by H. L. Sudler
Jon shook his head.
“I have already thought of three ways I could kill you and hide your body where no one in New York will find it! Hell…Jersey’s just a bridge away, and God knows that place is crammed with bodies nobody’s found!”
Dark stood up and backed against a wall, he still holding his gun. To Jon, Dark looked less certain than he had just a minute ago. And when he moved his head ever so slightly, his eyes seemed glassy against the light. But then Dark smiled. Not fully, but as if he were trying to laugh off a joke.
“You know what, White Boy, you something else.”
“Guess what? You’re not. You’re not shit!” Jon bellowed.
Dark’s face fell.
“You think you’re somebody because you have a gun…?”
Dark looked around the room. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Nobody’s afraid of you—!”
“Shut up!” Dark said, rushing over to Jon. He leaned in his face, enraged.
“You’re not shit without a gun!” Jon yelled, his eyes boring into Dark’s.
“But your ass still afraid of me, ain’t it? Your ass still afraid of me!”
“No! You know why? Because you’re a boy!”
Dark rose up like a snake. “Bitch, I’m more man than you any day—”
“Oh, blow me, clown!”
Dark exploded. He punched Jon across the face, down to the floor, and on to his side.
Jon looked up at Dark, panting, and smiled a little. He hissed, “You even hit like a bitch…”
Dark turned to the Asian and handed him his gun. “Simon, hold my shit!” He snatched off his jacket and then pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. He leaped onto Jon and began beating him across the face. Jon took the blows on his back, his hands still bound behind him.
Dark went to hold Jon’s neck, to steady him. But Jon lowered his head, caught Dark’s hand in his mouth. He chomped down hard, all teeth, like an animal, drawing blood. Dark screamed, tried to pull away. Jon let go, and Dark pulled back his hand, looked at the blood, the broken skin, the teeth marks. Jon raised his hips and threw Dark off of him. Then he kicked him with both feet. Dark landed on his back, stunned.
Jon lowered his bound wrists, lifted his legs, and brought his hands in front. He scooted to his knees and leaped on Dark, straddled him. He grabbed Dark by his ears and hammered his head to the floor, balled his hands into one fist and beat his face. Dark raised his hands, struggled against him. Jon leaned into him, put his hands around Dark’s neck and strangled him.
Jon hissed, close to his face, close to his ear. “Who’s the chump now, bitch?”
Simon hit the back of his head with the butt of the gun, twice. Jon’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell off of Dark and to the floor.
“Hey!” Rico yelled. Rico ran up to Simon and pushed him away. “He’s mine!”
Dark struggled to stand. Wobbled on his feet. Coughed. His face was bruised and bloodied.
“Simon, where’s my gun?” he said, barely above a whisper. He looked stunned, ready to vomit.
Simon handed Dark his gun and then stepped away from Jon, expecting Dark to shoot him where he lay.
Rico was wide-eyed. Nervous. “He’s mine! Dark, let me do it!”
Dark only looked at Rico, dazed a little, brooding for sure. Panting.
He turned to the maid, lifted his gun, and put a bullet through her skull.
“He shot the maid, too?” Detective Brian asked. He had a look of disbelief on his face.
“He shot her too,” Jon said, quietly. He had his head in his hands, and he was looking at the ugly table again, unblinking.
There was a brief silence in the room before Detective Brian spoke.
“Why don’t we take a break.”
The detective opened the door and Jon followed him into the waiting area. He stopped cold.
April was looking at him from a chair by a police officer’s desk. She didn’t speak, but turned to another woman at another desk with a cop. The woman turned to a man, the tourist, who was seated at another desk with a cop. They all looked back at Jon, eyes full of fright.
Jon frowned. He looked at Detective Brian.
“What’s going on here?”
Detective Brian looked at Jon directly.
“They’re being questioned…about you.”
Jon turned to the woman, a prostitute, and the man, the tourist. He gave them a stern look before Detective Brian moved him along to get some water, to use the men’s room, and then back to the interrogation room.
