by Tex Leiko
The leader of the gang and the other fit one were rushing at Zarfa with murderous intent. The two fat ones were trailing behind. It had only been a block and a half run, but they were already winded. As the two fighters closed in on Zarfa, they split directions at the last second, one to Zarfa’s right, the other to his left in an attempt to flank him and sandwich him in an attack.
It failed. Zarfa jumped straight into the air and did the splits, sending fierce kicks with his boots into both of his enemies’ throats. His movement was so fast, so elegant, so graceful, even a martial arts master wouldn’t have seen it coming. The two men dropped to the ground clutching their throats, gasping for air. He had no doubt crushed their wind pipes, but Zarfa wasn’t the kind to take chances.
He quickly dropped on top of the leader’s neck with both of his knees, then in one quick movement, jerked his head to the side with all the force his legs could muster. One loud pop as rain began to pour on them all. The leader was dead and the two fat men who had caught up began to slink away. There was no way they were going to fight Zarfa if he didn’t press the issue.
“Four,” Zarfa said matter-of-factly as he walked over to the other man he had dropped with his double kick counter attack.
This man was obviously the throwing weapons expert who had managed to entangle Max. Anyone could tell by the variety of objects he had strapped to and hanging from his outfit. Knives, axes, darts, and tools of entrapment. He was still gasping for air; the blow must have collapsed his windpipe.
Zarfa removed the gun from his inner seam pocket and shot an evil stare over at the two fat cowards still worming their way backward. Rain poured down on all of them and lightning flashed again.
“Five!” Zarfa screamed as he pistol whipped the back of the man’s head.
The first blow made a thud, the second a wild crunch, and the third revealed blood, bone, and grey matter. Zarfa removed two throwing axes from the man’s body and stepped toward the fat henchmen. Terror consumed their faces and death had already glossed over their eyes. They knew their fate was close at hand.
Zarfa dropped the pistol and kicked it straight up in the air, sending it launching into the sky. In almost the exact same instant, he threw an axe with each hand. Both axes hit their marks nearly simultaneously right in the center of the henchmen’s flabby chests, burrowing through the sternums and splitting their rib cages. The gauss pistol came falling right in front of Zarfa’s face and he grabbed it midair and shoved it back into his pocket.
He walked over to the two fatties laying practically side by side, and after clubbing them both in the throats for good measure to be sure they were dead, he stood and triumphantly, proudly stated, “Seven” loud enough for Max to hear despite the noise of the rain drops falling all around them.
And then, silence. The rain still fell and made pitter-patter noises on the concrete and asphalt all around. The thunder still rolled and boomed in the sky, the lightning still cracked with an intensity that displayed immense power, but as Max crawled out from under the first of the gang that Zarfa had killed, it seemed to him as a symphony of silence.
By the time Max freed himself from the corpse and stood, Zarfa was at his side.
“I thought you were a well-respected doctor and an asset to your community. What’s this all about, doc?” Zarfa asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Greed, I suppose. I don’t know these men at all.”
“It’s a good thing I needed to see you. I get the feeling you usually aren’t around this part of town this late or else you’d be smart and carry protection. I couldn’t help but notice on my way over this area is riddled with killers, junkies, and prostitutes, either of their own volition or their pimp’s.”
“Yeah, this ‘fine’ area is home to a lot of ‘winners’… It has real heroes here, too, though. People working minimum wage to keep their families fed. People who show love and natural affection to their own and even strangers in a world that is severely lacking. That’s why I opened my clinic. I see you’ve been wounded….again.” Max’s last statement was referring to Zarfa’s new wound, as well as his already healed battle scar.
One of Max’s eyes was swelling from the beating he’d taken, he was in severe pain, and though his mind was still racing about his meeting with Crimson tonight, he couldn’t help but give attention to Zarfa’s condition. Max was, first and foremost, a doctor. He cared about people, even when he didn’t want to.
