by Robert Lyons
Last time I felt it was when I jumped in to save Jessica from that stalker…
Banishing the memory of it to the back of his mind, Zayde convinced himself there was no more need to recall that event.
“Are you going to perform at all during this event, Zayde?” Jessica asked.
“Hmm, no. I came to hang out with some of the artists. Whether it’s suits and ties or hanging out backstage, business is business. That said, showing face and rubbing shoulders is everything. I have to make sure that I leave a good impression. You know how it is, it’s not what you know—it’s who you know.”
“That’s understandable, but I’m kind of bummed. I thought that I was going see my friend ‘wow’ the crowd one more time before I left,” Wade said in a bittersweet voice. “Maybe next time I’m in town, you could maybe coordinate some sort of small get together where you are the DJ?”
“Actually…” A small smile crept up on Zayde’s lips. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”
“Ah, there it is!” Wade laughed obnoxiously, pointing a finger in his friend’s direction. “I knew I could get him to come out of the house! Just let him control beats and we are set!”
“You got me.” The guilty-as-charged held his hands up in a “surrender” pose.
A hand slapped down on Zayde’s shoulder.
“Zayde, it’s nice to finally see you—in person!” a voice, carrying above the roaring of the crowd, somehow reached the musician’s ears.
The show kicked off with the second artist and the sound inside of the small concert hall was near deafening. Zayde’s relaxed body tensed up, but not from the barrage of sound. He knew that voice, and he could sense the tension and irritation stemming from it.
Walking up behind Jessica and Wade was a young man about Zayde’s height with a little more fat on his bones. His slicked-back hair was tucked into a greased-up baseball cap. His spotty, pale skin was not his most attractive feature, but once Zayde locked eyes with him, it was too late to run.
The encounter was inevitable, but Zayde wanted to delay this meeting as long as possible. Nevertheless, he knew there was no getting out of this. Joseph Jensen was the man who had earned an audience with the group of artists backstage. This was all thanks to Sydney owing him a favor. Although Zayde had no right to tell Sydney how she should handle her business, he was hoping that his girlfriend was learning how “the game” worked and not to get on the wrong side of a favor again. Especially to a drug dealer.
“These your friends, Zayde?” Joseph had to completely circumnavigate Wade’s giant frame to step into anyone’s field of view. “How nice of them to show up … and take up our time.”
“I’m Wade, nice to meet—!”
“Yeah, I don’t really give a shit.” Joseph’s rat-like eyes darted to the side, staring at Wade from an angle. “I really need to borrow Zayde for a while. Nothing personal, but you two are kind of getting in the way. Isn’t there a concert you could be attending right now?”
Zayde could see his long-time friend quietly sucking on his teeth. Wade was taking a couple of deep breaths while debating whether or not he should pound Joseph into a flat disk.
“All right, Joseph. I’ll take you backstage. Let’s go.” Zayde beckoned him to follow as he turned away. “I’ll be back soon, you two. Enjoy the festivities.”
With Joseph almost stepping on Zayde’s heels with anticipation, the two made their way toward the backstage entrance. Hopelessly wishing that the bouncer would just grab a hold of Joseph and have him thrown out, Zayde already knew the security team was notified ahead of time that there was another guest coming in.
“It was about damn time, Zayde.” Joseph’s voice was sour. “This might be the turning point in life for me, and here you are dragging your feet.”
“Let’s get real. There is no turning point for shits like you. If I can help it, Sydney will never get tangled up in trash again,” Zayde replied.
5.
The backstage room was spacious, allowing for the artists who were not currently occupying the stage to stretch out their legs and lounge on the many couches that were placed there.
Sidney Coyle, the female vocalist for the group Beat-full, was lying was up against Zayde Maddox as he propped himself against the armrest of the loveseat they occupied. There were two other music groups reclining on the other couches. The group of musicians formed a sort of semi-circle as Joseph Jensen stood at the center.