Jon prayed they stuck to the story.
“Yo, dude! What the fuck!” Simon yelled, looking at Dark, then looking down on the maid, a bullet hole through her forehead. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Simon was skinny, with black eyebrows and short hair dyed red. He looked at Rico with worried eyes, his arms outstretched, his hands spread open.
“Shut up!” Dark yelled. He looked down at Jon, who looked up at him from the floor, on his back, he was between Rico and Simon. He pointed his gun at Jon, as if to make a point. “You! You, I’m gonna kill last—”
“Dark…he’s mine,” Rico said, little conviction in his voice.
“So what if he’s yours! So the fuck what?”
“Dude, this isn’t the way this was supposed to go.”
“Simon, if you call me dude one more fucking time!”
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t what I signed up for! This shit is all screwed up now!”
Dark marched over to Simon. He got in his face.
“This shit is as I say it is! You got that, Jackie Chan?”
Simon huffed and shook his head. “You did not just go there…”
“I’m the fucking boss, and everything here go the way I say it go!”
Simon shook his head again. “Then I’m out. I’m not doing this. This is not the way this was supposed to go. Everything’s out of control.”
Dark put the barrel of his gun to Simon’s forehead.
“Say I won’t,” Dark dared. “Say it…”
Simon raised his hands and formed his mouth to speak. “Dark…don’t play.”
“Oh, I ain’t playing. You said you wanted to be a part of B5. You either one of us, or you dead. Pick one.”
The space was quiet, everyone wide-eyed, no one dared to speak.
The door to the storage unit opened, suddenly. It was Danny Boy and Horatio. They had a woman with them. All three stopped cold when they saw Dark with his gun to Simon’s head, when they saw Jon bloodied on the floor, when they saw the maid and the business man dead, when they saw the tourist sweating and petrified.
Dark lowered his gun and turned to Danny Boy and Horatio.
“Where the fuck y’all been?”
No one answered at first.
“What’s going on?” Danny Boy said. His voice was shaky and his eyes worried.
Dark walked over to him, to Horatio, to the woman. He didn’t answer the question asked.
“Danny Boy, where’s your person?”
Danny Boy looked over to Horatio, nervously, then back to Dark.
“Dark, I couldn’t find one.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t find one?” Dark shouted.
“It’s Halloween. There’s a lot of people outside—”
“And a lot of cops,” Horatio added.
“We could hardly get back without being seen.”
Dark sighed deeply. Looked down and shook his head. He turned away.
“You know,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t think any of you respect me. Y’all wanna be part of this shit, but you’ll don’t wanna to do the work. And most of all, y’all don’t listen to me. I’m the fucking man here! I’m the boss! I tell you muthafuckas what to do!”
“Dark,” Danny Boy said. “We…we want in on B5, but it’s hard d
oing this tonight.”
“And who the fuck is this bitch?” Dark yelled.
Horatio took a moment before answering. His mouth was dry and he swallowed. He looked at the woman, blonde, thin, not cute but dressed like a sexy Red Riding Hood. “A prostitute.”
“A prostitute,” Dark repeated. “So you got yours, Horatio, but you didn’t help Danny Boy get his!”
“Dark!” Simon shouted.
Everyone turned to him.
“This is all messed up tonight. Why don’t we just start again another time. Start clean.”
Dark huffed. “You want to start clean? Do this another time?”
“Yes…” Simon said.
“Yeah,” Danny Boy added.
“I agree,” Horatio muttered.
Dark looked around the space. Rolled his tongue in his mouth. And then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said in agreement. “We should start another time. Start clean.”
He was silent a moment, staring into space, resolving something in his head. He nodded again.
Lifting his 9MM, he shot Simon in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He turned to Horatio and Danny Boy. Danny Boy darted, ran for the entrance, and Dark fired the gun, putting three bullets in his back. He turned to Horatio, who had his hands up, who was shaking his head, who was begging Dark not to shoot. He shot anyway, the bullets catching Horatio in his hand, his throat.
