CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Naptown Red was quite specific in his task for Garlan. He needed to disappear Lady G, King's woman, but not harm her. Leave her in a place where she could be easily found. Not one of those megalomaniac types, those control freaks who believed in only telling folks as much as they needed to know, Red had a different philosophy. The way he believed, the better you understood why you did things, the less you questioned them. Or him. He was on their side, after all. The object was to distract King, knock him off his game. Let him know that he or his people could be got at any time. Naptown Red wanted that knowledge playing in King's mind. Like a game of chess, it was about misdirection and getting in people's heads.
Garlan pulled into Breton Court
in his Impala, a mint-green whip more boat than car. He sank into
its driver's seat in a lean so fierce his eyes were barely visible
above the dashboard. Early Sunday morning was the most peaceful
time in any neighborhood. All the fiends, gangstas, hood rats,
playas, and freaks had done called it a night. All the church-going
folk popped their heads out, like rabbits on a savannah plain,
unburrowing themselves to venture out. He waited for the large
woman to leave the crib, a blackfaced little boy in tow. Everyone
knew where King stayed. Like it was his throne in a court, guarded
by the power of his name. Just like folks knew Lady G stayed across
the way. She deserved what she got, playing hooky from church and
all.
Garlan twisted his ring. When he
peered into the rearview mirror, nothing reflected back from the
seat where he should have been. His sense of self was completely
annihilated and no one noticed. Complete eradication, gone with no
one caring about his absence. He was capable of doing anything and
going anywhere. Some days he went places and just listened. His
duties slipped, though he wondered if anyone knew. Of course he
went to the high school gym to hang out in the girls' locker.
Grabbing some tit and pinching some ass. Whacked off more than a
few times. Loath as he was to admit it, pussy became boring.
Surrounded by it, but no one knew he was there. He didn't exist to
them. He didn't matter. They'd never hold him. Laugh at his jokes.
Spend time with him. Do his hair. Make him a sandwich. Suck his
dick. Nothing. He didn't matter to any of them. He didn't exist. He
was a ghost intruding on their lives. Not even an intrusion, just a
ghost. One time he twisted his ring to appear among them. They
scattered in squeals, a hail of "get out" and "what the fuck?"
Running out, he didn't care. He just wanted to matter. To be
seen.
Other days he listened to his
men. How they talked about him. Their ambitions. The ruminations on
the minutiae of their lives. Pussy. Cars. Pussy. Sports teams.
Pussy. Music. Pussy. Money. Pussy. Speakers. Pussy. That was all of
life to them. And he'd appear, make sure they were on point, but
his mind was no longer on his work. He had disappointed. A blank
spot where a person should be. A lifetime of learned shames
reducing him to what he already believed himself to be. Nothing.
And nothing could do anything.
Creeping out the car, he made his
way to the back patio. The rear wall was no obstacle. It wasn't too
many years ago he used to run along the patio walls just like
these, chasing his friends and playing tag. Running and jumping
from them for the sheer exhilaration of being alive. Part of the
thrill was watching those drawn to their upstairs windows by the
nearby racket and seeing knucklehead children dash past at nearly
eye level. Right now, anyone peeking out their window would only
see their patio. Nothing special or out of the ordinary. Nobody
important.
All of the condos had the same
set-up, either a back window which led into a kitchen or a sliding
back patio door. This place had the sliding door. Thing was, few of
them latched properly. A few years of use and kids slamming them
too hard either knocked them off their tracks or knocked the latch
too far in to catch properly. Most owners of such doors had a
security bar which acted as a lock. Those security bars cost money,
about a week's worth of groceries, and the needs of an empty belly
were always more pressing than the possibility of a bogeyman
breaking in. Most made do with a stretch of fitted broom handle
popped into place. No cost, same function. Thing was, there was a
little-known workaround to the broom-handle lock: a swift, strong
kick could usually displace it.
As was the case here.
Garlan slipped in. Though no more
than a couch, a love seat, and a couple of chairs around a coffee
table, all centered around a television, the room had a warmth to
it. The furniture was well worn but not ratty. Care was taken in
their arrangement, in the placement of knick-knacks and photos. The
room had been cleaned, things put away, except for some scattered
toys in the corner, but even those added a sense of life to the
space. The room exuded family.