One of the drummers from one group piped up. “Not gonna to lie, you don’t look like a guy who has product. You’re supposed to have that good shit? I’ve heard rumors spread about this one from every direction I’ve turned. You saying you have that one?”
Joseph smiled, looking at the drummer who inquired about Jensen’s reputation. “Yes, you’re referring to the black pills. I have them in my inventory.”
Without missing a beat, Joseph reached into his pocket and extracted a small, transparent resalable bag that held roughly a dozen of the black, oblong-shaped pills. At the mere sight, more than half of the musicians present jumped to their feet, eyes wide with eagerness.
“You’re pulling our shit! There is no way you have that many!” one of the bassists yelled out, his long hair parting as he swung his head forward.
“Oh, but that’s where I’m different from most of the other runners for these things … I know the source—directly.”
“Get the fuck outta here!” a guitarist yelled out, plopping back down on the couch in frustration. “Nobody knows who’s supplying those damn things!”
“I’ve worked many sleepless days to get my connections.” Joseph placed the bag back into his pocket. “Now, this is not the only stuff I have available. My supply lines stretch across a far range of flavors. Maybe the black pill is a bit too much for some of you, and that’s fine. We can start off on something milder.”
“Let me get this straight, small timer.” Zayde narrowed his eyes, refusing to take the bait that Joseph was casting out. “You have the one narcotic that people are literally killing each other to get a hold of, and now you’re just going to gloss over knowing the source? Trying to pass it off like it’s another combo option on your menu?”
“Small timer?” Joseph’s friendly demeanor instantly vaporized, leaving him with an exasperated stare. “Mister Maddox, this is not some cheap substance that I’m offering. I’m just saying that the rest of my inventory also holds up to a very high standard.”
“What have you heard back from your clientele after they have taken that black pill? Shit, does it even have a street name we can call it by?” another musician chipped in.
“Actually, I’ve heard a name for it once,” the vocalist of another group spoke up. “I think it was, Evolution.”
“First time I’ve heard of that,” Zayde replied. “It seemed like all you had to do was just describe it and people who were remotely interested in it knew exactly what you were talking about.”
Joseph Jensen’s obnoxious fake cough silenced the room.
“Not only do I have a reliable supply of these puppies, I actually have someone who could give you an honest review of it, right here in the room.” Joseph’s beady eyes scanned all the faces, settling on Sydney’s. “I gave you a single dose, Sydney. Why don’t you tell them about the trip?”
Zayde knew this was part of the favor. Had he realized what was going on, he would’ve strongly advised his girlfriend to pay for the damn product. However, Joseph was beyond cashing in on that favor. He was milking the “favor cow” dry.
“Well, when it comes to sex, it really intensifies the experience. If you thought you could have a good time before, forget about it. This is where it’s at.” Sydney smiled a toothy grin. “Zayde said I was like a ravaging animal … nothing was off the table.”
“Really?” A collective gasp of wonder spread throughout the occupants in the room.
“I can cosign that,” Zayde reluctantly agreed.
The hollers and hoots from around t
he room were aggravating. Were Sydney and Joseph both conniving behind Zayde’s back to bring about as much humiliation as possible? He readjusted his position in the loveseat.
“I gotta try this!”
“Is this the magic pill we’ve all been waiting for?!”
“How much?”
“Get this to me now!”
Needless to say, Joseph Jensen’s face lit up like a lighthouse on a foggy shore side. With a single testimonial, Sydney had sold their souls and minds to depend on the warped businessman.
“I’ll get all of your information, there’s no need to panic. There’s plenty for all of you.” Joseph nodded.
“That’s not surprising.” Zayde was still disconnected to what was happening. He had no interest in the hard stuff. “It’s one of the very few narcotics that is not readily available. People always want what they cannot have.”
“Perhaps I could interest you with a sample?” Joseph dipped his head in Zayde’s direction. “You shouldn’t have to worry about getting addicted. I heard you’re good at quitting on things.”
