The first time I really got into a fight with a guy from another gang, though, was nearly my last.
“Leave your shit and roll, dude, this place is ours now.”
“Yeah? Fuck you punk, you aint’ got no ball hair yet, you ain’t gonna do shit!”
I advanced on my enemy, waving my pipe in front of me, low, like Pug had taught me. We were the only two in this room; the guy in front of me was about to fuck some slut and I’d literally caught him with his pants down. When I started talking, he turned to look at me, yanking his pants up and nearly cutting his own dick off when he pulled a knife out of a sheath on the belt on his pants.
That was an eye opener for me; I was still pretty young, and didn’t have much in the way of manly junk yet – but the knife caught my attention even faster, because it looked like it was a foot long. He advanced on me, still taller than I was, and I knew I was completely and utterly screwed. He got close enough that I should have swung at him and then run, but I was paralyzed by fear, to the extent that I just didn’t know what to do. He reached up and gave me my first cut in ‘battle’ – by flicking the tip of his knife across my cheek from up by my eye, down towards my chin. It wasn’t a serious cut, but it did sting, and it woke up the hate and rage in me. As the knife finished cutting the surface of my skin, I yanked my pipe up to swing at him.
He’d been holding the knife in a ‘forward’ grip, with the blade towards him, probably more of a bad habit than any sort of training. All the better for me, because he half saw the pipe coming up to meet him, enough that he flinched… and jabbed an inch of the blade into his own neck. I stepped backwards, still bringing up the pipe I had in my hands. By the time he realized what he’d done, his neck was spurting blood everywhere, and his face rapidly went pale underneath his dirty skin.
The slut who’d been laying on her back, initially just watching it all, started to scream. I can’t say I blamed her, it was pretty grisly to watch this guy drop to his knees, every heartbeat spewing more blood out of his neck. By the time she’d gotten to her feet, I’d reversed the hold on the pipe in my hands – and hit him on his neck, right where he’d already cut himself. I pulled back and swung again, harder, this time ripping his neck open further. I was only halfway into my own rage at being cut – but still had enough in me that I wanted him dead.
He collapsed, already unable to continue his own fight due to loss of blood, and I was shaking like a leaf on a tree. I didn’t recognize the symptoms of an adrenaline rush at the time, I just knew that I’d hurt a guy, and either killed him, or contributed materially to his death. I stood over him, watching as the blood surging out of his neck tapered off from a stream flying away from his neck, to little more than a tiny spurt. By this point, he had a huge pool of blood around him and I was standing directly in it, covered in his blood and a little of my own. I felt a wave of nausea roll over me, and then I bucked myself up – and realized I was still angry. Picking up his knife, I slit his throat properly, and then looked up at the dirty whore who was squealing like a little girl.
“Shut up or you’re next.”
I looked at the knife in my hands, and smiled. That wasn’t quite how I’d envisioned this playing out, but I wasn’t going to wish it back the way it was when I first walked into this room, either.
Checking his pockets, I pulled a few dollars and some loose change out of one, and a smaller folding knife out of another. It wasn’t much of a knife, just a cheap thing with red plastic handles, not much good for anything other than small cutting, but hey.. it was a blade, and I could always use more of those, just in case.
We made out okay on that raid; we obliterated their gang, took some food and other trade stuff, and left their bodies to rot in the building. We had a better one, so there was no point trying to take territory we couldn’t hold anyway.
The way that the others saw that first room when they checked it for anything worth something, meant that I started getting a reputation for being a cold little bastard who would kill at the drop of a hat. Over the next several months, I kept growing… all the way up to six feet tall, despite being one of the youngest scroungers in the gang, and now the youngest soldier. There wasn’t a raid or fight that I didn’t participate in, and in every one, I found myself using that knife I took off of that first guy.
It got to the point that no-one else in the gang was willing to cross me. I wasn’t gonna be a gang leader anytime soon, but I sure as hell wasn’t a target that anyone else was willing to screw with.
That little folding knife I found on the first guy I offed? Yeah, that was more of a “fun” knife, and I didn’t ever use it in a fight, since the other one was more than enough to fight with. The little folding knife, though, I still had a constant use for.
In our building, we had some weird wooden poles running from floor to ceiling. There weren’t many, and they were already round and some of them spun around on a hidden axis. One of these was in a corner of the room I’d staked out as my own, and I decided that as a part of my plan, I wanted a clear sign to any comers that I was more than willing to kill anyone for any reason if I felt they were a threat to me – and the round pole nearest to my corner of the room was going to be that sign. Every time I slit a throat, bashed a head in, or otherwise killed someone, that pole got a new notch carved into it with the folding knife that now graced my pocket instead of that other dude.
It worked, too. No-one in our gang bothered with me, ever. Well, except Pip, and that cost him more than he was ready to pay, when he finally did try to fuck with me.