“This? Old woman with a bad aim tried to take me out for grocery money,” Zarfa said with the slightest note of sarcasm. He was trying to joke.
“Oh, really? Must have been one of those heroes I told you about. I’ll bet her family is starving.”
“Must be.”
“Let’s get you back to the clinic. It’s only a block and a half. You look like hell and it’s the least I can do,” Max said, offering his shoulder as a crutch.
Zarfa may have recently killed five more men and made it look easy; he may be a ferocious wounded animal with no regard for lives other than his and the ones he was seeking to protect, but he was still human. He saw Max’s kindness and put his right arm around his neck, resting his hand on Max’s right shoulder. “Thanks, doc,” he said solemnly.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll bill you for personal assistance,” Max said, smiling.
Zarfa sucked up the pain and didn’t so much as limp or gasp on his way back to the clinic. He couldn’t help but notice the lacerations on Max’s hand as they walked back. The rain had washed off all of the blood and it looked like gaping chasms of skin leading to his tendons.
Max unlocked the large, black steel door that led into the clinic and made Zarfa stand on his own as he pushed it. As the door creaked open, Zarfa saw the glass scattered on the floor and the blood trailing to the door. It looked as if someone had robbed the place, but he knew no one had. They both stepped in and Max turned on the lights.
“Looks like they tried to jump you in here, doc.”
Max paused. “Nah, I was struggling with myself. Something I thought I had conquered… Guess not.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet there is a story that goes with it. I’m probably unworthy,” Zarfa said in all seriousness. In a short time, he had come to respect Max.
“Nah, you aren’t unworthy. But it really isn’t worth your time, it’s pathetic and not worth anyone’s time. Now, let’s get some medifoam on that injury of yours.”
Max had already gotten a can out and began to shake it. Zarfa began to tense up. He had been through a lot of pain in his lifetime, but he still hated the sting of medifoam.
“Not to sound gay or anything,” Max said sarcastically, “but I really need you to take off your shirt for me.”
Zarfa smiled slightly; he respected Max and even tried to banter with his humor earlier. He felt as if he failed. He didn’t know Max well enough to know if he truly saw it or appreciated it. As he peeled off his shirt, he let out a sigh and his mind wandered.
This has been a bizarre day. I hated this guy and his fake sincerity earlier today, but I think it is real now. Damn idiot would be dead, though, if it wasn’t for me. Maybe he will give me the next four treatments free. I don’t know, what’s the harm in asking?
Zarfa threw his shirt into the trail of broken glass on the floor; he didn’t care. It had a hole in it and was covered in more than his own blood. He would leave it. He raised his left arm and got ready for the medifoam. He drew a long, deep breath and held it.
“Fire away, doc,” he said.
Without the least bit of hesitation, Max stuck the nozzle into the wound, touching one of the broken ribs. He pulled the trigger and the stinging bite of the medifoam struck Zarfa with an intensity that he wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t a high level of pain; but it reminded him of the way the sting felt from the giant wasp that had nearly killed him by evisceration. The pain he felt that nearly crippled him and stole his breath was emotional trauma and no matter how many times he tried to prepare for it, he was never ready.
“Done, and done,” Max said as he pointed to a bed on the far side of the room near the waiting area. “Lay over there, get some rest. There is a mini-fridge under the desk. Help yourself to whatever is in it, get lots of water. Thank you for all that you’ve done and I really hope I don’t seem ungrateful, but I need to run. It’s ten-forty-five, and I was supposed to meet someone at eleven. I am so late and I hope she is there. Really! Thanks! I mean it, and I know I am in an awful condition, but you will be better in the morning. I will tend to mine then; it will all work out. I have to meet Crimson.”
“You have a dying patient and you abandon him for a date?”
“You aren’t dying. I diagnosed your wound and it was pretty peripheral. You will be healed by the morning with the foam.”
“She must be special.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“No?”
“No. She is beautiful, but she promised to answer questions that you wouldn’t, so I am off to discover.”
