The Fall of Polite

by Sam Kench

  Bug grinned. ‘A whole lot of people gave a whole lot of kanabōs to a whole lot of onis.’

  Maisey sighed. ‘Yeah…’

  ‘Is shit fucked over there too?’ Bug asked.

  ‘Not nearly as bad as here, at least not last I heard… Which now that I think about it, was quite a while ago. She said the place was in a panic, economy falling apart, protests mounting more and more, taking some cues from Hong Kong, but people weren’t fuckin’ killin’ each other and shit like here.’

  ‘Well that’s good.’ Bug said with a nod.

  Maisey laughed, ‘Yeah it is good, isn’t it?’

  THEY FINISHED THEIR MEAL and sojourned to the kitchen to sit near the warmth of their cooking station.

  ‘Maisey?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Can I ask a favor?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You know the heroin you took from the desk?’

  ‘…Oh.’ Maisey looked down and away.

  ‘You think I could get a bump?’

  ‘Don’t you wanna kick that shit?’

  ‘Oh I’m past that. I quit now and the withdrawal could kill me… You could take some too, ya know?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just a little. I seen you takin’ painkillers, and I can tell they don’t do as much as you’d like.’

  Maisey stood up, ‘Fuck no.’

  Bug stood up to meet her, ‘Well hey, hey, I’m not gonna pressure you or nothin’.’

  Maisey shook her head and walked out to the restaurant floor. She returned to one of the two downturned chairs and took a seat. The blizzard now surrounded the building. Maisey watched snow swirl violently outside the windows which rattled in their frames.

  A few minutes later Bug stepped out of the kitchen with his hands hidden behind his back. He spoke in a sing-songy voice, ‘Maisey, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  Maisey turned around and saw him hiding his hands. Instantly she reached for her pocket but found only the painkillers. Fuck, gun’s in the backpack. She thought, backpack’s in the kitchen. Shit. Maisey stood up and hid her worry. She wore as pleasant of a face as she could muster, and positioned herself with the table between her and Bug as he stepped across the deep red carpet.

  Bug wore a smile as he moved towards her. The door was too far for Maisey to reach quickly. She would flip the table and get behind it if he pulled a gun. ‘Guess what I’ve got behind my back.’ Bug said, the smile still on his face.

  Maisey shook her head and shrugged again. ‘I don’t know, Bug.’

  He brought his hands in front of him. Maisey shut her eye tight, then when there was no bang, she slowly opened it. He stood before her, a metal spoon in one hand and a 3-gallon tub of chocolate ice cream in the other. ‘Ta-da! There’s a whole freezer full.’

  Maisey shuddered and let out a sigh of relief. Bug took it as excitement.

  ‘Bet it’ll feel good on your, uh-’ Bug gesticulated with the spoon toward her mouth, ‘Your uh, mouth cuts or whatever.’

  ‘That’s nice, Bug.’ She took the ice cream. ‘Do you want some too?’

  ‘I certainly do.’ Bug held the spoon up high, then waved a hand in front of it and revealed two spoons.

  Maisey smirked, ‘That magic?’

  ‘The most basic form possible, I suppose.’ Bug went back toward the kitchen, ‘I’ll get my own, plenty in there.’

  Maisey followed him into the kitchen. Glancing over to her bag, she saw it zipped shut, and the shotgun still on the floor beside it.

  THE NEXT MORNING, they ate again of the restaurant’s bounty. The blizzard had died down over night, and by the time their meal was finished, the storm had been over for a few hours. They gathered their gear and headed for the exit.

  Maisey pulled open the front door, washing herself with sunlight. ‘Fuck,’ she said as her eye landed on the black muscle car with blood on the bumper and bullet holes in the windshield. ‘Fuck,’ she cursed again, this time at herself for not hearing the engine like Charli had despite the car being much closer. She felt her skills inadequate.

  The muscle car was prowling slowly down the street and came perpendicular to the restaurant entrance. The passenger tapped the driver on the shoulder and pointed at Maisey with his Tec-9 as she pulled the door shut.

  ‘God damn it. Backdoor!’ Maisey said as she pushed Bug toward the kitchen and broke into a sprint.

  ‘Give me one of them guns!’ Bug said as they ran.

