by Carey Lewis
“Out the car motherfuckers, let’s go,” he said, opening the back door, watched the Orientals stumble out with their masks on. He led them over to Mesiah’s throne by poking them in the back with the AK. He didn’t need to, he just liked it.
Walked them over to where Joseph had the bucket ready, the stick poking out. Looked over and saw Joseph on a ladder smoothing out the fresh cement on one of the pillars. He turned and saw Mesiah coming out of the foreman’s office, saw him nod so Boon took off their masks. He felt good when he saw the bloody nose on the one he hit.
He took a step behind them and they watched Mesiah as he walked down the stairs, doing it all kinds of slow for effect.
“Where’s Deckard?” the mouthy one said, apparently not learning his lesson. Boon knew it was coming, waited for Mesiah to give him the look. Mesiah nodded so Boon took out his handgun, a silver Colt .45 he saw Huey Newton holding in that Black Panthers picture, put it up to the mouthy one’s head and pulled the trigger.
His brains scattered along the concrete floor then the body dropped. The one beside him looked on in shock, down on his knees not knowing if he should scream or stay quiet. Boon knelt beside him, thought it would be so much cooler if the barrel was smoking, said “understand?”
The kid nodded.
“What is your name?” Mesiah finally made his way over to stand in front of them.
“Orwell,” he mumbled.
“Motherfucker that makes popcorn?” Boon asked.
“No. The author. Wrote nineteen eighty-four.”
“Too bad. I like that popcorn. I ain’t even heard of your shit.”
“You’re going to want to tell us everything,” Mesiah said. “We figure you’re the smart one. I hope we’re not wrong.”
Orwell couldn’t stop looking at Case, his body laying on his stomach. What used to be the inside of his head splattered over the concrete.
“How many of you are there?” Mesiah continued.
“Two more. Sterling and Gibson.”
“Just two?”
“Cadigan, but Deckard had him. Don’t know where he is.”
“Deckard didn’t tell you?”
Orwell shook his head.
“He told the truth perhaps,” Mesiah said to Boon. “But you can never be too sure. Where are the other two? Sterling and Gibson.”
Orwell watched Joseph climb down from the ladder, saw him walking over to them carrying the putty knife covered in cement.
“Orville, pay attention,” Boon said.
“I don’t know where they are. They were supposed to follow us.”
Mesiah straighted to look at Boon.
“Ain’t no one follow us. I went way out the way to make sure. Even hit a dirt road, came around went down it again to be careful. No one followed me.”
“You’re sure?”
“Man, someone following me they think I’m retarded the route I take. No chance.”
Mesiah crouched down, getting eye level to Orwell, watching him cry.
“Who did you tell of tonight?”
“What?”
“Who knows what happened tonight?”
“No one.”
“Do you promise?”
Then Orwell swung his leg out in some foot sweep thing from kung-fu movies and took Mesiah’s legs out. Mesiah fell hard on his back as Orwell started to run.
Boon put a shot in his upper back and he dropped. He admired the heart on this kid, still trying to crawl away. Boon walked up, stood over him and put a bullet in the back of his head.
“Goddamn Orientals.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Sterling asked as Gibson pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road.
“You see another car around here? We keep following, he’s going to spot us.”
“So we just let him get away?”
“You got a better idea?”
“I really do. We follow him.”
Gibson watched as the taillights faded into the darkness.
“He’s got Case and Orwell with him. He already smashed Case in the nose, what do you think he’s going to do when he sees he’s got a tail?”
“Are you serious right now?”
Gibson didn’t answer. He knew he was right and eventually Sterling would see it. He had the temper, that’s why he was the muscle of the Cyber Punks, but he also listened to reason. It just took awhile to find him.
“So we just let him go?”
“And find another way yeah.”
“They got Deckard too. We’re losing everyone man and you’re letting it happen.”
“They have Deckard too,” Gibson said to himself, a thought coming to him.
“Yeah, and you’re letting them get away.”
“No, they called Case from Deckard’s phone remember? They ditched Case and Orwell’s phones but he called from Deckard’s,” Gibson dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, powering it on.
“So?”
“So maybe they still have it. We can track Deckard through his phone,” Gibson said, watching the screen fill with green and blue, then zooming in on the red dot.
“They can’t be there, that’s not where he was heading,” looking at the map.
“Maybe that one didn’t have the phone. Maybe someone else came to get us,” Gibson said.
“Or maybe Deckard is dead somewhere. They made the phone call and got rid of him.”
“We should find out,” Gibson revved the engine and spun the car around, racing down the road.
They followed the map, the GPS on the phone bringing them closer and closer to the dot until they were creeping along the street, watching all the cop cars on the road.
“Says he’s in there,” Gibson said.
They both stared at the cops, the flashing lights, the yellow tape, the guys in white. Gibson thought the worst - they found Deckard’s body. Neither of them said a word, thinking the exact same thing.
