Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  “Holy shit,” Bobby said.

  “Holy shit is right.”

  *

  “That’s not the end,” she whispered.

  Of course not, that’d be way too fucking simple..

  “He’s here.”

  “Who’s here?” Bobby asked.

  “The Russian,” she spit the word.

  “You’re fucking kidding me right?”

  “Nope, last row on the left. He saw me and fucking smiled at me,” Cinetti growled, the anger she felt in life had not died when she did.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I think that chick, Rachkovsky or whatever, has something to do with it too. G’s dad said he killed the guy’s boss, right? He said it was a she, right?”

  Can’t be. There’s no way anyone has that kinda bad luck.

  “No fucking way!”

  “Whatever Jones is doing to her, whatever shit she’s in right now, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough!”

  Bobby didn’t say a word, not one or all of them would be enough. She’d sent a murdering rapist to Hell and ended up there with him, and with the woman who ordered the kill.

  “They belong here. They deserve this, I don’t! I deserve a medal, a prize, a fucking trophy. I should be with G!”

  Bobby couldn’t argue, logic wouldn’t help.

  *

  Bobby waited, knowing there was more insanity on tap and dreading it. He didn’t wait long.

  “Do you think they make mistakes?” Cinetti asked.

  “They?”

  “Angels.”

  Bobby considered the question. “I guess.”

  “So what if the Angel who came for me was a real wimp and the Reaper was a bad ass, an unfair fight kind of thing. Shouldn’t I get a second chance or a rematch or something?”

  She was grasping at straws, desperate to find a loophole. Bobby knew the feeling. “I don’t know.”

  “You could be here for the same reason!” Lisa screamed, hoping to pull Bobby onto her team, team 'Really Fucking Desperate’.

  “It’s possible.”

  “Possible! Yeah! Really possible!” she cried, working herself into a frenzy. “And if it’s possible they fucked up then it’s possible we can fix it, right?”

  Bobby didn’t want to add to her delusion but couldn’t stomach crushing her ambition either, the poor girl had been through enough. “I don’t know Lisa.”

  “So I figure we get through this training bullshit, be cool you know, don’t piss Jones off and end up in the barbecue with a pitchfork up our asses. We get back up there, find an Angel, and get her to hear us out.”

  “We’re not supposed to talk to them.”

  “They can’t watch all of us! Shit, people die like every second all over the world. There is no way they can keep tabs on all of them.”

  Girl’s put some thought into this. She’s definitely crazy but she might be onto something.

  “And then?”

  “We tell the Angel our story, that someone fucked up. We tell them we don’t belong here and they’ll have to get us the fuck out of here!”

  Bobby knew she believed it but after hearing her story, how so many innocent people died in her quest for revenge, he doubted her plea for redemption would hold any weight. Jones, or whoever watched over the Reapers once they began their life of service, would not look kindly on defectors. Lisa’s plan to break the rules would only make things worse. Bobby didn’t know who or what lived in the Flames, and he didn’t want to find out. Lisa appeared oblivious to the consequences of her actions, in life and death, convinced she would be ushered into Heaven by the first Angel who heard her story. Bobby thought different. “If you tell them you killed nine innocent people to get to one murderer, they might not like it.”

  “Innocent?”

  “The restaurant workers, the owner, even Gianna’s dad, you said they were innocent?”

  “He was a fucking gangster bro! He even admitted to killing the Russian chick!”

  “The restaurant guys?”

  “Ernie slung weed, Joe was a pill head and an asshole, Vinny was an ass kisser and the bastard pulled a shotgun on me. None of them were innocent! Nobody’s innocent! You don’t know shit Bobby! You don’t even know why you’re here! You could be a kid toucher or a serial killer or a rapist, you could be the most fucked up one here bro!”

  Another satisfied customer.

  “I’m not judging you Lisa, I’m just trying to help you see it from a different angle.”

  “Sounds like you’re just shitting me.”

  “Not happening, shitting on stuff isn’t my thing. I’m just trying to help you out.”

  “You gotta weird way of doing it.”

  “Yeah, sorry, been a rough few days or whatever. I haven’t been myself since, you know, I woke up in Hell.”

