by Wol-vriey
Sugar Ray laughed. “Just give me one more round.” He gazed at both men with fervent bloody eyes. “Just one more round.”
Freddy looked at the referee.
The ref was obviously conflicted, then he nodded. He too wanted to see the Russian dominance end. And even though this kid looked like he’d nothing left in the tank, he’d seen miracles happen in the ring before.
He sighed. “Okay, kid, you got one more round. After that I’m declaring a TKO.”
Sugar Ray laughed. “Just watch me.”
***
The fight resumed. Vlad came out with guns blazing. The long delay in Sugar Ray’s corner had him thinking his opponent was total walking wounded now.
Ray ducked the haymaker that Vlad threw and went into a clinch with him.
Vlad didn’t like that. “Stop bleeding on me, you pig!” he growled.
He pushed Sugar Ray off of him, then waded towards him flinging punches, any of which—if it landed—would have sent Ray to the emergency room.
Ray kept dancing back, dancing back—remembering Ali in the glory days. He leaned back on the ropes, took some body shots like he’d seen Ali do against Foreman in the ‘Rumble in the Jungle.’
His head cleared a little, he focused his attention.
There were only thirty seconds left in this fucking round—he trusted the ref to keep his word not to stop the fight, not to pull the plug prematurely.
Ray needed an opening to throw just one punch. He saw Vlad’s face ahead of him, ugly as shit.
I mean, I don’t understand why the guy looks so bad—I’ve seen his younger brother and sister, both are good-looking.
Then Vlad made his single mistake of the entire match. Sugar Ray was languishing on the rope looking paralyzed. The ref was nervously counting down the clock, praying this kid’s concussion wouldn’t leave him a vegetable for life.
Confident of his victory, Vlad let his guard down. He dropped both arms to his sides and danced like Ali used to do.
In a flash, Sugar Ray lunged off the ropes and hit him. Caught him flush on the jaw. Hit him with all the strength he could muster in his ravaged frame.
Sugar Ray distinctly felt Vlad’s jaw break under the impact of the punch.
The Russian giant stood, gaping like he’d been sledgehammered. He staggered forward towards Sugar Ray.
Sugar Ray hit him again—this time with an upper cut delivered from the waist. “Here’s one for the road, sucker.”
Vlad toppled over backwards. He hit the floor like a crashing WWII bomber.
Madison Square Garden erupted in noise. The commentators were going wild. The judges threw their scorecards away.
The Russian dominance was over.
The ref gaped at Sugar Ray in astonishment. “He’s out cold, kid.”
Sugar Ray smirked. “Count to six hundred if you want, old man. That sucker ain’t waking up before morning.”
The ref didn’t bother counting. He waved both hands, calling the fight.
Pandemonium ensured. Freddie Crucial and Ray’s corner rushed into the ring and carried him on their shoulders.
“You fucking did it, son, Freddy wept. “I didn’t think—”
Ray didn’t hear the rest of what he said. The screaming in the arena had just taken on a new, scared, tone. He looked up and realized why.
The arena roof was on fire.
His first thought was: Damn, the Russians sure are pissed that I beat their guy. He smirked. Just for this stunt, there ain’t gone be no rematch.
Then the roof burnt away and the transparent dragons flew in and began eating everyone.
All Sugar Ray remembered after that was the wild race to escape alive.
A dragon ate Freddie Crucial. Old Freddie had a limp and couldn’t run. On reaching the entrance to the tunnel leading to his dressing room, Sugar Ray realized that Freddie wasn’t behind him anymore.
He turned back in time to see Freddie bitten in two by teeth like arm-length shards of shimmering glass.
He turned around and ran and ran and ran and ran.
***
Sugar Ray winced now in his reminiscing like he always did. He utterly hated dragons.
Shit, man. How is it that a brother can’t get ahead no matter what the hell he do? First it was slavery and the white man; now the fucking dragons? Why couldn’t the dragons simply wait one hour—no fifteen fucking minutes—so I could have been officially crowned world heavyweight champ? Just fifteen minutes?
