Twisted City

by Jeremy Mac

  “This wasn’t just any boy.”

  “Or dog,” Bruno adds.

  “He was fast.”

  “Like lightning,” says Bruno.

  “And good with weapons.”

  “With very sharp teeth.”

  “And there was no fear in him, no fear at all. It was almost like he was toying with us.”

  “Toying with you,” Vincent says dully. “You make him sound as though he’s some kind of trained warrior. Where do you suppose he came from? Japan?”

  Bruno responds. “He didn’t look Japanese. More like eastern European; blondish hair, fair skinned . . .”

  Vincent curls the fingers of both of his hands over the edge of the smooth wooden surface of his chairs armrest and white knuckles them. “Shut it, you idiot,” Vincent scolds Bruno. “I don’t care what he looks like or where he’s from! I want him and my food brought to me and I don’t care what it takes, just get it done. Otherwise we’ll just have to feast on the two of you instead.”

  Pan starts to say something but stops. He starts again, nearly saying it, but holds back again.

  Vincent tries to control his impatience. “For crissake, just say it.”

  “We don’t even know where to start. He could be anywhere in the city by now.”

  Vincent takes in a slow steady breath and wills himself to stay calm. In a tone clotted with irritation Vincent says, “Start in the area this took place, question everyone, and go from there.”

  They turn to leave and Bruno whispers to Pan, “We might never find that little bastard.”

  “Don’t fret,” Pan whispers confidently. “We’ll just get some more food somewhere and then find some other miserable boy and kill him and bring his body back to Vincent. He’ll never be the wiser.”

  “And one more thing,” Vincent says, just before the two exit the room. “I want the boy brought back alive. Under no circumstances is he to be killed. If he is as the two of you say he is, then we can use him on our team.”

  Shoulders slumped and sighing deflatedly, Pan and Bruno leave the room.

  The masked man stood silently and ever alert at Vincent’s side the entire time. He is Vincent’s personal body guard and assassin. He is as loyal and fearless as they come, will kill on command and will play no silly’s about it. Vincent says to him, “Let everyone know that they will be expected to be in the conference room tomorrow morning. It’s time we made plans to make my debut at The Pinnacle. I’m sure James would like to know that his men are still alive and not so well. Maybe I’ll put on a little show so he can see with his own eyes what I am capable of. Perhaps that will give him the incentive to act accordingly.”

  Vincent lays the back of his head against the tall backrest of his king’s throne-chair; a big, heavy chair covered in intricate carvings that reminded him of a king’s throne when he first saw it, therefore it was fitting for himself.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Vincent says. “Have Jacko send for Peaches-n-Cream. I’m a little stressed, and those two really know how to suck the stress right out of you.”

  12

  “What now?” Bruno says as the two descend the steps in the hotel’s stairwell.

  Pan rolls his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘What now?’ We find that little shit and bring him back to Vincent. There’s no way around that. We’ve gotta get a team of men to go with us, too. I’ve got a feeling that he ain’t gonna come quietly either, no matter how convincing we try to be that we’re not gonna hurt him.”

  “But what if he tries to kill us? What are we supposed to do then?”

  “You heard Vincent. Under no circumstances is the boy to be killed.”

  “Even if he tries to kill us? We’re supposed to just stand there and let him.”

  “Look,” Pan says, stopping where he is on the steps and causing Bruno to stop as well. “We are not to kill that kid. It’s forbidden, and when something is forbidden, you don’t do it, because when you do something that is forbidden you can count on it just as sure as you were born that you will suffer a consequence. So if you don’t care about the consequence, by all means, kill the kid. But it’s not gonna be me who’ll hafta answer to Vincent about it. So how about letting me do all the thinking for the both of us and try to figure out how we’re gonna bring the kid back without anybody else getting killed, eh.”

  “Okay Pan. You know what’s best.”

  “You’re damn right I know what’s best. And let me tell you something else, when we bring him back and if Vincent decides he doesn’t need the kid after all, then it’ll be me and you who’ll get rid of him once and for all.”

  Bruno’s mangled face quirks into a gnarled smile as he says, “Yeah,” and then he winces in pain.

  “Your face?”

  Bruno nods his head, lightly touching the torn and punctured skin with the tips of his fingers.

  “Aiee, don’t touch it, your hands are filthy. You need to get yourself cleaned up. You look like crap. I mean, now you do, but ay, when you’re all healed the scars are gonna look tough.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, sure. Kinda wish I had scars like that.” That’s a damn lie. “I mean , I ain’t about to purposely get myself all busted up for it, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I’m just sayin’, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  They leave the building and step into the bustling streets of Maddick. This little town within Claxton is filled with all walks of life, from the outlaw to the civil. Most everyone congregates outside during the day, hustling their goods and what-nots at the market, buy-sell-trade, making a living.

  At one time The New Disease ran through this place, killing several, but since Vincent put the squeeze on it those infected are now few and far between, and if they don’t hide their infection well enough and they are discovered they are then killed and their body’s burned. There is absolutely zero tolerance concerning The New Disease.

