by JJ Zep
twenty six
Ruby scooped up the last morsel of pie and swallowed, then licked apple gravy from her fingers. Scolfield hadn’t seen fit to provide her with eating utensils, but she’d finished the meal anyway (all except the meatloaf, she wasn’t eating that).
It was dark in the cell, the only illumination a stream of moonlight, trickling through the bars to cast long shadows across the floor. She felt alone, frustrated and angry with herself. How could she have been stupid enough to get herself into this situation, to get herself captured? Why had she even agreed to talk to Scolfield in the first place? She had no interest in him, or in his stupid freak show. She’d quit. Cutie Pie was supposed to have been her farewell performance.
Too late for that now sugar, her inner voice mocked. You are a part of his freak show. Matter of fact, you’re the star attraction, you and Scolfield’s freakish pets. You’ve got a date tomorrow, sugar, a date with death. Whatcha gonna do about it, huh? Whatcha gonna do?
“Shut up,” Ruby said into the darkness. “Shut up and let me think.”
Oh, it’s way past thinking time, way past.
The voice was right, of course. She had no chance against those creatures, not a chance in hell. Not without her sword, not against two of them. So what was she going to do? There was only one thing for it. She was going to have to escape, and she was going to have to do it before they tossed her into the cage.
Easier said than done, Ruby, the annoying voice said. And that was true. There was no way out of the cell, of that much she was certain. She’d tested the bars, the cell door, scoured the floor and the bed for a scrap of metal, anything that she might be able to shape into a lock pick. She’d found nothing.
And if escaping from the cell wasn’t an option, there was only one other possibility. She was going to have to make her move while they were transferring her to the arena.
No sooner had she had that idea when her mind started listing for her, all the ways that it might fail – there might be too many of them; they’d be armed; they might use the kid as a human shield again.
A weapon would even the odds but she didn’t have one.
Except…
She looked across the cell to where the plastic mess tray sat on the floor, the lump of meatloaf congealing in one of the compartments. She crossed to the tray, picked up the meatloaf and tossed it through the barred window. Then she tested the quality of the tray itself, and found it to her liking. The tray was constructed from toughened, inflexible plastic. She grasped it at either side and rested the middle of it on her knee. She pushed downward and heard a loud snap. She waited, listening for any indication that the noise may have alerted the guards. Nothing, the prison was as silent as slumber. She snapped the tray into quarters now and then broke off a shard that was perhaps six inches long and wedge-shaped. Ruby held the sliver of plastic and admired it in the moonlight. She felt a surge of excitement. It would do. She dropped to her knees and started sharpening her plastic dagger against the rough plaster of the floor.
twenty seven
He expected Julie to lead him to the cordoned area of the room, instead she headed for the fighting cage, elbowing her way to the fore, dragging him along.
“Why are we here?” Chris shouted above the noise of the crowd. “Shouldn’t we be –?”
Julie cut him off with a raised finger. In the ring, the short odds favorite, Benitez was getting his clock cleaned. Chris had seen a few staged fights in his time. This one belonged on Broadway. Benitez lumbered in, leading with his jaw and his much smaller opponent delivered the coup de grace, a half-assed uppercut that spilled Benitez to the canvas.
For a second, the arena fell silent and then the murmur of disgruntled punters filled in the space. The bell sounded and the announcer skipped into the ring to call the fight. Beside him Julie fetched a deep breath and then released it in a bellow.
“It’s a goddamn fix!”
The patrons, up until now content to grumble under their breaths, suddenly had a rallying cry. Bottles and glasses and losing betting slips rained down on the cage to the accompaniment of a chant of “Fix! Fix! Fix!” The ring announcer was simultaneously dodging missiles and trying to calm the mob, the bouncers were wading in, fists and clubs swinging.
Julie gave Chris a nudge, indicated for him to follow and started weaving her way, pushing against the traffic.
“Gentlemen, please!” the ring announcer said, his pronouncement cut short by a thump and then a wail of feedback. A cheer went up and when Chris looked back he saw the announcer sprawled on the floor, being attended by the seconds.
