Addicted to the Dead

by Shane McKenzie

  “Come on, Worm. I’m sure Fleet will be thrilled to see you after all these years.”

  ***

  Dead. The old man was dead. Worm could tell right away. His men didn’t seem to mind, though.

  “Worm? Holy shit, son. Let me get a look at you.”

  How can you talk? How can you make the words come out like that? “Angwarmak… Gowadroarungh…”

  The old man stepped toward him, pulled the cigar from his mouth. He placed a soft hand on Worm’s shoulder, leaned in so they were face to face. “I’m not lyin’ when I say it’s good to see you, Worm. I do miss you, if you can believe that. But you know how it is, right? If I let you off the hook, I’d lose control of everything.”

  Worm knew he recognized this man. This man was important to Worm at some point. Worm was pretty sure that back when he knew him, the old man wasn’t dead though. Whoever he was, the old guy seemed nice, seemed to like Worm. He didn’t scare Worm like the others did.

  The old man leaned closer, grabbed the back of Worm’s neck. “You were my favorite, Worm. Always were. I was so torn up about what happened…I drank myself right to death. Can you believe that? But then I woke up again. And I’ve never felt better.”

  The old man kissed the side of Worm’s face, then turned his back to him, stepped toward his big wooden desk. “Take him to the cutting block. With all the others. He’s nothing but meat now.”

  Wait! Don’t do this…you said I was your favorite! Who are you! “Anghuah… Bleckem…”

  The old man didn’t bother to turn and look at him again as the other men grabbed Worm by the arms and hauled him out of the office.

  The other corpses that had been pulled from the cellar, including the woman, were nowhere to be found. Worm was the only one taken to that old man’s office. He missed the woman, wanted her hand in his again. He missed all of the other corpses actually, realized that he felt the most at ease with them, could almost forget that he was dead.

  “No fuckin’ way. You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

  The voice came from behind him, but Worm couldn’t turn his head far enough to see who it belonged to.

  “Hey, y’all hold on for a second. Wait up.” Quick footsteps.

  The men escorting Worm turned, and there was another face smiling at Worm that he thought he recognized. Worm wondered if maybe this guy used to feed him for some reason…but the memory turned to dust before it could fully form.

  This man looked Worm up and down, licked his lips. “Pissed off the wrong motherfucker, did you, Worm?”

  It wasn’t until Worm looked down, away from the man’s face, that he realized the guy was fingering a bullet hole in Worm’s chest.

  “Fuckin’ shame, you know that? I was gonna come see you tonight, too. To make up for last time. But now? Shit, Worm…” He took hold of Worm’s arm. “I’ll get him to the chopping block. You boys head on over to Fleet’s office.”

  “Fleet told us to get him to the slaughterhouse, Chaz,” one man said.

  “And didn’t I just fuckin’ tell you I got it? Fleet’s got some extra work for you boys tonight since he’s having his favorite killer over for dinner. Go on, now.”

  The two men gave each other a long look before shrugging and moving back down the hall toward the old man’s office.

  The new man, Chaz, started walking, tugging Worm along with him.

  “This seems fitting, don’t you think, Worm?”

  They turned a corner, and the man used a card to open a door. They were outside now, the moon hanging high amongst the stars. It made Worm wish he was back in the woods again, hidden behind the countless trees and bushes. He wondered if the night air was cold or warm.

  “You get kicked out, banished to the streets for getting caught eating meat, right? And now…” The man shook his head and chuckled as they entered a new building. Worm tried to wiggle free of the man’s grasp when he heard the cries and screams of the dead exploding from within. So many voices, so much terror.

  “Don’t get all anxious on me now, Worm. As I was saying…this just seems right. After everything that happened…now you get to be the meat. You get to swim around in the bellies of meatheads, piece by piece. Doesn’t that sound nice, Worm?”

  Once they walked into the building, Worm could barely hear himself think with all the noise the dead were making. Most of them hung from hooks, wiggling like freshly caught fish. Worm stared up at them all, panic building steam in his stomach. There were so many of them, and when some of their eyes landed on Worm, full of dread and alarm, he had to look away.

