Demonworld Book 3: The Floyd Street Massacre

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “It’s like a weight’s been lifted, right?” said Jens. “How long we got this car for, Beast?”

  “For my work orders,” said Hunley, “I picked some drop-offs all around town, so they gave me all day with it. There’s no rush.”

  “Anything ever happen with that AC you got for Anne?” said Wodan, leaning forward.

  “Naw, man. I’m the master at movin’ that paperwork and losing it in just the right spots.”

  “Your bosses shoulda’ shot you like a hundred times over,” said Ullrich.

  “True,” said Hunley, “but they’d have to fill out paperwork for the bullets to kill me with, and I’d be the one who ends up filing the papers, anyway. Smith intelligence is pure pretension, man. They’re probably dumber than the Ugly.”

  The abandoned neighborhood did not look nearly as forbidding during the day. It was dusty and bright and full of potential. Hunley plowed through the rotting wooden gate, then used his steel cutters to tear off the lock to the front door. While Wodan waited for the lock to snap, he gazed out at the empty parking lot and imagined that one day this ruin would be the site of Pontius’s cultural renaissance, decorated with green trees and grass and flowers and statues made by Entertainers, and thronged by Lawmen and civilian vigilantes who came to the boys, bowed, and then made detailed reports on how many murderers and rapists they had hunted down and executed the night before, while brightly-dressed people applauded and danced and made plans for the renovation of Pontius.

  Some day, perhaps, thought Wodan.

  The labyrinth was lit by sharp, warm sunlight. Jens and Wodan chose rooms near one another on the third floor near the old living space they now called the Party Room. Even the dust and decay of the ruins now seemed exciting and full of promise.

  Hunley found an abandoned Smith fire extinguisher and tore it from the wall. With a terrifying moan he waved it at Ullrich and Wodan, who immediately bolted and fled into a darkened corridor together. They heard the thing blasting in the hall behind them. The two fled into a darkened room and, just as Wodan found a heavy extinguisher of his own, Hunley entered and blasted the room with noxious fog. Wodan crouched low and stalked about, saw a human figure, then blasted it – and saw Ullrich’s dark hair fly back in a wash of strange chemicals. The boys stumbled out of the room, choking and sobbing and laughing. Wodan and Ullrich tripped over Hunley, whose massive form was laid out against the wall and doorway. He rose, then puked against the side of the wall. Wodan saw Ullrich’s face, caked in white dust, nearly bursting with silent laughter.

  They carried the terrible devices onto the roof where Jens stood smoking as he regarded the city stretching out on the horizon. Hunley and Ullrich lifted the extinguishers over their heads and tossed them over the sides. They crashed into some old metal contraption and clattered so loudly that the empty avenues for miles around were filled with the echoes of steel thunder.

  “Gentlemen!” said Wodan. “Welcome to Floyd Street.”

  * * *

  That night they used the funds that would have otherwise gone towards paying part of the rent to stockpile the place with food, then Hunley and Ullrich left. Wodan and Jens ate by lamplight and developed plans for how the place would be converted into an excruciatingly awesome living space, but they were interrupted by feet stomping up the stairs. The boys armed themselves with the legs of a broken chair, then took up position on either side of the entrance.

  Pete entered. “Put that shit down,” he said. “I’ve been through enough today as it is.”

  “Like what?” said Jens. “Wait, let me guess. You went to see Anne, didn’t you?”

  Pete glared at Jens, threw himself onto the shell of a couch, then gritted his teeth in agony and rubbed his behind. “Yeah, I admit it. I shouldn’t have done it, but there’s a lot more to it. Zach went crazy, for one.”