“We can’t stay here,” Sterling said. Gibson looked at him, saw he was right and turned the car around, driving out some distance, aimlessly, until he pulled alongside the road of a cemetery. He put the car in park and they sat in silence for awhile.
“So what do we do?” Sterling asked.
Gibson shook his head. He really didn’t know.
“Deckard’s dead.”
“We don’t know for sure.”
“Where’s Cadigan?”
“Check the phone,” Sterling said. Gibson was embarrassed he didn’t think of it. He typed in Cadigan’s phone number and saw the phone was at the hospital.
“So Deckard drops Cadigan off at the hospital. Black Knights don’t like that so they go and get him, kill him for it? Why?”
“We don’t even know what happened to him, Cadigan. Just saw him drop.”
“Then we’re all after the Boppers.”
“Because they did it.”
“Whatever it is,” Gibson said, skeptical.
“Black Knights like to run everything. Got a hurt man at the hospital, could bring the cops which the Black Knights won’t like.”
“We could always go to the hospital, see why Cadigan’s in there? If he’s in there.”
“If Deckard got killed because he went to the hospital, then we show up, where you think that puts us in regards to the Black Knights?”
“So we go to the hospital, either the cops are there or they’re not. If they’re not there, then we have nothing to worry about. If they’re there, we’re protected.”
“Then we snitch?”
“You having fun Sterling? This shit was fun when we were stealing credit cards and bit-coins. Watching us get killed off, it ain’t fun for me. Let’s say they killed Deckard. Now they got Case and Orwell, what do you think they’re going to do with them?”
“What about that listen app Case put on? Big Brother?”
Gibson was embarrassed again. He held up his phone and said “holy shit.”
“What?”
“Deckard’s phone is moving.”
He figured the kid was hungry when he asked if they could stop at McDonald’s. Jamal thought about it, figured it might be more comfortable and thinking it was one of the few places that would be open. Half seriously he said to Dax “you better not be using me for free food.”
It was oddly busy this time of night, drunk kids waiting in line bragging about how drunk they were. Talking loud to show off. The old people, the ones that led hard lives that left it’s mark on their faces, sat by themselves. Some just stared out of the window, others chewed their food until they remembered to take another bite.
Jamal ordered a coffee, decided at the last moment to get a muffin, why not. Dax asked if he had to get a coffee, he didn’t care much for the taste. Jamal told him to get whatever he wanted and Dax was happy to order his cheeseburger meal. Jamal told him to get two for all he cared. He didn’t understand why it made him so happy, it was just a cheeseburger meal.
They sat down in a booth along the side of the L-shaped restaurant. Jamal watched the kid unwrap his cheeseburger, watched him look at Jamal asking for permission, saw his torn up hands, the kid still looking at him.
“Go ahead.”
Watched Dax bite into the cheeseburger, big smile on his face, nodding. Jamal thought he should’ve ordered the cheeseburger too if it was bringing the kid so much joy.
“What happened to your hands?”
“That wire mesh that holds the rocks in place at the canal? Cut them on those.”
“What were you doing climbing rocks in the canal?”
“I got kicked in.”
“Who kicked you in the canal?”
“The Cyber Punks.”
“Why would they do that?”
And the kid went quiet. Taking another bite of his cheeseburger, shoving fries in his mouth that was already full.
Jamal looked over Dax’s shoulder and saw the drunk kids coming around the corner, piling into one of the booths, making all the noise they could.
“They think I killed Cyrus.”
Now they were getting somewhere. There was a bang and some hollering from the drunks. Jamal watched Dax flinch every time there was a loud noise.
“What were you doing at the junkyard?”
“Hiding.”
“From Lex?”
He looked around to make sure no one was watching them. He nodded.
“Why didn’t you come to us?”
Dax didn’t say anything. He finished off the cheeseburger. Jamal figured he was chewing, why he wasn’t answering, but even after Dax took a sip from his soda, he still said nothing. Just stared down at the table.
A couple of girls came around the corner then. Walked over to one of the booths and sat down. The drunk table ogling them.
“After tonight I don’t think I’m going to be a cop.”
He waited for a response. Dax looked at him.
“Soon as they find me I’m fired. Some ball buster named Lucy didn’t want me on the job, was looking for a way to get rid of me.” Telling the kid he was running too, give them something in common.
“You a good cop?”
“No. Probably not,” Jamal smiled. Dax smiled too.
“Then what do you care?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’m not a good cop, probably not a good guy. Before I ran into you I was going to use Kenzie to get Lex to come out.”
“She went for that?”
“No, she wouldn’t know. I’d tell someone Kenzie saw the whole thing, going to come to us about it. Get Lex out so I can grab him.”
“But she didn’t see anything.”
“You sure?”
Dax fell silent again. The drunks were trying to start a conversation with the girls trying to eat their food.
“I know she didn’t see anything but still going to say she did. That’s how not good of a cop I am.”
“My brother’s safe.”
“How do you know that?”
“The radio. Asteria said he got away.”
