The Storm Giants

by Pearce Hansen

  Like a Vegas card dealer, Tobias let go his pistol and clapped his hands together, then spread them to display the palms as if to demonstrate nothing up his sleeves. He bowed and stayed in that position, eyes gone crafty above his grimace as he looked up at Everett awaiting his reply.

  Tobias was up and back pedaling fast, suddenly fearful. “Think of the hassle, Everett. Think how hard it’d be to stash a body and still do the job in a town as small as this.”

  Offing Tobias would prevent a lot of nuisance down the road. In the bad old days Everett would’ve excised him like the speed bump he was.

  The little man might get lucky if he was here to do Everett dirty. Everett had seen guys in his own league get chopped by persistent journeymen before. Still, multiple tons of bullion would be pretty awkward to wrestle around alone. There might be severe time constraints on the extraction.

  Everett nodded, and Tobias jerked like a marionette.

  “Craptacular,” Tobias said. He wrinkled his nose, then leaned toward Everett and sniffed. “Everett, you stink.”

  Everett looked down at his clothes, glistening with garbage drippings. “It’s all right. Adds to the ambience that needs projecting.”

  “So where to? What’s the plan?”

  “The bus terminal’s one block up,” Everett said. “It’s the happening spot.” He thought. “You’re getting rid of that Desert Eagle. You’ll understand when we get there.”

  “Shit,” Tobias said.

  “These people would smell weapons a mile away. You’ll see.”

  Tobias shrugged, took off his coat, unstrapped his shoulder holster and tossed the whole rig up onto the roof of the building they were next to. As Tobias’s gaze followed his pistol spinning out of sight to thunk on the roof, it looked as if the gun was abandoning him instead of the other way around.

  Chapter 25 : A Bus Terminal at Christmas

  The tiny bus terminal was busier than you’d expect. A dead end string town like Amicus shouldn’t have so much happening in the way of comings and goings. Instead, it was as packed with humanity as a miniature third world refugee camp, with several dozen people waiting as if for the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

  A single mom with three kids stood by the entrance. As Everett and Tobias rolled up on them the eldest of the mother’s spawn fished a dead cat out of the garbage can by its stiffened tail, and stuck his forefinger up his nose to the second digit. The mother looked at Everett as they passed. She got a whiff of Everett and wrinkled her nose in distaste, overcome with fastidiousness not normal for her.

  The lines of long time speed usage were carved into this unwed mother’s cheeks. Her missing teeth made her chin seek her nose like a crone’s, and the indented seam of her meth mouth aged her otherwise pretty face far beyond her twenty something years.

  Besides, she was a fine one to be concerned about aroma: Crank was made in dirty basements by sketchy personalities more intent on quick profit than quality manufacture. Either through ignorance or in an effort to save time, the ‘chemists’ often omitted or botched most of the steps, usually in the washes intended to remove the intermediate toxins arising in the course of creating crank from its base ingredients. A crankster’s body couldn’t assimilate the impurities. They were excreted through the pores and breath, creating the telltale ‘tweaker reek’ that Everett knew by heart. And the reek came off this particular tweaker mama in waves.

  Everett and Tobias inserted themselves into the bus stop venue, two rootless anonymous adult males trying their best not to make any ripples. They parked themselves next to the closed service counter.

  A particularly trampy looking dude stood guard at the entrance to the rest rooms. He’d made both male and female facilities off limits to everybody else, accosting anyone that approached him. Mad dogging on any males that tried to get past, making comments to the females that appeared unwelcome.

  The door to the men’s room creaked open, pushed from inside. Another even grimier guy stuck his head out the door. “Your turn,” he said.

  Tobias strolled toward them, his posture intent. After a moment Everett followed. It was stupid to attract eyes like this.

  As Tobias approached he stripped off his Derby jacket, held it by the sleeves, and spun his wrists until the jacket was a length of twisted fabric dangling between his hands. As he reached the first tramp, Tobias flipped the jacket noose over the man’s head and across his throat.

