THUGLIT Issue Twenty

by Justin Bendell

  I've enclosed another snapshot as an incentive. It's a bit naughty, so don't let the guards see. I had my Bobby take it. For a little guy, he's pretty good with the camera! Anyway, there's plenty more where that came from.

  Love and kisses,

  Your Ginny Bird

  Dear Mr. Williker

  I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me last week. It was very enlightening. In fact—and please do not take this the wrong way—I must admit that you were not at all what I expected. I was impressed with how intelligently you spoke on the subjects of criminal justice and psychology. Do you have a background in law enforcement?

  Regardless, I am in your debt. The insights you provided will make a great addition to my dissertation, as will the interviews I conducted with your so-called groupies. They are quite a possessive bunch. It wasn't easy to convince them my interests in you were strictly academic. Good thing I am a skilled liar.

  Would it be possible to set up another meeting? I have some...follow-up questions.

  Yours,

  Candace Bennington

  Mr. Jonas Williker,

  I have yet to receive a response from you, which leads me to believe one of two things:

  You believe you deserve hell. If that is the case, let me remind you that we ALL deserve hell. It is only by the blood of Christ, his sacrifice in our stead, that we are washed clean of sin and permitted entry into the gates of heaven. The egregious nature of your crimes aside, there is very little difference between you and I.

  Either that, or you are a prideful man who takes pleasure from spitting in the face of God. Such defiance can only result in destruction. Proverbs chapter 16, verse 5 says: Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished.

  Do you think you are too good for the grace of God? You will burn in hell for your arrogance, along with all the unrepentant fags and baby-killers. Consider yourself warned.

  Yours in Christ,

  Abigail Tinder

  Alright, Buster,

  I don't know who this Candace slut is or what kind of spell she's got you under, but I will tear her fucking eyes out. Imagine my surprise when I turned on the TV, all set to read your latest letter and get a little well-deserved alone time with my man, only to hear you propose to some random bitch in open court! Are you doing this to spite me? Is it because I couldn't be there with you? Well guess what? I left the kids at Mom's while she was sleeping, and by the time you read this I will be halfway across the country on my way to the courthouse.

  Do you think this whore knows you like I know you? Do you think she sees through all the fame and the bullshit to the vulnerable person you really are? I was there for you when no one else was. I don't care if you did kill all those people, you have brought so much joy into my life, and I am not about to let that go. So you tell this piece of trash I'm coming for her, and if she's still around when I get there, I'm going to destroy her world.

  Your future wife,

  Mrs. Ginny Williker

  Dear Purple,

  I took these pictures of my pussy for you. They are part of a larger series based on your life's work. I consider them my crowning achievement as an artist and a monument to your greatness.

  Do they have the Internet in jail? If so, you can see more at my personal website, stacixxx.com. Maybe you could mention it the next time the cameras are rolling. I could use the hits.

  I probably won't be able to write for a while, as money's getting tight and I have to work all the time. Plus, my manager is kind of the jealous type. But if my website takes off and I'm able to pay him the money I owe him, there'll be nothing left standing between us.

  xoxo

  Staci

  Dear Jonas,

  You've certainly had an exciting week! I couldn't believe my eyes when they showed that mad woman on the courthouse steps, screaming bloody murder. What is this world coming to? I hope that poor reporter she bit is okay.

  And congratulations on the engagement! I must admit, I wasn't sure what to think at first. I was as shocked as anyone when you proposed, but Candy seems like she's a good fit for you. You need a smart woman to take care of you after your mother's gone. It just goes to show, it's never too late to turn things around. You might make a grandma out of me yet!

  Unfortunately, I also have some bad news. Your father is in the hospital. He didn't take too well to the news of your engagement. In fact, he got so worked up he burst a blood vessel in his head. I know you two never really got along, but please keep him in your prayers.

  Love always,

  Mom

  To My Dearest Jonas,

  I don't know if you've heard the news, but I went and got myself arrested. Now don't you worry, they're treating me just fine. I'm actually enjoying the down time. No screaming kids, no overbearing mother telling me how I'm ruining my life. It's given me time to reflect. I realize it probably wasn't the best idea for me to show up at the courthouse like that. And I do feel bad about biting that woman's cheek. I saw a pretty face and I snapped. They told me I threatened to "suck her soul through her eye sockets," but honestly, I don't remember much. After the taste of blood hit my tongue, it was all a blur.

  Have you ever tasted human flesh? I can see how people could get used to it. You know, if there was nothing else.

  Anyway, I hope the trial is going well. I'm on what they call "psychiatric hold," and they don't let me watch the news or read the paper. I'm not even supposed to be writing you, so I don't know if you'll get this. But if by some chance you do, I want you to know I'm sorry for embarrassing you. The last thing I want is to hurt your chances of being exonerated.

  In other news, Momma called and told me the state put Bobby and Derrik into foster care. (Sorry, guys! Mommy still loves you!) I know we never really talked about kids, but it's probably for the best. I need to concentrate on getting better. Then I can concentrate on us. The kids were just a distraction. Despite the bars in front of me, I feel free for the first time in my life. And I owe it all to you.

