the last year, aside from the team. She had even stated she only had Ojibwe and him, aside from her recent collaboration with Project: Corrine. Life was far from perfect but through all the darkness, Sisto realized Ama was more than someone he could rely on. She was his shining light through the constant darkness.
Duke and the Williams brothers showed up as Sisto was about three-quarters done with his plate. He felt like he was auditioning for Fear Factor or The Challenge, eating his way to a victory. He was unsure who he was competing against but felt justified in not stopping just because of a few grumbles as his stomach started to reach capacity. He then realized Garrett, Duke, and both Williams brothers were simply watching him as he engulfed the last of his plate.
“You just get out of prison or something?” Duke asked, only half-joking.
The men at the table chuckled but Sisto didn’t catch the joke, as he saw past the men he was sitting with, focusing on the clique set up on the far West of the event ground. He saw Andy sitting and talking to Mason and could see two other men exiting tents as well. One was the kid, Freddy, the other was raspy-voiced Rug. It looked like Mason and Andy were waiting on the other two and upon approach, all four men made way down to the buffet setup. Sisto considered waiting and hoping to have the men sit at the same table with them as they had last night, but a new idea arose.
Sisto thought if he could sneak up to the elevated grounds that the men had claimed, maybe Sisto could get a vibe from The Reels. Sisto excused himself with a lie, saying the plate that held nothing but debris of crumbs and maybe a bit of hash browns, had gone through him, and needed to relieve himself. He went the long way and kept a careful eye on the group that chose to outcast themselves at the edge of the event grounds. All four of them arrived at the buffet table and started to slide down each station, plating what looked appetizing to them. Sisto was far away and loosened his brace so he could get up the elevated path a bit easier.
Once he was up there, he hid behind one of the tents and looked back at the line to see if any of the men saw his intrusion. All four men still had their backs to him and were starting to get to the end of the line. He knew he only had a few minutes and knew if he were detected, it would not be good for him. Ducking best he could, he started with the first tent. Nothing but raunchy magazines and empty beer cans. If there was something to show, The Reels spared him. The second tent was immaculate. Literally a sleeping bag and pillow that looked untouched. Sisto felt he needed to be quick but if he saw nothing, would double back to that one to try and get a vision off the pillow. He just wasn’t thrilled about crawling inside someone else’s tent.
The next two tents proved interesting. The third had multiple firearms laying next to an electric lantern and a Playboy. The sleeping bag was messy, and the interior smelled like rotten milk and human feces. Sisto assumed it was the bigger, Sam Elliot-talking wannabe. In the last tent, Sisto almost overlooked the obvious. There was a sleeping bag with a pillow, a magazine, and a pile of personal items. Sisto thought his plan may have been a dud until he took a good look at the personal items. In the pile, was a second sleeping bag. Sisto asked himself why anyone would have two sleeping bags and couldn’t think of a single reason. He peeked his head in and touched the rolled bag, instantly being presented with the flickering movie from The Reels.
Sisto is sitting at a corner booth in a dim-lit bar, within a stranger’s memory. The reflection of the napkin dispenser shows him to be wearing the bodysuit of an unshaven man with gray eyes and very greasy hair. He can feel the fingers he is borrowing rattle against the table as if he is nervous and needing to occupy himself. There is a voice behind him, but the man just keeps looking at his fingers rattling, ignoring the statement that had been directed towards him. A moment later, a pompous looking man who in no normal situation would be having lunch with a man that looked like the memory holder Sisto invaded, sat across from him.
The man looked up and while the audio was dim, Sisto pieced together pretty quickly what was happening. The pristine man across from him passed some state-of-the-art surveillance equipment. Focusing really hard, Sisto was able to make out the statement insinuating all the memory holder had to do was get Mason on tape, admitting his part in a massive drug deal that went off the Dash Point Pier, in Tacoma. Sisto could feel the greasy hair he wore start to butter up, as sweat was forming above his borrowed forehead. More small talk happened for a few more minutes, then he felt his voice box ask if the man in the suit brought an immunity agreement.