A telltale squeak gave him away
as he stepped on the first step of the stairs. Frozen, he waited to
see if anyone stirred from bed. He pressed himself to the wall and
spider-slinked up the stairs.
Feigning sickness, Lady G had
stayed home. Solitude, a chance to think and sort things out in
peace was what she required. Propped up by pillows, she colored, as
Rhianna had convinced her would help clear her mind. Not quite
ready to get out of bed, Lady G drew a picture of a church in her
book. She scorched its doorway with streaks of brown and black,
traced a crack down its windows, and canted the cross hanging above
its archway until the building resembled the abandoned church where
they first convened their little circle. When it was just them, the
core, before things got so big and drifted from what she thought
they would do and be. To her, it would always be their special
place. The place where the magic happened. When they believed
nothing could get in their way.
The crayon ceased its scribbling
in mid-scratch. Some primitive part of her brain alerted her with a
prey's warning. Nothing she could point to, not unlike sensing the
footfalls of a cat padding across carpet. Merely the nearness of
another. Considering the racket made when she came home filled with
the Holy Ghost, Big Momma and Had were still at church.
"Who's there?" Lady G asked the
air. Suddenly too conscious of how her braless breasts hung through
the thin material of her T-shirt, she drew up the bed sheets. The
familiar click of a gun being cocked paralyzed her. Cold metal
pressed against her temple.
The idea of being known, of being
revealed while so carefully hidden intrigued Garlan. "How'd you
know I was here?"
"I just knew is all. Just have to
pay attention to what's going on around you." Lady G closed her
eyes and took a deliberate breath. She wondered what her death
would feel like. A sharp pain as the bullet exploded from its
chamber and slammed into her skull. If she'd hear the splintering
of bone and the shattering of her skull. If she'd feel the bullet
tunnel through the soft, great pulp of her brain. What the
sensations of life being extinguished would be. If she'd see a
bright light or fade into the darkness of eternal sleep. She prayed
the end would be quick.
"You scared right now?" Garlan
withdrew the pistol from her skin.
"Make you feel good knowing I
was?" The bravado of her words couldn't hide the shake in her
voice. It wasn't the first time a gun had been pointed at her, but
it wasn't an experience she longed to repeat.
"Heh. Come on, we need to go
somewhere."
"I ain't going nowhere with
you."
Garlan jabbed the gun at her head
again. "See, you thought that was a request."
"Can I get dressed?"
"Go head."
Lady G backed across the other
side of the bed. Piles of jeans stacked at her feet. "You
looking?"
"You want me to lie to
you?"
Lady G turned her back to the
direction of the voice. She pulled the top pair of jeans up
quickly, doing a bit of a bounce to get her full behind into them.
She thought about how best to maneuver into a bra. A hand brushed
the side of her breast. Not caring about his gun, not being able to
see it anyway, Lady G lashed out, shoving at the area the intrusion
came from.
"Hands off the temple."
Garlan slapped her with an open
hand which she could neither see nor defend herself against and
sent her sprawling into the standalone lamp. The bulb flashed with
a lightning burst and went out.
"Girl, have you lost your
Goddamned mind?"
"You gonna kill me, do it now.
But you ain't get to just touch me any which way."
"Come on. Let's go."
Lady G grabbed a sweater and a
jacket. "Where we going?"
Where were they going? Garlan
hadn't thought that far ahead. Lady G's colored page caught his
eye. "I know a place."
The sky charged with a dull luminescence.
Threatening clouds like glaring corner boys. Assuring them that he
knew how to find Colvin, Merle led the group to the bus stop in
front of the church. An Indy Metro idled at the stop. Though it was
five o'clock in the morning, the bus was still driverless. What few
passengers that waited at the stop behaved as if they didn't notice
it. Or them. The six of them boarded the bus. None of the bus stop
throng gave them a first glance, much less a second.
"There are people all around us,"
King whispered. "What's up?"
"Relax and act natural," Merle
said.
"I don't get it," Rok said,
"there ain't nobody fixin' to drive this mug."
"They won't have to. No one
living travels these lines," Dred said.
"Do what?"
"These rides ain't for the
living," Dred repeated. "Didn't you notice the people? They seemed
more concerned about their own affairs than anything we were up
to."
"So?"
"These are the dead lines. The
ghost lines of the Metro Buses. Those in the know can simply board
them and travel along the unlit paths. You sure you know what you
doing, old man?"