  Love always,

  Ginny

  Black Dragon River

  by Aaron Fox-Lerner

  At 12:42 in the afternoon, the two Chinese men stubbed out their cigarettes, dropped to their knees, and began bowing toward the west. Dmitri stared at them as they prostrated themselves in the middle of the apartment courtyard before he turned to Anatoly.

  "They're Muslim?" he asked Anatoly quietly, hoping the men wouldn't hear him.

  "No," Anatoly snorted, too loudly, "they just dropped their keys. What, those white caps on their heads didn't tip you off already?"

  "China has Muslims?" Dmitri asked.

  "Sure, China has Muslims," Anatoly said, like he was an expert on Chinese religions. "They're Chinese Muslims."

  "So…what do the Chinese Muslims want with a box of AK-47s?"

  "Listen zaychik, the number one rule of our job is that you don't ask questions about this kind of thing."

  Zaychik. Dmitri hated that nickname. Literally it meant little rabbit, but the word was used to address a sexy younger guy. With Anatoly saying it, however, it was pure mockery, a single word managing to make fun of Dmitri for both his youth and big front teeth—with an extra edge insinuating he was a sissy. Anatoly seemed inexplicably proud of himself for being gruff and old, as if a small potbelly and heavily-lined face were virtues.

  The Chinese men stood up, brushing dirt from their pants. Dmitri looked nervously around the courtyard. It was a chilly fall day. No one was around. The skinnier and shorter of the two came up to him and Anatoly. Both of the Chinese men wore cheap stiff pants and patterned button-up shirts, paired with imitation leather shoes and large coats that Dmitri thought were too heavy for fall. Of course, they also had the round white caps that Dmitri had thought were only the province of migrants from places like Kazakhstan or Tajikistan.

  The skinnier one could speak Russian. Not great, but good enough to communicate what he wanted.

&n
bsp; "We go see the guns now?" he asked with an officious smile.

  Anatoly grunted and nodded. The rest fell in behind him, entering a flaking light-brown concrete block building and walking up to the third floor. In the apartment was the box, waiting for them in the hallway. Anatoly bent over with a sigh and opened it up for the Chinese men. Inside were about a dozen AK-47s resting on lines of boxed ammunition. The Chinese men squatted by the box to examine the guns.

  The fatter one lifted one of them up, detached the clip and put it back in, checked the barrel and the trigger. He clearly knew his way around the gun. He proceeded to go through the entire box while the skinny one watched him deferentially.

  Dmitri sullenly kept his eyes on them. After the fat one had checked all the guns in the box, he counted the rounds of ammunition in the bottom, then carefully returned the contents to their original places. Once this was finished, he put the top back on and conferenced with his partner. They spoke for a couple minutes in Chinese before the skinny one came back to Anatoly, smiling slightly.

  "Okay," he said, "the guns are no problem. We will take them."

  Anatoly nodded. The Chinese man kept staring at him like he was awaiting more of a reply.

  "Yes," Anatoly finally said, sounding impatient, "fine, good."

  "So we go now?" the man asked.

  Anatoly snorted again. "No way we go before dark."

  Anatoly and Dmitri weren't selling the guns. They were transporting them. Someone else had set up the deal with the Chinese, then hired Anatoly to take the men and their guns across the river back into China. Anatoly wouldn't even tell Dmitri who the seller was, not that Dmitri would ask.

  All things considered, Dmitri was lucky to be working with Anatoly, he supposed. The man was terrible company, but he'd been navigating the river between Blagoveschensk and Heihe for decades, smuggling from Russia into China and China into Russia. The river's name was the same as the Chinese province beyond it. Heilongjiang. Black Dragon River. Dmitri thought the name was too grand for those bland, choppy waters.

  Crucially, Anatoly had a dacha on Heilongjiang's riverbank. The river was lined with spiked metal barriers and border guards, but Anatoly's dacha extended right to the water, and no one ever bothered him on his own property. He had a landing spot and a connection on the Chinese side, although Dmitri never knew how he'd set it up since Anatoly spoke no Chinese.

  They'd be crossing the river once it got dark and Anatoly felt sure that they wouldn't run into any guards. There wasn't much to do in the meantime. Everyone else smoked a lot and looked at their phones. Dmitri only looked at his phone. Carefully keeping it from view of the Chinese men, he began searching for terrorist attacks in China.

  There were plenty. Islamic separatists from the far west setting off bombs and attacking police with hatchets. Driving a car into the crowds outside Tiananmen Square. Hacking dozens of people to death at a train station in Kunming. This was what they'd done with cars, hatchets, and knives. Now he'd be helping move AK-47s into the country.

  "You know," he told Anatoly quietly, out of earshot of the two men, "I have an uncle who died in Dagestan."

  "And I have an uncle who died in Irkutsk, what the fuck does it matter to me?" Anatoly replied.

  "You know what I mean," Dmitri pressed. "The kind of people who killed him, the kind of people we're moving guns for…"

  "You don't know what they're using the guns for," Anatoly said sternly.

