Moon City

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  “Thank you, sir. I will call you when I get to the office tomorrow.”

  “There’s no need for you to come back tomorrow.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re fired, Charles. Clear out your shit after your appointment.”

  “Dean, really, what’s the joke—?”

  He hung up. A moment later, Dean burst out laughing, picking himself up from the ground. He moved the dumpster out of the way and checked inside for the kid, Carl, but the resourceful adolescent had made his way out of the building somewhere else.

  Returning to the street, Dean spotted a grisly scene up ahead. Sirens wailed in the distance as the reg police continued to respond to all the carnage left behind from the Moon City Killer.

  He avoided crossing the street ahead where two monsters ate what was left of Rick Agate’s corpse. Dean’s stomach was just beginning to settle from that atrocious hamburger he’d been forced to eat, but now it was beginning to gurgle uneasily at the gory sight. Rather unconsciously, he stole one more glance behind as he turned down an adjacent street. The monsters were fighting over what was left of Rick’s power-enriched brain. There wasn’t much.

  Chapter 25

  The membranes allowed me to wait within, judging all possibilities. I knew once I left them though the choice would be made and there would be no turning back. So I only chose the one dimension that made the most sense. It was a life with my boy. There were a few I found that had both Miles and his mother alive, but compromises had to be made. I had to choose the one with the perfect version of Miles in it, and in that reality, his mother had overdosed as well.

  I couldn’t change that. But I had my boy.

  His allegiance was so blind, he never noticed the differences between me and the version of the father he’d already grown up with and come to love. Murdering myself, even a different version, was cathartic in a way I’d never ever be able to describe.

  But the only thing that mattered was truly this: Miles’ love for me, for his father, made me feel more like a god than any Deitii ever had.

  And I fundamentally changed him. For the better.

  We murdered together. We savored power. We ruled all.

  For a great long time.

  I eventually met the Slaughter Man again, under very different circumstances.

  One day I shall hopefully write again about my experiences with Dean Fulsome.

  If we all live long enough to see that day.

  Chapter 26

  Dean sat on the sofa with the cat. He thought about trying to sleep, but his heart still pounded unnaturally fast. He wouldn’t be coming down from the Constalife for probably another full moon day or so. And the hamburger? Well, it was safe to say that another couple trips to the can were in order before he finally purged his system of the riot pepper.

  A knock came to the door. He got up, knees cracking, back clenching, and heart wobbling. It was a miracle he was still alive for more reasons than he could even begin to count. He went to the peep hole. Two men in suits stood outside. They didn’t look like ruffians, but he still put his hand on his firearm in his front right pocket.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Special agents with the mayor’s task force. We want to ask some questions about earlier today, regarding the… suspect you were investigating.”

  “No thanks,” said Dean. “I’ve got no comment on that.”

  “Please, Mr. Fulsome. We will not take much of your time.”

  “I’m not feeling well today, fellas. If you’d like, I’ll come down to City Hall later today or early tomorrow and give a report.”

  “That’s gracious of you but the mayor needs to make a statement in two hours about this individual and his whereabouts. He seeks to put citizens at ease. We just need a few statements from you that he will use.”

  Dean just wanted them gone so he could decompress. “Yeah,” he answered, and opened the door.

  Immediately, they rushed in and pushed him to the floor. The wind left his lungs just as quickly as his gun left his front pocket. He watched as one of the men looked at it before tossing it into a corner.

  Butterball hissed and darted into the hallway.

  “Should I get the cat?” asked one of the men. He had a thin mustache that reminded Dean of Zorro.

  The other was overweight with a comb-over of limpid chestnut hair and intensely blotchy red skin. “Close the door, asshole.”

  “Right,” said Zorro. He got up, shut the door, and bolted it.

  They zip-tied Dean’s wrists behind his back. Comb-Over checked the front living space, while Zorro checked the bedroom.

  Such an idiot, he thought.

