by M. T. Miller
The Nameless approached the exit. Initially, he wanted to leave silently, but chose not to.
“I do not need to pressure you to learn that you have taken lives, Frank,” he said as he turned back toward the former Skull. “Choosing not to speak about it does not make it go away. Neither does it erase the obligation you have toward the world.”
“What?”
“A debt,” the Nameless said. “You have one. Toward the whole world. And you need to find a way to pay it back.”
Not giving Frank a chance to speak, he exited the apartment, joining the crowd outside, thinking:
And so do I.
Interlude Five
It was a quiet night, in one of the most expensive third floor apartments. At least, it was, until the front door slammed open.
“Just who does he think he is?” shouted the Grin as he stormed in.
“What are you getting so worked up about?” Divine asked, closing the door behind them. “I’ve never seen you like this. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” The Grin sat on the bed, a red-sheeted, bronze-tinted ode to excess. “You don’t see what’s going on here, do you?”
“Besides us getting a particularly crude new colleague?” She sat right next to him and took his hand with both of hers. “No, I don’t think I follow.”
“Wallace is out for us!” The Grin said, forming a fist. Divine did not let him wrest it from her grasp.
“I’m going to assume that you mean ‘Wallace, Sr.” She brought her face closer to his. “Why would he be? We’ve been doing our jobs as perfectly as is humanly possible. Why would he try to fix what isn’t broken?”
“And you actually believe that he thinks we’re not broken?” The Grin slowly wiggled his hand away from hers. He rose and started pacing the edges of the nearby carpet. “Yeah, I guess you might. After all, you weren’t recruited the same way I was. Maybe I am all alone in this whole thing.”
“Really?” Divine raised her voice. On someone else, it might not have worked, but the Grin slowed his pace. “Is this how you want to approach this? The two of us may not have started the same way, but we are in it together now. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Still standing, the Grin dragged his palm across his forehead. “You’re right,” he said, staring into a handful of his own sweat. “I panicked and went out of line. Sorry.”
“No problem. I saw just how emotional you’ve been today, antagonizing the sheriff like that,” she said as she tapped on the sheets. “Now, how about you sit here, calm down, and tell me what’s troubling you. Because I don’t think this is about the new guy’s diet. Or his hygiene.”
“Right,” the Grin said as he planted himself at her side. However, instead of her eyes, he stared into the chessboard-patterned rug. “You don’t find the whole ‘Terror taking out Zhang’ thing unlikely, huh?”
“Of course I find it unlikely,” Divine said, stretching back and using her arms as support. “It didn’t happen, Darrell. Wallace Sr. hit the place with another group, then made it appear like the Terror did it. Though I’m personally having trouble thinking up a reason.”
“Well, I’m not,” the Grin said. “The caveman is a spy. The old man planted him to keep a closer look on us. See if we’re still worth our salt. You’ve just said it yourself. He might have a different team out there somewhere.”
“You’re tripping,” she said, but her expression was not all that confident.
“I haven’t been tripping for months,” the Grin said. “Can’t even find myself a hit of E anymore. It’s all confiscated and sold to someone else, outside. This whole place is a disgrace.”
“You really think the Terror might be a plant?” Divine asked, not wanting to talk about drugs.
“I’d bet on it,” the Grin said. “Hell, Astrid, he even stalked us up to the café. I’m telling you, if we don’t do something, our names will be up on the wall soon.”
“Fine. What do you propose we do?” she said.
“We keep a low profile. Don’t do anything suspicious, if you get me.”
“When did I ever?” She flashed an innocent smile.
“So you don’t get me,” he sighed. “I mean ease up on what you normally do.”
She pouted. “Up yours! You ease up on what you normally do! I like my life the way it is, thank you very much.”
“That won’t require any change on my end,” he said. “I sent Pedro away this morning.”
“What!” Divine leapt to her feet. Turning around as if she was on rollerblades, she knelt in front of the Grin. “Why would you even do that?”
“Things haven’t been that great between us,” he said, tears trickling down his cheeks. “And with this whole thing that’s been going on, I thought it was about time.”
“Sweetie…” she brought herself closer and embraced him. For well over a minute they remained like that. The Grin kept sobbing the whole time.
“We’ll do things your way,” Divine said as she slowly loosened her grip. “Tell me your plan, and I’ll back you one hundred percent.”
“I…” the Grin wiped away his tears, “I know a guy. Heh, I know a lot of guys…” All red, he smiled awkwardly.
“Focus, dear,” she said, smiling herself.
“My guy can make a tranquilizer,” he said. “He’s reliable. We get it into the new guy’s system right before the next mission.”
“Then he messes up and gets himself killed.”
“Or he just makes an incompetent ass of himself and doesn’t do jack squat,” the Grin said. “The rest of us get to save the day. Then we’ll have the other two on our side, I think. If no one wants to work with the guy, Wallace can’t keep him in.”
Divine stared into his eyes, completely silent.
“Don’t you have anything to ask?”