Pip on the other hand, used it as a way to promote our gang as more than it really was. He’d tell people that his youngest (but no longer smallest) fighter was such a badass he already had dozens of notches on his pole… He always laughed at that, and I didn’t really understand why – until he found out that I’d carved a hundred different notches in it, and he said it was time for me to enjoy one of the skinny whores we’d stolen from another gang. I never did understand why he brought ‘em back since they were just more mouths to feed, but I guess there’s something to be said for variety.
Nicky was skinnier than most, and didn’t have much in the way of tits – but she was older than me by a long shot. I honestly didn’t know what to do with her, since I didn’t have any idea of what sex was, at that time. She smelled bad, especially when she took her clothes off and spread her legs, but… she walked me through it, and even though I didn’t really get much out of it, it made me seem that much more badass than I already had a reputation for. I’m not gonna bother telling you much about that, because goddamn she was gross, but at least I was getting something out of this other than bruises and better food. It got a lot better after I finally hit puberty, but by then, I had other things on my mind.
Things started getting a bit weird in the gang at that point – because, like I said, no-one else was willing to antagonize me or otherwise take me on. Pip was a different story, though.
“Jimmy, where’d you get that knife anyway?”
“Told you, took it off that first dude I killed, way back.” Yeah, ‘way back’ was at that point not even a year.
“No, I mean that other one.”
Picking up my folding knife, I flicked the blade open and was carving the 110th notch into my pole… “I got em both off of that guy.
Now, pay real close attention here, because this is important.
Easy was in the room with us both, and I didn’t even bother to think twice about covering my ass. That’s probably why I completely spaced on Pip walking up quietly behind me in those huge fucking boots of his while I was carving.
“No you little pissant, THIS KNIFE!” he hissed in my ear as one arm snaked around my neck, and the other grabbed at the thigh I’d strapped Rage to, underneath my khaki colored pants. Yeah, I was still carrying it, every day, everywhere, but not using it within eyesight of anyone else because it would have marked me as the next target for getting a pretty new toy.
Easy yelled o
ut, “HE FOUND IT WAY OUT IN THE BRONX AND KEP IT! He wouldn’t let me have one of them!”
I could feel the rage within me building again, like the last time Pip had abused and beaten me, and just like the last time, I wasn’t going to just sit there and take it. Add to that, that Easy had just ratted me out to anyone listening, and I saw red.
I still had the folding knife in my hand, and I used it in a circular motion around Pip’s arm around my neck, just below his elbow, and immediately felt his arm go weak. It snaked away from me, and I heard his bellow as he kicked me from behind with those goddamned boots of his again, just like a year or so prior. He hit me hard enough that I slammed into the pole I’d been carving, and it snapped off just above the floor, leaving a stump that I hadn’t carved anything on yet, tumbling down on top of me while I again found myself on the floor, at Pip’s mercy.
It was either wake up sore and bleeding like last time, or… making the OTHER guy wake up sore and bleeding – or, not at all. I wasn’t gonna take it, not even a little bit. I bounced back upright, pulled Rage out of it’s hidden sheath, and felt the fury building within me again… not quite blacking out, but knowing that I was utterly invincible at this point.
I advanced on Pip, cradling his now useless left arm, knife held low and in front of me.
“Kid, you aren’t even remotely close to trying this now, and you’re not gonna be breathing tomorrow morning.” He pulled out his own knife, a longer one than Rage, and advanced on me.
Thing was, I’d already practiced this scenario god knows how many times before – because it was a trick we played on other gangs dozens of time before. Attack – don’t wait – and you’ll scare the other guy, or he’ll have to rush to defend.
I was already ready, and as his arm swept out in a showy display of slashing me, I ran directly at him, and slammed Rage, hilt-deep, into Pip’s belly – and then pulled upwards, screaming in rage as I did so.
I backed away, watching stuff start to peek out from inside the gash I’d left in Pip’s torso, nearly stumbling over my notched pole on the floor, as Pip’s insides tumbled out into a steaming, greasy mess on the floor in front of him.
He looked down and dropped his knife, and started sobbing.
By now, we had people come running up the stairs into our sleeping room, where previously it’d been only Pip, Easy, and me. Those who came in, saw me pick up my notched pole and advance on Pip. “Fuck you old man, I’m DONE!” and the splintered end of the hardwood slid neatly into his left eye socket, pushing him over backwards.
I turned on Easy, now. “You fuck. You useless, lazy, dipshit, you fucking ratted me out.” Pug and others were in the room, watching and listening to me as I turned on the person that they’d always figured was my closest friend.
I still had Rage in my hand – I was never letting go of that blade again until I was safe in my own space – and raised it up to point at him.
“You fucking ratted me out” I repeated, taking slow, careful steps toward him as he backed in the corner of the room, directed by the point of my blade.
He was still wearing the shirt that was mated to the pants I’d been wearing for nearly the past year. “Take that fucking thing off you goddamn traitor.” He fumbled clumsily at the zipper, in a rush to do whatever I said, dropping it on the floor. By now, still backing into the corner, he had his back firmly against the wall.
