by Carey Lewis
“Alright, give me the peace pipe, I’ll smoke,” Ajax said.
So there was Apache, the leader, Cheyenne, the medicine guy, Chippewa the scout, and Navajo and Cherokee, the warriors. They were sitting around the log table, passing this pipe, packing it when it got empty. Even though there were only two of them that could pass for legitimate Indians, Apache and Navajo, Ajax was buying it, digging their vibe. Or maybe it was the weed.
After Apache introduced them all, he said they were the Gravy Train. Ajax didn’t get the connection.
“Your Thanksgiving, where you massacred my people and celebrate it. Your repast is robust,” Apache said, “filled with the trimmings of things you have stolen. Gravy is the blood of what you have taken. The nectar you pour on your bounty.”
“I’m not sure that’s accurate,” Cleon said.
“You are hunted, just like my kind were hunted hundreds of years ago.”
Ajax thought of the gravy thing. Even if it was true, what he said, wondered why they would call themselves after nectar blood on a bounty.
“My people were never given a voice. We give you a voice now. To air what has not been aired. To breathe your truth into the world.”
Ajax and Cleon looked at each other again.
“I think he wants you to tell him what happened,” Ajax said, looked over to Apache who nodded.
“Why didn’t he just say that?”
“It’s the way they talk.”
“Hey what happened? Say that. Save a lot of words.”
“Cleon…”
“They’re white.”
“Two of them aren’t.”
Navajo, one of the two that weren’t white, slapped a giant knife on the table, getting their attention.
Cleon relayed the story of what he knew. The big bang and Cyrus falling. Snow being killed because of him. How they ran and were being chased by every gang in the region.
Ajax thought he saw the words float out of Cleon’s mouth, saw them go across the table, making their way through the air, squeezing themselves into Apache’s ear. Saw them float across his eyes, then spin like they were the prize in a slot machine.
He saw the heat radiating off of them when he looked around the table, looking like the heat waves a child might draw on a picture of the sun. Saw the heat waves were propping up balloons on top of their heads.
Saw Cleon still talking, not able to make out the words, wondered if he wasn’t just making sounds. Looked over to Chippewa, right in his face, smiling, said “you have started your journey.” He put a mug in front of Ajax, looked like a bubbling cauldron. He looked over to Cleon, saw a black thread that connected the two of them. He tried grabbing at it but the room started to flip end over end.
He looked like a mime, trying to grab at some imaginary rope, saying ‘Gravy Train’ over and over again until he landed on the floor.
Cleon jumped up and took a step back, his chair toppling to the floor behind him. He realized now how stupid he looked, standing there in a torn up black t-shirt with white jockey shorts. The others jumped up too. Cherokee took his knife back from the table.
“What the fuck you do?”
“He’s on his journey,” Chippewa said.
“What the fuck you give him? Shit’s just supposed to mellow them out,” Apache said, losing all pretense of being Native.
“Uh oh,” Cheyenne said. They looked at him. He held up his hand, showing his finger tips crusted with the goop he wiped on Cleon. “The medicine. I packed the last bowl. Sorry guys.”
“Dammit Cheyenne.”
“What the fuck?” Cleon said. “You put that shit on my cut.”
“It’ll be fine. It only lasts ten minutes.”
“What’s he doing?” Cleon looked down at Ajax, saw him swimming on the hardwood floor.
“What about us you dumb shit?” Cherokee said, grabbing Cheyenne and pushing him against the wall.
“You’re fine ain’t you? Think he smoked most of it.”
Cleon’s gaze went from Ajax to his wounded leg, looking like spaghetti. Just this large white noodle with a boot on the end.
“My leg.”
“Is it sore?”
Cleon grabbed his leg at the hip with both hands and tried moving it. He saw his leg wiggle around like an eel. “I’m an eel,” he said.
Apache started laughing. A low, guttural laugh, every ‘ha’ emphasized, leaned far back in his chair.
Navajo threw a pair of pants at Cleon, the kind that they wore in replica battles. “Put these on. If you don’t see your leg it won’t be as noticeable. Drink the tea too, it’ll help.”
Cleon quickly put the beige pants on, the tassels on the legs looked like little worms. He was surprised it didn’t bother him. He grabbed the wooden bowl and downed the liquid, immediately feeling a knot in his stomach and dropped.
He looked across the room, saw Cherokee repeatedly throw Cheyenne against the wall and found it funny. He heard screaming but the voices were lost. He saw a red glow coming from the window, tried to say something but just pointed.
Ajax bolted upright, eyes wide. “They’re here,” he said.
That’s when Navajo went over to the window and saw something he didn’t like.
“Red,” Cleon said, still pointing at the window.
“It’s a fire,” Navajo said.
Apache stopped laughing, got up from his chair and looked out. He turned to Cheyenne, asked, “what did you do?”
They all stopped now, staring at Cheyenne. “For fuck sakes Gary,” and Cherokee threw Cheyenne to the ground, then came over to the window, asked who it was.
“What’s going on?” Cleon asked but they were too busy to pay attention to him.
Apache came away from the window, knelt down in front of Cleon. Ajax watched them, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.
