Tales of Sin and Madness

by Brett McBean

  “The world, of course.”

  “Lawyers?”

  “We act as both bailiffs and lawyers.”

  “Impressive,” Aleister said, wading through the swamp that was his memory, trying to remember where he had seen this man before.

  “Judge Stevens turn around. We have important business to discuss.”

  “Holy crap!” Aleister cried. “You’re Judge Henry Stevens? The same Judge who tried that actor fifteen odd years ago? Who was it…?”

  “Bruce Harris,” Judge Stevens said with a nod. “Yes, I do believe that’s I.” He looked almost proud that someone had recognised him.

  Aleister remembered from the television a stately, impeccably groomed man with a soft face and a rich voice. The person sitting two crates in front was gaunt and had glazed eyes. His gray beard was knotted and full of odd bits of food and beside him was an old briefcase that looked as battered and had it as the Judge did. “Christ man, what happened?”

  Judge Stevens huffed. “Bruce Harris.” He turned back around. “Court’s now in session. Our Saviour presiding.”

  The Saviour sighed and stroked his Z.Z. Top style beard. “Thank you, Judge.”

  “Welcome,” Judge Stevens said in a deep voice.

  Unbelievable, Aleister thought, and felt some pity for the guy.

  “Rat’s hungry,” Broadway Queen announced. “We need to feed Rat. Anybody got any food?”

  “Peaches!”

  “Rat doesn’t like peaches,” Broadway Queen said. “He only likes roast carrots.”

  “Roast Rat!” cried Peaches and everyone in the room – including Aleister – laughed. Everyone except Broadway Queen. She held Rat up to her face and muttered, “Don’t listen to them Rat. They’re a bunch of meanies. Yes they are.”

  “I don’t think he can hear you,” Jack said.

  “I think he’s deaf,” Judge Stevens said.

  That rodent’s about as deaf as you people are sane, Aleister thought, but kept quiet. He didn’t want to upset anyone.

  “Can we all please quiet down and discuss the plan?” the Saviour pleaded. He reached behind, grabbed an imaginary glass and drank whatever was supposed to be in it. “Ah,” he said and placed the invisible glass back on the counter. “Okay, can we begin?”

  “I’ve already announced that court’s in session,” Judge Stevens said. “I can’t do anymore than that, can I?” His face began to turn red.

  “No, you can’t,” the Saviour said.

  The Judge nodded.

  “Peaches needs to pee!” cried Peaches.

  The Saviour rolled his blood-shot eyes and sighed heavily. “The end is nigh. But okay, if you need to pee, then pee.”

  Not a bad idea.

  Aleister stood.

  Beside him Jack gasped. “No, please don’t kill me. I’ve got no money. I’m only a whore. A filthy, penniless unfortunate.”

  “But I thought…” Aleister shrugged. “Never mind. Don’t worry, old Jack, I won’t kill you.”

  “Oh thank you sir.” He bowed his head and muttered what might’ve been a prayer.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” the Saviour asked.

  “To the bathroom – that is allowed, isn’t it?”

  “Well…”

  “Peaches is going.”

  Aleister watched as Peaches stood, unzipped his pants and unburdened himself on the floor.

  Aleister shook his head then started towards the men’s room. “I won’t be long.”

  “The end is nigh,” the Saviour repeated. “We have to get going as soon as possible.”

  “Noted, boss. Don’t worry, it won’t take long. If I need to take a dump, do I have to get your permission again?”

  “Permission?” The Saviour looked baffled.

  “Permission to do peaches,” Peaches uttered, finishing up his business.

  “Just hurry back.”

  “Sure,” Aleister said, and glanced at the puddle on the floor, caught a whiff of its rank smell, then turned away, to the only person in the room that had yet to speak. As he walked past, he saw that the woman was dark – not only dark skinned, but dark in nature – for she wore a black shawl around her head and had blank eyes. She was breathing, so at least that quelled any concerns that the woman had passed on, but she didn’t move or twitch or anything. Just sat there staring at the Saviour.

  Fucking creepy, Aleister thought.

