Poor Cultivation (The Slayer of Heaven Book 1): A LitRPG Wuxia Series

by Alan Bard

  She was twenty when I was born. I was the reason she didn’t get an education and didn’t marry a good guy. Of all the men I could remember, Mario was the most disgusting one. He had only recently come to live with us. He didn’t have a steady job, but he wasn’t ashamed of it, nor was he shy about bossing us around. The worst part was that my mother listened to him!

  “Why did you come in so late?” she asked in a monotonous voice, without inflection.

  “I was at Meg’s,” I replied, being almost honest with her.

  She sighed heavily and leaned against the doorframe.

  “How was school?”

  “Nothing new. Boring as usual,” I lied.

  I walked into the bathroom and washed my face. In the mirror, I saw anger fade from her face and be replaced with disappointment. If she really cared, she would’ve known that I had been skipping school for a week now.

  Before Mario, we used to have dinner together. We’d chat, share experiences... But everything was different now.

  Feeling hungry, I went to the kitchen, where I found half a pizza in the fridge. Breaking off a slice, I put it in the microwave. Once it had been warmed up, I took a bite and then rolled it up, ready to devour it, but my appetite was instantly gone when Mario entered the kitchen, scratching his hairy belly. When he saw me, he frowned and pulled at his mustache.

  “You’re back already?”

  “Evenin’,” I said with my mouth full.

  He slowly walked to the fridge.

  “At your age, I was already earning a living, and I didn’t need anyone’s money.”

  “It’s a pity that you need my mom’s money now,” I retorted between bites.

  “Do you have any idea whose food you’re eating? That’s my pizza, I was saving it for breakfast.”

  “Think of it as paying rent,” I snapped.

  Giving me a menacing look, he walked past me. I didn’t turn around as I was too busy eating. But then, a blow to my cheekbone turned both me and the chair over.

  “You little shit!” Mario hissed. “You should know your place.”

  You bastard!

  He was looking down at me with a grin on his ugly face, and I felt rage course through my veins.

  Spitting blood and pizza crumbs, I jumped up and ran to the sink. I grabbed a knife with every intention of sticking it in his fat belly.

  Every second spent in jail will be worth it...

  Mario grabbed a chair and held it out in front of him, backing away.

  “Bianca! Get your crazy son away from me!”

  Mom rushed into the kitchen. Seeing me with a knife, she gasped and stood between us, arms outstretched.

  “Nick! Drop the knife!”

  I spat blood again. “This asshole hit me!”

  “Please, put the knife down,” she pleaded. “We’ll solve this in a civilized manner!”

  “Do you think this is civilized?!” I shouted, smearing blood all over my face with the back of my hand.

  “You should’ve seen what this lunatic was doing,” Mario complained tearfully. “He insulted me and wanted to kick me out.”

  “You’re a filthy liar…! You’re the one who…”

  I found myself making excuses, which made me even angrier.

  “Mom, don’t you see what he’s doing?!” I took a step toward him, and tried to push her away, but she hung on my arm.

  “Nick! Calm down, please! I know you’re jealous of Mario, but I have a right to be happy, too…”

  My arms dropped, and I took a step back.

  “Jealous...? Happiness...? With him? What’s wrong with you?! He hit me first! I’ve no intention of living in the same house as him!”

  She didn’t move, and it all became crystal clear to me. Turning around, she whispered something into Mario’s ear. He backed away and disappeared into the next room.

  “You pig!” I shouted after him.

  Resentment extinguished the flames of anger. She had chosen her lover over her own son. Why was I surprised? I hadn’t had a family for a long time; the only ones I could count on were my friends from the Burrow.

  I could’ve threatened to report Mario for assaulting a minor. Not to mention that he had tried to kick me out of my own home. But I had long ceased to consider myself a child, and asking the cops for help was shameful.

  “Move,” I said coldly, but Mom just shook her head, her face covered in blotches.

  “I won’t touch your boyfriend. Just let me go.”