The man with his expensive smile grinned from across the table. The man leaned over and unclasped a briefcase that he had placed next to him upon entering the booth. From it, was a thick folder and without opening it, he pushed it across to Sisto for review. Sisto felt the hand he wore, take the pen placed atop the folder off, then open the folder to review the document. The stationary at the top was all Sisto needed to see. Next to a logo, in a perfectly legible font, were the words: Property of the United States Drug Enforcement Agency.
Scanning the document, he saw an immunity agreement for a man named Morris Tearney. Sisto felt the thin, dirty hand reach to the pen after a very punitive glance at the document and scribbled his John Hancock. Sisto could feel the heart behind his foreign ribcage start to pound a bit faster. Sisto could tell the man was not interested in going down the road presented but more like he was between a rock and a hard place. He passed the document back to the well-dressed guest. The DEA agent reclasped his briefcase and stood up to leave.
As he passed, Sisto heard the man say as clear as anything, “Don’t worry, Morris. Once we take down Mason Wilcox, you won’t have any of this hanging over you.”
“What the fuck are you doing, asshole?”
The statement broke Sisto out of his trance, to see the smelly, raspy-voiced man standing over him, along with Mason and the rest of his group.
CHAPTER 30
Andrick stood to the right of Rug, who was the first to see a man snooping in the group’s camp area. Andrick recognized the man as Tom Sisto, the handicapped individual that had a knack for prying into everyone’s business. It could not have been a coincidence meeting the man the night before, then him simply appearing out of nowhere earlier that morning, to now find him snooping in their tents.
Could it be he is after me? Am I being paranoid?
The tapping which Andrick often had blamed on a false entity, was pulsating behind his neck. He wanted to rip the knife off Mason’s belt and stab the crippled weasel in the throat. Andrick could start to taste blood, realizing he was clenching his jaw so hard, the base of his gums started to bleed.
“I will ask again, motherfucker. What are you doing in our shit?”
Mr. Sisto looked uncomfortable for a slight moment, but what happened next surprised even Andrick.
“You stole my rings; I saw you do it!”
“Whoa, whoa,” Mason interjected. “You were with Ackerman last night. I don’t care who you are friends with, you were digging through my business and where I come from, people get killed for less.”
Sisto turned around and hobbled towards Rug’s tent, stuck his hand into the far end, and grabbed something. Knowing Rug had firearms in his tent, both Mason and Rug pulled out the pieces they kept on them at all times and cocked their semi-automatic weapons, letting Sisto know his next steps should be taken slowly.
“Whoa,” Sisto said, hands raised, one holding a folded Playboy magazine. “I saw this fat piece of shit bump into me and take my rings last night and when I got up here and looked, this is what I found.”
Four severely tarnished skull rings fell out from within the magazine pages and into Sisto’s hand. Mason, Freddy, and Andr
ick all looked at Rug, which only infuriated the biker even more.
“You liar, I should shoot you in the fucking face right now.”
“Oh yeah, Road House? Why don’t you and your cheese-grated voicebox put down that water pistol and fight me like a man.”
Andrick chuckled, not at the comment about Rug’s weapon, but the fact Rug did indeed have a very raspy voice, as well as one of the actors who starred in the 1989 classic movie, Road House.
That was quite funny, Mr. Sisto. Even in the midst of potential death, you have the charisma of a champion.
Mason sighed and Andrick overheard him whisper as he smacked Rug’s shoulder. “We got too much going on to get caught up in this bullshit. Put the gun down and take care of this now.”
Andrick was intrigued to watch the three-hundred-plus pound man attempt to beat the sense into a man with merely one working arm and one working leg. The concept was pure comedy. Rug lowered his weapon and handed it to Mason for safekeeping. Andrick walked further off to the side to get a front-row seat for the show. Rug took his sausage fingers and pressed until loud, echoing pops vibrated through the crisp air. Andrick looked at Tom Sisto, who did not seem intimidated by the situation. It made Andrick question if he was actually just trying to reclaim his jewelry and if Rug was indeed a petty thief.