They’d pushed through into a pocket of quiet now and Julie beckoned him closer. “You leave the talking to me,” she instructed. “I’m serious. This guy’s a…ah, Christ!”
“Is this a vision that I see before me?”
The voice had come from behind him, but the expression on Julie’s face told him it was bad news. He turned to face speaker.
The man was tall and good-looking, thick, jet-black hair cut in sixties rocker style, black, sleeveless t-shirt showing off well-muscled arms, chiseled chin - a Grease-era John Travolta.
“How you been, hon?” he said.
“What do you care?” Julie spat back.
“But I do care,” the man said, a pained expression on his face. “I care a lot.” He turned towards Chris, looked him up and down appreciatively. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new beau?”
“He’s not my…” Julie released a long breath, slumped her shoulders. “Chris Collins, Eddie Montague. Eddie’s a fag.”
“Please,” Eddie said bringing a hand up to his throat and fluttering his eyelashes. “I prefer homo.”
“Eddy’s my ex,” Julie said. “The one I was telling you about.”
“You were talking about me?” Eddie said. “You know what Oscar Wilde said –”
“Yeah, yeah,” Julie cut him off. “Nice seeing you Eddie.” She turned to go.
“So what brings you down here?” Eddie said. “Didn’t figure you for a fight fan.”
“I’m not,” Julie said over her shoulder. “Bye Eddie.”
“You aren’t here to see your old man, are you?” he said after her. “Cause he won’t see anyone these days. Been trying for a week myself.”
“Bye now.”
“Love you, hon.”
“Fuck you, Eddie.”
She paced swiftly towards the back of the room. Chris had to jog to catch up with her.
“Wait a minute,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her towards him. “Fat Archie’s your father? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Not relevant? How the hell could it not be relevant?”
“Believe me,” Julie said. “It isn’t. Now you gonna let me do my thing, or are we all going home to get some beauty sleep?”
Behind her, Chris could see the guards in conversation. One of them, the one who’d been smoking earlier, broke away from the group and started walking towards them.
“Someone’s coming,” Chris said.
“Scrawny guy? Rat-faced, lotsa acne scars?”
“That about covers it.”
“Rizzo!” Julie said, spinning around to face the man.
Rizzo stopped in his tracks, spat his cigarette into the dirt. “Ah fuck, it’s you,” he said.
twenty eight
“He won’t see you, Julie. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
“Come on Rizzo, I’m his daughter. I haven’t seen him in two years. You gonna deny me a couple minutes with my pop?”
“Pop, is it?” Rizzo chuckled. “Don’t believe I’ve ever heard him called that.”
“Look,” Julie said. “Five minutes, two, that’s all I need. Two minutes. What do you say?”
Rizzo seemed almost to soften, about to give in. Then the wall went up again. “Not gonna happen, not tonight. Now move on. I’d hate to have to tell my boys to bust your head open
, you being the boss’ little girl and all.”
“Gee thanks, Riz, you’re a real pal,” Julie said. She half-turned, then spun suddenly back towards Rizzo, performing a flick of the wrist that magically thrust a switchblade into her fist. She shot out a hand and caught Rizzo by the shirtfront. Rizzo barely had time to move before the blade was at his throat.
The other guards were slow to react. Now they scrambled, surrounding her, bringing up their weapons.
“Back them off, Rizzo,” Julie said. “Back them off or so help me God, I’ll drain you.”
“Okay, okay,” Rizzo spluttered. “Stand down, stand the fuck down you guys.”
Behind them the protest had turned into a riot that the bouncers were having a hard time controlling. Fight night at Fat Archie’s had turned into a WWE Super Slam.
“Pete, Daisy,” Julie said. “Disarm Mr. Rizzo and his seven dwarfs then march them through to the back.
“Don’t do this, Julie, Rizzo pleaded. “I’m in deep shit if you go through there.”