  A sharp sense of injustice twisted my insides. I pushed her away and went to my room. There was an old trunk in the corner, and a poster on the wall: a biker on a motorcycle with crossed swords on his leather vest. His hair was free to flutter on the wind of the old road. On the horizon was a silhouette of a ruined town. When I was a kid, I used to call him Connor, after Connor MacLeod from the movie Highlander, which left quite an impression on me.

  I opened the trunk, took out a pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, a jersey, and a hundred dollars’ worth of savings. Then I pulled a travel bag from under the bed and packed up in a hurry.

  As I was doing this, Mom came into the room and sat on the floor next to me, sobbing and rubbing her eyes.

  “Nick,” she sniffled. “Do you have anywhere to go?”

  I was hoping, right up until the last moment, that she’d ask me to stay. I was a fool. I definitely didn’t belong here anymore—the Burrow was my true home.

  “Anywhere is better than this shithole.”

  I zipped up my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, took one last look at the poster of my childhood hero, and left the place I had once considered my home. When I got downstairs, I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Archie.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he grumbled.

  “I’ve thought it over. Count me in.”

  Chapter 2

  THE WAREHOUSE

  I was grateful that no one was asking questions about the bruise on my cheekbone, or why I was spreading my sleeping bag on a pile of rags. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened. I was homeless now, a vagabond, just like them, and they were the only ones I could count on. My head hit the pillow and I fell into a strange vivid dream.

  I woke up to Big Head swearing. Archie was standing in the middle of the room, shining a flashlight in his face.

  “What the hell?!” Meg rubbed her eyes and asked in a sleepy, angry voice.

  Shorty was awake as well.

  “Come along,” Archie said. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  Without hesitation, Meg changed from her pajamas to her cargo shorts and a t-shirt. I slept in my clothes, so I just knelt to roll up the bag, but changed my mind in the process. Standing up, I took it by the corners and gave it a good shake. I had never noticed how dusty and full of cobwebs the room was.

  The sun had just risen. We were walking in an unknown direction through a mostly abandoned industrial zone with graffiti-covered walls. I was thinking about my future. This robbery was a good way to get a foothold in the Burrow, to fit in once and for all. I’d decide what to do next afterward. Maybe I’d become a real gangster. My future still seemed vague and uncertain, but I had the feeling that something was waiting for me out there. No one would be telling me what to do anymore. My fate was in my hands!

  Our destination was a courtyard surrounded by abandoned, one-story houses. A pickup truck with flat tires was rusting in the yard. The roofs of the buildings were leaky and overgrown with grass.

  Archie looked around and kicked a rusty can. “Wait here. I have a surprise for you,” he said in a tone of someone who was definitely up to no good.

  He returned with a bundle in his hands, squatted, and unfolded the faded fabric that was stained with grease. I saw two pistols wrapped in oiled paper.

  “A 32-caliber Smith & Wesson and a Glock 17,” Archie said, as though he were talking about his friends.

  “How did you get that?” Meg gave him a look filled with surprise and admiration.

  Archie smile
d smugly. “I took them from this one place that I ransacked. You all know how to shoot, right?”

  I didn’t share their excitement.

  “You said that we’d do this without killing anyone. Listen, guys, this isn’t what I signed up for.”

  “We’re not gonna kill anyone. I brought them for self-defense. I gotta tell you, you’ve come up with pretty a lame excuse for not knowing how to handle a gun, dude.”

  Oh, Archie, you really think provoking me is going to work?

  I saw a hint of a smile on Shorty’s face, which was more insulting than any words would’ve been. I wasn’t a very good shot, if we were being honest, but I could hit a can from fifty feet away—Lucas, one of my mother’s boyfriends, had taught me how to fire a gun. He was a decent man, and he lived with us for a while. One summer, he took me to a shooting range.

  “It ain’t an excuse, I know how to shoot.”

  “Prove it!” Shorty said mockingly, and I accepted her challenge.