“No,” she said. “I know how good you are at poisoning someone without being caught. You can make this work. Just tell me one more thing before we proceed, okay?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you certain of this?” she asked.
“Dead certain,” he said, nodding.
“Fine.” Divine slowly rose, smiling all the way. “You tell me what I need to do when it’s time, and I’ll be right on mark.”
“Thanks,” the Grin said, looking up at her. “You’re a good friend.”
“And you’re the best,” she said. “I have to go, sweetie. It’s getting late.”
“’Course,” the Grin said. “Since you won’t lay low, enjoy yourself for the both of us.”
“Will do,” Divine said as she turned away and left the room.
I don’t like this one bit, she thought, out in the corridor. As she set course toward her own home, ideas stirred within her mind.
Something is not right here. Darrell did have the right idea, but there were things he overlooked in his panic. Sheriff Wallace already knew every single detail about the lives they led. After all, it was through blackmail that Darrell was made to join the Crew in the first place. Homosexuality was illegal in Babylon. If the sheriff wanted to end him in some way, he wouldn’t have needed a spy.
And this new guy… more things were off about him than she could fathom. In the past, the sheriff would pick his candidates carefully, over the course of weeks, sometimes months. The Terror had simply appeared, supposedly pulled off a miracle, and he was in. The fact that the Crew were expected to just buy that was insulting.
But I’m not like Darrell, she thought as she stood in front of her front door. She unlocked it. I took this job of my own free will. And when the time comes to do what must be done, I don’t break down and cry. The knob turned, and she went inside.
“Astrid, honey…” Another woman’s voice came from the dark. It was silky, and softly arousing. “Is that you?”
“It’s me, my love,” she said as she closed the door. “I’m home.”
Chapter Nineteen
I must do this.
Some ten feet away from the rickety
old house, the Nameless gathered his courage. When it came to facing an enemy, he never flinched once. However, telling that girl that he had killed her father in cold blood seemed the most difficult thing in the world.
I have run from this long enough, he told himself. There were no more excuses to be made. He had brought some semblance of order into what passed for his life. It was time for dues to be paid.
The Nameless took the first hesitant step. Pieces of muck stuck to his shoe, as had happened so many times before. In that way, that particular step was no different than the others. Perhaps the rest would follow.
He pushed forward, each step coming with less and less difficulty. The hovel kept getting closer and closer, until the point the Nameless found himself faced with the rotting brown door.
One more obstacle. His arm, usually impossibly deft with or without a weapon, refused to budge. The rest of his body was no different.
Perhaps she is not home?
The idea appealed to him. More than anything else, it relieved some of his tension. For all he knew, she might have done something with the money he had left her before. Yes, perhaps she was already up on the second floor.
The money I shoved through that window to my left. He turned toward it, and immediately lost all sensation in his body.
The pouch was still there, right where he had left it.
There was no time to think. Heart pumping, the Nameless took a quick step back before caving the door in with his boot.
His kick was strong, but the smell from the inside was deadly. Reeking of stale blood and rotting flesh, the air that escaped from the house managed to stand out even in the slums.
“No!” he shouted, and ran inside. Memories of the agony he had endured in there mixed with the assault on his senses, causing his head to spin.
The old man’s bed! he concluded, well on his way there. What awaited him in that room exceeded his worst nightmares.
Instead of the old man he had killed, there was the corpse of his daughter. She had been dead for days; her skin tightly stretched over the bones of her face. Both of her arms lay at her sides, her hands blackened from her cut wrists. The suicide weapon was not far; a small, apparently old razorblade gathered dust on the floor.
“You…” The Nameless dropped on his knees. Unable to contain what had been trapped inside for so long, all he could do was sob for several minutes.
And then, under the bed sheet, something moved.
Snapping back into fight-or-flight mode, the Nameless pulled out his gun. By the time he was ready to shoot, the blanket was already off the girl’s body and in his left hand. Removing it was the worst decision he’d made all day.
Blackened from juices that were never meant to leave the body, something wiggled on the chest. All sticky, it looked up to the Nameless with a pair of bright, yellow eyes.
“Meow!” it said.
The Nameless only had a split second to turn away. No longer in control of his body, he collapsed down on all fours, spraying the floor with the contents of his stomach. For what seemed like hours he remained like that, retching and convulsing even after he had nothing more to discharge.
There— He tried to rise, only for the image to flash before his eyes, preventing him from doing so. There are bite marks all over! he thought as he tried to prevent his stomach from ripping itself apart. He retched once more, again letting nothing out at all.
“M—my…” He tried to speak as he slowly straightened himself out. As he did, he noticed that the vomit covered most of his suit as well as the floor.
“Meow!” the kitten said.
“My fault…” the Nameless said, crouching. “Twice… no, thrice over.”
As he rose, so did the kitten leap down from the bed. Encrusted with filth, it began to lick itself clean.
“I told myself I would come back for you!” The Nameless came closer to the bed, the vomit dropping off his suit. “I…” Tears rolled down his face again, and he slurred his words. “I have failed.”
