Consumed- The Complete Works

by Kyle M. Scott

  Andy saw all of this in slow motion.

  A bystander - as shocked by the turn of events as the drunk would have been, had he any senses left with which to react.

  As the lush’s crumpled form hit the street, time retained its normal flow.

  Andy already knew who the god’s had sent as his angel, even before he turned his head to see who’s body was connected to that wrecking ball of a fist.

  “That shut that little fucker up,” Gemmel laughed. He gave Andy a quick, mischievous wink. “You know, you can use these things, they aren’t just for display, dipshit…”

  Gemmel pressed a button on his walkie-talkie and held it to his mouth. “Bill, we got a dead weight out here. How about you call the cops and have this fuck-head picked up.”

  Smiling, Gemmel lowered the gadget, and clipped it firmly onto his belt.

  On the pavement, the drunk lay still as stone.

  That didn’t stop Gemmel from kicking him hard in the face one more time. Andy recoiled as the man’s nose exploded in a flower of blood and snot.

  “Fun first night?”

  Yeah…a laugh riot, Andy thought, miserably.

  At least it couldn’t get any worse.

  The cops never showed.

  Nor, when Bill – the venue’s manager – had called them, did the emergency services.

  No ambulance.

  No paramedics.

  No nothing.

  Half an hour had passed.

  It was weird.

  Andy almost felt sorry for the drunken, broken bastard.

  Almost.

  He still lay there in the street - an alleyway decoration all too familiar in this god-awful city.

  No one had bothered to move him. No one had bothered to see if he was okay, which, given the fact that his face resembled a work by Pablo Picasso, Andy assumed was not the case.

  We should at least take him inside, he thought.

  Andy watched as the fresh evening rain pelted the man’s blood soaked face and contemplated asking Gemmel if they could do just that.

  Not for the first time, either.

  It didn’t seem like a good idea, though.

  Andy had heard rumors about the massive doorman, and his dedication to his work. He’d spoken briefly with a few long-term barmen earlier and they’d talked of the venues first and last line of defense in hushed, awed tones.

  The giant doorman stood next to him, smoking a Marlboro and whistling in between inhalations, as the kid bled the soaking streets red.

  The look on his new boss’ face told Andy all he needed to know.

  This was the way of things, when Gemmel was the venues doorman.

  The enormous, imposing Gemmel was not a man with whom to fuck.

  Nor to question.

  And he had asked the manager to call for support.

  It wasn’t like he was leaving the man to the fates.

  He can’t help it if it takes them forever to show.

  Not his fault.

  Still…

  What if the kid goes into a coma? His face was a mess.

  Shit, what if he dies?

  Would the monstrous doorman simply leave him to rot out on the curb?

  The guy had been an asshole, but he didn’t deserve this.

  Did he?

  He was going to use that knife on you, a small voice answered in his cold, numb head.

  Common knowledge dictated that you didn’t pull out a blade unless you aimed to use it.

  And Andy had been the pin-cushion that the drunk had had in mind when looking to stick that particular pin someplace,

  He shook the thought off. It made his skin crawl to think what may have happened.

  He should have been thanking Gemmel, not questioning his methods.

  Still…

  “So what was your plan?” Gemmel’s voice sounded exactly like one would imagine a man of his size and gait to sound – like a grizzly bear with a twenty-a-day habit that had figured out the intricacies of human dialect.

  Well, perhaps not ‘intricacies’. That may have been a little too generous.

  Andy had no idea what he was talking about. “Huh?”

  “What was your plan?” Gemmel pointed to the still bleeding, still slumbering wreck of a man saturating in the rain before them. “What were you gonna do if I hadn’t come out here to check on you?”

  “I was…” Andy had nothing. “I’d have handled it.” He muttered defiantly.

  The big man laughed out loud, his mirth causing his bulbous gut to ripple. “Is that right, sunshine? Is that right? Were you gonna ‘cry’ him to death? Maybe stutter him in the face…?”

  “I was…”

  “You were fucking nothing, son! What you were gonna do was have that shitty little blade of his poked into your balls, and then bleed out while this asshole made his way into my bar, where my customers are trying to have a good time. That’s what you were gonna do. Am I wrong?”

  Andy had no answer for him. Gemmel was right. He wasn’t only endangering his own life by doing this job, he was endangering others too.

  He lowered his head, feeling small and weak.

  “Thing is,” Gemmel said, “I like you, Andy. I do. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, so I have to ask myself, what the fuck are you doing out here putting yourself in harm’s way? You don’t belong in this line of work, kid, and we both know it.”

  The big man nudged the drunk, who was now snoring audibly, with his boot. “You see, fucks like this guy, they can smell fear. They’re like wolves, son. They smell it on you…sense it on you…and when they do…”

  He took another draw on his cigarette and huffed in disgust, realizing it was burnt all the way down. He tossed the butt onto sleeping beauty.

  “You’re done,” he stated.

  Andy was about to ask when the help was coming, when they were interrupted by a tall, gangly kid with tied back hair, and a rotund, older gentleman. Both wore the Nice’n’Sleazy logo on their black shirts. Andy recognized them as two on the barmen he’d been introduced to briefly before his shift begun.