  Tobias ducked under his own gripping hands, spun toward the rear and bent over at the waist in one fluid motion, the move looking polished and practiced. Tobias pulled downward on the sleeves, which were crisscrossed so that the jacket garrote was inescapable.

  Tobias and the tramp were back to back; it was as if banty rooster Tobias was giving him a variant piggyback ride as he hoisted the heavier tramp off the ground by his throat. The tramp thrashed and scrabbled. His legs kicked like he was riding an invisible bicycle, and his hands clawed at the jacket without being able to find any purchase in the taut fabric.

  The grimier guy started to push the restroom door the rest of the way open. Everett kicked the door and it thudded against the grimier guy’s head. He sagged to the linoleum as the door bounced back open.

  The grimier guy lay on the restroom floor with eyes open, staring in bemusement at the ceiling. Judging by the already swelling knot on his forehead, he could be crossed off the threat list.

  Tobias maneuvered his feet every time the tramp threatened to slide off the killing platform Tobias’s bent over back had become. Tobias thrust up and down with his legs to quicken things, letting the tramp’s own body weight slam his throat harder and harder within the jacket garrote.

  “Enough,” Everett said. “Drawn too much attention already.”

  Tobias was in a killing trance, giggling to himself as he stared at the ground attuned to the tramp’s paroxysms. Everett kicked Tobias behind the knee, and Tobias slammed to the ground with the tramp on top of him.

  Tobias scrambled from under his victim and scuttled toward Everett, ablaze at being cheated of his finish. Everett round housed the back of his knee again, and Tobias fell hard once more.

  This time he didn’t try to get up. He just lay there next to the tramp. If he’d needed finishing, Everett would’ve done a knee drop on his neck or fractured his skull with whatever was available to grab. Instead Everett stood relaxed until the little man’s slackening expression signaled that the heat of the moment had passed.

  The tramp still wore Tobias’s jacket noose as an ascot. He was out of it, and his breath rattled and moaned through his bruised trachea. But his gasps were strong and his life wasn’t in imminent danger. They would’ve been smelling shit real quick if Tobias hadn’t relented. The voiding of the bowels was always a good sign the dirty deed had been completed.

  “Sometimes their eyes bug out, sometimes they just look asleep,” Tobias said. “Just like when their mama tucked them in at night.”

  Everett stepped over the tramp and through the door, Tobias following in close support.

  The bathroom smelled of blood, sex and fear. A kid was in there; tall for his age, skinny, and too handsome for his own damn good. He fumbled up his pants and buttoned them as he sidled away from the two men.

  Keeping his back to the wall, the kid side stepped toward the door. His eyes never left Everett or Tobias even as they both stepped further into the bathroom to give him courtesy room to make his escape.

  When the kid reached the exit he stopped just out of reach of the grimier guy and stared down at his prone form. The kid hauled off and kicked him in the head hard enough to bounce it off the wall.

  A mewling laugh bleated out of the kid. A little trickle of blood and other fluids dripped down his ankle, and the seat of his pants had a red spot in the center.

  The kid watched Tobias untangle his jacket from around the tramp’s neck.

  “What’s your name?” the kid asked.

  “I’m Otis, this is Henry,” Tobias said.

&nb
sp; “I’m David,” the kid said. “You here for a free meal too?”

  “Heard something about that,” Everett said. “Houseful of Good Samaritans, right? They come through here feeding people sometimes?”

  David nodded, and looked past Everett toward the bus stop entrance. A guy and girl stood there, eye balling the venue hard.

  Chapter 26 : The Scope Out

  The girl had her hair in a blonde pony tail and stood with the centered poise of an ex-gymnast or ballerina. Daddy had paid a fortune for those lessons once upon a used to was. She was supple enough it looked like she didn’t have a bone in her body. If she’d been the cop show character Everett watched thrown off the roof on TV last night, she would've just bounced a few times like a rubber ball before coming to rest on her feet.

  Her eyes had seen too much, and her grim mouth reflected the fact. Her face had the lines of someone who’d experienced too many strong emotions, too young and too often.