He let his hands rest on the bed. Decomposing and partially eaten, it was a sight no one should ever see. For that exact reason, he forced himself to keep looking. If he could, he would not have blinked.
This is what you do, the Nameless’ inner voice said to him. Regardless of your actions, this will always be the end result. He clenched his fists, causing the already worn-out sheet to ruffle and tear. The voice echoed in his head: YOU CANNOT ESCAPE THIS!
And then, just like that, it was gone.
“Meow!” said the kitten.
I will never be able to fix this. The Nameless let go of the sheets and straightened himself out somewhat. As he looked at the body, he made certain to burn the image into his mind. Then, picking up his gun, he slowly stepped outside.
No words, he thought as he left the old house. He held his revolver out, letting it gleam in the light of the slum-day. There would be no atonement. No forgiveness. No respite.
For me, or anyone else.
Fourth Level: The Management
Chapter Twenty
“What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
The pimp screamed at his blown-off knee, his back against the wall of a tin-covered hovel. A moment later, he lost his balance and slid down on his backside.
“I can give you money! Pussy! Cock, if that’s your thing!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. Tall, stocky and blond, he seemed to belong to one of the gangs the Nameless did not see that much of. In another time, he might have cared what gang his victim was from. Under the circumstances, all he wanted was blood.
“You do not seem to understand,” he said as he slowly approached. The only part of him that was not encrusted with puke was his face, and even that had only been hastily wiped clean. Revolver raised, he pointed it at the man’s stomach. “I am not here for your goods, scum. I have come for you.”
“Yob tvoyu mat’!” the pimp shouted.
“No,” the Nameless said, lowering his pistol a little bit. He squeezed the trigger, shooting the man right between the legs. “I do not think you will.”
Deprived of the ability to speak, among other things, the pimp rolled to the side. A puddle of deep crimson quickly expanded under his body.
He will not survive, the Nameless thought as he turned around. Three more of the man’s deceased colleagues lay on the street, all in various stages of dismemberment.
“I know you are here!” the Nameless shouted. “Come out!”
Silence was his only answer.
“I have had an incredibly bad day,” he continued, “and I cannot linger. Do not make me look for you!”
One by one, four women stepped out of a nearby hovel. Adorned in fishnets and inappropriately cut-up dresses, they moved toward him like hungry wolves to a baited snare.
“Wha–what did you do?” one of them shouted. A curly-haired girl of Mexican stock, she stared at the bodies.
“I have disposed of the whole stinking lot of them,” the Nameless said. Not that I smell much better.
“Oh, my God…” Another girl, a blonde, fell down on her knees. “This… they won’t forgive us for this!” She raised her gaze to the Nameless with contempt. “You’ve just killed us all, you dumb bastard!”
“Not necessarily,” the Nameless said. He started walking toward them, pulling his money pouch along the way.
“I happen to have a hefty amount of chips on me,” he said as he showed it to them. Their expressions changed momentarily, even that of the blond girl. “Enough for all of you to move up to the second floor, and remain there for a good while.”
For several seconds the women stared at him, completely dumbstruck.
“And you’d just do that for us?” said a woman of mixed white and black heritage. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“My reasons for doing so remain my own,” the Nameless said. “But the offer stands, and the clock is ticking. Whether you plan on taking it or not, I need your answer now.”
“What do we need to
do?” the Mexican girl asked.
“You are to but accompany me to the clerk,” the Nameless said. “Once there, I will pay for your passes, and make it so you get up unscathed. After that, you are on your own.”
The women exchanged glances. The blond one was the first to speak.
“Well, what are we waiting for, then? Hurry up, y’all, before someone catches us!”
“Does anyone have any family they would like to take along?” The Nameless asked. “I am willing to help them out as well.”
“Kiki?” everyone said in unison, staring at the chocolate-colored girl. “Your bro?”
“He’s not my brother anymore,” she said. “He belongs with the Panthers now. Let’s go.”
The Nameless nodded. He turned toward Babylon’s entrance and started walking, the women but a step behind.
On his guard the whole way, the Nameless followed the movement of every slummer who crossed their path. As broken and downtrodden as they were, all of them had the potential to sic a stray mobster their way. Luckily, that did not happen, and the Nameless and his entourage soon found themselves face to face with the fat man and his guards.
“You seem to be doing well for yourself,” he said as he munched on a particularly thick sandwich. “A bit too much into that German puke porn thing for my taste, but to each their own, huh?”
“I am in need of your help,” the Nameless said.
“And unless it involves plowing the lovely ladies behind you, I am inclined to decline,” the fat man said. “I’m a busy man, y’know?”
“I am willing to buy a pass for every single one of them,” the Nameless said. He pulled out his pouch, and let its contents spew onto the table.
“This…” The fat man stared at the money. Just when he was about to scoop it up, however, the Nameless put his hands over it.
“It is far too much, I know,” he said. He took some chips, put them in his pocket, and partially exposed the rest.
“Still too much if you ask me,” the fat man said. “But who am I to complain? Consider it done!” He extended his hand.