“First shot is yours, pretty.” Rug said, chuckling a little as he leaned in to give clear access to his face. “Better make it good, it will be your only—”
Sisto with his one good arm, threw a powerful punch into Rug’s abdomen, causing the heavyset man to keel over slightly. Sisto went in for another shot, but due to several layers of extra weight, the initial strike did not impact Rug as much as Sisto had probably hoped. Rug blocked the next punch and threw his thick appendages towards Sisto. Rug’s hand, almost as big as Tom Sisto’s head, was partially deflected, yet still connected to the man’s face. Sisto had a river of blood streaming down both nostrils, covering his mouth, and running down his chin.
“That all you got, you thieving prick?” Sisto said, touching his good hand up to his face, to see the crimson fluid running down steadily.
Andrick was impressed by the man’s determination but based on pure physics, the fight could not go on much longer. Rug picked up the wobbling Sisto and chucked him backward, providing a hard thump as the man landed on the dirt floor. Andrick heard a groan come from Tom Sisto, but once again to his surprise, he saw the impaired man make his way to his feet. Rug looked back at Mason for guidance, which was null and void on Mason’s end. Rug shrugged and walked towards the man covered in blood from the nose down. Sisto swayed, unbalanced by the intense hits he received. It looked like he would be out for the count after Rug landed his next forceful hit. To everyone’s surprise, the bleeding, handicapped man stopped swaying and spit in the approaching man’s face, exerting a spray of viscous, hot blood in Rug’s eyes.
Rug, still standing, buried his face in his hands, trying to scoop the foreign bodily fluid out of his vision. Andrick stood up and wanted to cheer, as watching the fight among the two went a completely different route than anticipated. Andrick assumed normal people capture the same level of excitement when viewing a sporting event. Tom Sisto took his good leg and smashed the toe end of Rug’s boot. Now blind and hobbling himself, the pain shot Rug upright, face still smeared in his opponent’s blood. Focusing his eyes best he could, Andrick could see Rug visibly got mad. He had enough of Tom Sisto’s antics. Not much distance between them, Rug pulled his right arm back and lunged at the more fit and agile man.
In what looked like it came right out of a kung fu film, Tom Sisto moved in towards Rug, instead of away to like most would in the same situation. He crouched down and like someone bouncing off a trampoline, he sprung up, connecting a loud and violent uppercut into the fat man’s armpit. The entire group went rigid as two things occurred next. First, the sound as Sisto’s fist connecting with Rug’s underarm sounded like cartilage popping and tearing all at once. It echoed in the vast openness at the ascended location. Second, a sound that resembled the kickstart of an engine ripped from within the fat, raspy man’s pants, as his bowels released right in front of everyone.
Andrick noticed that Sisto looked in sheer awe as the man well over a hundred pounds heavier and an inch or two taller, toppled to his side to marinate in his own shit. Sisto rose his one hand, the other bound in a sling, and let out a roaring cheer. Andrick looked at Mason, then to Freddy, both in shock at the outcome. Andrick enjoyed the display and mentally applauded Mr. Sisto. It may be one of the last accomplishments of the man’s life if Mason didn’t like the next words that escaped the man’s blood-caked mouth. Andrick watched as Freddy ran over to tend to Rug. Andrick watched to see how Mason reacted to Sisto’s victory.
“I don’t care who you are. If I see you near my stuff again, I will kill you.” Mason spoke softly.
Sisto didn’t seem worried about discretion, as he talked above a comfortable tone in Mason’s mind. “I don’t care who you are, Sir! Your degenerate friend stole my property. In fact, I am going to talk to Púca about this bullshit, right now!”
“Whoa, whoa, don’t let your panties get in a bunch because of a little blood,” Mason said, giving all the indication that he was backing down.
It looked like weakness from Andrick’s point of view. Sisto, with the blood starting to dry and blacken below his nose, spoke even louder.
“Nah, fuck that! All of you can come with me and we let Púca sort this out.”