  I went to one of the buildings and drew three circles on the wall. Then I took the Glock, checked the clip, walked back some sixty feet, and fired.

  Archie whistled and ran over to check the targets. “One bullseye and two in the middle circle.”

  “Man, that was awesome!” Shorty exclaimed.

  “Sorry for being a dick, bro,” Archie said.

  Big Head and Meg shot from the Smith & Wesson. The latter missed once, and the former twice. I gave Big Head a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  Archie shifted uneasily. Pushing his bangs out of his blue eyes, he gave me a strange look.

  “Shorty and I will take the guns. She’ll be on the lookout. As I’ve said several times before, we will not kill anyone!”

  He carefully wrapped the guns and tucked the bundle under his arm. He slapped Shorty’s butt when she came closer, and she looked at him with adoration. However, Archie didn’t seem to be looking at her in the same way. For a second, I hoped that I still had a chance.

  “Now, let’s go see the place.”

  The grocery store was located in a block populated mostly by Hungarian immigrants. The storefront was overlooking a park and the main street. The warehouse entrance, littered with garbage, was across the street. One of the workers leaned against the wall, smoking, and talking on his phone.

  “This is the place,” Archie whispered. “I’ll show you where the cache is, and then we’ll discuss the details in a more private place.”

  One block down, Archie walked over to an old Ford parked on the side of the road and opened the back door. Inside was a stroller.

  “To answer your next question, no, I didn’t steal the car,” he said. “It’s unregistered and we won’t be driving it. We’ll be using it for storage. In the morning, Shorty will put the loot in the stroller and bring it to us. A mother taking her child for a walk won’t raise any questions, will she?”

  We then went to the park and sat next to a group of bums who were noisily arguing with each other. Archie took out his phone and a folded piece of paper with a hand-drawn plan of the building. Having unraveled it on the grass, he picked up a twig and pointed with it at the drawing.

  “Here we have the entrance to the store, and here’s the gate leading to the warehouse. Nicky, I saw you looking at it—don’t even think about it; that whole place is under surveillance. But there are no cameras around the warehouse, which makes the task much easier.”

  “Makes it easier? How is it easier if we can’t get inside?”

  “I’ve told you that Whiskey is a drunk. I once borrowed money from him and didn’t give it back. I went to see him yesterday and promised him to pay back over a drink. We’re supposed to meet up at ten this evening. That’s an hour after the store closes. He’ll open if I knock.”

  “Aren’t you setting yourself up?” Shorty asked doubtfully. “You’re the one he’s waiting for.”

  Archie gave her a condescending smile.

  “All will be well, you’ll see!”

  Even Meg sensed that there was something he wasn’t telling us; she exhaled cigarette smoke and said in a deep voice, “That’s just stupid. What if he remembers you and tells the cops? Chances may be minimal, but they still exist.”

  Lost in thought, Archie stared at the grass.

  “Okay, change of plan. Big Head will knock on the door and say something like, ‘open up, it’s me.’ Whiskey opens the door, Big Head and Shorty knock him out. We go in and grab what we can. I’ll be in the clear, and the evidence will point to the local gangs.”

  “Knock him out? How big is he?” Meg asked.

  “He’s a scrawny guy, about your height. It’ll be a piece of cake. Tie him up and gag him once you’re done.”

  The plan seemed straightforward, but I knew that fortune favored the bold. I was more interested in where we’d put all the stuff; a few backpacks didn’t seem like they’d be enough. Ideally, we’d need a transport. As I gave it a thought, an idea occurred to me.

  “I can steal a car. We can put everything in it.”

  Meg leaned her head back and looked up at me with mischievous, laughing eyes.

  “That’d be really cool! Let’s go poke around and see what they have in the store,” she said, loudly chewing gum.

  Meg was a real punk-rock rebel with a plethora of issues. She was jealous of Shorty’s perfect figure, and she always tried her best to tease her, but wasn’t very successful at that.