  In contrast the guy next to her was a doughy couch potato type, with the pasty skin of someone who spent a lot of time indoors. He was dressed in an off the rack black suit and tie with white shirt.

  The odd couple made the rounds of the bus terminal, working their way through the riff raff as if picking and choosing. The girl spoke to the tweaker mom with the three kids. The mom nodded at the blonde’s words and fell in step with the procession building behind.

  Whatever her criteria, the girl bypassed some people in favor of others. She spent a few seconds with each person she opted to speak with. Some of the people she chose looked surprised, but most seemed to have expected her.

  “They’re checking people out too hard,” Everett said out the corner of his mouth. “You’re the front man. Cover me up boss – make me invisible.”

  With a giggle, Tobias hauled off and slapped Everett’s face with a crack. Tobias said, “Pipe down, fool.”

  The blonde was approaching and Everett hung his head like a chastised child.

  “What’s the story?” the blonde asked, looking from Everett to Tobias and back.

  “Just putting my bitch in his place,” Tobias said, reaching up to put one arm around Everett’s shoulders. “This is my boy and I look out for him. He’s not all there, like in Mice and Men, you know? I gots to keep him from stepping on his dick sometimes.”

  Tobias gave Everett’s shoulder a squeeze. “But I’m the only one gets to fuck with him, see?”

  “What ever floats your boat, chief,” the blonde said. “I’m just here to ask if you’re hungry.”

  “We could eat,” Tobias said.

  “Well, I’m Celeste and this is Aaron,” she said, cocking her head toward the doughboy next to her. Aaron looked at Everett and Tobias like he didn’t have much use for either of them.

  “We got a place nearby where you can fill your bellies if you like,” Celeste said. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Otis,” Tobias said.

  “And you?”

  “Henry,” Everett said.

  Up close, Everett saw the long healed track marks running up and down the insides of her arms. The keloids from old abscesses. The branded cutting scars of self mutilation across her wrists, which was the wrong way, the cuts should’ve been up and down the length of her forearm. She had a tattoo on her cheek, a tiny bird almost hidden by make up.

  Aaron lit up when he saw the wounded eyed David.

  “You’ll be coming too,” Aaron said, and David gave him a shy smile.

  Celeste swayed over close to Everett, her lip wrinkling in distaste as she caught a good whiff of the garbage juice he was marinated in.

  “You been dumpster diving?” she asked.

  “Something like that,” Everett said.

  Chapter 27 : Pack Predator’s Prayer

  Celeste and Aaron led the raggedy band of transients from the bus station. The refugees who hadn’t made the cut looked after them with mopey expressions. Both grimy tramps were still out cold on the bus depot floor as they left.

  There was a carnival feel to the small procession. For some of the crowd, this would be their first meal in days.

  “You know I was just funning back there at the terminal, right ‘Henry?’” Tobias said as he walked next to him. “Course, I could hit you again if you think it’ll help any.”

  The drinkers outside the liquor store showed no surprise at the parade rounding the corner to Phil’s house. Two guys opened the double gates as the crowd approached, with welcoming smiles.

  Floods lit the yard, illuminating the entrance of the guests. The Christmas lights made the house a present waiting to be unwrapped.

  The area inside the fence was bigger than it looked from outside, with rank shrubbery and small stunted trees almost overpowering the open areas and walkways. At least half a dozen out buildings surrounded the house proper, making it improbable they’d be able to find the gold without assistance.

  The people waiting in front of the house were a mixed bag, yet with a close family look to them. They were all clean and dressed professionally, even if none of their clothing was high end.

  When the bus terminal crowd neared them, the people of the house all stepped forward and mingled as if on cue, meet-and-greeting the newcomers with wide smiles like ambulatory mannequins pimping whatever.

  “Welcome,” a squat Middle Eastern looking dude said to Everett, and they pumped hands a few times. He clapped Everett on the shoulder and moved on to tousle the hair of the little boy who’d played with the dead cat at the terminal.

