Nomad: A Story from The Reels

by Brian Ewing

  The two men clinked glasses and took a sip of their drinks. They looked back to the wife, who may have been named Jeanie, if Andrick remembered correctly, now swaying to the music while rubbing her arms along the curves of her body. Andrick remembered the motion the woman made as she swooned around and by the time she had turned back to face them, had her bare breasts out. She started to rub them and disrobe herself. She was moving on a beat with the music, which caused Andrick to realize the song had not been random, but more likely their swinger playlist. The woman moved closer to the two men on the couch, completely naked now, and leaned over close enough to potentially take out Andrick’s left eye with one of her nipples.

  Andrick had a plan and it seemed the time had come to execute it. He had explained to the couple that he had just ridden into town and was wondering if he could shower before gifting himself to the couple’s carnal urges. He invited the already naked woman to join him, figuring splitting the couple up would be easiest to kill them. Of course, the husband said that he hadn’t had time to take a shower after work and said he needed to get clean too. The man unbuttoned his shirt, presumably to try and entice Andrick to wash dicks together. Andrick followed the couple into the Master bedroom. Jeanie had notified the men she was going to get started without them. She had pulled out a very large and loud vibrator and crawled into the covers as the two men went into the bathroom to shower.

  Andrick had waited until the man, Dennis or David or something like that, had turned on the shower, before starting to undress. Dennis, or something, had removed all his clothes but his boxers, as he approached Andrick. Andrick felt pulsating behind his eyes as he was ready to succumb to his dark need. Andrick had his boots off and was pretending to unbuckle his belt as the almost naked man came up to him. Dennis threw Andrick’s hands away from the belt and took over. Andrick had not liked someone trying to be dominant over him. He simply smiled at the man and grabbed his shoulders, pulling towards a downward angle. The act served as an invitation to pull out and suck Andrick off, which Dennis apparently was very willing to do. Andrick felt himself on the boulder in the park start to laugh, breaking from the memory just a moment as he remembered what happened next.

  One thin piece of clothing away from having his cock played like a flute from the suburban underling, Andrick did the only thing he could think of at that moment. He pointed to the shower and asked if the shower was supposed to be filling up at the bottom like that. While nothing had been filling up, it threw Dennis off, looking over to the potential plumbing issue. Not seeing what Andrick had frantically pointed out, he turned back while on his knees towards the strange man in his house, hoping to rev up a little sexual mischief. What the man turned back to was a brief shock that coursed his entire body, before fading to black.

  Andrick stood over the limp body, setting a stun gun on the bathroom counter. He buckled his pants back up, put his boots back on, then for good measure checked to see if the man were alive or not. He put his hand on the man’s carotid artery, only to feel void of any movement. Andrick had been mad at himself for getting lost in the moment. He saw two, small burn marks at the temple next to the man’s orbital bones. He did not want to be violated and was afraid of the man touching him, God forbid finagling Andrick’s penis into his mouth before Andrick could make the connection with his stun gun, causing them to both be electrocuted. Andrick rarely had the pleasure of watching two life lights end on the same night and while he killed Dennis, he missed seeing the shine fizzle out.

  Andrick had put the stun gun back in his pocket and walked out to the bedroom to see Jeanie in pure ecstasy. There was a muffled sound from the sex toy and based on the comforter, her legs were spread underneath, welcoming it. She hadn’t even noticed Andrick until he was right next to the bed. The mildly intoxicated woman had no concern in her face that her husband hadn’t followed him out of the bathroom. She flipped open the comforter, inviting Andrick to get started without Dennis.

  She rubbed herself and moaned, in an attempt to get Andrick to concede to her desires. He played along, once again removing his belt. He ran his finger up Jeanie’s shin to her knee, feeling Jeanie twinge with excitement. She got off her back and got on her knees, presenting herself for him to take her from behind. Andrick remembered thinking how insane the woman must have been to put herself in such a vulnerable position in front of someone she didn’t even know. Andrick had climbed onto the bed, however, pressing his crotch which was still sheathed in denim jeans, against her.