  Wodan and Jens gathered around so that Pete could tell the tale. “So I bought some booze and made my way to F-Den Park. I found Anne and Zach, and they were already pretty ripped. We had fun at first. Wodan, I can see now why you like Zach. His brain is just all over the place. You can bring up any weird thing and he’ll run all the way through the rabbit hole with you. I was so used to people trying to intimidate through intelligence that I guess I always assumed he was one of those people. Then again, it’s dangerous to assume that he’s genuine… he has deep-seated problems. Maybe the reason why he knows so much about the world is because he’s on a desperate quest to find himself. Or maybe erase every part of himself that isn’t genuine, and use what’s left over to gauge who he really was the whole time. I don’t know. Anyway, we started wrestling, then he and Anne got into a huge fight. We took a walk to buy some food, and they were screaming the whole time. Just drunk as hell and screaming in public, you know? He became convinced that we were both plotting against him, then he ran off into traffic. I told Anne I’d be back, then I chased after him.

  “We ended up in some semi-wealthy apartment complex. He ran face-first into a barbed wire fence. I swear, it was the funniest thing I ever saw. He kicked the hell out of it, then climbed over, then by the time I caught up with him, he was banging and kicking on doors, screaming about how he wanted to connect with people. A huge crowd gathered and I had to do a lot of fast-talkin’, you know, because there were guards in there that wanted to kill him. He ended up in the parking lot, then some Lawmen showed up, then he ran across car hoods and started shouting about how his dad was a sniper and would kill anyone who touched him. The Lawmen tossed his ass on the ground, wrestled him into a cruiser, and picked me up too.

  “I shit you not, we ended up in Precinct Zero. It’s bedlam in there. I swear, I thought they were going to throw me into a cell full of Ugly kids who would eat me alive. Luckily my dad paid my bail and I was able to get out. If they weren’t sick of me for being worthless before, they are now. I walked all the way across town to get back here.”

  “What about Zach?” said Wodan. “Is he alright?”

  “No, he’s not,” said Pete. “He’s sick, Wodi. Sick in the head.”

  “I mean, is he alright being in Precinct Zero?”

  “As I was leaving, I saw a diplomat and some guards dressed kind of like Zach. I assume they were there to bail him out, but they weren’t having an easy time of it. I don’t know, man. I don’t know what they’re gonna do with that unbelievable retard.”

  “What about Anne?” said Jens.

  “Who gives a shit?” said Pete, sighing. “She always comes out just fine, Jens. You know that.”

  * * *

  Wodan woke early the next day. His room was smaller than before, and he still slept on a nest, but he had an open window that allowed gentle blue light to seep in, giving him strength for a day that could take him anywhere. He knew that if Jens and Pete stayed true to their word, then he could possibly become a member of the Coil. He was nervous. If he was not careful, he could become the very thing that he hated.

  I have to remember who I am, he thought as he rose from his nest. I have to remember exactly why I’m here.

  He went down to the cracked, weed-choked parking lot, then found an old well that had been modified with a steel pump rather than the bucket-and-rope system to which he was accustomed. He pumped out water and washed his face, then heard horse-drawn carriages making their way down the street. Confused, he stood by the front gate and clutched his brightly colored knife.

  A line of carriages pulled by great, lumbering horses approached. Wodan saw that they were ridden by hard-faced men wearing leather armor and uniforms of light tan and dusty brown. They wore heavy handguns and some carried long, multi-segmented sniper rifles. As they drew near, Wodan noted red plumes on the horses and red capes on a few of the men. They stopped before the front gate, but ignored Wodan.

  Zach Hargis exited one of the carriages and approached Wodan. He wore his usual dusty browns, but he also wore a red cloak trimmed in copper and a heavy woven necklace no doubt made from the hide of a dogman.

  “
Looks like I’m going back home,” said Zach. “Education’s over for these parts.”

  Wodan was crestfallen. “You learn anything while you were here?”

  “Not really,” said Zach, smiling to cover his sadness. “Listen, Wodan. Do you want to come to Hargis with me?”