  People surrounded Everett in a jostling Brownian motion of fellowship, touching his shoulder and beaming acceptance. Everyone was bonding and laughing,

  Tobias’s had been swept a little ways away by the swirls and eddies of the mob. He had a claustrophobic look to him. This big inclusion trip was suffocating him, and he was about to choke on their love bomb.

  The residents of the house trooped inside dragging their new guests with them, all part of the same pack now. The dining room had a table running its length, with platters of steaming provender crowded with food and drink.

  Phil held court at the far end of the table, talking to a clot of attentive listeners. The big ex-hippie wore the same corduroy suit coat and tie-dyed tee-shirt he’d worn in the dossier photo. He had a pot belly, which hadn’t been evident in the upper body shot included in the file.

  Phil hugged a large black girl as tall as him. She laughed, clutched him back hard and rocked him in her big arms as she beamed toward the ceiling mocking bedroom ecstasy. Phil saw Everett and he started to smile, but Everett looked away.

  Everyone took their seats and Celeste’s warm dry little hand fumbled at Everett’s from his left. Everett held her hand and reached to the right to take Tobias’s.

  The entire table had joined hands in a ring of fellowship, with Phil seated at the head. When Phil closed his eyes and bowed his head, everyone else did the same.

  Phil spoke in a penetrating baritone: “You examine it rationally, compassion looks like a real gyp. You cough up spare change, your wallet is that much lighter, right? Even chipping in on a potluck feast uses whatever food you’ve accumulated.

  “Sharing isn’t just expenditure of energy and resources. It puts us at risk – either by drawing the attention of predators, or by our good intentions being taken advantage of. Yes – you look at it objectively, altruism makes no sense at all in the context of a Darwinian universe.

  “But what we have makes perfect sense. It’s stood the test of time. Our species began as pack predators. Self aware animals to whom the tribe was everything. That hasn’t changed: concepts like or charity and community aren’t ideals on our end of the street. For us, they’re day to day necessities for our family’s survival.

  “We’ve all faced the cold winds of rootlessness. What we’ve made together is all we have. What all of us would kill for, do anything for. We remember our friend Terry, who showed us by going all the way.”

  “Terry,” Celeste and a few of the othe
rs whispered in unison. Everett had pretended to close his eyes but kept them open a slit. As he snuck a peek at Celeste, she was smiling.

  Phil nodded benevolence as at an expected ritual response, and continued: “Altruism arose in bands small enough you knew every member of your tribe, just as we all know each other. We remember who helps us, and who doesn’t chip in. We work together, directing our energies toward friends who are grateful for our aid, and who return the favor when need arises.”

  Phil opened his eyes and looked toward Aaron at the opposite head of the long table. Aaron had his eyes open as well and the two locked stares. Phil closed his eyes again, and after a moment, so did Aaron.

  Phil continued his spiel. “We don’t want to waste our efforts on parasites, or those who betray our family’s mission. Here, your reputation – your name and face – are vital. For us, compassion is a tool we need. Not some high falutin pie in the sky delusion.

  “Our most dangerous glitch is our ability to short circuit the compassionate impulse. Other pack predators have submission rituals to forestall in group violence. The group does not prey on itself except to cull those needing expulsion.

  “But we humans intellectualize our interactions, and we’re always looking to demonize the ‘Other.’ Many of us have experienced that first hand.”

  Several people murmured agreement, and the big black girl said “Amen.”

  Phil said, “History is filled with genocide and war, crime and murder. Pretty good evidence the urge to compassion was overcome on that particular day. But that’s the outside world. That can’t be us, amongst ourselves.

  “Out there it’s one big global pool of strangers. We’re not part of their in groups, and our pasts put us beyond the pale unless we’re willing to crawl. None of us will, or else we wouldn’t be banded together here.

  “Amongst ourselves, we’ve laid down the sword to live in harmony. We give of ourselves for the sheer pleasure of giving, and for the good we can do each other. Our altruism is about survival, my friends.