  The thought she was about to get fucked by a stranger must have turned her on, Andrick remembered thinking, as she again moaned like she was on set of a pornographic movie. Andrick had reached under the woman on all fours, to grab her breast with his left hand. It was an attempt to pass for seduction, leading her to rise to just being on her knees instead of all four appendages. Once upright, she arched up to keep her wet crotch ground against Andrick’s pelvic region. She looked back to see Andrick’s other hand had something in it. It was the thirty-two-inch black leather belt. He had it wrapped twice around his right hand and before Jeanie knew it, had thrown it around her front as he caught the other end with his left hand. She had looked away from him in an attempt to escape but sadly played right into the position he had.

  Andrick tightened the belt swiftly around the woman’s neck, hearing something pop in the esophagus region. Her hands flailed with no real threat to end Andrick’s grip on her life. Andrick had let up as he saw her hands start to go limp. He had then laid her on the bed and straddled her naked body so he could have a front-row seat to witnessing her life light leave. He waited for almost two minutes for her to get her wits about her. She had tears streaming down her face and nothing could escape her throat other than a wheezing sob. Andrick had smiled at her and waited another five minutes for her to calm down. She was extremely upset but after a few minutes, became less frenzied and more confused. It was then, still straddled over her naked body, Andrick took a small throw pillow and put pressure over her neck.

  Andrick watched from his position of looking down at her, waiting for her to lose motion in her arms, before moving in closer to her face. He could see capillaries breaking apart within her corneas and upper cheek area. The pillow was the perfect size to constrict her airflow but still allow him to see the full amount of fear flooding into her face. He had told himself to take note that a throw pillow is a very good option when suffocating someone if the opportunity were ever to present itself again. Putting more of his weight on her neck via the pillow, her face started to turn a grotesque blue-ish before finishing in a lavender tone, as her eyes dimmed to emptiness. Andrick slept in the bed next to Jeanie’s corpse that night. He remembered it as being one of the best nights of sleep he had ever encountered.

  “Andrick, you’re up early,” An approaching Mason had said, startling Andrick back into the present.

  Still cupping his coffee, now half-empty put on his charm and replied, “You know what they say, Mason. The early bird gets the worm.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “What do you mean you are going out of town, Sisto? You made a deal with me. You are supposed to be at this grand re-opening bullshit, as the Corden’s requested.” A furious Super Dave exclaimed.

  “I am only gone for a few days. I will be back way before Friday.” Sisto said.

  Sisto was waiting in the lobby with a small backpack and duffle bag of clothes and supplies. He was waiting for Fitz Ackerman to show up so they could get on the road and head to Mustain to meet up with someone named Púca. Apparently, Púca and Fitz were prospects together and over the years, stayed in touch, as Fitz grew out of the club life, and Púca had grown deeper into it.

  “What the fuck happened to you? You get in a car wreck?”

  Sisto looked down at his outfit, impressed with himself. If Super Dave thought he was really hurt, then most of those bikers would excuse Sisto for riding bitch to Fitz. He knew he would probably get shit regardless, but he didn’t want to risk driving and
losing himself to The Reels.

  “I’m fine,” Sisto finally acknowledged. “Look, you need to calm down, Dave. I will be back in time for the re-opening.”

  “Thanks, Sisto. I will have that stuff done in your apartment by the time you get back.” Dave said with relief in his voice.

  Super Dave, with who Sisto tried to avoid as much physical contact as possible, smacked his shoulder in appreciation. The human contact threw Sisto right out of his personal space and into Dave Carlsen’s headspace. To Dave, it must have looked odd as an instant shutter, followed by Sisto starting to gag and cough. Dave immediately stepped back, not wanting to catch what he thought Sisto potentially had. Once Sisto caught his breath, he looked back at Dave with glossy eyes from the gagging.

  “You motherfucker.”

  Super Dave heard the stories, like everyone else, but never gave two thoughts to Sisto being a real psychic, as long as the bills were paid on time.

  “What?”

  “I was just suffocated by Italian dressing, due to your overwhelming sense of panic.”