No it isn’t even the dragons. This is a divine conspiracy against me, a black man simply trying to get along in this hard cold world.
Wow, he thought, God must really hate me.
Sugar Ray popped out of his daze.
Posh was pointing a gun at him.
“Where the hell is Herbie?” she asked angrily. “I heard he was in here.”
Sugar Ray scowled back at her. “Look, girl, you know I don’t take no gunplay in my bar. Put the damn gun down before I take it from you and whip yo ass with it.”
Posh retreated back four steps. “Oh, yeah? Whip this, asshole!”
She shot holes on either side of Sugar Ray’s head. Bottles shattered, glass sprayed everywhere. A shard cut Sugar Ray above the left ear.
Sugar Ray turned and gaped at his shot-up booze display. Then he turned back to gape at Posh.
“What the hell is wrong with you, girl?”
Posh pointed the gun at him again. “Next time I’m shooting you. Now, where the fuck is Herbie?”
“I don’t know! He was here, then he left. I ain’t his goddamn babysitter.” Blood was dribbling down his face, messing up his white shirt.
Sugar Ray was seriously thinking of jumping Posh and spanking her ass here in front of everyone. Teach the stupid girl a lesson. No one comes into my bar and starts shooting.
What stopped him from taking her on was the don’t-give-a-fuck look in her eyes. He’d seen that look many times before—in the eyes of old winos with nothing to live for, and junkies who didn’t care no more if they lived or died.
Besides, there was something wrong with Posh’s face. She looked like she had clumps of excrement on it. Her hands too. Oh, no. No way am I touching a prostitute covered in shit.
“Look, girl,” he said calmly. “I honestly don’t know where Herbie is. Now please don’t shoot up my bar.”
Posh ignored him. She spun around to face the bar patrons. Everyone looked back, scared as startled rabbits.
“Okay,” she said. “Everyone here knows Herbie Stanton. Where the hell did he go?”
The young man seated next to Blondie and Stacy raised his hand. “He went looking for you.”
Posh pointed her gun at him. “Do I look stupid? If he’s looking for me, why am I here looking for him?”
“It’s true,” the young man said. He pointed to Blondie and Stacy. “Herbie and Bulldog were talking to these two women when a Chinese girl came in and said you were over at his place. So they left to find you.”
Posh mulled on that. She scowled at Blondie and Stacy. “That true?”
Blondie smiled coldly back. “If you’re Posh, it is.”
Posh glared pointedly at Stacy, who finally nodded. “Yeah. Out the door, he went left.”
Posh appraised both women with a hooker’s eye. “So I’m gone two days and Herbie’s already scouting fresh meat.” She smirked. “I’m not jealous—I wish you girls all the fuck in the world.”
She turned to leave.
“Hold on a moment,” Blondie said.
Posh turned back. “What?”
“What do you want with Herbie?”
Posh laughed acidly. “What does it look like I want with him? I intend killing the son-of-a-bitch.”
She left the bar.
Behind her, everyone resumed their drinking activities.
CHAPTER 28
Blondie & Stacy
Once Posh had driven off, Blondie and Stacy left the bar too. Both women strode down the street and into a dark alley.
“Oh, Blondie. I hope we’re in time,” Stacy said, worry etched all over her face.
“It’s okay, we will be. I sensed that Herbie got diverted from his journey home. That’s why I corroborated that guy’s story.”
Stacy grinned. “Can’t wait to fuck him silly.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s do this, Blondie.”
Both women concentrated intensely. Their eyes locked in distant focus. Their faces turned to masks of strain. Their breathing quickened with their mental effort, their breasts rising and falling rapidly.
Then feathered wings sprouted out of their backs. Large vanilla-pink bird wings that grew and grew.
A passerby the alley now would have noticed the bulge in each woman’s crotch revealed along with her wings.
Stacy and Blondie were trangels—transsexual angels.
When their wings were full grown, they took to the air. Wings flapping, they flew at speed under The Grid’s ceiling.
After a while, Blondie pointed to her left. “He’s over that way.”