“No thanks,” Zayde said with a dismissive voice, not showing his reaction to the underhanded comment.
“I strive to satisfy everyone’s needs.” Joseph bowed his head, stepping forward and handing out his business cards. They were inconspicuous, with only a name and a phone number. No embellishments or crazy colors. That was how Joseph operated. He had to fly under the radar.
After some more exchanges, Joseph nodded and turned to leave. Right before he passed through the doorframe, he rotated his neck, looking directly at Zayde and Sydney.
Thanks again, he was wordlessly signaling.
“Please tell me you won’t do something like that again.” Zayde couldn’t help but scornfully smile back at Joseph while speaking to his girlfriend.
“Sorry about that.” Sydney sounded downcast, but turned back round with a rebuttal. “Although I don’t seem to remember you complaining when we were getting down and dirty.”
“That’s low … but damn—you make it so hot.”
6.
Meanwhile, a couple blocks away…
A four-door, silver compact car drove wildly down a fairly empty street, upsetting the silence of the night. Tires squealed as the tread lost grip on the road. After a jolt, the rubber reestablished contact with the asphalt, nearly flinging the driver against the window to his left.
The person behind the wheel was a man of Japanese origin. His graying hair was tied back in a thin ponytail as the thin-framed glasses slipped down from the bridge of his nose every five seconds. He threw a couple of worried glances at the rearview mirror and resumed driving at a speed that was more than twice the posted limit, weaving between a few cars. The man whipped out a small device similar to that of a cell phone. He set the front-facing camera on, and pushed a button on the screen that was labeled as “live stream.”
“I am Doctor Gentaro Mori. I am currently being followed. Should one of you see this, please forward this message to Doctor Felicia Harding. My research has been completed and I am ready to submit my findings! My pursuers are gaining on me … I don’t know how long I have left … they must have figured out that I have it. To any of you listening to this broadcast, it is imperative that Doctor Harding gets a hold of my research! If not, we are going to be facing global annihilation—!”
A heavy blow on the driver’s side door nearly knocked the vehicle on its side. Gentaro utilized the small window of opportunity to turn the steering wheel to prevent the vehicle from tipping over. The device that he had filmed his brief video message with was now on the floor of the car, the streaming function still active.
“Shit!” Gentaro screamed, rolling down his window as he extracted a pistol. He fired the side arm into the darkness outside. Sparks flew as the projectiles struck against hard objects.
BANG! BANG! PLIP!
The last bullet pierced something. A cry of pain rang out into the night.
The front tires exploded simultaneously, causing the car to veer out of control. Gentaro jumped the curb and clipped a street pole. The sudden stop on one side of the vehicle caused the back end of the car to whip around. He finally came to a stop when the side of the vehicle pancaked against the wall that kept automobiles from running into a suburban area. The few other cars on the street broke away from the scene; the drivers of the other cars saw what was happening and wanted no part of the horror.
Shaking his head to reset his sense of balance, Gentaro let out the breath that he’d held right before the crash started. He reached for his gun, but found it impossible to grasp as a stabbing pain crippled his efforts to fully extend his arm. He’d shattered some of his weathered bones during the violent upheaval.
I came this far! After all of the years to unearth the answer, I’m not going to die until I see it with my own two eyes!
Gentaro bit back a scream as he moved his other, lesser-injured arm, but, try as he might, the pistol was still nowhere within his reach.
Thump.
A kick was delivered to the side of the totaled vehicle.
Guttural laughs followed.
“Didn’t get too far, old man.” The malicious jeers came from outside of the vehicle, foreign accents heavy. “You’re sly. Stealing someone’s car, swerving onto oncoming traffic several times, dodging almost every trap we set up. That takes a certain level of skill, given that you’re human and elderly.”
Gentaro’s fire-filled eyes caught a glimpse at the several torsos standing around the damaged vehicle. The shirts that were covering their bodies were torn, blood-sprayed, and frayed. Gentaro was not an imprudent man; he knew the reason why they were dressed this way.