The prostitute screamed and backed into a wall, slid to the floor. Her hands covered her mouth as she took in the carnage. Simon, Horatio, Danny Boy, the businessman, the maid. All dead. All bloodied. She looked at Dark in his T-shirt and jeans, with a gun in his hand.
He did not look at her. Only at Jon. Crazed.
“How you like me now, White Boy? How you like me now?”
Dark made Rico line up Jon, the prostitute, and the tourist, side by side, on their knees. Rico tied the prostitute’s hands behind her back, then went to Jon and made him put his hands behind his back again. Dark wasn’t worried about gagging them, because they’d be dead soon enough.
“Rico,” Dark called, waving him over with the gun. “Let’s go outside and talk.”
Dark turned to Jon before they stepped outside.
“You still dying last tonight. Don’t forget. I want to see your face when you the last to go.”
Dark shut the storage door, and Jon was alone with the prostitute and the tourist. He turned to them, looked at their faces. They looked at him.
“We have to get out of here,” Jon said, urgently. “They’re going to kill us.”
“How do we get out?” the prostitute said, near tears. She was visibly shaking, either from the cold or fright, but Jon suspected both.
“I don’t know,” Jon whispered. He thought to ask, “How did they get you?”
“I was…I was looking to score some weed,” the tourist said. “They were next to a club, down an alley. We started to talk. Next thing I know, they surrounded me and brought me here.”
“I saw them hanging around the park,” the prostitute said. “The one that’s dead right there…name’s Horatio…he waved me over. Said he and the red-headed guy wanted to party at their hotel. Next thing I know, we’re in a cab and I got a gun in my stomach. What do they want? Why are we here? Why are all these people dead?”
“A gang initiation,” Jon said. “To get in, you have to kill someone.”
“Oh, my God…”
Jon looked at the prostitute. “You said you had a gun in your stomach on the way over. Who had the gun?”
The prostitute made a face for a second and then blinked, understanding. She turned to Horatio. Both Jon and the tourist looked at him too. On his stomach, his jacket was raised a little. His gun was barely visible beneath it, in the back of his jeans.
Jon huffed and began to work the cloth around his wrists and noticed something almost immediately. Something shocking, catching him off guard. The knot was not tight. Not tight at all. As if left loose on purpose.
The door to the storage unit opened and Rico and Dark entered. Jon’s eyes found Rico’s and stayed with him. As he approached, Rico looked down at Jon, into his eyes, and it was confirmed, communicated. Rico wanted out of this hell, wanted Jon to help him escape.
Jon lowered his head, panting a little, his heart racing. There was an out. Not a clean one, but an out. He had to think. He had to be razor sharp. Timing was everything. And he had to be careful. He had to be smart. Dark was a loose cannon. He had to keep him off balance. Push him, but not too hard. Keep him distracted. It would be the only way to get out of this alive. To get everyone out of here alive.
Jon worked the cloth that bound his wrists, little by little, undoing the knot. He made like the prostitute, the tourist. Nervous. Crying. Defeated. Shaking.
Dark spoke.
“Rico here says he still wants in on B5. He wants to prove to me he not a pussy. And that’s good. Rico gonna step up. Gonna be my right-hand man. And the Number Two’s job is important. He got my back. He get shit done. But I need to know he’s got what it takes.”
Dark walked over to Jon and Jon looked up to him.
“You know what that mean, White Boy? It means Rico here is gonna kill everybody.”
Jon’s eyes shot to Rico.
“Everybody?” Rico said, alarmed.
Dark did not look at Rico, only at Jon.
“Everybody except this muthafucka here. I got him. ‘Cause he tough. He the shit. He angry. But he don’t know what angry is. His people been suppressing my people forever. Well now, White Boy, it’s my turn to show you who in control.”
Rico was still wide-eyed, began breathing hard.
“You, uh…you want me to kill these two here?” he said, nervously.
“Yes, muthafucka, yes!” Dark turned to Rico. He pointed to the prostitute and the tourist with his gun. “Shoot them!”