  Cinetti giggled, it sounded forced. “Sorry,” she whispered when it passed.

  Surprised by the apology, Bobby realized he was still thinking like he was alive, or not in Hell at least. Chances were pretty high that he was trapped in a lightless, hot box with a genuine nut case. He didn’t know her and her story was just that, a story. He’d have to be more careful and forget being a nice guy, Hell was no place for nice guys.

  “I said I’m sorry dude,” Cinetti growled.

  “Sorry,” Bobby went on the defensive. “No biggie, I was just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  Lie Bobby, lie.

  “About getting the fuck out of here.”

  “Yeah, now you’re cooking,” Lisa cheered.

  She’s going to get me skewered by one of those weird fork people.

  “Yeah.”

  “We just have to do good in class, right?”

  “Fly below the radar.”

  “Stealth mode,” she whispered.

  “Super stealth mode.”

  She went silent for a while, Bobby imagined her mind working through the multitude of bad ideas, hoping she found one that wasn’t so crazy.

  “You think we should fuck?”

  Didn’t see that coming! So much for not crazy.

  “What?”

  “Fuck. You know, bump uglies, the nasty, your dick and my pussy, in out, in out.”

  This is one fucking bat-shit crazy bitch.

  “Really?”

  “What if that weirdo can smell it or sense it or whatever, and we don’t pass the test? We might not be able to stay in stealth mode, you know.”

  Hadn’t thought of that, probably because I’m sane. What if she’s right though? What if they can tell? Even if I had to, I don’t think I could. She’s nuts! Like bite my dick off kinda nuts. Think Bobby, think fast.

  “I thought you were gay.”

  “I am stupid,” she snapped, her patience fading. “I’ve had dick before bro, it’s just not my favorite. I’d prefer it to the Flames though, getting poked by a little prick is a lot more appealing than getting impaled by a huge fork.”

  Good point.

  “I don’t think they’ll be able to tell.”

  “He reads minds dipshit! He doesn’t see me getting plowed when he looks inside your head then he’ll have a lot of questions, for both of us. If he doesn’t like the answers, then who knows what kind of nasty games he’ll play with us.”

  Fuck! She’s right!

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “No picnic for me either buddy but I ain’t going to risk everything because you’re being modest or gentlemanly or a limp dick or whatever!”

  Sex is literally like the last thing I wanna do right now, especially with this nutjob.

  “It’s pitch black in here,” she coaxed. “Pretend I’m your girlfriend… got one?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  Never thought of that.

  “Don’t think so?”

  “Well pretend I’m your favorite porn star, I know you got one of those.”

  What part of not having any memories doesn’t she
understand?

  “Don’t remember, remember?”

  “Come over here and fuck me Bobby. No pressure, I’m not looking to cum or anything like that, it’s like a freebie.”

  Bobby was as limp as a drowned worm. “I don’t think I can.”

  “I’ve sucked enough cock to know how to bring one to life, how do you think I got to work in some of Brooklyn’s finest restaurants?”

  Ugh, not helping.

  “I don’t think I can Lisa.” Bobby’s stomach churned, the thought of doing it on command with a potential psychopath, was too big an obstacle to overcome.

  “You’re a good guy, I get it, but you gotta leave that shit up there because down here it will only mess you up. Listen, it’s my idea, my call. I want you to do it, I really do. There’s no reason to feel bad, seriously bro, we gotta do this, it’s the only way to make sure we make it to the next step.”

  Damn, she’s not backing down.

  “Come on Bobby, I’m not that fucking ugly am I?”

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “I’ll take it easy, I swear.”

  If she right and I don’t, I’m fucked. If she wrong…I guess I’m fucked either way.

  Bobby stood, shuffled across the cell and squealed like a pig when Cinetti’s groping hand found his.

  “Relax Bobby,” she whispered after he sat, her voice coated in false seduction, sliding closer, pressing against him. “See, not so bad.”

  Man what I wouldn’t do for an eight ball of coke and a bottle of Jack.

  “Ready?” she purred.

  Creepy. No.

  “Yep.”