  “I take it you’re not here for a statement,” he muttered.

  “No, the statement’s been made already,” said Comb-Over as he struggled to his feet. “You really should’ve been watching the feeds on an e-reader. The mayor’s bloodline has been challenged by outsiders. He has denied that and publicly blamed Limbus for the killing of Deitii refugees. The citizens are behind him. They know Limbus has only come here to stake a foothold and expand contracts for other galactic governments. You never had an intention of helping the Deitii or this moon. The mayor has vowed to see you and Limbus destroyed. That begins here. We’ll see what’s in the apartment, what is damaging to the mayor, and then check you into dreamtime—permanently. It will all be more pleasant if you cooperate.”

  “That’s what I do,” Dean replied dully.

  “Good. So you can start by telling us what all these papers are over there?” asked Comb-Over.

  “I’m not totally sure to be honest. They were left by Rick Agate.”

  “The mercenary? One of the Agate brothers?” The man’s brow lifted and his comb-over flexed.

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “You’re such a bad liar.”

  “Hey, think what you want to,” Dean said. “I haven’t had a chance to go through all his research papers. He was here to track the Moon City Killer before he was… killed.”

  “It was never your intention of taking that monster out,” said Comb-Over. “That’s why you gave him sanctuary in another dimension.”

  “So that’s what the mayor’s been spinning? Fine. Bottom line is the job is done. A dangerous monster has been removed from this moon.”

  Zorro came back and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing in the bedroom or the kitchen. Place is clean.”

  Comb-over man rounded the sofa and stared down at the papers. “We don’t have time to sort through all this crap.”

  “Agreed,” said his partner. “So how about the incinerator?”

  “Yes, let’s just roast it all.”

  Dean lay there, bound by the wrists, waiting for the slug to the head, but his heart was already thundering, so he couldn’t feel more anxious even if he wanted to. He wished he’d listened to Sandra. He wished he’d been the person the Firecracker Lady had chided him over. He wasn’t though. He was just a loyal worker bee, an ex-slaughterhouse employee, a sticker, a man who punched a knife through a living thing to start the process of feeding a bunch of people who would never know or care about him. Every pair of sad bovine eyes he’d ever seen flashed before him and he imagined his own eyes looking the same way. He found it ironic that he’d survived a super assassin and a demigod, but wouldn’t survive the politics of his job. If he didn’t deserve it, the whole affair might have made him sad, but it didn’t. Dean was just tired. If anything, he felt the worst about losing his fiancée and how upside down she must feel right now.

  The men stuffed around half of the papers into the incinerator.

  “Turn it on,” said Comb-Over.

  Zorro hunkered down at the wall and moved a dial, then pushed a button. The burners lit a second later.

  “Sure there isn’t anything else here?” Comb-Over asked Dean.

  Dean just shook his head.

  “We’ll come back tomorrow for another once-over,” said Comb-Over to Zorro, who nodded with his l
ips thoughtfully pursed.

  “What the hell is that smell?” one of them asked. Dean had closed his eyes briefly so hadn’t seen who made the statement. He looked up at saw Comb-Over sniffing the air. “Doesn’t smell like burning paper at all. Smells like nuts or something, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Zorro. “Like… those kind from Earth, the oval ones.”

  “Almonds.”

  “Yeah. I feel sick.”

  “What?”

  “Like I’m gonna yack.”

  “Okay, shut off the damn thing. Something’s wrong.”

  Zorro switched off the incinerator but abruptly vomited on this floor.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Comb-Over went to help him but suddenly crashed shoulder-first into the wall.

  A twinge of nausea settled in Dean’s stomach. He knew enough from his confined-spaced classes when he was plant manager at the onion factory that the smell of almonds followed by what these two idiots were going through wasn’t just bad, it would be fatal. He didn’t know what kind of crap had been on those documents or if something had been in the incinerator itself, but he needed to get out of there fast.