  Without speaking, the two men gave a quick nod to Gemmel and began the process of lifting the drunk from the street. It was no small task – the guy was a dead weight and seemed far from regaining consciousness – but together, they managed to hoist him up.

  Andy watched as they slowly carried him round the back of the venue, via a small side alley. The disappeared into the gloom, still saying nothing. Andy thought he could detect that same fear on them that the drunk had detected on himself, earlier.

  As though reading his mind, Gemmel patted Andy on the shoulder. “It’s okay, son. They’re not planning to dismember the fucker. Just gotta get him out of sight till the ambulance arrives, which should be happening exactly…” he looked at his watch, “Oh, about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Will he be alright?” Andy asked.

  “Course he will. Not that I give a flying fuck. And nor should you. He tried to stick you, dumbshit.”

  “I know, but…”

  “Trust me. He’ll be fine. They’ll stay with him till help arrives. He’ll soon be fit to stab someone another day, the spineless fuck. He’s lucky he got off so lightly, the prick. Had a few knives pulled on me in my time,” Gemmel declared proudly. “I had some asshole pull a blade on me this one time…I took the fucking thing off him and bit two of his fingers off for the trouble.”

  Andy was starting to think that perhaps Gemmel wasn’t just a seasoned fighter, but was a little crazy himself.

  “Yep, chewed ‘em up and spat ‘em in his screaming face. Should have rammed that knife up his asshole, too.”

  “Jesus…”

  “That’s the job, son. And I take it very seriously.”

  “I can see that.” Andy hoped he didn’t sound too confrontational. He was beginning to really question the big man’s mental wellbeing.

  “The dress code isn’t just for fun.” Gemmel stated.

  “I gues
s not…”

  “There are things we can let slide, and things we can’t. Doesn’t matter to me if a guy’s hopped up on cocaine, smoked out his mind or tripping out on ecstasy…hell, I’ve ridden that rollercoaster myself a few times, and pills and thrills are what this place is all about. But you know something…?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you’re not properly dressed. You’re not getting in. No exceptions.”

  “Okay. Gotcha.”

  This fucker really did take this job seriously.

  “They pay us well…we do our job well. That’s why after this shift is over, Andy, you’re gonna hand in your notice. This here club has a reputation for being classy. You know how that reputation came about? Me. The owner knows it. The clientele know it. And now that joker with the broken jaw knows it.”

  Gemmel may be a little cracked in the head, but Andy knew he was right. He wasn’t built for this line of work. Not even close.

  “Unfortunately, you’re all I got tonight. The door needs two bodies on it. Company policy. So you’ll have to stick around.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  Andy watched as Gemmel looked at his watch again. The doorman frowned. “Where the fuck is that ambulance, anyway?” he growled. “I don’t want that dipshit anywhere near the premises.”

  “Must be a busy evening for them out there.”

  “It’s always a busy evening in this city, Andy. That doesn’t mean that…”

  Right on cue, the sound of sirens filled the night air, cutting through the wind and rain. It drew closer, coming up from the west. The venue’s entrance rested just off the main strip, and Andy expected to see the ambulance pull in any second.

  The sound receded, leaving only the lashing rainfall in its place.

  The siren had caught their attention, drew their ears out into the wider world, and what they heard out there now that it had faded was…

  Both men stood silently - their attentions caught.

  “What the hell is that?” Andy asked, quietly.

  Perhaps due to their conversation, perhaps due to the night’s natural ambience – a symphony of rain and shouts, whistles and catcalls – both men had previously missed it.

  Not anymore.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Andy whispered.

  “Keep it down.”

  “Seriously, Gemmel…is that?”

  “I said shut the fuck up!”

  Andy shut the fuck up.

  There were sounds out there. Sounds that didn’t belong.

  Distant.

  Barely audible through the wall of rain.

  Perhaps four of five blocks away. Perhaps less.

  It was far off, and were it not for the look on Gemmel’s rugged face, Andy would have put it down to a glitch in his perception, brought on by the night’s traumatic events and no small amount of stress.

  But the sounds clearly held Gemmel fixated too.

  It was almost imperceptible at first, but once Andy’s ears picked up on it, there was no denying it.

  He was hearing screaming.

  Panic.

  And not from one person, either. It sounded like there was a whole crowd of people going nuts out there. A whole damn army of them. Some were easily identifiable as being the shouts and screams of men. Others, higher pitched, were those of women. Maybe even children.

  As he listened, horribly mesmerized, he was able to discern words amidst the madness.

  Run!

  Jesus!

  Please, no!

  Help!

  And there were wails of what could only be people in pain – agony - unmistakable and gut-wrenching.

  Andy felt cold fingers creep across his shoulders. Felt his hair stand on end.

  It sounded like people were being fucking slaughtered out there.

  He stared up the long dark stretch of pavement that led out of the alley and onto the street beyond, feeling a million miles from reality. Disconnected from normalcy. The illumination at the alley’s end, where the main strip began, seemed to reach down into the side-street with a sentient malice.