“Won’t be the first time, Riz. Likely won’t be the last either. Now move!” She turned him around, twisted his arm behind him, pushed him through an opening in the canvas. Chris followed her out into a dark space, a yard lit only by a few naked bulbs. He smelled the zombies before he saw them, that rank blend of filth and decay that Joe called Eau de’ Z.
As his vision adjusted to the light he could make out two rows of cages, the wheeled kind that circus animals are transported in. A narrow pathway led between the cages and Julie was already walking along it, walking in the direction of a large, aluminum-sided trailer.
Behind him he could hear the protests of the guards as Pete and Daisy locked them into one of the empty cages. He walked, looking straight ahead, avoiding the attentions of the pitiful creatures that reached through the bars towards him on either side. These were Fat Archie’s fighting stock. The Z’s he threw into the cage to kill or be killed for the amusement of others. For some reason that struck him as very wrong. He felt angry at Fat Archie, angry at Ruby too, for being a part of this sordid business.
Julie came to a stop in front of the trailer. She pushed Rizzo forward, trained one of the Uzis on him.
“Knock and ask if you can come in,” she said.
“No point,” Rizzo said.
Julie cocked the weapon. “Do it,” she said.
“No point,” Rizzo said. “No fucking point.” Suddenly he was crying, bawling like a baby.
“What the hell do you mean, no point?”
“Just go in, you’ll see. I’m fucked, anyway.”
Julie leaned forward, grasped the handle with her left hand, levered it down. “This isn’t a trap is it?” she said, turning towards Rizzo.
“No,” Rizzo sobbed. “No, it isn’t.”
She pulled the door towards her, allowed it to run open on its hinges. The odor that wafted out was noxious.
“Jesus Christ!” Julie said, taking a step back. “What’s that fucking smell?”
“I told him not to do it!” Rizzo wailed.
“Not to do what? Julie said. “Not to do what, you piece of shit?”
But Rizzo was blubbering now, incomprehensible words spilling from his mouth between sobs.
“I’m going in,” Julie said.
“Let me,” Chris said. “You’ve brought me this far. Leave it with me now.”
“No,” Julie said. “He’s my father.” She was up the stairs before Chris could protest. He fetched a breath and followed.
twenty nine
The darkness was complete within the trailer, the stench a tangible thing. Chris clutched the Uzi in his hand and took tiny breaths, filtered through his teeth. He couldn’t see Julie, but he could hear her cautious footfalls, her reticent intakes of air.
“Dad?” Julie said.
No reply.
Again. “Dad?”
“There a light in here?” Chris said.
“Used to be, not sure if its powered up.”
He felt for the wall, bumped into a counter. Something shifted under his hand, glass smashed to the floor. “Shit! Sorry,” he said. He traced his hand further along, encountered a faucet, used that as a reference point to find the smooth backsplash of the sink. The light switch was about three feet to the left. He pushed down on it, not expecting any result. The lights blazed instantly on.
For a moment he was blinded. Then, as his vision tuned in, he could see Julie, standing at the other end of the trailer, feet planted, hips swiveled, half turned towards him. He saw, too, the thing that was behind her.
“Julie!” he shouted as Fat Archie lumbered across the quarter expanse of the trailer like the world’s most aggressive sumo wrestler.
Julie’s eyes flew open, she turned as though in slow motion, swinging the Uzi as she did. But the sudden movement, coupled with the sway of the trailer had thrown her off balance. She stumbled, went down onto her butt and scrambled away, pummeling her feet for traction. The creature that had once been her father slammed into the bars of his enclosure, sending a shudder through the frame of the trailer, swaying it on its chassis.
Fat Archie stood at the bars like some grotesque, naked buddha. Rolls of flab slewed from his body like leathery, blue veined water bags. His face and chest were caked with dried blood, his elephantine, inner thighs with liquid shit. He regarded Julie with the curiosity of an idiot child, eyes blank, mouth gaping, spittle dribbling off his triple chins.
Julie was still backing off, sliding on her butt across the carpet, her eyes never leaving the creature in the cage, the remnants of the man who had fathered her. Chris helped her to her feet, led her from the trailer, held her while she stood outside and wept.