  And try not to breathe.

  Dean fought to his feet and went to the door. He unlatched the bolt and went to grasp the handle. He jiggled it, but it stuck fast. Rick had tampered with the thing and it was tricky to open even with free hands.

  Shit.

  Dean suddenly felt dizzy. His mind constructed an implausible plan of sticking a knife in between the door and bolt, and he could wedge it open that way and pull the door free from its catch. It made sense, but not really. In the back of his mind, he realized he just needed a solid grip on the handle.

  He went to the kitchen for a knife, blinking through heavy, stinging tears in his eyes. The two thugs in business suits lay in heaps near the incinerator. Dean almost gasped at Zorro’s long tongue hanging out of his mouth, reminding him of a dead cow.

  Keep your mouth shut, he instructed himself.

  But he was already lightheaded from holding his breath.

  His hip crashed into the counter as he staggered into the kitchen. He opened the silverware drawer and pulled out a knife. He rounded the counter and went back to the front door.

  The knife slipped from his hand.

  He looked at it on the floor, forgetting what he might have even wanted to use it for.

  He backed up to the door and took the knob. He couldn’t jiggle it the right way with his hands tied like this.

  The knife!

  He could… cut through… somehow.

  Dean’s eyes fluttered and his body slammed to the floor, his lungs instinctively taking in a deep breath. He tried to remember what gas smelled like almonds and whether it was heavier than air—was it more concentrated near the floor, where he lay?

  He held his breath again. His lungs burned.

  Something crashed into his side.

  The door.

  Powerful hands gripped him under his arms and yanked him into the hallway without any care for how his body slammed against the doorjamb on the way out. His rescuer continued to drag him down the hall, a distance away from the room. Dean caught his breath and sucked clean air into his fiery chest. His eyes were goopy and stinging, running with tears.

  He heard a door shut and lifted his head. His rescuer had shut the door to the contaminated room and was heading back. Dean’s vision was blurred, but the man wore a purple shirt and his face glowed angelic white. He took a knee beside Dean. Before his eyes could clear, Dean noted the shape of Butterball slink in between them, the warm fur brushing his face. The man lifted the cat and held it, stroking it.

  Dean’s eyes refocused and everything became clear.

  “Mr. Loveman.”

  The star-eyed robot watched him closely. His purple polo shirt was torn, and Dean noticed many slight injuries to his pale, synthetic skin, but otherwise, Mr. Loveman looked unharmed by his encounter with the Moon City Killer.

  “I am glad this animal had your DNA attached to it. There are many apartments in the complex, Mr. Fulsome.”

  “What are you doing here, Loveman?”

  “I can’t locate my target, Mr. Fulsome,” the robot told him. “The membrane transport has no log of his arrival to any planet or body in this known universe. I need your help to locate the Moon City Killer.”

  The elevator opened and Carl came running down the hall. “Mister!” he cried. “I think two men from the mayor are—” He stopped when he saw the robot.

  “They already showed, kid,” said Dean. “I’m okay. Get on home.”

  Carl’s head canted at the robot. Mr. Loveman swiveled and handed him the cat.

  “You’re giving this to me?” he asked.

  Loveman looked at Dean. “It’s my cat,” Dean said, “but yeah, that’s a good idea. I need you to watch him a bit.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Butterdi—Butterball.”

  “You’ll give me money for food and litter?” asked Carl, his delight in a new companion apparent.

  “Absolutely. But don’t come back to my apartment. I’ll find you. It isn’t safe right now.”

  “For me too—after my parents found out who my last friend was, they aren’t speaking much right now. I’ll be staying with my dad at the Commerce Polity. Ask for Carl Riggers.”

  “Okay, boy.”

  Butterball twisting in his hold, Carl eyed Mr. Loveman with concern. “He’s going to kill you, isn’t he, Dean?”

  “No,” Mr. Loveman told him. “I’ve put in the request, but my master still needs to sign a release.”