  Men dressed in white coats and black aprons had corpses lying on huge cutting blocks in front of them. The men’s arms worked violently as they cut and chopped and fileted. Each man had his own workstation, each with his own corpse to slice into portions.

  Something suddenly roared to life, and again, Worm tried to escape, but was held in place. A meat grinder had been turned on, and men tossed in the trimmings and extra pieces. The meat came out the other end in a gray tube, and a whistling man stood there, twisting and spinning it into sausage links.

  “What we got here?” one of the butchers said as he stepped toward Worm and his chaperone. This man wore red earmuffs, and as he squinted at Worm and inspected him, he ran his fingers over his mustache, twisting and curling the ends.

  “This one’s special,” the chaperone said. He shoved Worm in the back, right into the butcher’s arms. “Ex-employee. This one’s going out on the streets. No need to portion him up.”

  The butcher nodded as he spun Worm and squeezed the meat here and there. “Pretty fresh. Needs to be aged some first.”

  “Not a problem. Do me a solid and let me know when he’s ready, will you? Before you cut him up.”

  The butcher raised an eyebrow, wiggled his mustache. “Why for?”

  “Like I said…this one’s special. I just want to say my goodbyes.”

  The butcher arched his mouth and nodded slightly. “Whatever you say. Now if it’s okay with you, I’ve got work to do here.”

  No…you can’t do this! You have to let me go!

  “No problem, no problem. One more thing though. Knock his teeth out for me, would you?” The man waved as he turned back toward the exit. “See you in a couple of weeks, Worm.”

  Like a Brother

  The men cursed as they gathered the guns. The warehouse was small, and they kept running into each other as they retrieved their weaponry. Every single gun, as much ammo as they could carry. They’d need it all.

  “Fuckin’ cocksuckers!” Frank said as he stuffed a shotgun into his duffel bag. “Think they can get away with this shit? They know who they’re fuckin’ with?”

  “They’ll know real soon,” Angelo said. His forehead was bleeding from where one of Ted Fleet’s men pistol-whipped him during the struggle. “I’ll cut their fuckin’ balls off and feed ’em to their mothers.”

  They took Calico. We have to get him back.

  Donnie tried to keep his emotions in line as he packed up his own bag, but he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Sweat kept dripping from his face and splashing over the stacked gunmetal.

  “Don’t forget why you’re going,” Sal said. The boss sat in the big cushy chair behind his desk. He had a cigar in his mouth, but he didn’t light it, just chewed on the end. “Bring me my boy back. You make sure you keep him safe, ya hear me?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Then kill every last one of those fucking cockroaches.” Sal’s left cheek was already bruising from where one of the men had hit him. “And I don’t give a fuck if Beauty is dead or not. You bring her back too, you got me?”

  While the rest of the boys continued packing up, all bared teeth and hard eyes, Donnie slipped away and stood before Sal.

  “Got something you need to say?” Sal said, tossing the moist cigar away. The man’s belly hung over his groin, made it look like it was hard for him to breathe.

  “This asshole…Ted Fleet. He’s—”

&
nbsp; “A fucking dead man. Who the fuck does he think he’s fucking with over here? Thinks he can show up…at a little girl’s fucking funeral! And take my boy by force? I won’t sleep until that cocksucker’s head is mounted on my wall right next to that twelve-point buck.”

  “I know. And I want to be the one who saws it off.” Donnie leaned forward, knuckles pressed down hard on the desk. “But this guy. He’s…powerful. A lot of men. The goons we saw at the funeral, that was only a fraction from what I hear.”

  “So what’re you saying? We let him go because he’s got more men? Just more to kill, you ask me.”

  “I’m not sayin’ that, boss. Calico is like a brother to me, you know that. Beauty like the daughter I never had. You think I’m gonna sit back and let this prick get away with this? No. I’m just sayin’ we need to do this smart. We go runnin’ up there with our fuckin’ tommy guns hangin’ at our sides, they’ll be waitin’ on us. Guaran-fuckin-teed.”