  "Do you?"

  "No. I shouldn't. You shouldn't. Don't ask dumb questions about this. It doesn't matter if they're terrorists or gangsters or fucking sportsmen. Unless you want me to send you home, keep your mouth shut."

  Dmitri did not, of course, want to go home. He was tired of living in a four-room apartment with his parents and little sister. It was his family who had the connections with Anatoly. It already irked him that Anatoly might bitch about his job performance to his father. He made good money though, and figured this was the best a high school dropout with no particular specialties could be doing. He really just wanted to get out of Blagoveschensk, but in the meantime, he could at least make a decent living here.

  Once it got darker, they piled into Anatoly's car—a scratched-up blue SUV with dark windows—carefully putting the box of merchandise in the back. After about an hour of driving, they made it to Anatoly's dacha, far enough off the road and surrounded by enough trees to render it relatively private. The dacha was perfectly located, right where the river was wide enough to avoid being spotted while crossing, but still narrow enough that they could accomplish multiple rides in one night.

  Dmitri knew Anatoly needed him now, even if he'd never say it. His eyes had been going, becoming increasingly inconsistent in the nighttime gloom. Dmitri had been helping him out as a spotter, or sometimes handling the motor if Anatoly needed to manage anything else.

  He'd have his hands full tonight. The two Chinese men may have known guns and Russian, but boats were clearly not their specialty. The boat was small but fast, powered by the quietest engine Anatoly could find. It was open-topped and broad enough to fit merchandise on. When they moved the boat down to the river, the water seemed to flummox the two men, who stepped gingerly back from the riverside wet after letting down the boat.

  The four of them carried the box over from the truck and placed it carefully inside the boat. They waited a few moments in silence as Anatoly surveyed the waters, waiting for some cue from him that it was time to set off. After a couple of minutes, he waved his hand toward the boat and said: "Well? Go ahead, get in."

  No translation was necessary. The two Chinese men both got into the front of the boat uneasily, looking slightly sick as it shook with their weight. Then Dmitri got in, positioning himself behind the box of guns, and Anatoly sat down firmly behind him with a grunt before starting up the motor.

  Dmitri sat still, looking at the two Chinese men in front of him. He'd been growing more worried all afternoon, and now he could think of nothing but the fact that these men might use the guns to kill untold numbers of innocent people. More than that, he was helping them do it. He could, at this very moment, be sitting with a pair of terrorists. He had always supposed crime and war were just natural aspects of the world, but terrorism was something else. Like with what happened with his uncle, shot by some unknown bearded backwater fundamentalist while doing his army service in Dagestan. And to think that Anatoly was willing accommodate them. All the bullying he did of Dmitri was framed as if it would make him a better man, but really it was just pushing him around, nothing else.

  The wind blew towards them from the Chinese side of the river, and then the water started up. Anatoly exhaled as if the weather had just personally disappointed him and turned back to the tiller, gripping it and working the engine to keep the boat as steady as he could. In front of Dmitri, the two Chinese men stared ahead at the water, heads slightly down, their skullcaps the most visible thing around.

  If he were to do anything, now was the time. Dmitri carefully lifted up the lid of the box in front of him. Facing away from the center of the boat, none of the others noticed. He drew an AK-47 out of the box, holding it by the butt, then lifted it up into his hand. It was lighter than he expected.

  He turned around and saw that Anatoly had seen him. Anatoly had his mouth open, ready to chew Dmitri out or ask him what the hell he was doing. Dmitri brought the butt of the gun into Anatoly's face before he could say anything. Anatoly reeled back and began wheezing, blood coming out of his nose. He fell back against the tiller, and the boat began to veer south. Dmitri hit Anatoly another couple of times in the head as quickly as he could, then shoved him over the side of the boat.

  Dmitri lashed the tiller and turned around. The two Chinese men were staring at him silently, faces locked with alarm. He turned the rifle around in his hands and pointed it at them, trying to look as serious as he could.

  The bigger Chinese man stood up suddenly, a look of anger clouding his face. Dmitri was surprised at his fearlessn
ess before realizing that the man could see there was no clip in the rifle; all the ammo was packed at the bottom of the box.

  The boat rocked as the man stood up. Dmitri, feeling the boat move, held the gun pointed out in front of him and feinted toward the Chinese man, who took an instinctive step back and toppled over the side of the boat.

  That left one. Dmitri had no idea what he was doing, but at least he was steady. Dmitri came toward the Chinese man, who remained in a wary, frightened crouch. He tried to hit the man with the rifle, but the man caught it and began pulling at it. Dmitri yanked back. The Chinese man wouldn't relinquish his hold on the weapon.

  Dmitri pulled hard and let go, then dove at the man's leg while he was unbalanced. The man fell over the side, but caught the edge of the boat before the water could swallow him. He was clinging onto the side with one arm, threatening to topple the boat. The gun now out of his hands, Dmitri took the fastest course he could think of and brought his teeth down on the man's hand, biting with as much strength as he could until the man let go.