  Wodan did. He knew that Zach was touched by insanity, and would probably require a heavy hand on a regular basis. But Wodan wanted to see a wasteland dominion not ruled by violent gangs, not populated by drunks lost in a ritual of oblivion. He realized he had not talked to Zach one-on-one in days, and he desperately wanted to be beside someone who had fun playing with theories rather than people doing continual upkeep on a mask that covered a small, scared core of self, as his other friends did. Wodan was already frustrated with the others, and admitted to himself that the only reason he had not left them yet was because on the night he stood alone on his roof, beaten by a group of Ugly thugs, he knew he needed a change to shake something inside himself, something that he could not change on his own – and the very next day he’d met Zach, who’d introduced him to his new friends. He’d begun to trust that the universe, or the fates, or the gods, or whatever one chose to call that nameless force that guided the lives of men had, quite possibly, given him this immature circle of drunken friends. Still, deep down inside, Wodan wanted to leave Pontius.

  “No,” said Wodan. “I have to do something about the Ugly. I have to make this world a little better, and I don’t have much time left.”

  Zach nodded. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.”

  “Hey Zach… did you and Anne… did you…”

  “Yeah,” said Zach. “We did. But listen…” Zach cast his face upwards and Wodan studied his features in the bright blue light of the coming day. Wodan knew that they never would have found the abandoned building if Zach hadn’t forced Jens to take them there; Wodan knew that he never would have attended the secret bacchanal if Zach hadn’t taken him.

  Suddenly Zach looked back at him. They embraced, then Zach turned to leave. As he stepped into his carriage, he turned and said, “The thing is, all those people, your new friends… they’re going to try to erase you, Wodan. They love you because you’re different, but they’ll either turn you into them, or call you crazy because you refuse. Just be careful, alright? Because, those people… maybe I never should have… I mean…”

  Zach sighed, then said, “Wodan. I should have kept you for myself.”

  Chapter Ten

  Enter the Serpent

  Jens led Pete and Wodan into an alleyway and down a flight of stairs. Jens knocked on a steel door three times, paused, gave an exaggerated shrug, then knocked once more. The door opened and they entered the darkened speakeasy. Wodan was assaulted by neon lights, smoke, blasting music, and laughter. The jewelry and flashy clothes of the patrons starkly contrasted with the aura of despair that continually peeked through shaded windows in the streets above. Wodan was shocked to see two naked women dancing on a brightly-lit glass walkway. Even though he had seen naked women in artwork back home, or a few lurid depictions floating around the datanet, he had never seen such a thing in person. Jens and Pete strode by the walkway as if they were completely jaded toward that sort of thing, so Wodan tried to emulate their cool aura.

  They sat at the bar and Jens spoke to his contact, who introduced him to a middle-aged man with neatly combed gray hair and a sleek black suit trimmed with green – the colors of the Coil. The man waved a badly bent, unlit cigar as he spoke. Wodan could hear none of the proceedings over the din of three men dueling with horns, but eventually he saw Pete and Jens congratulate one another. The old man waved Wodan to sit beside him.

  “Son,” the old man shouted as he leaned forward. “Why is it you want to join our little club?” He snapped his fingers at a barman, then nodded to a bottle.

  “I have a vendetta against the Ugly,” said Wodan, feeling a little foolish. “I heard you guys are their sworn enemy.”

  “That so?” The old man glanced at Wodan, then looked ahead as he spoke. Wodan realized that the man was looking at him through a mirror placed behind the bar. “You think being a Coil’s all about killing Ugly?”

  Wodan could tell that the man was not interested in employing someone who would go off the handle, so he said, “I just want to help the organization that the Ugly hate the most.”

  “You ever seen blood before?”

  “A lot,” said Wodan, laughing slightly. “I can shoot, too. But I’m a hard worker. I can do anything, with a little training.”

  “Hard work isn’t really our thing,” said the Coilman. “Thing is, to be a Coil, you’ve got to be ready to take advantage of openings. You see what I mean? We’re out looking to score, to get ahead, to make a name for ourselves. When it comes to hard work, we can get somebody else to do that. You know? For instance, I knew of two openings on two teams. I just filled them a minute ago, with your buddies, and now I’m looking at a little cut from my buddies who had those openings. Understand? Now that those two openings are filled… well, what can I do with you? I just don’t know.”

  Wodan was determined not to give up. “You had two openings for Soldiers, I take it? I bet you have openings for something else. Not everyone has to be a Soldier, do they?”