"I got this," Merle said.
"The toll's yours to pay,
then."
"Where are we going?" King asked
Merle.
"When the bus stops, we've
arrived."
The city landscape passed in gray
and brown blurs. Through the bus windows, the city took on an alien
aspect. The buildings canted at odd angles, the geometry of the
city bent by shadows. Though they passed though areas of the city
they knew intimately, the landscape was as unfamiliar as the moon's
surface. For nearly an hour they rumbled along 38th Street,
occasionally stopping to take on and drop off passengers while the
night held its grip.
The door of the bus sighed shut.
Still with no driver, the bus slowly shifted into gear. Rellik
never considered himself a pessimistic individual. Life was
darkness, so his history had taught him. All pain, loss, and death.
And he had walked so long in its darkness, the light had to appeal
to him, if he could believe in it at all.
King hated quiet moments, to be
trapped with his thoughts. Unasked, they drifted to Lady G and his
feelings for her; to Prez and how he failed him and looked for
redemption for them both; to his vision for his mission and how
things seemed to drift. Instead, he focused on the task ahead: how
best to deploy the men, guessing what Colvin might do, how to turn
the situation to his advantage. His life had been reduced to the
next problem, the next mission, the next tussle. With dawning
realization, he smiled, a rueful grin. He wasn't living, he was
distracted. Adventure, busyness, was his drug of choice. Better the
problems of his neighborhood than to wrestle with the issues in his
own life. How long had it been since he'd seen his little girl,
Nakia? Just thinking her name, he couldn't help but think that he
was his father's son. Running the streets rather than being there
for his child. His friendships with Lott and Wayne. He loved them,
but they hadn't hung out, just hung out, in ages. He wondered if
they saw his leadership as him treating them as equals or as
servants to be ordered about. And he felt strange going off into a
battle without them.
And then there was Lady
G.
Theirs was a complicated mess of
a relationship. But when didn't he have
a complicated mess of a relationship? If he'd ever had a normal
one, he couldn't recall it. Things had to be sorted out. And her
him. But was it enough? Was it healthy? Was it the best for each of
them? This was why he hated quiet moments.
"Something on your mind?" Dred
asked him. "You look… distracted."
"Just thinking about
Colvin."
"And what you're prepared to do
in case he don't see the light of your wise ways?"
The bus turned up High School
Road, passing what they knew to be Breton Court, though none dared
glance at what they called home through the tainted glass of death.
High School Road stopped at 56th Street, the bus swung left then
slowed to a halt in front of the entrance of Eagle Creek Park. With
a nod, Merle led them from the bus. Its gears groaned and the bus
sighed as it pulled away, scurrying away before the light of the
rising sun.
An early morning mist settled
along the woods, creeping along the forest floor with a cold
dampness that seeped into the bones, ached joints, and sapped
strength. The woods took on a life of their own. Tree limbs like
gnarled hands raised in praise against the night sky. Light
pollution drained the velvety pallor from the blanket of night,
leaving it a tepid gray-blue curtain. The moon baked to a warm
orange glow. Again King wished Wayne was by his side as he was at
his best at this time. Although he relished the adventure of the
situation, King's face remained solemn as duty and his shoulders
weighted by obligation. They marched in an insolent
stroll.
The sounds of crickets and tree
frogs and other things moved in the night. Countless creatures
populated the woods. Deer. Badgers. Foxes. Owls. Coyote. Snakes.
All manner of predators and prey. The Eagle Creek Reservoir had
suffered a series of algae blooms during the summer. They'd gotten
so bad, it had affected the drinking water. The chemicals that the
Department of Environmental Management dumped in to treat the
problem did nothing to kill the taste. To Rellik, it tasted of
seaweed. And reminded him of hair greenish with algae. Rellik
hadn't visited Eagle Creek Park in well over 20 years, but
even then he'd had to relearn the paths each trip. The trees had a
way of shifting. "What's the plan?" Dred asked. He measured each
man with his steady gaze. Merle shifted with an antsy energy as if
searching for a missing friend. Rellik had his brother's beefy
mien, ready to rumble into whatever. Rok was the least
prepared,
a squire among wolves. Dred challenged and
dared with each word. He followed only so long as King's interests
matched his own. Baylon worried him. He certainly didn't want to
depend on him. All of them looked to him as if that were the
natural order. "We go in. We take him down."