“Asteria said that?”
“It’s how they communicate. Every gang around is after us. Asteria gives updates on the radio, you didn’t know that?”
Jamal shook his head. The drunk guys were getting louder in their advances toward the girls.
“She said they almost had him at the old Fort where they put on the reenactments. Gravy Train held off the gang so now they’re wanted too.”
“Those the ones dress like Natives?”
Dax nodded.
“What were they doing at the old Fort?”
“They got jobs reenacting the battles, formed their gang and never left. It’s where they hang out.”
“They really live that shit day in day out?”
“You really don’t know about the radio?”
“Who gives these messages to Asteria?”
“Mesiah. Black Knights. Someone.”
“He’d have to have a direct line of communication to her.”
Jamal noticed the restaurant was quiet. He looked up to see a bunch of guys standing in the aisle. The drunk kids and the girls were gone. The old men staring out the window didn’t seem to notice.
“Friends of yours?”
Dax turned and looked, “they’re the Henley Hard Hitters,” the two of them stared at these guys in camo green tank tops and weight lifting gloves. Their little beer bellies, bald heads, and goatees gave them the very essence of redneck. “That’s Tank, Baby Face, Slice, and Hooligan Henry.”
“You seem calm.”
“You have a gun.”
“You done your burger?”
“Think we should leave?”
“Might be a good time.”
“Hooligan Henry, the smaller one with the lazy eye? That’s the one you might have to shoot.”
Jamal stood up from the table, “booth’s all yours.”
“We’re not here for the booth.”
Jamal lifted up his shirt revealing the badge on his belt. “I’m heading to the office.”
“You can leave your friend.”
“Sorry, wrong side,” Jamal lifted up the other side of his shirt to show them his gun.
They didn’t back down. Jamal felt the presence of Dax behind him.
“You going to shoot all of us?”
“I was never much of a quick draw,” Jamal took the gun out of it’s holster. “There we go. Now I can shoot all of you.” He aimed the gun from his hip.
Still, they didn’t move.
“It’s like that eighth grade dance isn’t it? All the guys standing around, afraid to go over to the girls. Everyone waiting on that one guy to go first. Which of you is the brave one? The one really wants to dance?”
That got them looking at each other. Jamal watched the confusion pass from face to face.
“Like I said, we were just leaving. Booth’s yours. Comes with a muffin I didn’t touch.”
Jamal started to walk toward them. The Henley Hard Hitters all looked at each other, finally moving to the side to let Jamal and Dax pass.
They passed the old guys staring out the window or chewing their food. Went outside and got in Jamal’s car, Dax said, “you know they’re going to call the radio and get the word to Mesiah, tell him I’m with a cop.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“Old Joe’s not too happy with all that cleaning, putting all those Orientals in the walls,” Boon said. They were in the office again, the pornography still playing on the screen behind Mesiah. Guy must have it on a play-list or something, the way it’s always going.
“They like being called Orientals?” Mesiah asked.
“What Noah calls them. Got me confused, I didn’t think it was right either.”
Mesiah handed him the cigar full of weed, saying
“you need to get the other two. Bring them back here.”
“Noah’s got the man’s phone. Just look for the Gibson or Sterling, one of the two, they probably together,” Boon took a long haul from the blunt, handed it back.
“Noah said there was another in your trunk.”
“Shit, forgot about him. Had all these holes going from his waist to his shoulder, look like he wearing a sash like a beauty queen. Big motherfucker, Joseph going to have fun lifting that beefy son of a bitch into a wall.”
“What did you think of the one that was here earlier? The one we brought from the park.”
“Thought he was a goof.”
“You trust him?”
“Man, I ain’t trust nobody.” Boon wanted him to take another hit off the blunt and pass it back. Instead the man was thinking, letting it burn in his fingers.
“Noah said the man in the trunk was one of them. One of the Outcasts before they became Boppers,” Mesiah said finally.
“That’d be Noah’s knowledge.”
“What I wonder is why this Outcast has two of his own dead in the street,” he took another haul off the blunt. Boon had his own weed, had them rolled in a cigarette case tucked away in his pocket. But there was something about the way the boss man packed it, like it was a higher grade.
“These Boppers,” Mesiah said, letting the smoke float out of his mouth, “kill two of his men. Kill their boss when he was to strike a deal with me and killed a recruit of their own.”
“Like the man said, the one got jealous, wanted to take over.”
“And he says he will take over for Cyrus when this is done.”
“It’s what he said, yeah.”
The phone in Mesiah’s pocket rang, the tone a Jamaican song about a girl shaking her ass. The man loved ass.
“Does he sound like a man fit to lead?” then he answered the phone, saying “baby?” then he listened. “Isn’t that something?” then listened more, said “I’ll call you back,” and hung up.
Taking another hit off the blunt now, the man in serious thought. “The one they call Dax is with a cop.”
“No shit?”
“They tell me he was an Outcast, not one of the Boppers.”