Rico swallowed, his youth all over his face.
“I…I don’t have a piece.”
Dark smiled. He shook his head, then turned to Jon.
“This pussy here ain’t got no piece, want to be in a gang.”
Dark turned back to Rico.
“By all means, muthafucka, use mine…”
Dark held out his gun to Rico, and Rico looked at it as if it were a snake. Didn’t take it.
“I know what you’re going through,” Jon said suddenly, quietly, and when Dark turned to him, Jon was looking at the floor, sadness on his face.
“Are you still talking, bitch?” Dark said.
Jon looked at him.
“You’re mad. Mad because nobody’s paying you any attention. You got to make people respect you. Take you seriously. Nobody’s doing that. Not your momma. Not your daddy. No girl. No respect from anybody. You gotta talk loud, and shout, and act out. That’s the only way to get anybody to look at you. Fear you. It’s the only way you can feel like you’re alive, a man…screaming at the top of your lungs, causing destruction. Other than that…you’re invisible, nothing. Not even to yourself. There’s nothing special about you…and you know it. Because being special, being a man, is a lot of work, is hard. But I guess you’re not up for that.”
Dark looked at Jon, his lips tight, his nostrils flared once again, his eyes glassy. He raised his gun and pointed it at Jon’s forehead. Walked it up to him, so that the barrel of the gun was flush against his skin.
The silence was unbearable. Dark’s eyes never left Jon’s. Jon’s eyes never left Dark’s.
“Please don’t kill us…” the prostitute said. She was crying quietly, her head bent.
Dark seemed not to notice, only stared at Jon.
“Last,” he said. “Last.”
He lowered his gun, but his eyes were still on Jon. He frowned and shook his head.
“Simon was right. This night is screwed. I need to start the fuck clean. I don’t need nobody. I can do this shit alone. So y
ou know what, White Boy? I’ma clean house. Fuck this night! Fuck everything! Fuck you!”
Dark turned to Rico.
“Rico, I’m sorry. Your contract been canceled. I’m going in a new direction. Solo.”
Dark raised his gun at Rico and fired.
He missed. Rico jumped out of the way, and Dark missed.
Everything happened quickly. Everything happened slowly. Jon’s hands were loose. Had been ever since he started speaking, but then Dark walked up to him and pointed the gun at his head. Thank God the prostitute spoke. Thank God Dark decided to go “in a new direction.”
Jon tackled Dark from behind, pushing him to the ground, knocking the gun from his hand. But Dark was younger, quicker, stronger, and despite his injured hand, he was savage. He tore at Jon, punched at him, clawed at him, as if Jon was not Jon, but some demon he must defeat.
Jon raised his hips again, with all his might. Turned Dark over onto his back. Jon caught a glimpse of the prostitute on the ground, the tourist on top of her, shielding her, Rico in a corner cowered. Jon punched and punched and punched, but Dark’s anger seemed to give him unlimited strength. Jon tired and Dark knocked Jon to the floor. Jon turned onto his stomach, crawled over the blood, the dead bodies, to Horatio and his gun.
Dark leaped onto Jon’s back, grabbed his head, and twisted his neck. Twisted it so that Jon was facing Dark behind him. Twisted it until Jon felt lightheaded, knew his neck would break as he screamed out in agony. The last thing he saw was Dark’s angry face, his angry eyes.
There was a gunshot. And it was over. Dark was dead.
Jon rolled over onto his back, still breathing hard, hearing the prostitute’s muffled sobbing, seeing Rico standing with a gun in his hand, tears on his face.
Jon closed his eyes and wished this fucking day would end already.
The prostitute and the tourist helped Jon up. Rico stood in a corner, the gun still in his hand, he looking distraught, lost. Jon went to him and took the gun from his hand, and Rico looked at him. The boy’s face crumbled and he collapsed against Jon’s chest. He sobbed and Jon held him, tired and weary.
“What do we do now?” the prostitute asked, sniffling. “I can’t stand to be here anymore.”