“They’ve come for you,” going back to Native mode, “you must run if you wish to live. We will give you time. You must go,” and he lifted Cleon up so he was on his feet.
Cleon watched them gather their bows and spears, getting ready to go outside, devising a plan. Then the door opened and they rushed out.
Cleon grabbed Ajax, got a couple of spears by the open door and left the cabin. It looked like fire was everywhere, the earth shifting and moving into hills and valleys. He looked toward the tree line, the earth shifting to make it downhill and they ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ritchie was already there when Jamal arrived, standing over the pool of blood. He ducked under the yellow tape, looked around, saw uniformed cops with flashlights along the side of the road looking for something, all the way into the little industrial neighborhood down the street.
Jamal watched the guys in white pick up shell casings, examining the tire track that went through the blood.
Ritchie greeted Jamal by telling him there was no body, just a pool of blood he might want to look at.
“Shells coming from a rifle they’re telling me. Why I was called, the shells. Everyone’s on edge tonight with all the bodies falling. Not shells from a hunting rifle but one of those ones they use in the Army.”
“AR-Fifteen,” Jamal said.
“Possible, we don’t have ballistics yet.”
“You’re looking for Lex. His pop’s had an AR-Fifteen he brought back from overseas. We found him beat to shit tonight, all his guns gone.”
“He beat his own daddy?”
“Old man says it was the wife’s new lover but it was Lex, all but told me. Told me to take it easy on him if I found him.”
“What is it, four bodies on him now once we find this one? Two in the park, your boy, and now him?”
“Plus beating on his old man.”
“And he wants you to take it easy on him.”
“What he said. Old man’s missing a forty-five too.”
“The kid’s packing a thirty-eight, forty-five, and an assault rifle?”
“Puts down four, daddy says take it easy on my boy, yeah.”
&
nbsp; “Jesus H,” Ritchie said.
“What’s going on down there?” Jamal pointed to the cars with their lights flashing down the road.
“Alarm goes off in a junkyard, two patrol show up, no one around. One goes out looking for something, come across the blood pool here. Thinking the two might be related.”
Jamal nodded, putting a situation together in his mind. “Someone sees Lex pop this guy, runs off and Lex chases him? That what you’re thinking?”
“Got treads here in the stone, some where he drove through the blood. Tech people telling me the back was weighed down.”
“Who took the body? They put it away before they take off after the witness?”
“Be sure to ask your kid when you find him.”
“This is the car you’re looking for,” Jamal took out his notepad and ripped out the page where he wrote down what Ray told him. “Think he took a pizza delivery kid, probably got him stashed in the trunk.”
“Body five?”
“The way this kid’s going tonight? You mind if I take a look down there?”
“They’re saying you’re done now. Lucy gets here she’s going to fire you in front of everyone.”
“Make a show huh?”
“Giving you fair warning.”
“Better not let her find me then.”
Jamal walked back to his car and climbed in. He slowly eased the vehicle around the cops and cars, went toward the junkyard.
He knew he was done, and maybe he should be. This is four bodies in the span of hours when they find the one that bled out in the lot. One night, and it wasn’t done yet. It didn’t matter who caught Lex, the kid just needed to be taken off the street. If Jamal would’ve nailed him after Zax, maybe even after the park, he would still have some hope. But now the kid had an assault rifle and put another body on his tally, it was too much. Jamal didn’t deserve to be a detective. They were right about him.
Lucy would get blamed for it too, but she’d deflect it back, saying something like ‘I only work with what you give me.’ Something to that effect where she wouldn’t have to take responsibility.
He stopped and looked out from the car, saw the shattered window for the junkyard. Watched the tech guys pulling the slugs out of the dirt and the wall inside where the bullets dug in. Watched them analyze the tire tracks, no doubt belonging to the same shitty hatchback that was stolen from Kevin and would be the same tracks in the lot by the canal.
It would all come back to Lex and it would fall on Jamal. It was enough.
He needed to find someone in a gang, tell them Kenzie saw the whole thing. She’s going to the cops then sit and wait for Lex to show up. She wouldn’t go along with it but it was out of her hands now. And knowing she wouldn’t go along with it was exactly why Jamal wasn’t going to tell her.
This time, Dax didn’t run. There wasn’t a hole in the fence he could climb through and it had barbed wire on the top, like a prison.
Dax planned to walk out once the cops came and went. He saw them pull up, two squad cars, guessed they didn’t have a busy enough night. Dax figured they’d come, call in a broken window, then leave. The one car left but the other stayed behind, the cop going in the building with his flashlight, shining it through the fence into the yard.
Then a bunch showed up, all those lights going. He stayed in the back, afraid to move and get caught. He had to keep making fists with his hands, cramping up as they were, but at least they stopped bleeding.
Dax watched as the vans pulled up, these people in white space suits coming out with their little toolboxes, digging the bullets out of the ground, looking at tire tracks he guessed. Shit, he might be here all night. But if he was here and they were here, at least he was safe.
But what about Ajax? People were looking for him too. He had to get to Ajax. Help him. Find out if he was okay. The guy at the fence earlier, it was a Black Knight. If the Black Knights were on the street looking around, no one was safe. Especially anyone even remotely associated with plaid.