  “No. No they don’t.”

  “Maybe I could fill a position that you wouldn’t normally give to a kid who’s out to make a name for himself.”

  The old Coilman slowly turned away from the mirror, then turned back towards it. He laughed slightly, then said, “I’ve got one buddy, a Captain. He lost somebody recently. He does real good business, and he had… well, an assistant, like I said. But there’s an opening there. I guess.”

  “Assistant? Like how?”

  “Like... keeping track of records... but sometimes going out on runs with other Coil, mind you. And dealing with Soldiers, helping in coordination. But mostly, uh...”

  Wodan wondered what the man was skirting around. “Keeping track of records.”

  “And contacts! I forgot. Making new contacts, and keeping up relations with older contacts. You’d have a phone if you did this, a real Smith telephone. And access to funds, probably, I think. And if you did this, you’d be keeping track of funds...”

  “Are you talking about a secretary?” said Wodan.

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that – I think they call it an administrative assistant.”

  “Sounds fine by me,” said Wodan, smiling. “I’ll do it, if you’ll have me.”

  Finally the old Coilman turned toward Wodan, then laughed and shook his head. “I never seen a goddamn kid ask to be a secretary, man!” He leaned back, laughing, then Wodan joined in. The Coilman took three shot glasses from the bar, then watched as the boys took their shots by way of induction ritual. Once he was sure that the boys could handle their liquor, he regaled them with stories of money he’d gained through no effort of his own, how the Law had tried to come down on him but was mostly powerless, and how the weakened Ugly were desperate to strike at them – but could not seem to find them.

  After a while, Wodan said, “Sir, the Coil who was secretary to this Captain before me - what happened to him?”

  “It was a her,” said the Coil. “Some Ugly found out what she was, so they waited for her one night and ambushed her. I don’t want to go into a lot of detail… it would ruin the mood in my establishment. But kid, those animals, they carved their fucking calling-card into her chest.”

  He looked at Wodan in expectation. Wodan raised his glass and said, “Then she will have to be avenged.”

  * * *

  Wodan went to work for the Coil. Since he worked in an office, he wore a sleek suit of black trimmed with green, unlike most Coilmen in the field who dressed to blend in. He sat at a desk with a telephone, a short-term day planner arranged into weeks and a long-term day-planner arranged into months, both written on real paper, plus other supplies like ink and pens. There was a room nearby full of filing cabinets and p
apers with details on Coil businesses, clients, information on other Captains, and even details on the Law, all of which had to be kept up-to-date and organized. Currently, nothing was up-to-date, nor was anything organized. Not only had the previous secretary been dead for several months, but her system of organization had mutated over the years until she was the only person who could decipher it.

  While Wodan set about the task of organizing the Gordian Knot of records, he had to be friendly with the goons who sat in the lobby just outside of his own work area. The lobby was always packed with Coil Lieutenants and Soldiers who lounged about, drinking and counting money and gambling in between “jobs”. They sat around a table loaded with drinks, playing cards, and pornographic booklets, and they were immediately assured that Wodan was no threat the very first time he came in and organized their things.

  “We’ll stack big titty books on this side,” said Wodan, “and donk books will go over here. That should help you boys out, okay?” The young Coilmen laughed, and Wodan pretended not to understand.

  Near Wodan’s desk, there was his boss’s office and the source of many, many troubles – a Coil Captain named Jerry. Jerry was a dark-haired middle-aged man with enormous bags under his sharp, piercing eyes. He was constantly stressed out. He spent hours poring over financial documents until something snapped in him, and then he would yell at the Coilmen in the lounge and make them go on some errand, or he would yell at Wodan for his lax record-keeping practices.

  Jerry only gave Wodan a vague idea of his duties on his first day. Jerry’s stressed-out, angry glance was enough to shrink Wodan’s will, so he never felt comfortable asking too many questions about his duties. Often a request for information by Jerry would lead to many long minutes of Wodan not finding anything, his heart beating harder and harder with each passing second. He began to wonder how the office could go for five minutes without a secretary, much less several months.