  He entered the men’s room and stepped up to one of the urinals. He emptied his bladder in a torrent of left over alcohol, and feeling better for it, decided to try and vomit up any last remaining poisons from his body. It wasn’t hard to do – the smell in the bathroom alone would’ve made him gag anyway.

  He was just finishing up, when he heard a small squeaking sound from behind. He washed his mouth out, straightened, and turned to the row of stalls.

  The noise came again.

  Aleister walked up to the only stall with its door closed and pushed it open. He jumped back, sickened.

  He hated rats. Especially live ones. There must have been at least ten of them – big New York suckers, most the size of a small poodle.

  Aleister wanted to close the stall door but didn’t want to get that close to them.

  They looked like a sea of gray and brown – some were scurrying on the floor, others poked their heads out of the toilet bowl. He wasn’t quite sure what they were eating, but it both looked and smelled like ten-year-old shit and Aleister, sheathed in cold sweat, suddenly got the urge to pull off one of his four-hundred dollar Italian loafers and hurl it at the congregation of over-sized rodents.

  The shoe smacked a few of them hard, and they let out a high-pitched screeching. The rest scattered and Aleister cursed and bolted for the door.

  He was stupid; now there were not only a bunch of pissed-off rats but he had lost an expensive shoe.

  He flung open the bathroom door and almost crashed into Broadway Queen. Fortunately he was able to stop himself before he got a mouthful of street-scum and disease.

  “What did you do to my babies?” Broadway Queen cried. Standing, she was a large woman. “Did you hurt them?”

  “They’re fucking rats, lady,” Aleister said.

  Broadway Queen, eyes teary (or was that pus?), stomped into the men’s bathroom, her strong and unpleasant odor leaving a trail that seemed to linger around Aleister.

  “Fucking nutcase,” he mumbled and walked with uneven steps over to the bar.

  “Hey, you got any drink?” Aleister asked the Saviour, who was looking at him with questioning eyes.

  “You’ve upset Broadway Queen,” the Saviour said.

  “Yeah, well, her babies upset me first. Got a bottle of Jack handy?”

  “I’m Jack,” said a voice from behind.

  Aleister spun around. “If your last name’s Daniel’s, then come here and let me drink you.”

  Jack stood. “How did you know my last name was Daniel’s?”

  “I thought it was The Ripper?”

  Jack’s eyes grew large and he shied. “Are you Jack the Ripper?”

  “Yes, and if you don’t sit down I’ll slit your throat.”

  Jack sat down, placed his hands in his lap and sat very still.

  With a sigh Aleister turned and faced the Saviour. “So, how about that whiskey?”

  “There is plenty of whiskey downstairs.”

  Aleister clapped his hands together. “No shit? Great, well then let’s go and get some.”

  “It’s for later.”

  “Later?” Aleister looked around the room, glancing over his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He couldn’t see any stairs.

  Have to wait it out a little longer.

  He smiled at the Saviour, who didn’t smile back, then walked back to his crate and sat down.

  Beside him Jack started shaking.

  “Hey, I was only kidding. I’m not really Jack the Ripper.”

  Jack slowly turned his head and gazed at Aleister out the corners o
f his eyes. “Really?”

  “Nah, name’s Bundy. Ted Bundy.”

  Jack smiled and he shot out his hand. “Hi Ted. Name’s Jack. Last name The Ripper.”

  This time Aleister took Jack’s hand and shook it.

  What the hell, he thought.

  His body itched for some whiskey. Needed some. It was too long a way home on the subway (could he even face the subway without some booze?) and the bars charged for it. If he stayed, he could have some free alcohol – and lord knows how many bottles were left in this place after closing down. The friendlier he got with these people, the better chance he had of scoring some liquid gold.

  Jack’s hand was slippery. Aleister took his own hand back and noticed there was now a red smear on his palm.

  What the hell is that?

  He was about to bring his hand close and smell the sticky substance, but decided some things were best left unknown. He wiped the grime off on his pants just as Broadway Queen came out of the men’s room. She was blubbering.

  “He killed Ratsy and Ratso.”

  Ratsy and Ratso?

  Aleister clamped his lower lip between his teeth to stop himself from laughing.