He watched as the car pulled up on the street, taking a minute to stop and look around. No uniform on him, must be a detective. But why wasn’t he getting out of the car? Was he really thinking of doing this? Dax, you must be fucking crazy.
And that’s when he stood up and ran to the gate, watched the car start to drive away. Yelled after it. Felt the lights shine on him then a whole bunch of screaming from the other side of the fence. He raised up his hands and closed his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing in there?” someone asked him.
He squinted in the light, trying to see where the dark haired one in the car went.
“Boy answer me.”
“Cut the chain.”
“Get the bolt cutters.”
Before Dax knew it he heard the gate swing open and someone grabbed his arm and flung him to the ground.
“Who are you?”
“Why’d you kill him?”
“Why’d you do it boy?”
And his arms went behind his back, handcuffed. He was lifted to his feet, still blinded from the light, making out the shapes of faces all gathering around to look at him. More questions he stopped paying attention to. Just wanted to find the guy in the car.
Then he saw him, cutting through the light, walking this way. He stood in front of him but didn’t say anything. Looked him over, top to bottom, taking a moment to stare in his eyes. Then a hint of a smile from the corner of his mouth.
“Dax?” he asked quietly.
Dax didn’t say anything.
“I got him,” he heard the guy say, then felt just the single hand under his arm, walking him to the car.
“Will you help me?”
“I’m hoping you’ll help me,” Jamal said.
He thought he saw something there in the junkyard. Just the tiniest movement that could’ve been an animal but it caught his eye. Was going to jump over the fence and have a look, but with that alarm going, he knew it was only a matter of time before Johnny Law came swinging by to see what was going on.
What he’d do, he’d go hide over in those stacks across the way, watch the cops come, see if they got anything. He didn’t have a ride right now anyway, no way he’d risk Boon coming back to pick him up, get stopped by a nosy cop wanting to look in the trunk and find big man. Couldn’t walk down the street toting an AK with all the cops about to come down on the junkyard.
Nah, he had nothing better to do so he decided to wait, see what happened.
Then he saw the kid give himself up.
“One of the ones did the shooting on Cyrus,” he said into the phone, telling Mesiah what he saw.
“Yeah, I know what they look like.”
He got the name Noah because of Noah’s Ark, that fairytale from the Bible about that dude went around getting two of all the animals and put them on a boat so they could fuck their way out of extinction, not have to worry about drowning. That was Noah from the Bible.
Noah from the Black Knights had a knack for finding people in the world, didn’t have to be two of them. He’d go out and find people Mesiah wanted found, or he’d know of people and what they were up to, the way he figured Noah from the Bible had. He had to know where the beasts were, ain’t nobody going to go searching around for shit knowing a flood’s coming.
So to answer Mesiah’s question, yes, he knew what the Boppers looked like, even the new ones that used to be called Outcasts. He knew what they all looked like because that was his job and he liked to think he was good at it.
“I’m going to need a ride,” Noah said into the phone, “I’ll head on over to Mayfair, start walking south.”
Noah hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket beside Deckard’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Boon didn’t understand the importance of the masks. He knew these Orientals were dead soon enough. Soon as Mesiah asked his questions and did his act. Maybe he’d even use the cement gag again, seemed to be one of his favorites. Mesiah liked making walls out of the
m, stack them up high and say they were there for support, his favorite joke. Even put initials on the pillars of the person that was stuck in there.
He couldn’t imagine it, what happened when cement was poured down your throat like that. That must be a literal brick when you shit, laughed at his thought, decided not to tell it to the two in the back, being all quiet like they were.
Only thing they asked so far, one of them said “where’s Deckard?” and Boon said he was taking them to him. That’s all they had to say on the subject. Not much for conversation. Just as well, that snotty attitude he didn’t like, knowing they thought they were more highly evolved than Boon. Really, he just wanted them to talk so they could say some stupid shit and he could crack them with the gun again.
That was his favorite. The man thinking he all high and mighty, looking down on him, then Boon getting a chance to level the playing field, showing them where the real power was.
He pulled out along 6th Line, making his way around the bend, crossed the drawbridge over the canal and kept going straight into farm territory. He came to a four way stop and made a left, going along this road now he didn’t know what it was called. Drove along for awhile, making turns he knew didn’t have to be made other than Mesiah making sure you took the long way to ensure you weren’t followed. Finally made his way onto the wooden boards going into the shutdown dry-docks.
The place had been abandoned for years, knew friend’s daddies that used to work here before all that work got moved to one of the newer facilities. Not long after that, some of those got shut down too because people didn’t ship by water like they used to. There was talk of the docks making a resurgence, getting re-purposed for another use and the city went and turned the power back on to the place. Then the election came, nothing came of the plans and they forgot to turn the power off. That’s where the Black Knights called home.
Boon pulled up to the delivery door, got out of the car and hit the green button, jumped back in as the door crawled up and pulled the car in. Then he got out of the car, hit the red button this time and the gate started to close. Got back in his car and drove into the factory area then turned it off.