***
“I told him not to do it,” Rizzo said. “Told him it was ape shit. He wouldn’t listen.”
“Told him what?” Julie said, and when Rizzo didn’t reply immediately. “Told him what?”
“Messing around with that blue shit, you know?” Rizzo said, looking down, almost embarrassed.
“No, I don’t know,” Julie said. “Messing around with what blue shit? What the hell are you talking about?’
“He means Blueberry Hill,” Chris said.
Rizzo’s head flew up. He regarded Chris suspiciously. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, “Blueberry Hill.”
A cheer rose from the tent, the chime of the bell being sounded. Evidently order had been restored, the tournament was back underway.
“Okay,” Julie said. “Now I feel like the only one without a dance partner at this shindig. What the hell is Blueberry Hill?”
“A drug,” Chris said. “Supposed to cure the Z virus, doesn’t work. Where did Fat Archie get it from?”
Rizzo shook out a cigarette from his pack, lit up, took a drag. “Scolfield,” he said from the corner of his mouth.
“Who’s Scolfield?” Chris said.
“Some guy Arch was in business with. Geeky little turd, used to supply us with Z’s. Always talking big, this guy, you know he’s done this and he’s done that. Like he used to work for the Pentagon Corporation out west or some fucking thing, yada, yada, yada.”
“Wait a minute, do you mean the Pendragon Corporation?”
“Yeah, yeah, something like that. He tells us he was a redemption man or some shit, doping up Z’s and trying all kinds of experiments on them. Anyhow, one day he brings in a tube of this blue shit, tells Archie it’s like heroin and coke and PCP all rolled into one. And you know Arch, never was a narcotic invented that he wouldn’t try.”
“Does this stuff turn people into Z’s?” Julie asked.
“Not on its own, no,” Chris said. “You’d need to mix in a couple of drops of Z blood.” He turned to Rizzo. “So what happened then?”
“What do you think happened? Pretty soon the big guy’s hooked on this shit. He won’t come out of his trailer unless he gets his fix, business is going to hell all around us, and he don’t care. He don’t care about nothing but this blue shit.”
&n
bsp; “Tell me something,” Chris said. “Did Archie ever take this stuff mixed in with Z blood?”
“What? Are you nuts?” Rizzo said. “Arch may have been a junkie, but he wasn’t that far gone.”
“So when, did this happen?” Julie said. “What we saw in there?”
“Two weeks ago,” Rizzo said. “I know cause that’s the night Arch and this Scolfield guy go head-to-head, regular scream fest. Arch has him pushed up against the trailer here, threatening to throw him into one of the cages.”
“What was the fight about?”
“Some dud fighter Scolfield supplied us with. Cost Arch a mint on account of some fifteen-year-old brat cleaned its clock in, like, ten seconds flat.”
“Wait a second,” Chris said. “A fifteen-year-old kid? A girl?”
“That’s right,” Rizzo said. “You know her? Little bitch almost put us out of business.”
Chris ignored the question, his heart was racing, his mouth suddenly dry. “You know where this girl is now, clubs she’s fighting in?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Rizzo said. “Jersey would be my guess, no way she’ll get another matchup in this town.”
“Anything else you remember about that night, Riz? Anything unusual?”
Rizzo thought about it for a while, his eyes staring far into the distance. “Well, Scolfield and Arch patched up their differences. Scolfield slipped Arch a freebie of the blue shit and promised to replace the dud fighter. Never did, though. Ain’t seen the son of a bitch since.”
“And when did my father…you know?”
“He’s been slipping away since that night,” Rizzo said solemnly. “At first that blue shit seemed to set him to rights, you know. But once it ran out, well, he just fell off the edge. That’s when I had that cage put up in the trailer, before he killed someone.”
“And Scolfield?”
“Not hide nor hair. I even sent a couple of the guys over to Jersey to stake out this bar Scolfield’s supposed to hang out at, in Hackensack. Nothing.”