  “They’ve gone to a better place,” the Saviour said.

  “Bullshit! He murdered them. In cold blood.”

  “Hickock and Smith,” Peaches said. “Don’t know if they liked peaches or not.”

  “We should hang him,” Judge Stevens grumbled. “Yes, a good old fashion hanging.”

  “Just like Hickock and Smith,” Peaches said.

  “They were just rats!” Aleister exclaimed.

  “They were peaches!”

  “Hmmm…yummy, stewed peaches,” Jack said.

  “Stewed rats,” Peaches said, giggling.

  “Stewed kidneys,” Jack said – he wasn’t giggling.

  “You’re talking about Rat’s brothers,” Broadway Queen said. “They were murdered, just like my brothers were. I was about to star in Cats when they were killed.”

  “Cats and rats!” proclaimed Peaches.

  “Stewed cats and rats,” Jack said with a nod.

  “I was going to be in Cats!” Broadway Queen cried. “I was going to be a star.”

  “Star?” Judge Stevens huffed. “I tried a star once. Bruce Harris. Son-of-a-bitch liked wearing women’s clothes, did you know that?”

  “Cats!” shouted the Saviour. Everyone in the room stopped talking and looked at the old man.

  The room, for once, was silent.

  The Saviour had his arms raised, like some TV evangelist, and he looked over the group with a knowing gaze. Even Aleister waited in anticipation of what the old coot was going to say.

  “Cats!” he cried again. “Was a load of crap.”

  The room erupted with applause and Aleister noticed even Broadway Queen was clapping.

  Amidst all the admiration, Aleister heard Peaches cry, “Peaches!”

  Who the hell are these people? Rejects of society that’s what they are. Sad, pathetic lost souls. The people that time forgot.

  Aleister closed his eyes and thought of the whiskey flowing down his throat and the hot sweetness spreading through his body.

  Soon they’ll get the bottles from downstairs. Just hang on a little longer.

  The raucousness died down. Aleister opened his eyes and looked over at the Saviour.

  “Now, we’ve all had our fun and food. Party time is over. I have gathered together here on this thin raft six people, six people chosen by God Almighty Himself to be Noahs of this life and when the world ends and mankind is wiped out, we, and we alone will be spared, and we will then begin the task of starting the race over again.” He stopped, grabbed his imaginary glass and took a drink.

  Is that what this is about? They think the world’s going to end?

  Aleister groaned. It was bad enough that he was in a room full of crazy old bums, but they were religious freaks too?

  Just as long as I get my free whiskey, I couldn’t care if they thought they were sent here from the future.

  A sobering thought.

  “We seven will be all that’s left when the world closes her curtains. But fear not, my chosen ones, for the Earth will still be here, and it will be reborn again, like the human race will be reborn again, and she will be beautiful and pure.”

  “Like Peaches!”

  “That’s right, my dear fruit merchant. Just like peaches.”

  The little man sitting atop the peaches crate laughed and nodded and Aleister thought he had never seen a more pathetic creature.

  Aleister raised his hand.

  “Yes my son?” the Saviour said.

  “When’s the whiskey coming?”

  “Soon, my son. Very soon.”

  Aleister’s mouth began to salivate.

  “I’ll have a whiskey sour, please,” said Jack.

  “Oh, and I’ll have a mint julep,” said Broadway Queen.

  “Later,” the Saviour said, his shoulder’s dropping. “Later later later later later!”

  Aleister felt kind of bad about upsetting the Saviour. “Sorry Saviour,” Aleister said. “Go on.”

  The old man seemed to brighten a little. He straightened. “Thank you, Mr. Donaldson.”

  “Court’s now in session,” Judge Stevens said.

  The Saviour left the bar and walked over to one of the grimy windows with wire meshing over it presumably to keep the vandals out (or us in), his long tattered coat flapping as he went. He peered out. They all waited for the Saviour to come back and stand in front of the bar. “We haven’t got much time. The apocalypse is coming, it’s getting dark outside.”

  Aleister checked his watch. It was only eleven-thirty in the morning. He looked back at the window, saw that yes, it did look dim out there, but reminded himself that the window did look out onto an alley. Plus the window itself was thick with dust and mold.