"That ain't much of a plan." Dred
always pushed him, always questioned and cut him no
slack.
"I want to try to talk to him
first. Give him a chance to back down."
"Out to save him?" Dred
asked.
"Give him an opportunity," King
said. "Merle and Dred hang back a bit in case some weirdness goes
down. Rellik, you and Rok with me. Baylon, keep out of sight in
case we have any surprises."
"Sounds better."
"Didn't know you wanted the
details."
King's smirk collapsed into a
scowl as he spied the flashes of green light. The pale glimmer from
a small hill unsettled him. It turned his stomach, an offense to
the surrounding nature. The woods took on an alien quality in the
luminescence, a ruin of forest circling the clearing. The trees
gnarled, burnished gray like aged stone with an unpleasant quality.
Their outlines grotesque, limbs bent at odd angles. Sweat cooled on
his forehead. His heart thundered in a measured pace. As if the
anticipation of combat calmed him. Tendrils pushed in at the edge
of his mind, threatened to worm their way into his
thoughts.
All sound ceased except for the
sound of their own footsteps as they crunched along the dead leaves
piled along the ground, a thick carpet of brown that crunched under
heavy footfalls.
"Come on in." Colvin barely took
notice as he met them, their faces grim and alert.
The excitement in his eyes
wouldn't hesitate to squeeze a trigger and spray his brains along
the tree line. They stepped into the clearing. "Something you want
to say to me?" The muscles of Colvin's wiry frame nearly danced as
he moved. His tan-brown skin, like calf's hide, made King's appear
darker in contrast.
"This is madness. Come on now.
You out here on your own. When was the last time you saw folks
united? We poised to make a real difference." More of a gauntlet
thrown rather than a statement. They glared at one another in
established enmity. King's heart saddened that things had to come
to this. But it was what it was. King was still somewhat
self-conscious of the broadness of his nose and the deepness of his
cheekbones. The twists of his hair jutted skyward in defiance, the
sides and back of his head freshly shaven. His physique boasted a
brawn now tested with regularity in the streets. He got real
serious behind shit like that.
"That the thing: the only
difference I aim to make is to my wallet."
Something about the set-up wasn't
right. Rok couldn't remember if he'd ever been surrounded by so
much green. He lived in a concrete world. The trees loomed taller
and thickened, engorged on the foul emanations. They crowded
against them. The muscles along Rok's stomach tightened and
cramped. His mouth went dry. His palms slickened with sweat. Men
like him, the kind of men he imagined himself to be, never carried
fear like this. Their veins pumped ice. Their hearts didn't pound
so hard their throats ached. He couldn't remember the last time he
had a drink or took a leak, but needed to rectify both scenarios
soon.
"King?" Merle was the first to
sense it.
Dred sniffed the air as if
catching a scent which disturbed him. He backed a few steps away
from the circle, wary and on edge. Picking up on the tenseness
coming from them, Rellik and Rok flanked King. They scanned the
trees, not certain what they were watching for.
Colvin gestured with his fingers.
Furtive movements somewhere between flashing gang signals and
issuing sign language. His lips moved though King heard no
words.
A green crackle of energy flared
to life, a single flame suspended in the air above Colvin. The
woods glowed as a few more flickered to life, emerald sparks which
danced in an unfelt breeze. The flames mesmerized them, their
breath half-held knowing they signaled only the beginning. The
flames lengthened, trailing down, four strands of flame in the
clearing. The light intensified, a flood of light bathed them. King
visored his hand above his eyes, too late realizing that he
couldn't see beyond the periphery of the light.
"King!" Merle yelled.
Shadows moved between the trees,
advancing on them. Their sizes varied slightly, no more than a
head's difference among the lot of them. Nearly a dozen of those
they could see. A score of red eyes dotted the night and closed in
on them.
Lott's mind raced with dark possibilities.
Life had a way of jumping off in a variety of ways. There were so
many ways for pain to intrude upon them. Robberies. Beatings. Rape.