  The front door of the restaurant was kicked in and the car’s passenger hopped inside. He held his gun out with one arm and fired his semi-automatic firearm across the restaurant floor.

  Maisey handed the shotgun to Bug and withdrew the handgun from her backpack as splinters of wood blasted into the air from the tables beside them. A lighting fixture shattered above them.

  The passenger, his fuzzy collared winter coat billowing open, a bloodstained wife-beater beneath it, chased behind them, still firing his gun as fast as he could pull the trigger. He wasn’t accurate and the gun was prone to jams.

  Maisey grabbed the edge of a table and flipped it over behind them. She ducked down and ran in a crouch. Bug fired a blast from the shotgun over his shoulder behind them, then ducked down as a bullet impacted the overturned tabletop. The passenger ran wide to circumvent the obstacle.

  The two ran through the kitchen and straight to the back door. Maisey fired two shots at the passenger, who pulled back out of the kitchen and freed a bullet casing that was jamming his Tec-9.

  Bug yanked open the back door and stepped outside.

  The muscle car drifted around the corner into the parking lot and came to a crooked stop just a few feet from the back door. Bug stumbled back into the wall to avoid being run over, and before he could raise his gun, the dead-eyed driver threw open his door and fired a long barreled revolver into Bug’s stomach.

  Bug slid down the back wall of the restaurant onto a pile of trash bags that hadn't made it into the dumpster. The snow coated garbage was surprisingly soft and held him like a cushion.

  ‘Shit!’ Maisey yelled as she stepped outside and crouched down beside Bug. Her priority was getting Bug to safety. She grabbed his boiler suit and pulled him back toward the door. The driver stepped out of the car and cocked his revolver.

  Bug braced the shotgun against his waist and fired while Maisey dragged him. Buckshot hit flesh, metal, and glass all at once. The driver collapsed onto the puffy snow; the car window shattered.

  Maisey pulled Bug through the doorway, dragging snow onto the brown kitchen tiles and covering both with blood. A bullet whizzed over her shoulder. She let go of Bug and tipped over, landing on her back.

  The passenger lowered his aim. Maisey grabbed her gun with both hands and aimed from the floor, upside-down at the passenger. She fired, striking his shoulder.

  He stumbled, letting out a pained wail. The passenger slipped in the spilled alfredo and fell backwards toward the floor, splitting his skull open on the corner of the metal kitchen counter on his way down. His wailing stopped immediately and was replaced with a resonating, metallic clang.

  Maisey sat up, dropped her gun, and put both hands on Bug’s wound, holding in blood.

  ‘Make sure they’re both dead.’ Bug struggled to get the words out.

  ‘Keep pressure on that!’ Maisey said as she rose to her feet. While Maisey confirmed their attackers' expirations, Bug laid gut-shot on the floor, trying to plug a leak in his abdomen. He attempted to stand, but found himself unable to. He moaned in pain.

  Maisey returned to him and offered her final pain killer. He shook his head. ‘The smack,’ he said. ‘Please.’

  She begrudgingly complied.

  With a bump of heroin in his system, Bug’s moaning subsided. His voice went fuzzy and his breathing grew slow. His hands drifted away from his bullet wound, but Maisey put them back in place. She found a first aid kit in the employee bathroom and brought it to him.

  ‘Before you…’ Bug drifted away for a mome
nt, then returned with a sputter. ‘Did it go out the other side?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s important that the bullet came out. Check.’ Bug sat forward with Maisey’s assistance and she checked his back.

  It was hard to tell with all the blood, so she felt gently down his back until she found a hole in his boiler suit. ‘Yeah, it’s out.’ She bandaged him and stood him up, then they made their way to the car, Bug’s arm draped over both of Maisey’s shoulders.

  Bug could barely stand even with her help. She deposited him in the passenger seat and took the windowless driver’s seat. The engine was already on.

  ‘STAY WITH ME,’ Maisey said a dozen times on the car ride. Bug gave directions but was at risk of nodding off any time his mouth wasn’t moving. ‘Stay with me,’ she said again. Maisey doubted he had much time left on the earth. She thought there was a chance that returning to the high school and delivering him to the doc might save his life... but he might die on the way, and then she would never find the second drug dealer... and she would never find poor Tommy. She hated to admit it, as she was starting to grow fond of him, but Bug was expendable in her quest to save Tommy. 'Stay with me,' she urged. They pressed on, driving as fast as possible without skidding out on the snowy roads.