  One of the last cases, and most memorable, was a gruesome massacre. A man who had gotten into an altercation with another man, which ultimately led to his murder, had contracted the disease from a prostitute a day prior to his murder. The man had been married with two children and since he never knew he’d been infected he unknowingly passed the disease off onto his wife. Three days later he was killed. The grieving widow began to feel ill. She thought it only to be due to her grief. Until it got worse. She then figured it to be something like a common cold, and like the common cold and similar viruses, The New Disease, in its early stages, has similar symptoms. Many had been killed and burned when all they had was a cold or the flu. With that in mind she kept herself secluded in her home with her children and two close friends to care for her, thinking that she could ride it out until she got better.

  But she never did get better, she only got worse. She lost her appetite and acquired a cough that came in violent fits, often hacking up blood. She lost weight rapidly and her strength abated. Her body ached in ways she never knew possible, her muscles cramped, her guts twisted. Finally she came to terms with what it was. Arrangements were made for her children to live with and be raised by two close friends after what was to be her own quiet death under her own terms in her own home. But neighbors can be nosey and the secret was leaked out. Vincent’s police squad busted through the door and rounded everyone up.

  They were taken to the town square where she and all those present in the home were publicly condemned to death. Although she was the only one showing symptoms of The New Disease the others could have also contracted it somehow, but even if they had not they were all still guilty for harboring a known infection, therefore sealing their own fate along with her.

  The woman begged with such intensity to have mercy on her children and friends that she hacked and coughed uncontrollably. Vincent’s men were wary of touching the infected woman but their orders were to immediately take her and the others to the fire pit, the men seized her by the arms and dragged her roughly onward. I
n a fit of hysteria she bent backwards in a muted yell, her eyeballs bulged from their sockets, large white globes seeming as if they could roll out of her head. A noise came from deep within her throat, her stomach heaved, she retched, and as she bent forward blood shot from her mouth like a busted fire hydrant. Her small framed body thrashed out, tugging her arms against the hold the two men had on her while shaking her head side to side in an uncontrollable rage as blood showered red death on the two men flanking her and anyone else within spitting distance. On-looking citizens gasped and cried out in horror. Several men marched into the square and under Vincent’s orders drew their weapons and commenced to slaughter the woman, her two friends, and their own men who were covered in the woman’s blood, slaying them with swords, piercing their belly’s with spears, chopping off heads and limbs with axes. But somehow, within the ongoing slaughter, by the grace and selflessness of one brave soul, the two children disappeared. Once the last of the dead bodies were gathered and thrown into the fire pit, filling the air and sky with the thick black stench of burning flesh, no one became wise to the two missing children.

  It is understood that if anyone discovers they are infected their best bet is to turn themselves in to not only allow the henchman to give them a quick, clean, and painless death at the chopping block but to also spare the lives of their loved ones. In many cases this unwritten law has proven effective.

  Regardless of the risk it still does little damage to the economics of prostitution. In fact, it is a thriving business. Paper currency is no longer sought after; all old world currency is considered dead. Prostitutes now only take such things as food, clean water, clothing, jewelry, weapons, these things have solid value. Because men, and in some cases women as well, will always be accursed with an insatiable craving for coitus, brothels are the best business in Maddick, and being under the protection of Vincent himself the prostitutes of Maddick are the cleanest, best fed, and well dressed, male or female. But they also run the risk of meeting death much faster now more than ever. After all, it’s not like they have an endless supply of condoms from the now defunct Trojan Company. But the perks somehow seem to outweigh the imminent danger.

  Pan and Bruno go to one of these brothels and are greeted at the door by Madam Jizell; a pretty Latina, and although she has a skinny frame, her breasts are plump.

  ”Pan,” she says with a sly smile. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again for a while. From the way you crawled out of here last time I figured it would take a month for those balls to refill themselves. Should I get Alexis again or would you like to have a go with a different girl?”

  Pan grins bashfully. “Well, I, uh…” Bruno elbows him, and when Pan sees that grotesque face he remembers what they are here for and quickly regains his composure. “We’re not here for that. Bruno here got a little banged up and needs to get his face cleaned and sewed up and his shoulder looked at.”

  “What do you got for me?” Jizell deadpans.

  Pan reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a thin gold chain with a small diamond pendent. He lays it in her open hand and she holds it up to examine it.

  “Is it real?” she asks.

  “Are those real?” Pan quips, ogling the two opulent mounds before him veiled behind a soft wispy layer of material. She gives him a sardonic leer and then he says, “Sometimes it’s not if something is real or not real, just as long as it looks good, eh.”

  She steps to the side and waves them in.

  Prostitutes are everywhere: big ones, little ones, tall, short, ugly, pretty, young, and old, of any race to your liking. Many of the girls who aren’t entertaining a client at the moment flirt with Pan and Bruno as they walk through, mostly flirting with Pan though, as he is well known in the brothels. He is quite the rafe when he can afford to be.