Death. Try as he might to focus on the task at hand, the
possibilities for brutality drove him to distraction. Big Momma let
him in and got out of his way as he bounded up the stairs. He
surveyed Lady G's room. They already knew the police wouldn't have
done anything. Not even Cantrell. To their minds, a teen – a
homeless teen at that – threw a fit and ran off. They'd be lucky if
a pen even found its way to a report. Yet Lott's next instinct was
to call King, but he hesitated and wasn't sure why. Maybe he was
too proud to ask for help. Maybe he wanted to be the hero. Lady G's
hero. Shaking himself, he made the call anyway. A small part of him
was relieved when the call again went to voicemail. Again he left a
message. It was now firmly on record that he tried. The mind had a
way of shaping circumstances it wanted to happen, as if he could
will his desires onto life. Still, he was no detective and had few
resources to speak of. He prayed that whatever Providence guided
him would lead him to her. Examining the bed – no struggle, no
scent of anything beyond hers… and he lingered at her smell – he
spied the drawing. It was a hunch, a wild hope more than anything
else, but he had nothing else to go on.
Lott hated walking up High School
Road. A couple years back, he was minding his own business on a
Saturday night when a group of teenage boys slowed down and hit him
with a cup full of Mountain Dew from Taco Bell. Random white punks
out doing random hateful shit, though it was dark enough out that
they might not have known he was black. Every time he took to the
sidewalk, the same edgy anticipation swept over him.
He hadn't eaten at Taco Bell
since, either.
The church didn't appear
disturbed. The boards remained intact. Cracks filigreed the near
yellow walls. Scorch marks seared the outlines of doors and
windows. A few more gang tags marked it: a spray-painted cross with
a six-pointed star on it and two swords crossed behind it; a heart
with devil's horns coming out of its lobes; a pair of dice, one
with a two facing, the other with a six. Around back, planks of
wood, water-damaged furniture, and bits of ruined dry wall filled a
dumpster. A stretch of plywood had been pulled from the rear door.
Steeped in shadows, the narthex devoured the wan light let in by
the loosed board. Upon it falling back into place, the darkness
reigned unabated. The room took on a sinister cast, as if befouled
by an unwanted presence. Lott crept forward, his feet almost
sliding along the granite floor layered in ash. A fine-ground
debris. He turned into the main sanctuary. Slits of light filtered
through some of the uncovered stain glass windows hear the top of
the room. He marveled that no one had hurled rocks to shatter them.
The thin light cast the room in gray murk. A couple of columns,
more decorative than load-bearing, had fallen on one
another.
Lady G stood next to one of the
untoppled columns. Just standing there, not tied up, but with the
awkward stance of someone under duress.
"That's far enough," a voice
yelled from nowhere.
Colvin wasn't plugged into a network, his ego
obscuring the reality of his situation. His ambitions drove him to
become a player, but he was too independent with no one watching
his back. He'd always been that way. It was one of the reasons
Omarosa chose to hit him. No trap car, traveling in thin traffic,
Broyn was easy pickings. Colvin's entire operation was sloppy,
amateurish. It was beneath who they were and he needed to be taken
down a peg.
From her tree-perch vantage
point, she watched the final act play out. She had been following
Colvin since his rash raid on Rellik. Of all the feelings she could
have had, after all he'd done, she still managed to feel sorry for
him. He was her brother after all. She knew him, his ways, his
weaknesses. Most times she couldn't be around him, not when he
raged like this. Simple, brutal, and haphazard, he didn't think,
only lashed out in his pain and anger. There were times when he had
to bear the consequences of his actions, and she pulled away from
him.
But he was still her
brother.
A few of the tiny creatures stepped into
view. Necklace of teeth. Painted bellies. Iron boots. Bracelets of
sharpened edges of iron left burn marks where they rubbed against
their wrist. Their caps varying shades of red. And they looked
hungry.
To Rok's eyes they were
half-naked midgets, more ridiculous than terrifying, and he choked
back a snicker. Raising their legs like baseball pitchers, the tiny
bulbous bodies tilted back as they sent another volley of elf
arrows at them. Something whirred past his ear. Rok jerked his head
to the side. It impacted against the tree like buckshot. Rellik and
Rok opened fire immediately, not certain what their targets were.
King took point, his Caliburn drawn but not firing. Dred began to
chant to himself, his fingers locking, adjusting their
configurations, then locking again. Baylon circled the periphery
just outside the light of the hillside clearing. King, Rok, and
Rellik took cover behind trees. They returned fire as best they
could, pinned down by the advancing horde. Distracted.
"What the fuck are these ninja
dwarfs?" Rok cried out.