  Confused, Super Dave skeptically looked at Sisto, “My panic? What am I panicked about?”

  “Mr. Carlsen,” A booming voice from the manager’s office called out towards the two men. “I need you to go up to Mrs. Barrington, on the second floor. Her garbage disposal is on the outs again.”

  The two looked at Fred Corden a moment before Sisto furiously whipped his gaze back to Dave.

  “Dave, I know you don’t tend to believe what you hear about me, so I will keep this brief. I have visions of the past, but also the future. You touching my shoulder just threw me into your pathetic life, and you know what it showed me?”

  Super Dave Carlsen just looked, waiting to hear.

  “I saw you go to Mrs. Barrington’s apartment and lazily knock loose her gas pipe while unscrewing the disposal. You didn’t check it, probably because you are higher than Hans Gruber’s nosedive off Nakatomi Plaza most of the time. She ends up dying from methane poisoning.”

  Super Dave didn’t look too super at that moment, as the minimal color that usually graced his face dribbled away.

  “You better get your shit together, Dave. If I come back to this place on fire one night after work, I am going to find out exactly what happened. You better bet your dick that if you have something to do with my home getting charred, Fred and Teri will be the first I tell.”

  “Sisto, c’mon—”

  “Don’t c’mon me, Dave. You need to lay off the fucking drugs, dude. Seriously.”

  Fred Corden called over to Dave again, allowing him to escape the dose of shaming Sisto had tried to instill in the squirrelly drug addict.

  Sisto heard Fitz’s motorcycle pull up and headed out to the front of the lobby.

  “Wow,” Fitz said, taking off his sunglasses upon Sisto’s approach. “Ama wasn’t joking about the shit you two bought.”

  Sisto had visited Ama that morning before heading down to the lobby. He hadn’t wanted to ruin their last moments together for a few days by talking about her night before with Fitz. They performed their ritual of small talk. Ama was about to start a conference call with Winter Pierce when he was leaving. She gave him a tight hug, whispering for him to come home in one piece. The Reels, in its sick perverse humor, didn’t shed any light on how her previous night went, which may have been a blessing in hindsight. He promised her he would and included that he would make sure Fitz came back unscathed as well.

  Sisto threw the handles of his duffle bag up to his shoulder, to wrap towards his back as he climbed on the passenger seat of the motorcycle. “Onward, my good man. We have bad guys to catch.”

  After a brief stop at Caden’s Den to get some cool gadgets to try and document any wrongdoings, the two men were ready to head off. Fitz had told Sisto his favorite hoodie that he had been wearing would be fine for the road, but to cover his black denim vest portion of the hoodie, with a beaten, worn black leather vest that Fitz handed to him. It was blank but could see a patch that had been on the cut, had been removed. Sisto had already been in his surgical knee brace and sling, and his thrift store boots. As he grabbed for the vest, Fitz noticed the multiple skull rings on Sisto’s free hand.

  “What is that shit?” Fitz asked.

  “Skull rings. Found them at the thrift store.”

  “You’re pretending to be a biker, not a pirate. Lose them. That shit is just in the movies.”

  Frowning, Sisto took off the rings and put them in his jacket pocket. The two men spoke briefly to Culpepper who had been doing paperwork. Bell was in a meeting with Jenkins and Mayor Maitland, so Sisto told Culpepper to let Bell know they would check in later.

  The ride to Mustain was a little under an hour and to Sisto’s surprise, had been really enjoyable. Sisto was somewhat upset that he could no longer operate heavy-duty machinery on a regular basis. He could see himself owning a motorcycle of his own one day. He had no idea how to operate one, but the fresh air and warm sun hitting his face as they rode North to meet up with Fitz’s old crew, had made him want to learn. They took the I-83 the last half of the way, exiting off Archibald Lane. They had gone on that road about six more streets before pulling into a service garage with the name Púca’s in painted cursive written across the entrance.

  The four garage slots were open, all filled with vehicles that were in the middle of last-minute tune-ups. Fitz led Sisto into the back, past the work front, around the corner to an office.

  “Wait here a minute. You remember your cover story, right?”