  Poor deluded fool.

  “Everyone down to the cellar,” the Saviour said.

  Now we’re talking. Cellar means alcohol!

  Aleister stood along with the rest of the bums. They all seemed pretty nonplussed about it all – except for the Saviour of course.

  “Okay, Doreen, you lead the way downstairs.”

  Doreen huh?

  Aleister watched as the black woman, who hadn’t uttered a word or moved the entire time he had been in here, started walking. Judge Stevens followed, then Peaches, Broadway Queen, Jack, with Aleister bringing up the rear. The Saviour fell in behind Aleister, picking up his invisible glass as he left the bar.

  Soon Doreen stopped at a door, which was situated around the back of the bar. She opened it, then stepped through.

  So that’s where the stairs were hiding, Aleister thought.

  He stopped when he reached the door. There was a narrow landing just beyond the door, then stairs that stretched a long way down to the cellar.

  He turned and faced the Saviour. “There is whiskey down there, right?”

  “Of course,” the old man said. His breath fogged Aleister’s head with hot, overwhelming fumes. “There are lots of things down there – food, water, beds. Everything we need to last us for at least two months.”

  Aleister’s breath was sucked from his body. “T…two months?”

  The Saviour nodded. “Haven’t you been listening, Mr. Donaldson? We are going to shut ourselves down there while the world destroys every living person. We have to wait sometime before we can emerge and be sure the world is safe. I’m sure He will give us a sign when it is safe to come out.”

  Aleister’s throat was dry – he needed booze bad.

  “In the meantime we’ll sing songs, tell stories, eat and drink like kings, and, of course, procreate.”

  Aleister gazed down the long staircase. The full realisation of what these nutcases were doing hit him and for the first time since he could remember, the dizziness he felt wasn’t from drinking.

  “You’re crazy,” he gasped. “All of you are nothing but crazy fucki
ng bums. The world isn’t ending. For Christ’s sake, we’re in an abandoned bar in Manhattan. The world may be fucking bleak out there – I guess you people are testament to that – but it’s hardly coming to an end.”

  “Stop this nonsense Mr. Donaldson and go down into the cellar. Doreen is waiting.”

  Aleister frowned at the Saviour. “She’s waiting? For what?”

  “For you. She likes you. She told me. She wants to have many babies with you. Imagine that, two months of making love with my sweet Doreen.”

  “Doreen’s your wife?”

  The Saviour laughed. “No, my daughter.”

  “But she’s bla…”

  Oh what’s the use? How can you reason with a nutcase?

  From down below, Aleister heard the unmistakable cry of “Peaches!”

  “Come now, we really must be going. The end is nigh. We will be safe down in the cellar.”

  No amount of free alcohol was worth this – of that Aleister was certain.

  Who am I kidding? There’s none down there. I must’ve been crazy to think there was.

  Aleister pushed past the Saviour.

  “You can’t leave.”

  “Right, I’m one of the chosen.”

  “You are. We need you. Doreen needs you.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about Doreen. I don’t give a fuck about any of you pathetic drunks.”

  Aleister turned and walked towards the door that led out into the alley.

  “But you need us,” the Saviour called. “It’s your destiny.”

  Destiny my ass, he thought.

  As he neared the door, he looked back and saw the Saviour staring at him. Aleister shook his head. “Have a nice life bud. Say goodbye to the others for me, huh?”

  The Saviour gazed at Aleister, and with a knowing twinkle in his eyes and a slight grin said, “You’ll be back. You’re one of us, Mr. Donaldson, whether you realise it or not.” With a bow of his head, the Saviour stepped back and closed the door. Aleister was all alone up in the main room. “Well, screw you,” he said and felt something heavy in his pants. He shoved his hand down his left pocket and to his absolute delight his fingers grasped his hip flask. He didn’t realize he had it with him, wondered why he hadn’t noticed it until now.

  Who cares?

  He pulled the small stainless steel container out. He shook it. The container was half full.

  His heart rose and his soul lifted. “Thank you, Lord,” he said and unscrewed the top and drank the entire contents of the flask.