  Madam Jizell leads the two men to a small room in the back. Bruno is told to remove his shirt and to sit on a table covered with old newspapers. The Madam slips on a smock, washes her hands in a pan of clean water, slides on a pair of rubber gloves, wraps a surgeons mask around her face, and dons a pair of protective eyeglasses. Now presenting the reputable Dr. Jizell.

  Jizell has been a prostitute ever since she was fourteen years old, over half her life now. With a strong desire to be more than just a common whore for the rest of her life she earned her GED at nineteen years old and soon after enrolled in nursing school while continuing to hook in order to pay off her schooling. But how the world changed before she was able to live out her dream. She is now one of the very few left who profess in human anatomy, medically and sexually, earning her the roles by Vincent Maddick himself as Madam Jizell, M.D.

  She examines Bruno’s shoulder.

  “What happened?”

  “I got shot by an arrow.”

  “And your face?”

  “A dog attacked me.”

  “I’m not even going to ask.”

  She goes to a desk and opens the top drawer, plucking out cotton swabs, gauze, iodine, and surgical tape. In the beginning she was fully stocked with this kind of stuff and much more, including a plethora of pain killers, but lately she’d noticed a significant dent in her supplies.

  The shoulder wound is no longer bleeding so she wets a towel and wipes off the dried blood from around the wound. She takes a cotton swab and dunks it in the iodine, then swabs deep inside the wound while pouring a little more iodine over it. Bruno clinches his teeth and hisses; it hurts worse than getting shot with the arrow did. After it is clean she packs the wound with ointment and dresses it with a couple of layers of gauze taped to his skin. It takes a little longer to clean and patch his face, it is badly chewed from the dogs canines, needing several stitches but being less painful as the cleaning of the shoulder wound had been.

  “I would tell you to rest up a while but I have the feeling you either won’t or can’t,” she says to Bruno. “So with that being said, just try to keep the wounds as clean as possible.”

  “And I’ll see you in the next few days, eh,” Pan says, a suggestive grin curving his thin lipped mouth, eyebrows dancing up and down.

  “I’m sure,” Jizell says.

  Pan and Bruno live together in the same pad, and their own physical appearance reflects their living quarters: Squalor. It is really nothing more than a place to keep their personal items and to lay their heads. Each packs a few supplies and Bruno snatches another one of his many clubs. On their way out of Maddick, Pan recruits five men to go with them, under Vincent’s strict orders, and then they leave into the vast city of Claxton on the hunt for a boy named Mongoose and his dog Max.

  13

  It is in the upper area of the northern most end in an office building. Lathan has been there only once before, years ago, but he remembers it well. He is sure that James knows of the building as well, may have had clients who’d worked there in fact, but it is no business of James’ nor anyone else’s what his interest is with the building. At least not for now. Which is why he didn’t ask about the building, what condition it is in, and if it has residency but even if so he is positive that what he is after will still be safely intact.

  It is the last thing he thought about before dozing off into a long, deep, dreamless sleep. He doesn’t have many of those. He usually slumbers in broken naps and awakes after an hour or two from a distressing dream or from the odd feeling of being watched by someone who isn’t even in the room or sometimes he awakes with a start for reasons he cannot understand. It’s become routine, something he’s grown accustomed to.

  The next morning he awakes to Taya banging relentlessly on his door, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

  He uses the bucket of water that was brought to him yesterday by the buildings water boy to freshen up, dresses, and then leaves with Taya.

  They hop in a cycle rickshaw and Taya enthusiastically takes Lathan on a tour of the town. It is built off of what was salvageable from the city; food, clothing, furniture, anything beneficial. Books were transferred from one of the city’s biggest librar
ies to an office building here, bringing in truckloads of bookshelves and refurbishing the entire floor to create their own library. Antiques and artwork were also salvaged and is now preserved and on display within the same office building, on the second floor, serving as the towns art museum.

  With a handful of medical doctors on call three floors of another building were redesigned to create a hospital equipped with enough medical supplies and intel to treat most illnesses and injuries. Those infected with The New Disease, who currently number twenty-eight, are quarantined on their own floor, which if you really think about it is a friendlier form of death row.

  Several water fountains were built around the town, connected through a piping system from a larger one with a filtering system located in the middle of town, supplying clean water to anyone at any time. The water system is also a hydroelectric source for the town’s power.

  Fruit, vegetable, and flower gardens are cultivated both hydroponically within the buildings and solarly on building roof tops, and although the sky is on average overcast gray, the gardens produce well. Chicken coops, rabbit warrens, goat bins, and hog lots are abundant as well.

  Lathan understands why the Maddick’s are overwrought with envy. He tells Taya that he is surprised they haven’t tried to invade yet.

  “They have. They’ve tried to cross over the walls. We have men who work in shifts that walk them at all times, like those you saw at the front gate, and if someone tries to cross over unauthorized then they will be shot. They always run off before any shots are made though. But one time two of them got in somehow. Before anyone knew it they killed six people, but they were caught before they could kill any more.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “James had them executed and strung up near Maddick. To set an example.”

  That perked his attention.

  “Has there been more around since then?”