  While the two were picking up their surveillance equipment at Caden’s Den within SCPD, Fitz had explained how Sisto would fit into the mix. Sisto and Fitz had done time together in Woodford Max. Fitz explained to Sisto that he had been incarcerated for armed robbery, while a prospect for a now-debunked crew named Night Guards. The group had been disbanded after a huge gun-running sting had sent the majority of them to prison for life. Sisto and Fitz met in Woodford ten years ago when Fitz was up there doing a nickel for possession of a deadly weapon and aggravated assault. They crossed paths again recently.

  Sisto nodded that he knew his role and was ready to get this situation done. He started to smell and taste steamed vegetables. The taste was bad, but the stench smacked the back of his nasal cavity like it was delivered by a baseball bat. Sisto realized that was not his adrenaline that he was being invaded by, but Fitz’s exuding endorphins.

  “Hey, it’s gonna be fine.” Sisto tried to assure Fitz.

  Fitz shook it off and focused on the moment, accepting Sisto’s words to be the truth. Fitz knocked on the door and waited a few moments before a heavy, bearded man that looked like he got lost four months back while trying to find a shower, greeted the two men. The man was not physically fit in any sense of the word but held an intimidating presence as he looked over both Fitz and Sisto.

  “Tiny, let my boy in.” Sisto heard a distant voice on the other side of the door.

  Tiny, if you will, stood back and let Fitz enter the room. Tiny started to shut the door again, but not before giving Sisto a nice scowl, letting him know he could take shits larger than his height. Sisto tried to remain inconspicuous, but there was no bench or chairs or anything in the hallway. He simply looked at some of the framed posters and articles that littered the walls. He felt incredibly dumb, wondering what it must look like to the grease monkeys looking over from the garage stations. Imagine, doing real man work and removing and replacing carburetors and shit, to look over at this crippled man inspecting party pictures as if he were at a museum exhibit. Sisto heard some rumbling behind the office door, then silence, laughing, then finally the squeak of the hinges as the door opened again. Tiny, poked his filthy mug in Sisto’s direction, nodding to indicate he could enter.

  Sisto walked in and did a quick look around. He learned from movies like The Negotiator with Samuel L. Jackson, and personal guilty pleasure of his, Metro starring Eddie Murphy, that when entering a potentially dangerous space, know
your surroundings. Luckily for Sisto, the room was nothing that he had been expecting. It was filled with an Aroma of burnt coffee, cigarettes, stale beer, and a pinch of Tiny’s swamp-ass. The space was much smaller than he was expecting and only held five people at the moment, including Sisto, Fitz, and Tiny. The two unknown men were not seemingly in a hurry to approach and greet Sisto. One man, sitting on the end of a dark leather loveseat, looked like a number two type. He was quiet, looked mad, smoked his cigarette, and had a general look like he would snap your neck as soon as he was given the word. That meant the man in his late thirties or early forties in the large leather chair, must have been Púca.

  Púca was not what Sisto had expected. The man behind the desk was clean-shaven, with a tightly cropped streak of white taking over his dark, Irish red hair. The man looked like he could have been in a three-piece suit just as easily as jeans and a leather vest.

  “Mr. Sisto. I have heard good things about you.” Púca greeted him. “I would shake your hand, but it looks like you have been through quite an ordeal recently.”

  Sisto, pleased with the approach he took with the brace and sling, simply nodded. Sisto could play it one of two ways, quiet like Christopher Walken smoking over on the leather couch, or himself. Sisto knew he would have to start bumping into anyone he suspected of going on a killing spree at the gathering that was set up later that evening. He was perfectly fine with staying quiet in the background for the time being.

  Púca stood up to introduce his crew to Fitz and Sisto. “This is my VP, Cary.”

  Sisto had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing.

  You’re telling me that the guy on the leather couch that looks like he would put a cigarette out in your eye, then stab your mother, is named after a girl?

  Sisto quickly realized the name was also shared by a telekinetic, lunatic teenager in Stephen King’s debut novel, Carrie, and quickly lost its amusement.