"Red Caps. Feared among the fey
folks." Merle squat lower against a tree. He leaned over to shout,
but elf arrows ricocheted passed his exposed face and he withdrew.
"Think of them as less personable pit bulls. With opposable
thumbs."
Rok's tree wasn't wide enough to
provide much cover. He took careful aim at the nearest Red Caps
shooting at him. Swallowing hard, he fired a few rounds. He was
pretty sure he hit one, but the creature seemed to shrug off the
wound. He concentrated on shooting back at them, he didn't notice
the earth rippling toward him.
The ground surged at their feet.
All around them, the thin layer of leaves erupted. Hands clutched
at them, like a horde of vengeful demons upon them. Soil sprayed in
all directions, a cloud of earthen shrapnel. Bodies pressed against
his, dragging them to the ground. Red Caps burst out of the
ground.
Rellik remained quiet. The fey
assassins rose up, a rising tide of hands he let wash over him
before he began firing. His bullets wouldn't be as effective far
away against their tough hide, he knew, but up close, it wasn't as
if they were invulnerable. Fending off gnashing maws, he trained
his gun on their skulls and squeezed the trigger. A tiny head
exploded, spraying the remains of its face across that of its
brother faeries. Claws scraped against his back as he scrabbled out
of their grasp and fired.
"Why are you doing this?" King
pressed his back to the tree, but leaned around to shout at
Colvin.
"Fortune favors the
bold."
King expected something along the
lines of Colvin wanting to draw out his enemies, maybe testing the
resolve of the fragile and tentative coalition. A young un bucking
to prove himself. Little of that seemed to be in play. Colvin
simply did because he had to. Because he didn't know any better. He
dreamed big but didn't have the patience and didn't want to put in
the work required. He wanted what he wanted. Now. Damn the
consequences. Without thought, King's hand reached for his
Caliburn. The action felt right and natural, the situation just and
warranted.
Colvin chanted to himself and the
air shimmered. A green seam appeared, a surgical scar opening up as
another half-dozen Red Caps poured out.
"Can you do something about
that?" King shouted.
"We're on it." Merle turned and
tripped over a branch. Remembering that he hated the woods,
especially his fear of snakes, he scrambled out the way of charging
Red Caps.
His gaze flicked from side to
side.
"Cut off the head and the body
dies." Dred questioned the strength of King's resolve.
Panic rose in Rok and settled on
him, freezing his legs as he fired wildly. The arms grappled about
him. Tiny hands fastened about his ankles. Rok fired at the ground.
An explosion of pain ripped across him as an elf arrow glanced
against his ribcage. At the searing pain, he dropped his gun to
clutch his ribs. More hands appeared, tugging at him like a furious
riptide of flesh. As he toppled to the ground, a Red Cap leapt on
his back. A feral gleam in its eye, it revealed its shark-like
teeth and tore into Rok's neck. The creature bore down in a grim
trajectory through muscle and ricocheted off bone, through his
carotid artery, channeling through his neck, a cloud of arterial
spray spurted.
"Mama!" the boy cried out, then
fell still.
Scarlet streaks splattered across Rellik's
face. Pain drummed behind his eyes in tune with his ragged
heartbeat. A talon grazed his temple as pain arced across his
skull. Staggering back a few steps, a Red Cap leapt upon him. Teeth
tore eagerly into the soft meat of his upper arm. The creature
chewed with relish, then bellowed as bullets from the Caliburn
ripped through it. Ignoring the pain in his arm, a murderous glint
of rage in his eyes, Rellik's balled fist pummeled the sneer from
another creature's face. He pivoted to strike another, the bones of
its neck snapped in his grasp. Three more pounced on him.
Razor-sharp claws drove down toward his snarling face. Drops of
spit flew from his mouth as he struggled against the
creature.
Surveying the scene, Colvin
grinned with a smile devoid of mirth.
There was a time when Lott didn't
particularly care for Lady G. They had found themselves at Outreach
Inc. at about the same time. Outreach was beginning its flirtation
with the idea of using arts to have the kids express themselves.