  “What the hell is going on?” he moaned.

  “I have no fucking idea,” answered Gemmel, flatly.

  Both men stared at the small stretch of street visible beyond where they stood. Andy’s unwelcome crash course in the foundations of security work sliding into meaninglessness as the sirens, and the screams, grew ever louder. They were still some way off, a distant promise of something unthinkable, but Andy felt his balls shrivel as though horror was on his very doorstep.

  He contemplated leaving his post - running like the wind in the opposite direction, down the alleyway’s rear exit.

  Running anywhere.

  Only two things kept him from doing so.

  The giant doorman stood by his side, who had moments ago made it very clear that he was in for the long night, and the fact that Gemmel, for all his brutish arrogance and borderline psychosis, was probably a good guy to have around in a crisis.

  An explosion cut the night air in two.

  Andy stumbled backwards, shaken.

  Gemmel remained stoic as only Gemmel could be.

  “Riots?” Andy asked in a voice that betrayed his fright.

  “Could be,” the big man mused.

  “What do we do?”

  Gemmel turned to him, frowning. “We don’t do shit. We do our jobs.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, dumbshit. Whatever’s going on, it’s got nothing to do with us. We have work to do.”

  Andy wanted to protest.

  He almost did.

  Something stopped him in his tracks.

  Two figures appeared from the left side of the backstreet entrance, stumbling in each other’s arms. No more than silhouettes, they made their way down the side-street just as the drunk had done.

  “Fuck.” He mumbled, bracing himself for whatever the hell this was.

  Gemmel took a step forward, peering into the shadow, fully intent on those approaching them.

  Within moments, the two slow-moving figures stepped into the light of the Nice 'n' Sleazy’s.

  Andy let out a gasp, his hand involuntarily clutching the big man’s arm like a kid holding his daddy. Gemmel only growled and broke his embrace with a powerful swing.

  “Be professional,” he demanded.

  The two figures – a man and women, probably in their late forties – reached out with open hands.

  “Help us!” the man gasped.

  It took Andy a moment to understand what he was seeing.

  They were both painted red.

  What the fuck is this?

  The couple drew closer, and Andy saw the flaw in his observance.

  Both the man and the woman were sheathed in blood. It coated their faces completely. The man’s eyes shone out brilliant white in the dark. The woman’s eyes seemed dulled. Half closed. She looked in shock.

  Gemmel took a step towards the two, while Andy watched on in horror.

  The man was wearing a tailor-made suit, but its color was indiscernible. The clothing was covered in dark blood. He shook uncontrollably as he held the woman. She was sinking lower and lower in his arms. He fought to hoist her higher.

  The woman was dressed for a night on the town. She wore a black dress, no coat, and her arms and legs were bare. Clearly, she’d chosen style and sexiness over comfort and sensibility on this harsh, cold night.

  She would have been a knockout, were it not for all the blood that covered her flesh like a second skin.

  Andy saw no cuts on either her or her would-be protector. They seemed intact, despite their frenetic behavior.

  The blood had to be someone else’s.

  Andy waited for endless seconds, saying and doing nothing, relying wholly on Gemmel to handle this fucked up situation.

  “Please…” the man begged. “You have to let us in…”

  His eyes, round as saucers, oozed horror. The woman’s
thousand yard stare chilled him to his very marrow.

  “They killed him. They…they killed Terry,” he whimpered.

  The woman began sobbing as he spoke. Andy wondered who Terry was.

  “You have to let us in. Please. We need help.”

  “Are you hurt?” Gemmel asked, his voice as flat and devoid of emotion as an android.

  “Yes. No. We…it’s not our blood.”

  “I can see that.”

  “The city…it’s…there’s something wrong with people. There’s something happening out there.”

  “I can hear that.”

  Andy didn’t realize he was about to speak until the words were out. “Is it a riot?”

  The man’s eyes left Gemmel and fixed on Andy. The stark terror seemed to transfer from his gaze directly into Andy’s soul.

  “No…I don’t know. It’s…”

  “Is it a terrorist attack?” he asked.

  The man barked at Andy, “No! Please! Just fucking help us! We need shelter!”

  Andy moved forward, “Okay, let’s get you inside.”

  “Not happening.”

  That was all Gemmel said.

  Not happening.

  Andy had been right, Gemmel was fucking crazy. These people needed help.

  “Gemmel…what the fuck?! Look at them.”

  “It’s not their blood, dipshit.”

  The man’s eyes pleaded to Andy.

  Andy drew his gaze from him and looked at Gemmel.

  “For fuck’s sake. There’s something very wrong here, Gemmel. We have to let them in!”

  Gemmel shook his head and stepped forward. “I see you two have had a rough night, and I don’t know what shit is going on out there, nor do I care much. What I do know is that no one gets into this club without the proper attire.

  He pointed up to the sign that detailed the regulations.

  The man’s eyes followed Gemmel’s finger to the sign, his terror momentarily shadowed by a vague incomprehension, as though the only force more potent than his shock was his utter confusion at what the doorman was telling him.

  Jesus Christ!

  Andy was lost for words.