“And what if I rip you off and steal everything while you are away?”
“You saved my life; you earned it.”
“Take this. You need it more than I do,” Zarfa said, handing Max the gauss pistol.
“It isn’t even loaded. There are no bullets in this thing.”
“Just wave it around. Trust me, it makes a lot of folks jumpy enough they won’t try anything.”
With that, Max was on his way out the door. As the black door slammed shut behind him, Zarfa could barely see him sprinting with all of his might off into the darkness and the rain.
* * * *
Max lived three miles from his clinic. No matter how fast he would run, he wouldn’t be there in time.
Max arrived at his apartment half an hour later. It was roughly eleven-fifteen and he hoped Crimson was at his door. He hoped she wasn’t a stickler for time. He hoped Zarfa didn’t really rip him off and take everything out of the clinic.
As he rode on the elevator, noticing he could only see out of one eye, his mind raced. His day had been crazy, so much excitement, so much near death… Then it hit him, anxiety and craving. The same as before. He was anxious and he craved a boost. He could tell his mind would continue racing.
You’ve been clean almost three years before today, come on, think! Relax. Breathe. You don’t need a boost, Max, you don’t. Your cells are telling you that because they are weak. Just…breathe.
Max took a deep breath and determined to calm down, held it until he heard the elevator ding. Sixteenth floor, it was his stop. He stepped out and looked down the hallway toward his apartment, 203. The hallway was well lit and he saw nobody. He let out his breath and came to grips with the fact Crimson had left.
He walked sullenly down the hallway to his door.
It wasn’t his fault he was attacked by a gang of lowlifes. She didn’t know that, though. Maybe she didn’t even know where he lived in the first place! Maybe it was all a joke! Maybe she was at some other random Max Hall’s apartment waiting for him.
He had reached his apartment door, but his thoughts continued like before, racing and contradicting. He was tired and defeated. He was going to go in and sleep. He felt sick to his stomach and the sweating and tremors had started again. He cursed the day he ever took his first boost.
He swung the door open and, dripping wet from the rain still, stepped into his apartment. He fondled the wall, searching for a light switch as he closed the door behind himself. There was a brief moment where the light from the hallway was extinguished behind the closed door and it was utter blackness before he had flipped the switch. As it flashed on with a flick, he was blinded again from his eyes adjusting from utter darkness to bright white radiance.
“Hey there,” she said, lying on the couch with a totally bored look on her face. “You’re late!”
Max panicked and out of reflex, threw himself backward against his door, catching a doorknob to his left kidney. He writhed in pain and flopped himself face first onto the floor, battering his already agitated bruises. He rolled around for a second then crawled to his knees and looked up toward Crimson lying on his grey suede couch.
“Oh, so you’ve been doing antics like that all the way here? No wonder you’re late, and no wonder it looks like a crowd walked on your face. I would have thought you had been attacked, but after that showy display, I think you just walked into every blasted sign on the way over!”
Crimson stood from the couch and Max couldn’t help but notice the white leather high heels she was wearing. He couldn’t help but notice how the peach dress with white Celtic knots complemented her hair, eyes, and skin. There he was, bloodied, bruised, and dripping with rain, feeling as if he had stood a date up at a fancy restaurant. Even more confusing, they were on their way to Psyker Scream.
“I was attacked,” he muttered out, feeling stupid after his frightened display.
“I’m sure you were. We are already late and I am doing this for you. How quickly can you get changed?”
“Five minutes.”
“Atta boy! Go make yourself pretty for me. I’ll be waiting,” she said in a tone Max couldn’t decide was seductive or not.
When he returned three minutes and twenty-six seconds later, he was washed, smelling nice, and wearing a paisley-patterned silver and black button-down shirt that matched his form nicely and a pair of blue jeans, along with black combat boots. He was hoping that he wouldn’t fight any more this evening, but he no longer knew what to expect. His eye was swollen and throbbed. He wanted to sleep, even though he’d spent most of his day in a drug-induced coma.