  Archie shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense if we all go there. Nick and I will have a look around. Or... Nick, can you handle it on your own? We need a list of the most valuable items. Maybe you’ll figure something out about the cameras. I’ll be interested in your opinion. I’d like to avoid being seen there. Once you’re done, we’ll see about changing the plan.”

  Only then did it dawn on me that this was no longer a childish prank. My heart was pounding, and there was a lump in my throat. But I didn’t let it show. I just grinned.

  “Okay, see you at the Burrow!”

  I made a couple of mental notes about the store and its surroundings and went back to my new home. Shorty and Archie were lying on the couch, and Meg was sitting on the armrest, swinging her legs. Big Head was squatting by the wall.

  “Young staff, two cash registers, cameras in the corners,” I said. “There’s nothing expensive. Dodging the cams is a piece of cake.” From my jacket I took out a stick of sausage that I had stolen, and broke it in half. Meg clapped her hands. “One door leads to the warehouse.”

  Everyone listened with bated breath. Everyone except Archie, who already knew all this.

  “Look.” He leaned forward and spread the map on his bony knee. “Our plan is as follows: Big Head and Meg will knock on the door. Whiskey, waiting for the promised booze, will open it and they’ll knock him out. Shorty, Nick, and I will go in and take the goods. Nicky, don’t forget to bring your tools.”

  I squatted next to Big Head. “And?” I asked once he had finished talking. “Are we just going to carry all of that in our hands?”

  “You suggested stealing a car, but that’s too big of a risk. I trust you, but it’s not worth it. So, yes, we’ll carry the loot to the cache. We’ll take only the most valuable items. Look.” He traced his finger across the drawing. “Here, behind the door, is the warehouse: boxes, crates, empty containers, that kind of stuff... On the left is Whiskey’s room, that’s where he lives. In the next room are the accountant, the manager, the computers, and the safe. Between these rooms are a toilet and a shower. As far as I remember, the doors in the warehouse aren’t secured; we just need to stay out of the store.”

  “All this sounds a bit fishy,” Big Head said. He seemed to be having doubts as well. “What if Whiskey doesn’t open? What if we don’t knock him out?”

  “Just try your best. You can still tie him up and shut his mouth. One more thing, our faces will be covered with bandanas…” Archie touched his chin. “If something goes wrong, just run away. If you’re caught by the police... Don’t
say anything. Well, that goes without saying, doesn’t it?”

  “You only need me to try and open the safe, right?” I asked.

  “Yes. First, we take the computers, Nick works his magic on the safe, then we take the food. We move out at nine-thirty. Don’t forget the gloves.”

  ***

  As Big Head’s and Meg’s silhouettes disappeared in the light of a distant street lamp, we hid in the shadow of an old, five-story building. We all had the same clothes—sweatpants, t-shirts, baseball caps with red brims, and black rubber gloves—but different bandanas around our necks.

  We were about fifty feet from the storehouse door.

  “What if they can’t handle Whiskey?” Shorty whispered. “What if he’s tough? You never know, looks can be deceiving... Let Nick back them up.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Archie. He thought for a few seconds, then nodded and looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  I followed Big Head and Meg, but didn’t let them see me. I hid behind a corner near the gate. My heart was pounding as I pictured us ending up in jail. This was no longer a petty theft; it was a real robbery. Perhaps Archie had been right, calling me soft.

  I peeked behind the corner and saw Big Head hiding a bat behind his back. He knocked on the door as Meg stood still, looking around furtively, holding the rope in her hands.

  A loud, heavy voice came from the inside, “The fuck do ya want?”

  My heart skipped a beat—such a voice didn’t fit a skinny drunkard, but a big, scary guy. I wondered if there was another security guard there. There was also a chance that Archie had lied about the guy. Big Head seemed to be thinking the same thing; he turned around as if seeking support from Archie, but he wasn’t there.

  “Whiskey, it’s me. I brought booze. Open the door!” Big Head’s voice was hoarse with excitement, which made it sound older.