  Tugging at his robe, digging for an opening that didn’t exist, her patience faded fast. With no buttons to unbutton, no zipper to unzip, sealed by something neither of them could undo, it was useless. “Just hike it up,” she growled hungrily.

  Kinda eager for a lesbian. Maybe she’s not, maybe it’s all bullshit.

  Bobby arched his back and pulled his robe up into a bunch above his waist, exposing everything below to Cinetti’s appetite. She hadn’t lied about her abilities, Bobby realized that right away. Her mouth had his reluctant prick at full mast in seconds. Satisfied, she swung one leg over his lap and lowered herself onto him before he knew what was happening.

  Oh God, we’re doing it, this is so weird.

  Cinetti bounced and moaned, Bobby winced and closed his eyes, afraid to look despite the blinding darkness. The dry friction, the potential she’d eat him once he came, the fear of being discovered, his mind raced, it was too much. His roughly treated member shriveled, as useless as an overcooked noodle in a sword fight.

  Fucking perfect!

  “What the fuck?” Lisa cried out once she felt him wither.

  “Sorry.”

  “You sure you’re not gay?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.”

  “You can do my ass if it makes it easier.”

  Really? This is so messed up.

  “I don’t think…”

  “Come on dude!” she growled, dismounted, and went back to work with her mouth.

  Leaning back, begging his junk to respond, Bobby wanted nothing more than for it to be over. Cinetti worked her magic, Bobby’s dick was powerless against it. She climbed back on and began bouncing violently, moaning and groaning as if on camera.

  Come on Bobby. Hang in there.

  His guts began to tingle, his muscle tightened, it was happening. He didn’t resist, he chased it, driving his hips up into Cinetti as she thrashed. Involuntarily curling into her embrace, he came. Cinetti held him tight, whispering something he didn’t want to hear, her lips brushed his ear sending shivers down his back. Dismounting quickly, Cinetti turned her attention on what she worked so hard to produce, “Gotta get this all over me, make it look real you know.”

  Could this get anymore fucked up?

  In the darkness he couldn’t see what she was doing, it was a small mercy. Wiping and scraping, slurping and spitting, she fumbled in the dark. Bobby tried not to picture it, Cinetti playing with his jizz like it was Play Dough. He could’ve puked and was glad he couldn’t, not wanting her to know how disgusting he found the experience.

  Job done, she settled beside him, the stink of his jizz was everywhere. “See Bobby, I knew you’d come around,” she said, laughing like it was funniest joke ever told.

  *

  They waited, for how long neither of them knew but when the door appeared and Delroy stepped in to escort them back to class, Bobby felt a relief so deep he almost wept.

  5.

  “Welcome back ladies and gents.” Jones stood behind a podium, in the center of the large stage that now inhabited the front half of the chamber. “I hope you enjoyed a restful break except for Mr. Grant and Ms. Cinetti,” -he winked at Bobby- “I’m sure you two didn’t get much rest. Tell me Mr. Grant, how was the lovely Ms. Cinetti?”

  Here we go.

  “Very talented.”

  Jones leaned over the podium, his eyes bright and hungry, “Do tell.”

  Bobby expected as much and had a review ready, one he hoped would satiate the creep’s appetite. Closing his eyes he forged the false memory, “Her mouth is as talented as her cunt Mr. Jones, but her ass outshines them both.”

  “Very good, very good indeed Mr. Grant.” Jones applauded while turning his attention to Lisa. “And you Ms. Cinetti?”

  “Fuck you! Fuck him! His dick’s tiny, like a mosquito bite with balls!” she spit the description at Jones, like a cobra spews its venom.

  She’s good.

  Bobby quickly checked the thought, hoping it went unnoticed.

  “You will all be glad to hear that the lovely Ms. Rachkovsky also put on a spectacular show. A round of applause, please.”

  The group turned toward her, applauding on command.

  Rachkovsky was a mess. Her hair wild and clumpy, bloody patches of scalp peeked through in several places. Blood caked her feet and ankles, her hands trembled by her sides. “She performed magnificently for a woman of her stature. In all fairness, she fought like a bear at first, but, as they all do, she whimpered like a child in the end, and for that I am ever so grateful. It was exquisite, I might take her again after we finish up here, if the mood takes me. What do you think of that, my little Russian bear?”