I watched the skin of his chest push backwards with the edge of the knife, observing almost clinically as it parted the rubbery skin. I could feel his heartbeat as it pulsed against the blade burying itself in his skin, until it faltered once…. Then again… and then pulled the blade out, creating a jagged gash in Easy’s chest, before I stroked once, hard and fast, across his throat.
Easy’s body dropped limply to the floor, and I turned and picked up the shirt, putting it on over the wife beater I’d been wearing.
Pacing calmly and slowly towards the stairs, people parted like some sort of magic trick to get out of my way.
I turned, walked back to Pip’s lifeless body and yanked the post, not quite 8 feet long after it’d been snapped off, and then picked up Pip’s knife to carve notches hundred and eleven, and hundred and twelve into it, before burying it upright in Pip’s lifeless chest. Turning back to the stairs, I walked down, then out the front door and left, not turning back but still observant enough to hear that some were following me, while others were freaking out at the rampant display of horror they’d just witnessed.
Chapter 4: Going Home.
Leaving the building, the thought occurred to me that that gang was dead – I’d just cut off it’s head, and while they wouldn’t die immediately, they couldn’t possibly hope to carry on. I knew, too, that there was no way I’d go back there. I couldn’t show it at the time, I couldn’t show it ever, but what I’d done to Pip and then Easy was disgusting, it was evil, it was wrong, and it was utterly necessary.
I hadn’t planned on moving to the Safe House quite this soon, but the plan was already set up and ready to be used. Now, I was the only person who knew it – assuming of course, that Easy hadn’t told anyone the way he spilled his guts. Figuratively speaking, that is. Don’t laugh, asshole! Easy was the only real friend I had in that shithole.
I remember hearing people, former gang mates, muttering behind me. One by one, they dropped back, and then went back to what was nothing more than a grave for them at this point. Not all of them did, though. I must have walked for five miles before I stopped, turned, and looked to see who was still following me, all the way down Broadway till we reached a bridge.
Pug was there. That surprised me; I figured he’d be one of the guys who’d try to fill the power void in the old building. He was a lot older than me, probably in his late teens or early 20’s. Fathead was there, too – probably one of the only guys in the gang who knew how to read really well, but also kind of lazy – and that was an even bigger surprise, we were probably already well past any kind of physical exertion he’d normally do in a given day. He was WAY older than both me and Pug and liked to take it easy. When I say “older”, I mean… this dude had gray hair. He was the oldest person by far that I’d ever known. He was the guy who usually figured out the tools and other shit that we – I mean, the old gang – used to scrounge or steal, and he was who told Pip what to ask for when selling it all. We didn’t know it until much later, but it turns out he’d actually been an Arkie, and left – or got kicked out – when he did something. I never did find out what. There was a lot more than just, “I can read” where Fathead was concerned.
Ry was there too – scrawny guy, taller and older than me but not quite as old as Pug or Fathead. That was it, at this point, just the four of us standing there with the bridge in the background.
I stood there, just waiting.
Finally, Pug spoke up. “Where you goin’ man? You going to some other gang?”
“Nah. Just leaving, don’t wanna be there no more.”
“but you gotta go somewhere, I mean, you can’t go on your own, you’ll get whacked by some sewerganger or some shit,” apparently thinking I was going to go back into the island. It’s nice to see how older people can so easily miss what you’re up to.
“Yeah kid, who you gonna hook up with?” was Fathead’s contribution.
Ry just grunted. He never really fit in, and was always pretty quiet, but he was good in a fight.
“What do you guys want? You wanna try for a piece of me like Pip?”
“Kid, ain’t want nothin’ from you, just know you ended Pip and he was badass. I’m better with you than any of them, and I know you’re smarter than you show.” Hm. Fathead might need a new hole in his head too, if he’d figured out that much.
“Fuck you fatty. Ain’t got time for deadweight.” I was serious, too… I had plans and they included more than just me, but I didn’t want anyone along for the ride just to freeload off me.
“He taught me to read, James.” All three of us turned to look at Ry, mouths op
en. That was more words out of him than any of us had ever heard come out of his mouth at one time before.
Fathead was the first to speak, and he was more than a little pissed. “Fuck Ry, I told you not to say shit.”
“Don’t care. Y’ain’t no mooch and James needs to know.”
“Okay, fine, so Fathead wants to be a teacher dude, whatever. Pug, you were good to me, but you’re a fighter. The fuck you doin’ here?” I wasn’t really unhappy that he was there, but the last thing I wanted was the guy who taught me everything I knew about fighting – but maybe not everything HE knew about fighting – behind me with a knife.
“James, you know I ain’t got nothin’ against you, liked teaching you. I got more I can teach you, and I figure you need someone to watch your back who ain’t no Fathead, and no offense, but Ry’s not exactly in the same category as me. You need me, bro.” Okay, that was actually a pretty good argument, and not one I was going to argue.
Rage & Fury Page 3