Stolen right off the victims…
One of the torsos bent down, bringing the head into view. The skin on the exposed arms was sickly white. The face was partially obstructed by long, neglected hair when the creature leaned forward.
“We offered the chance to die a quick death. But you ran. You were going to die no matter what—so why suffer with so much pain?”
The last thing Gentaro wanted the Chroma to hear was dismay in his voice. The old man was calm, even though his nose burned from the smell of decaying flesh that was emanating from the humanoid breathing down on him. With a strained grunt, Gentaro pulled out a cigarette, slipping it between his chapped lips.
“Are you taking me lightly?” The Chroma didn’t sound pleased with the display of laid-back behavior.
The doctor picked up on the annoyance, his eyes narrowing for a moment. He maintained his composure as he extracted a lighter and lit the end of the cigarette; a glowing cherry appeared at the end of the long stem.
“Enjoy that.” The humanoid grinned. “It’s the last thing you will ever do.”
“Too bad…” Gentaro finally spoke up.
“Too bad?”
“You have a red eye. You still haven’t done enough to earn the purple? That’s a shame—considering that you are one of the Red Tigers. I know your face. Renga … isn’t that your name? Aren’t you a little far from your usual slaughtering grounds in the Chinese mountains?” Gentaro cracked a grin as he blew smoke into the creature’s face.
The wicked fangs were exposed as the Chroma’s lips curled back; the monster was mentally inches away from lunging.
“I’m going to earn it once you are accounted for,” Renga snarled, clearly not amused that some lowly human called him out. “Imagine that—I came all the way over here just to hunt you down. Do you know how many other red eyes are between here and China? The moment your name came up, I had to kill some of my own to get the chance to be here.”
Gentaro shook his head slowly, looking out through the cracked windshield. “I’m flattered, but if you’re going to do something, then just do it. If you are going to continue to run your mouth, then allow me to say this…” The old man exhaled painfully, his eyelids lowering.
Renga didn’t interrupt; instead he looked away and nodded at something that was on th
e other side of the car.
“I figured it out—the Idenshi o Kaeru! I already shared my work with others. If it’s not me, then they will stop you fucking Haarä—!”
CRACK!
Gentaro’s eyes opened wide as a bolt of agonizing pain shot through the arm that was still fairly functional. One of the Chroma had climbed through the passenger door and attacked him while the doctor’s attention was elsewhere.
“How dare you use that word?” the Chroma snarled. “You human scum are not worthy to call us by that name!”
The Chroma not only broke the bone, but also tore the lower arm off completely. The radius and ulna bones detached from the humorous in a mangled mess. The sound that came out of Gentaro’s mouth, as the cigarette fell out, was the kind of cry that could freeze blood.
“You think humans can stop what is coming, Doctor Mori?” The creature laughed. “I love that ridiculous fighting spirit!”
The beast that sneaked his way to the other side and violently amputated Gentaro’s arm was staring at the suffering man with unexpected awe. The way the blood came rushing out of the gaping wound fascinated the Chroma to the point of causing salivation. The breathing of the monster shifted to deep, hoarse inhales and exhales of anticipation.
Renga, one of the two notorious Red Tigers, spoke up to get the others in line. “With the doctor captured, we can return to the golds.” Renga was supposed to be observing the operation, but he was too absorbed in his own self-accomplishment to take notice. It’s done. All loose ends are tied up now that we have Mori!
Without warning, three of the other humanoids jumped for the now severely handicapped victim. The car was forced into gear from the commotion and went screaming down the street with the three humanoids attached to the outside of it. Their behavior became akin to that of wild dogs fighting over a scrap of meat.
“Hey!” the red-eyed Chroma leader yelled out, but stopped as he realized what was happening.
That was not hunger. That particular behavior was something far more dangerous. Pure instinct was driving the Chroma to savage behavior. The others who were indirectly exposed to the blood, followed in close pursuit.