Lott entered the room, baggy pair of blue jeans whose cuffs dragged
along the ground, white T-shirt, a set of gold grillz, and a light
blue hoodie thrown up to cover the earphones plugged in. His head
bobbed ever so slightly, his fingers tapped out percussive notes in
the air as he let words come to him. Lady G and Rhianna couldn't
content themselves with their drawing or inane chatter, nor could
they pass up a boy at peace. They threw wadded-up paper at him,
driving him to such distraction, he ended up jumping out of his
seat, cussing at them then storming off. The girls giggled in
delight. Luckily, Wayne was there to smooth things over. It was one
of the first times Wayne had really spoken to him. Eventually, he
had the three of them sit down and do a poetry exercise. Lady G
read a piece about fires and mothers which caused Lott to soften
towards her, though he did make fun of her word skills. All it took
was seeing her in a new light.
"You OK?" Lott asked Lady
G.
"I'm fine. Lott, he got a
gun."
"Who does?"
"Me," the voice said from the
air.
It was near enough for Lott to
whir about. He stared in the direction of the sound. "What you
want?"
"Where's King?" The voice had the
slightest of southern drawls. Probably from Kentucky
originally.
"He ain't here."
"I thought he'd be the one to
come. She not important enough for him?"
"She…" Lott preferred to not
think about her and King. Compartmentalizing his thoughts and
feelings no matter the circumstance had become reflex. "No one can
get through to him. You got me instead."
"That ain't the way this was
supposed to go down."
"So what you want?" Lott backed
up a few steps, beginning to circle around, triangulating on the
sound of the boy's voice.
"Let me think." Garlan hoped his
voice didn't sound weak. He hadn't been told what to do in the
event King didn't show. Maybe this was distraction enough to see
the other half of his money. He needed to make sure a clear message
had been sent.
"Lott!" Lady G cried
out.
Her scream pierced his heart. His
attention immediately went to her, all of his fighting instincts
focused on protecting her. A board broke over his back. Its force
drove him to his knees. Lott wasn't one for chess-like
maneuverings. For him, the best path was the straight line. Even if
that meant going through someone. Lott stretched out his arms in a
sweeping tackle, not knowing when or if he'd hit his target. He
smacked into someone after only a few steps into his
charge.
"What the–?"
Lott wrapped his arms low around
Garlan, digging his fingers into his back as if a more secure
purchase made him real. Garlan threw a flurry of punches. Lott
stepped in closer. Covered up as best he could, his head ducked
from side to side. He took the punches with no more than a grimace.
Flexing his jaw, a fresh wave of pain jammed needles into his
brain. The pain was there, but the boy had no steel behind them. He
didn't know how to throw punches well though he could land them
with abandon. The volley of blows caused Lott to release his grip
on him. He raised his fists, prepared for another assault. Holding
his ground proved difficult. The fine layer of dust and ash mixed
on the floor left little traction to be found.
The ash smeared in a spot. The
impression of a shoe. As if the weight had shifted to another foot.
An impression formed and then another in rapid succession. Garlan
circled him, preparing to launch another attack from a different
vantage point. Lott gave no indication that he knew from which
direction Garlan chose to come at him, his gaze firmly affixed on
the dirt of the floor.
Lott charged him again, receiving
a few blows thrown while off balance which bounced off his
shoulders and back. The punches to the side were more swats than
anything with power. Lott jabbed into the boy's gut. Garlan growled
and launched himself at him then snapped his head up to catch the
underside of Lott's jaw with his skull. He slammed through Lott's
defensive stance. His eyes watered, Garlan staggered back and
knocked over the round spindle the group of friends had once used
as a table. Breathing hard, he could taste blood on the inside of
his lip.
The tension left his
body.
"We done?" Lott asked.
"We done."
"You mind telling me what this
was all about?"
"Just a job. Nothing
personal."
"Who hired you?"
Silence was his only answer
followed by the sounds of retreating footfalls scooting across the
floor in rapid succession.
"This was weird," Lady G said.
"It was like watching you wrestle with yourself. Like you was
wrestling your imaginary friend."
"Who you tellin'? Let's get you
home." Lott allowed himself a moment just to take her all in.
Without make-up, without a brush run through her hair, without
clothes carefully coordinated, she was still the most beautiful
person he'd ever known.
"Not just yet. Can we just… go
somewhere?"
"Need to walk it off? Come down
from the adrenaline rush."
He took her hand and she rested
her weary head on him.