“Well, after seeing you, nothing I can do would compare,” he said with sincerity.
“Don’t suck up for our school days, Max,” she scoffed.
“I’m not. I mean it. I didn’t even expect you to be here when I didn’t see you in the hall. Thus, the frantic throwing myself into doorknobs. You know, I don’t make it a favorite pastime to do activities that will make me piss out blood in the morning, right?”
She let out an innocent giggle and smiled with her feline teeth glinting in the light, inviting him toward her.
“The way you threw yourself into that doorknob, you could have fooled me,” she said with a smirk.
“I was trying to. By the way, not that I am complaining or anything, but how did you know where I lived? And how did you get into my apartment?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“That’s why I asked.”
“Too bad. You ready to get a move on or what?”
Completely perplexed, Max just stared Crimson in her majestic eyes. He thought about saying nothing, but then decided against it. “I’m locking it behind us. Unless you know some reason I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t know anyone dumb enough to not lock their door when they aren’t around. Even in this nice neighborhood,” she said with a smile. “Now come on before it’s over. You have to see this.”
At that, he locked the door, she took him by the hand, and down the hallway they strode.
Chapter Six
The Show
“So, tell me…what do you hear?”
“Hear? Are you nuts? I give the Psyker Scream bots at my clinic. I’ve never even dreamt of giving them to myself.”
Crimson and Max had shown up late to the Psyker concert. The fans were in the audience, not behaving the way one would think for a metal techno fusion band that boasted the world’s most amazing and bizarre acoustics known to man. Instead of the crowd shoving, moshing, hopping, and crowd surfing, they were standing there doing nothing but staring at the stage. Some of the fans were staring at each other, but nobody was acting rowdy.
It was surreal. The band members, Surge, Zax, and Badger, were all on stage. They were apparently playing their instruments. The set had started about an hour before Crimson and Max arrived. But nobody seemed to respond to the music; nobody showed any form of excitement.
“So, you don’t hear anything? Nothing at all?” Crimson
asked, staring intently at Max.
“No.”
“Close your eyes; try harder.”
Max looked at Crimson as if she had lost her mind completely. How many times did he have to tell her that he didn’t have the modifications? There was no way for him to hear the music. He drew a breath in deep. He was in pain from the beating he’d taken earlier; his eye was still swollen, and his hand had a stinging pain from the cuts he’d inflicted on himself. He held his breath for a count of five and closed his eyes as he released it. He concentrated on trying to hear the guitar.
“Where. Was. The. Blind. Guard. Tree. Yellow.”
Max opened his eyes and looked at Crimson; he gave her a befuddled expression. “What did you say?” he questioned.
“I didn’t say a thing, big boy.” Her tone was purposely seductive and condescending at the same time. “So tell me, what do you hear?”
“Words. They don’t make any sense, though. They’re just…swimming, disconnected. I don’t know how to describe it other than that. They’re in my head; it sounds like switching between broadcast signals very rapidly and all you catch is one word on every station.”
“Keep listening, keep trying to hear,” she said in a soothing voice, running her hand in a downward stroke from his forehead to his chin, closing his eyelids.
It would be nice if you told me what I was trying to hear.
He kept his eyes closed and tried to clear his thoughts. He could feel that Crimson had moved her hand back to his forehead and was resting it ever so gently on him. He kept hearing words. None of them made any sense; none of them conjugated. Then suddenly, he felt a deep reverberation shaking his bones. It felt as if his bones could hear thunder rolling though his body.
He couldn’t hear the tremendous bass that was rattling him, but he sure could feel it. He wasn’t even sure if it was real. He wasn’t sure if he were to open his eyes that he would still hear it, so he kept them shut. Suddenly, he heard a buzzing as if it was piercing through his head; the noise didn’t hurt, but it felt awkward and intense.