  Sal swiped his arm across the desk, knocking the ashtray, picture frames, and phone to the floor. He pounded both fists on the wood and growled, his face turning a dark maroon color. “Fuck!” He stood, slammed his fists again. “Fuck! He was like a son. I’ve had him since he was just a teenager, showed him everything he knows. The both of you.” Sal ran his hands through his gray hair, then reached out and squeezed Donnie’s shoulders. “We have to get him back, Donnie.”

  “I know,” Donnie said. “We always said you’re like a father to us. But runnin’ out there like a bunch of fuckin’ hotheads is only gonna get us killed. Then we ain’t no good to Calico. Or Beauty. I don’t give a shit if that little girl is dead. You saw her. There’s still somethin’ there. Not like some of the other dead folks I’ve seen.”

  “We don’t have no other choice,” Angelo said, who had clearly been eavesdropping. “We wait too long, we might be too late. Calico could be dead already.”

  The other men agreed, ready to shed blood, ready to kill.

  “I don’t think so,” Donnie said. “They took him. Why take him just to kill him? They wanted him for somethin’. I don’t know what. But I don’t think he’s in danger. Not right away at least.”

  “You don’t know that,” Frank said. “You don’t know shit. Could be they did it to send a message. Could be they’re tryin’ to show us how big their balls are. So they take our boy right in front of us, and dare us to come get him.”

  “Calico has made quite the reputation for himself,” Sal said “Hear kids talking about him like he’s the fucking boogeyman. Maybe this Ted Fleet asshole was claiming him for himself. And that’s why he took Beauty. I’ve been thinking…why take a dead girl? It’s been fuckin’ with me. That’s gotta be it. Collateral. Right? It wasn’t for the meat. Why go through all that trouble for a tiny corpse like her? No, he took Beauty so Calico won’t rip his fucking throat out, so Calico will work for him and not give him any trouble.”

  “But she’s dead. What good is a dead girl gonna do them?” Angelo said. The other men remained quiet, but watched Sal as if waiting for him to explode. Angelo was never one to hold his tongue.

  Donnie cut in when he saw Sal’s face becoming an even deeper red. “Not to Calico she’s not. That little girl is all he has. Dead or alive, she’s still walking around, and that’s good enough for him. And like I said before…she was different. There was still some of that little girl left in that corpse, I swear to Christ there was.”

  When Donnie first saw the men pull up in their black SUVs at the cemetery, he thought it was Paulie’s boys. Figured they showed up to settle their score with Sal, which surprised Donnie. Cocksuckers every one of them, but he still figured they had more respect than to show up at a little girl’s funeral. Calico didn’t want the funeral. Didn’t see a point in burying an empty coffin, but Sal insisted, said it was a nice way to honor Beauty. Calico held his dead little girl as the priest said his prayers.

  Then the cars pulled up. All of Sal’s boys immediately tensed up, were already pulling out their weapons, but they were surrounded. And it wasn’t Paulie or his boys that stepped out of the SUVs. It was that old asshole from the TV. Ted Fleet’s Dead Meats.

  Donnie had heard the son of a bitch was nobody to fuck with. Not only did he control all meat distribution in the state, but he apparently controlled the illegal street shit too. Donnie heard he had the city police in his pocket.

  Sal must have known who the guy was too. His own mother was addicted to that shit, scared as hell about dying, getting worse the older she got.

  The boys tried to fight, but were overpowered. Calico killed a couple of them before they hauled him off, and for that, Donnie was grateful. He knew his friend wouldn’t make it easy on them, figured he’d get his hands bloody again before they got him tamed.

  “So what do you suggest?” Sal said.

  “Well, I say we give it about—”

  Glass broke. The men ducked, all pointing their guns and twisting their necks as they searched the room. Donnie saw it first. It rolled across the floor, the gas billowing out of it before it came to rest.

  “Fuckin’ tear gas!” Donnie said, then jumped the desk so he could guard Sal.

  More glass broke as canisters were tossed into the warehouse. It only took a few seconds for the air to grow so thick with smoke that Donnie couldn’t see Sal directly in front of him, could just hear his coughing, his grunts. The others choked and gagged and cursed. The smoke stung Donnie’s eyes, but he kept them open at a squint. Breathing was damn near impossible, but he lifted his shirt collar over his nose and mouth, reached out until he felt Sal’s face, then did the same for him. It didn’t help much, but it was all he could do.