  There was a long pause between all of them and then Carl finally nodded and walked away. “You’ll come by soon?”

  “Yes, you have my word, kid.” He looked at Loveman. “I need to repay those kind souls who saved me.”

  Loveman’s mouth could not move. It just remained a flat line. The star eyes were black, uncaring. “Where did the Moon City Killer go?”

  “We’ll talk later, Carl,” Dean told the boy.

  Carl nodded uncertainly before opening the elevator and getting on with the cat. Once he was gone, Dean scooted back on his hands. “I need this off.”

  Mr. Loveman noticed the zip-tie around Dean’s wrists. He coiled one of his fingers around it, ripped up through the plastic, sending intense pain through Dean’s arms. “That’ll bruise,” he said, wincing.

  “You’re free,” explained the robot. “Now, where can I find the Moon City Killer?”

  “He’s gone to another plane. A separate dimension. Left through the membrane transport.”

  “That’s impossible unless… he carried galaxy glass.”

  “He did,” said Dean, rubbing his wrists.

  Loveman leaned away from him. “That is not good news. This doesn’t sit well with me. Not at all. It’s very disappointing. First he takes Jazon, and now this.”

  “That’s the breaks,” said Dean. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to kill.”

  Mr. Loveman stood and lightly scratched the side of his bone-white face. He spoke then, in his creepy whisper: “Out of your honor to those who have ‘saved’ you, please notify my master if the Moon City Killer ever returns to this dimension.”

  Dean nodded. “Sure. Of course. You have my word.”

  Mr. Loveman took off his flip flops, one at a time, put them under his left arm, and spread his bare, human toes against the cool floor. He sighed with what seemed like an impression of someone feeling something refreshing. He walked toward the elevator with his bare feet against the cool tile floor, leaving like a shadow across ice.

  “Thank you,” Dean called after him.

  The robot said nothing and boarded the elevator.

  Before getting to his feet, a call came through.

  Tasha.

  “Hello,” he said, his voice sounding like his throat had a thousand razor blades stuck throughout.

  “Thought I might make a deviation from my normal
rule and cheer you up, Slaughter Man,” she told him. “Come down to the membrane transport station right now.”

  Dean’s heart, still pounding, leapt up in his chest. “Okay… but…”

  “I have people on the way to clean the apartment.”

  He didn’t even bother asking how she knew already what had happened.

  “Heading to the transport station now,” he told her and then hung up.

  * * *

  Things were frantic at the transport station. The Moon City Killer had left serious damage behind and the repairs had already begun. Nobody could leave through the station, yet it could still receive people. Tasha had told him nothing about who would be coming to see him, but said it would cheer him up. He could use that.

  “Standing by,” said the tech.

  Dean’s pulse managed to quicken above its still-elevated rate. The membranes heated to a soft pink glow. He hoped it was her. He needed it to be her. Slowly, the membranes resolved the matter and Dean could see a group of aliens standing there, all with different hair styles. One of them was playing Lady Gaga on his wrist implant.

  The Zetú. The deal had gone through after all.

  And at the head of the group was Finny-Min and his son. They spotted him right away and ran to him. “Dean!” they cried and wrapped their arms around him. They thanked him profusely and told him they loved him.

  Tears threatened to fall from his eyes. “I feel the same way, guys.” He looked at them and smiled. “Welcome to your new home.”

  He got the liaison group to check them in at the apartment, bypassing any attempt at that horrible tavern. They would meet up with him later today after they settled in. He wasn’t even sure his apartment was decontaminated yet, but he was on his way to see.

  He called Tasha. “Thank you. You’re right. That really cheered me up.”

  “It put you on the fringes again, so I won’t speak of your deal with the Grettish group either. Be more careful what you do in the field. I can’t cover for you forever. You know what happens to rogues in our group.”

  “I appreciate everything.”

  “And, Dean,” said Tasha. “I did ask her.”