"Let's end this," King yelled. His Caliburn
in hand, he ran toward Colvin. With each squeeze of his trigger, a
Red Cap exploded, hit dead center or in the head. The gun was an
extension of him; he didn't have to think or aim, he wielded it
with the skill born of years of use. He cut a swath heading
directly to Colvin. A tide of people lunged at him. Hurling Red
Caps leapt like surprised children, their lashing claws swiped at
the air.
The mad half-fey gestured
furiously, his hand danced about. The occasional green gleam
sparked, but dissipated as if shorted out. King strode toward him
with furious intent. Colvin locked eyes on him, so focused he did
not hear the click of a blade springing to life behind
him.
Baylon fought for his throat, but
Colvin twisted out of the way at the last instant. Not to be denied
his opportunity, Baylon arced the blade again and buried the knife
up to its hilt into the fey's belly. He turned the blade then drove
it up, spilling his insides. Eyes splayed open in shock, his mouth
agape as if pain was an entirely new sensation which caught him
short, Colvin dropped to his knees.
"No!" King said.
Merle stumbled toward them, his
coat wrapped around him. Bloodied and battered, Rellik approached
but remained off to the side. Dred sidled alongside him. King knelt
next to Colvin. A trickle of blood curled on his lips.
"It didn't have to be this way,"
King said.
The rays of the rising sun spread
like a bloodstain of a crime scene photo across the sky. The melody
came to her heart like an ancient memory. A mournful dirge of the
fallen, the loss of family, the breaking of the circle, the song
rooted almost all of them to their spot. At her approach, Baylon
slinked off. He didn't escape her notice, but her anger could wait.
It would have been one thing to die at the hands of the Pendragon,
but at the hands of an ignoble knight? It was an insult to the
memory of the fey. The men parted as she neared. Dred moved toward
her, but Rellik put out an arm to stop him. She joined King,
kneeling alongside him before cradling the body of her brother. She
stroked his beautiful face, lifted him with ease, and stalked off
into the morning.
It was said that when the angels
fell, the ones who fell on land became faeries and the ones who
fell into the sea became selkies. She returned to the
lake.
Rellik surveyed the damage. Rok's
still form rent to shreds, barely recognizable as human. The bodies
of the Red Caps turned to ash without Colvin's vitality to sustain
them, leaving no evidence of their time on this plane.
"I'm not going back, King,"
Rellik said.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm out. I'm done."
King returned his Caliburn to his
waistband. "What does that mean?"
"The game done changed. This
here's for you young bloods. I'm tired. I just want to go
home."
"To Wayne?"
"To family, yeah. Tell Wayne…"
The words didn't come off his lips.
King nodded. Rellik wandered off
in the general direction of Omarosa. All that remained of their
group were Merle, Dred, and King. King remained kneeling, not sure
if he mourned the loss of life or the death of the dream he once
had.
"You must be beloved among men,"
Dred whispered. "All these people rush to protect you. Speak to
your defense. Put their lives at risk for you. Lay down their lives
for you."
"I never–" King began, but words
failed him also. They rang false to his ear before he finished. Who
but he could have issued the call? Who but he would they have
answered for? For what? More violence. More blood. More
death.
"And now what? They all gone.
Went down protecting you. Loving you. All the people who love you?
Gone. They all fucked and you fucked them. It's just you now. All
alone."
"This ain't over," King
said.
"I know. We've got plenty of
story left to write, you and me." Dred turned his back and walked
away.
"It's not true, you know," Merle
said, but in the end this battle was between him and Dred. The last
temptation of the Pendragon.
"What's not?"
"About you being alone. You'll
always have me. Well, sorta."
King searched about. "Where is
he?"
"I, too, have wondered about Sir
Rupert. Always underfoot when not wanted. Not a brown hair to be
found once bullets start flying."
"Baylon." King's voice was
without patience, joy, or strength.
"He's gone. I fear he thinks he
has disappointed the crown he sought to serve. He stays under the
bridge by the Mexican joints by your house. But… perhaps it'd be
best to let things lie. To let some truths, some realities, go
unknown."
A quizzical stare etched on
King's face. He hated the moments when it felt as if Merle read
from a script only he was privy to. A script he could only hint at
rather than say anything directly about. King made a circle with
his finger and Merle nodded that he'd clean up the mess. An
anonymous call to the authorities, from a homeless man who had
stumbled across a body in the woods. He'd be held for questioning,
no doubt. But it meant a free meal. Maybe two.
Better than the days ahead for
King.