  Then the gunshots started. From the windows at first. Then the doors were kicked in, and though Donnie couldn’t see the men, the bursts from their guns gave them away.

  “Sal, get behind—”

  The bullet hit Donnie in the gut, dropped him to his knees. He screamed, and the act of it twisted his belly, nearly made him black out. Another hit him in the left shoulder, then the right bicep. But Donnie did his best to ignore the pain, clenched his teeth and tried to rise back to his feet, protect Sal at all costs.

  The bullet that hit him in the right side of his chest put him on the ground, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t get up again. He had to breathe in small gasps, the smoke still choking him. Every cough was torment, sending lightning bolts of agony through his wounded body. All he could see, taste, or smell was gas and blood.

  The gunshots continued. Donnie could only hope his guys were firing back, were taking some of these motherfuckers out at least. But as the smoke began to clear, drift out through the open doors and windows, the only bodies he saw were Sal’s men. His friends, his brothers. All dead. Full of holes and bleeding on the floor.

  As Donnie waited to die on the ground, he cursed himself for not seeing this coming. He knew if Calico were there with him, Calico would have guessed it. He would have been waiting for the bastards to show, could have probably taken them out with nothing more than his knife.

  Calico…where are you?

  Donnie’s ears rang, and he was about to try and get up again when he saw the feet quickly approaching the desk. From Donnie’s viewpoint, he counted ten men. Probably a lot more outside.

  “So you’re Sal, huh? You mob bosses are always sweaty hogs. Why is that, Sal?”

  “Fuck you!” Sal didn’t sound hurt, but he wheezed when he breathed.

  Pop.

  Sal grunted, then there was a small moment of silence before he shrieked. Donnie wanted to get up and help, but he knew he would only catch more bullets for it, wouldn’t do Sal any good. He couldn’t believe he was still alive, though as the pain continued to ride his flesh, he wished he was dead. He’d been shot before, but nothing as bad as this. As much as his chest and arms hurt, the gut shot was killing him.

  “I’ve never heard of you, but my boss tells me you’re big shit out here. Train some good men, huh? That Calico mu
st be one cold motherfucker for Fleet to want him so bad.”

  Sal’s breaths rattled, and his chair squealed as he moved in it. “What’d…what’d you do with him?”

  “Tell me something. What’s a group of greaseballs like you doing with a nigger for a hitman? I mean, I know he’s got white spots on him, right? Like a fucking Dalmatian or some shit. You wops can’t handle your own? That it, you fat fuck?”

  Pop.

  Sal yelped, then groaned. Donnie fought the urge to shoot as many of these assholes as he could before he died. But he stayed still, held his breath. If he was going to live through this, maybe he could still help Calico. As his blood continued to puddle around him, he wasn’t so sure.

  Donnie had been squeezing his eyes shut, and when he cracked them open, he saw his boys. Standing. Shuffling around the warehouse, bumping into each other, their fresh bullet wounds still seeping blood. A few still lay on the ground motionless, and Donnie knew they were the ones who had been eating their meat like the commercials told them to. Donnie wouldn’t touch that shit, but he hoped Fleet’s men would just mistake him for one of them and leave him be.

  “Look at that. Fresh meat.”

  Sal groaned again, but then the groan became laughter. It was full of pain, but he was still laughing, his chair squeaking like an injured rat.

  “The fuck you laughing at?” Then came the sound of knuckles hitting flesh repeatedly.

  Sal grunted, but never stopped chuckling. “You’re all dead. All of you. Your boss too. You think Calico’s just gonna lie down and let you do this to him?” More pained laughter. “You’ll all be sucking my cock in hell before long.”

  The next three shots quieted Sal’s laughter, and Donnie squeezed his eyes shut again and did his best not to weep.

  “Fat sack of shit,” the man said. “I was gonna make it quick. But now?” Another shot. “Your wife’s gonna get fucked before she gets killed. You hear me, you greasy fucking pig?”