Both trangels turned and zoomed in that direction.
CHAPTER 29
Herbie
Herbie slowed to a walk. He was fifty yards behind Malone, who he’d now determined to be headed for Chinatown.
Now that he was close to carrying out his plan, Herbie was nervous. He’d never killed anyone before and the Dutch courage he’d been feeding off was running low.
He felt the knife in his pocket. One slice across Malone’s throat was all it would take. (He gulped, remembering what it had felt like when Beth had held her knife to his neck.)
He’d sidle up to Malone like he intended to help him, then . . .
Malone reached the end of Devonshire. He turned left along Summer Street.
Herbie rushed after him to keep him in view, then stopped dead.
Up ahead—like they were tailing Malone—a procession of Forks floated into view, traveling right to left along Summer Street.
Worried that Malone was getting further away, Herbie ducked into a doorway. No point pissing off the kitchen gods. Or even being noticed by them.
Herbie impatiently watched the mob of giant gold, silver, and plastic cutlery float across.
But no matter, he thought, I’ll get Malone for sure before he reaches Chinatown.
Then he noticed something odd. Above the Forks, outside/above the Grid, flew a herd of dragons in file formation. The dragons were flying without flapping their wings. Which meant the Forks were levitating them also.
The dragons and Forks passed. Pondering the relationship between the two species, Herbie prepared to continue after Malone, who was now out of sight.
Then he heard the sound of rustling wings overhead.
Herbie instantly forgot Malone. Panic filled him. Shit. A dragon’s made it through The Grid!
He turned. His panic turned immediately to surprise.
“What . . .?”
Blondie and Stacy landed in front of Herbie. Both flapped their wings twice to clear them of dust, then folded them neatly—like birds would—on their backs.
“You’re . . . You’re . . .”
Blondie decided to help him out. “We’re trangels.”
“Tra . . . tra . . .transsexual angels?”
Stacy grinned sweetly. “We’re here for you—to take you back to Traven with us.”
Herbie overcame his initial surprise. The import of both women’s words sank in. “Traven—Transsexual Heaven? But I’m neither married nor a philanderer. Nor am I dead.” His brow wrinkled. “Aren’t those the conditions?”
Blondie giggled. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Herbie.” She sobered. “Actually, yes, those are the conditions. But we’re here illegally. Our worman died . . .”
“Worman?”
“Our wife,” Blondie said. “She died, and we need a replacement. The council prescribes six months mourning . . .”
“Much too long!” Stacy yelped. Her wings beat furiously behind her, spraying the ground with pink feathers.
“I agree with my co-husband,” Blondie said. “Six months is too long. So we came to Boston to find . . . you.”
“Oh, how I love you, Herbie,” Stacy gasped.
She unzipped her pants, then reached in and pulled out her cock.
Herbie gaped at how hard it was. It looked like a tiny pink cannon with a mushroom head.
Next, Stacy got a tube of red lipstick from her purse. She smeared lipstick all over her penis-head till it looked like a set of lips.
She pumped her hips at Herbie. “Come on, darling,” she said playfully. “Kiss, kiss, kiss my cock-lips.”
Herbie was horrified. He looked between both women after Malone, now once again a distant pinprick.
Why the hell did I send Bulldog away? He’d be able to handle this pair of demented sluts for sure. Shit, I stupidly sent away Gorgeous also—she’d kung fu these girls to bits.
He remembered the knife in his pocket.
About reaching for it, Blondie gripped his hand and placed it over her groin. Herbie felt her erection through her pants, throbbing like a motorcycle engine. “See, I love you too.”
“But . . . But . . .” Herbie was now utterly terrified. He fought to free his hand from Blondie’s and get out his pocket knife. Her grip was iron however, crushing his fingers against the undesired penis.
Blondie pulled him close to her, forced his head down onto her breasts. “You wanted to suck on these, didn’t you?”
“No, no, no!” Herbie shrieked. The body scent coming off Blondie’s immense breasts swirled in his head like pot. It made him weak, sapped his will.