  ***

  ‘IT’S THAT.’ Bug said with slightest tilt of his head toward a faded, blue house. He shut his eyes and laid firmly into the leather headrest.

  ‘Okay, you just stay here.’ Maisey exited the car and put on her backpack. She left the shotgun with Bug and put the semi-auto handgun in her pocket.

  She had no hesitation approaching the house. Beside the doorbell was a small, crudely-made sign, “Ring bell 4 drugs”. Subtlety had left the drug trade as soon as it was no longer a necessity. She rang the bell, and stuck her hands in her pockets.

  A minute later the door opened halfway. A tall, lean man holding a baseball bat by its center stood in the frame and said, ‘Money or poker chips. No trades.’ A neck tattoo peeked out from under his collar.

  ‘I have drugs actually. Thought you might like to buy?’

  ‘Hm… probably. What you got?’

  ‘Heroin, coke, meth.’ Maisey reached into the backpack and pulled out the bottom drawer contents.

  He turned and shouted down the hall behind him, ‘We buyin’, Clem?! Lady here’s got hard shit!’

  The voice that responded sounded preoccupied and there was a slight moan in his vocalization; one of pleasure, not of pain. ‘What?! Why are you talkin’ to me right now?! Let me finish!’

  The lean man looked amused with himself and stepped back to allow Maisey inside. ‘Hang around a minute or two. Clem’s busy gettin’ his dick wet.’ Maisey followed him down the hall. ‘Hey you wanna see?’ He chuckled, ‘It’s real gross. Chick’s got serious meth-mouth. I don’t even know how he gets it up every time she comes around. She looks like a goddamn dust-witch or something.’

  Maisey’s ears pricked up at the description. She figured dust-witch was a pretty good label for the dirty addict who slashed her eye. She played into the lean man’s curiosity, ‘Yeah, I wanna see. Sounds fucked up.’

  The lean man laughed. ‘Totally.’ He brought Maisey to the end of the hall and pointed to a door on the right. He held a finger to his lips, then pushed the door open quietly.

  A mid-20s drug dealer sat in a leather recliner, the gold medallion around his neck raising and lowering as his chest heaved. His eyes were closed and his hands were in the dirty hair of an addict on her knees.

  It’s her, Maisey knew, certain it was the woman who blinded her in one eye, even from behind. Same impossibly dusty clothes. Same matted hair. Same boney elbows and scabbed skin. Maisey felt herself lucky.

  Clem opened his eyes and saw his guard and Maisey peeking through the door. ‘Hey, what the fuck?!’ He pushed the meth/crack-head off and put himself away. ‘What the fuck are you doin’ comin’ in here, Johnny?! Who’s this?’

  Maisey drew her handgun and pointed it at the meth-head mother. The room filled with overlapping questions shouted at full volume.

  ‘What the fuck?!’

  ‘Who the fuck is this?!’

  ‘Where’s Tommy?!’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?!’

  ‘Why did you let her in here?!’

  Clem reached behind his chair and armed himself with a sawn-off shotgun.

  ‘I’m here for her. I don’t give a shit about you.’ Maisey shouted to the dealer. The room decreased in volume but not in tension.

  ‘Gun down.’ Said Clem.

  Before Maisey could refuse, Johnny reached over the top of her and wrestled the gun from her grip. ‘I’ve got drugs, a lot of them,’ Maisey said to the dealer. ‘You can have ‘em, free. Just give me her.’

  The crack head chimed in, ‘Oh fuck off!’ Split flew unintentionally from her meth-addled mouth. She turned to the dealer, ‘Just kill her and take the drugs.’

  ‘I’m a businessman, honey.’ The dealer replied condescendingly. He swiveled his gaze to Maisey, ‘What do you want with her? You gonna kill her?’

  ‘I want to help her son.’

  That set the meth-head mother off like a voice-activated explosive device. She screamed and sprinted across the room, grabbed Maisey and threw her to the floor.

  Johnny looked to his boss who shrugged and turned to watch the show.

  ‘You ugly cunt, judging me?! You know how hard it is to be a mother?!’ She kicked Maisey in the ribs.

  Maisey scrambled backwards and took her backpack off. She set it in her lap, unzipped it, and reached inside. Metal clicked within the bag.