  Rachkovsky shuddered but made no sound.

  “Oh my,” Jones clasped his face as if to stop his jaw from dropping. “Forgive me dear heart, I forgot you cannot answer me without this.”

  He tossed the contents of his fist between the rows, like a gambler rolling dice. Rachkovsky’s tongue and several of her teeth bounced toward her. Jones cackled and danced, Rachkovsky stood like a statue.

  “She’s a tough bitch,” Jones informed the mesmerized crowd. “She didn’t even scream when I took her teeth so I assumed she didn’t need her tongue. To be honest, I do so enjoy a bloodied blowie, something about it just makes me so…so…oh, it’s so good words can’t even explain it.”

  Bobby’s grimaced. Rachkovsky was no saint, not by a long shot, but nobody deserved what he imagined she endured to satisfy Jones’svile cravings.

  “During our time together Ms. Rachkovsky felt obligated to share with me a few facts I’d been unaware of that you lot might find interesting. Mr. Linkov over there was one of her most trusted employees.”

  Linkov floated up above the crowd, eyes wide, jaw clenched and flexing. “Now it happens on a rare occasion that two recruits know each other but three…three!” Jones roared and nodded towards Cinetti who floated up beside the man she’d killed. “The lovely Ms. Cinetti ended Mr. Linkov’s life. An appalling death I’m proud to admit, cut him to shreds, even castrated the poor fellow. I feel your pain my boy, I do.”

  “Bitch!” Linkov roared.

  “Fuck you!” Cinetti responded with the same hatred.

  So much for stealth mode.

  “And Ms. Rachkovsky here,” -she floated up to join them- “she gave the order to kill Ms. Cinetti’s lover, a t
ask enthusiastically executed by Mr. Linkov.”

  Rachkovsky stared into space, broken.

  Jones continued to host a show only he would watch, pacing the stage, playing to an audience who had no choice but to let him. “So we have a love triangle of a sort, or a hate triangle, or is it a death triangle, it doesn’t matter. You must understand, I cannot tolerate such familiarity. This has to be fair ladies and gents, the cream must rise no matter how sour the milk.”

  Jones walked from the stage on stairs that appeared to meet him, waving a dismissive hand behind him as he did. The podium disappeared and an octagon of razor wire appeared in its place. “I don’t know about you lot but I am a massive fan of the UFC. Joe Rogan and Dana White are pioneers, visionaries, maestros of the true nature of man. To foster and nourish such violence with the world so enamored by equality and civility, it’s a feat worthy of both awe and adoration. This is my homage to those brave souls, and these three my tribute. Three will enter! Only one will exit! Why you ask, well…because I said so!”

  Linkov, Cinetti, and Rachkovsky floated up toward the stage, Jones continued his madness, taking on the persona of an overenthusiastic commentator. “At one hundred and twenty-three pounds, standing just over five feet tall, Cinetti is the underdog tonight folks but don’t count her out just yet. At six foot one and two hundred and five pounds of lean, Ruskie muscle, Linkov is the one to watch. Rachkovsky is all of five foot eight sexy inches and one hundred and thirty well-pounded pounds, she appears as lucent as a fucking vegetable, an easy kill, or is she? Once their feet touch the mat, its game on folks! No referee! No rules! No submission! Nobody leaves until two are dead!”

  Not good.

  Jones followed the floating offenders up onto the stage where a table and chair stood ringside, waiting for him. Sitting, leaning into the bundle of microphones, his voice trembling with anticipation, “I know you’re all thinking, and yes, you’re one hundred percent correct, you’re all already dead. But this is a special occasion folks, killing and dying are all on the menu this evening. This isn’t just a death match ladies and gents, this is a fight for the fate of their eternal souls. You can’t get much bigger stakes than that folks!”

  He turned to the crowd, waited, twitched one finger and applause erupted. Satisfied, he nodded, silencing them once again. “But before we start let’s get rid of those robes shall we, I’m sure we’d all much prefer to see them beat each other to a pulp in their birthday suits rather than waste a trio of perfectly good robes.”