To Andrick’s distaste, Mason apologized.
“Listen, we got some business to get to and I don’t want to bother Púca with this nonsense.”
“Not. My. Problem.” Sisto said.
Mason put away his Colt 1911 and looked at Andrick.
“Andrick, help Freddy with Rug, and then you guys meet me up in Púca’s office with Mr….”
“Sisto.”
“Again, very sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Sisto.” Mason proclaimed.
Unsure if he was trying to act tough or had still been wobbly, Andrick saw Sisto try to go past Mason, bumping into his right side. It almost looked like an intentional shoulder check. Mr. Sisto was becoming one of Andrick’s favorite people on the event trail with each passing moment.
CHAPTER 31
Sisto had racked his brain trying to figure out how to get close enough to allow The Reels to peek into Mason’s group’s private moments. He was not expecting to get punched in the face. He was not expecting to bleed all over the place and look like an extra on a horror movie. Sisto tried to focus on the task at hand but what he really didn’t expect was to punch a man in the armpit, causing his nervous system to enter a hard reboot and poop himself. While the smell was absolutely putrid, the look on Rug’s face a half-second before he collapsed showed Sisto everything he could have asked for regarding the tactic.
The situation also set him up to falsify fury and brush up against Mason to get the verification he needed. He told Mason he didn’t care about his apology and told him to follow him to Púca’s office to discuss the situation. Sisto intentionally checked Mason, shoving his shoulder into his right side. As he bumped into Mason, he spun his body backward making it look like he would then apologize. Sleight of hand let Sisto graze his left wrist across Mason’s waist, barely connecting with the handle of a retracted switchblade. The few centimeters of feeling were all Sisto needed, as he was once again taken away into a far-off memory.
The memory took Sisto out to an empty field. There was nothing but dying grass, only revealed because of the headlights from a beat-up truck. Sisto wore the memory of a man standing with one foot out of the vehicle, one foot in on the passenger side. He looked around and could see another man on the driver side of the car in the same position, half out of the car, looking incredibly pissed off based on the body language. The man was saying things in a way that Sisto could tell was meant to relay frustration, even though it was muffled through The Reels’ audio filter.
; Sisto then felt his memory holder sit down in the passenger seat which had become uncomfortable from years of being worn down. Sisto followed the memory holder’s eyes to see him grab two rags out of the side door and pull out the switchblade, the same one from the previous intrusion involving a gas station bathroom. The man flipped open the blade and stuck it through the two rags, trying to create a barrier or a gauze to capture the initial expulsion of blood. The angry man on the driver side got back in, still complaining about the situation.
As the man shut the door, Sisto recognized it had been the same man in the diner signing an immunity agreement. It was Morris Tearney. Just as Sisto captured the correlation, he watched as his borrowed hand immediately shoved the blade into Tearney’s neck. As Sisto let the blade go, he could see the handle’s inscription. At that moment, Sisto was sure he was wearing the memory of Mason Wilcox. Sisto then remained powerless as he watched the rest of the scene play out, from the giggling joy he felt escape the borrowed voice box, to the ecstasy building from within the man. Grape synthetic permeated the air as Sisto could tell the incident was proving to be exciting for Mason. The last thing in the vision before Sisto was rushed back to the present, was the view of Morris Tearney profusely bleeding out as Mason reclaimed the knife from the man’s neck.
“Watch it,” Mason said, as Sisto had just bumped into him.
“Sorry, Road House got a few good hits in.”
“Honestly,” Mason started, “I can’t believe you’re still standing.”
“Story of my life,” Sisto replied as he spat a gathering of bloody saliva.
Sisto started his way down past the groups and made eye contact with Norton, who was awaiting instruction. Sisto covertly opened both hands to extend all ten fingers, notifying Norton that within ten minutes, he was good to break cover and take down Mason Wilcox. Norton nodded ever so slightly, then pulled his phone. Sisto assumed he was notifying the rest of the team to gear up and be ready for a breach in the building. At least, Sisto hoped he only needed ten minutes.