“Yes, yes,” Stacy moaned in pleasure, stepping up close to the entwined couple and humping her lipsticked member HARD against Herbie’s trouser rear. “Oh fucking yeeessss!”
Herbie had no time to even be disgusted that Stacy was ejaculating against his buttocks. He’d realized that Boston was fading away around him. Devonshire Street seemed like it was being wiped from existence.
“Oh, you’re such a dirty girl, Stacy. Tell me: Is he good?”
“Fantastic! The best ever! And he still has his clothes on!”
“Help me, somebody!” Herbie screamed. “Malone! Help me, Malone! Help!!!”
But there was no street anymore.
Just Herbie and the two trangels who’d abducted him.
***
Herbie looked around and gaped in horror.
They were in midair now. Blondie and Stacy were airlifting him towards the biggest skyscraper-beetle he’d ever seen. The building-insect was so HUGE it hurt his mind to conceive the size of it.
“Welcome to Traven, darling,” Stacy said. She leaned to kiss Herbie’s cheek. “It’s your new home. Trust me, you’re going to fucking love it here.”
“Forever and ever,” Blondie added, rubbing her breasts against Herbie’s face.
Herbie made no reply. He lacked words to express the extent of his dread now. Unable to look down at the impossible drop if the trangels let go of him. He instead focused his attention solidly ahead, on the immense monolithic mass he was being relentlessly borne toward.
Traven—Transsexual Heaven.
CHAPTER 30
Posh
On leaving Sugar Ray’s bar, Posh had driven back the way she’d come, via Chauncy and Arch Streets. That meant going right. She couldn’t head left, like Herbie had, because the upper half of Otis—across Summer Street—was blocked off by a skyscraper planted in the middle of the road.
Then, on reaching the Franklin Street junction, she’d remembered that Herbie wouldn’t be driving—she had his car—and she’d be ahead of him. She’d also realized that Herbie would have avoided the Otis Street blockage by crossing to Devonshire Street, which also led home.
So now she doubled back down Devonshire to find him.
***
She noticed a couple jogging toward her and slowed. Is that you, jerk? Start saying your last fucking prayers.
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Fear gripped her when she saw it wasn’t Herbie approaching, but Bulldog. She’d recognize that squat cretin’s build anywhere.
In the headlights, she saw Bulldog’s eyes widen with recognition of Herbie’s pimpmobile. Posh winced. No way anyone could miss its ‘L3t5 4k’ plate number. She also recognized Bulldog’s companion as Sookie Ling’s niece.
The pair ran toward her.
At first, Posh’s fear threatened to overwhelm her. She felt like putting the Lincoln in reverse and hauling ass out of there.
Then she thought: What the hell?
She drove on. She swerved to the other side of the road from Bulldog and Gorgeous and pulled up opposite them. Then she pointed her blaster out through the car window.
“Hey, you two!”
Bulldog smiled nastily. “We’s just coming to find your ass.” He started across the cracked tarmac toward Posh. “So you wanna run away from Herbie, huh?”
Posh shot the ground in front of him.
Bulldog halted. He gaped at the new two-feet-deep pothole at his feet. It smoldered with bubbling tar.
“Just stay back, asshole” Posh said. “I got no time for your shit. Next time that’ll be your legs. Now, where the hell is Herbie?”
For a moment Bulldog looked like he’d call her bluff. Posh tensed to shoot the asinine motherfucker.
Then he just looked at her odd. Dammit, Posh thought. That’s the same way Sugar Ray was staring at me—like I’m leprous.
“What the hell is wrong with your face?” Bulldog asked. “It’s all brown and swollen.”
“You look like you’re falling apart,” Gorgeous added, walking closer. “Like your face wants off your head.”
Posh groaned. I don’t need this crap. I feel worse than I look. But she wasn’t letting that on.
“Just tell me where the hell Herbie is, or I’ll shoot both of you.”
Once again Bulldog looked conflicted over whether to rush her or not. Then Gorgeous squeezed his bicep and whispered something into his ear.