  The meth-head mother dropped to the floor and grabbed onto the bag, ‘I know you’ve got another gun in there!’ She snarled, ‘Fuckin’ idiot!’

  Maisey let go of the bag. The mother jerked it away and smirked. She reached inside… and then it was Maisey who smirked.

  The dust-witch’s hand triggered the pressure activated foot snare that Maisey had just set to spring inside the bag.

  She screamed in utter agony and pulled her arm from the bag, metal jaws clamped onto her hand. Her index, pinky, and ring fingers were left behind in the bag. Her middle finger hung on by a sliver of cracked bone.

  Maisey rose to her feet and looked down on the mother writhing on the floor. She looked to the boss, ‘We have a deal?’

  ‘Drugs for that bitch? Sure.’

  Maisey tossed him the bag of drugs and Johnny tossed her back her handgun.

  Maisey squatted over the dust-witch. She figured the mother would at first refuse when asked where her son was, so she skipped the first round of questioning. Maisey placed the gun barrel against the crack-head’s knee and pulled the trigger.

  ‘Holy shit!’ hollered the dealer, inaudible over the woman’s screams. ‘I like me a no-nonsense lady!’

  Maisey found joy in the crackhead’s screams. A true aural gratification at the highest level. She tore the foot snare away from the crack-head without opening it, ripping torn flesh the rest of the way off, then she jammed the hot gun barrel into the meaty gap where her fingers had just been.

  ‘God! Damn!’ Clem exclaimed, wishing he had popcorn to go with the show.

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ The crackhead screamed.

  ‘Where’s Tommy?’

  ‘Block down!’ The woman screamed again, her voice going high, ‘To the- to the left! In the blue dumpster!’ Maisey pulled the gun out of the woman’s meat. The crack head started to catch her breath but her agony had hardly diminished. ‘I’ll take you there. I’ll bring you to him. You’ll see!’

  'No. I believe you.' Maisey stuck the gun into the dust-witch's meth-addled mouth and pulled the trigger. Teeth blew through the back of her throat. Chunky gore splashed the floor.

  'Whoo!' The dealer rose and clapped his hands, a standing ovation for her display of brutality. ‘You want a job?’ He inquired with a big smile on his face, ‘I could use someone like you around here. I pay real well. Don’t I, Johnny?’
/>
  Johnny nodded. ‘That’s a fact.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Maisey took her leave with haste and, a block down, she found Tommy exactly where the crackhead said he would be. The boy looked surprised, then confused, then elated. She helped the emaciated boy out of the bin and told him everything would be all right. He hugged her with more strength than an underfed child should have been able to muster.

  18. THE LONG, COLD HUNT

  THREE BALD HEADS looked down at him. He was flat on his back inside a building, but couldn't remember how he got there. His body was in more pain than usual, but his mind felt sharp and agitated to a state of frenzy.

  Georgie rose to a seated position against the wishes of the neo-Nazis who had revived him. They had pulled the bullets out of him and patched him up. He found himself sitting atop a covered table in the military base’s operating theater.

  ‘Don’t try to stand, you’re barely alive.’

  Georgie ignored him and slid off the operating table. He had three tasks on his to-do list before expiring, and listening to a single word spoken by anyone in his line of sight was not one them. First: find out if Probey is still alive. Second: Recover the guns. Third: Kill Eamon.

  The resolution to his first to-do item came quicker than expected when the youngest of the neo-Nazi's spoke. ‘Your friend, the cop… he’s dead, and everyone you came with is gone. Can you understand me? One of yours betrayed you.’

  He looked young, maybe 19 or 20, and had the embarrassing early stages of a mustache on his upper lip. Georgie began moving around the room, scanning for his weapons.

  The neo-Nazis watched, amazed that he was in motion so soon after the devastation his body had experienced. ‘You need lots of rest and lots of fluids.’

  Georgie moved with a limp, but that was only new knowledge to the neo-Nazis. Georgie had always felt at odds with his body. He thought of his body as a separate person from his mind, the supervillain to his superhero, stopping him from accomplishing all that he could otherwise. It never functioned quite the way he wanted, but he had to give his body some credit. He’s a resilient son-of-a-bitch, Georgie thought of his own heavily damaged torso and limbs that kept on pumping in spite of it all.