Narican- the Cloaked Deception

by D M Robbins

  Back into the living room I step past rubble into the middle and see some weird medieval séance on the floor. A trail of blood or something red outlines the perimeter of the room to an ashed-over fire that must’ve been only inches in size. I bend, seeing a half-burned picture of me. A picture I’ve never seen but one taken while working at the store. It was from outside on the sidewalk. I study it and stand, feeling as if I’m being watched again, as if I’m the one on trial.

  I throw the picture down. “I’m right here, damn it!” I say, spinning in all directions. “Enough with these games. Come get me if you want me.”

  A panel of robed, faceless judges shimmer, making no move, but watch from beyond the horizon, waiting, observing.

  Oh, no, the picture of my parents is smashed. I hurry over and pick it up, cradling it for a second.

  “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault,” I say to them, removing the picture from the broken frame. I fold it and place it into my back pocket. Moving broken drawers out of my way I look under the desk. My drawings of Narican are gone. I stand and sigh, dropping my shoulders. Along the wall under my bed I find the Tao Te Ching, grab that, stuff some clothes and books into the backpack.

  Stepping to the door, I want to stop at Other Worlds to see Caesar. He always helps with advice and is a friendly face, but I don’t have time. Tanz said to keep moving.

  I look around the apartment. “They can have it,” I say and slam the door on my way out.

  Wondering what happened, the fire and burned picture disturb me. Pensively down the stairs I step into the rusty sunlight again.

  The hard sidewalk and noise zoom around me like a beehive. After a few paces I see Dino and his sister half a block up petting a small brown dog. They do always seem to be around when I am. About to turn the other way Dino sees me and runs over.

  “Reuben!” he shouts.

  Laurie-Ann jogs up behind him. “There you are,” she says with a smile on her face.

  I can’t stop him from hugging me.

  “I thought you went on a trip,” she says with confusion on her face.

  I hear Tanz in my head telling me to keep away.

  “Yeah, I was… I am. Plus, I just got robbed.” I look up at the building.

  “Oh, no. What did they take?” she says.

  Shaking my head, not sure if I can trust her, I say stepping away, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “You know, you were kind of a jerk last time. Like you’re being now. What, you can’t talk to us anymore?”

  One pace away I stop and turn. “No, it’s not that. Just some heavy stuff going on I can’t explain.”

  “I’ll say. Come on, Dino.” She grabs his hand and drags her brother away.

  “Bye, Reuben,” he says, waving, her back to me.

  “Bye, buddy.”

  Tanz is right. I am weak to them.

  GRAND BOTANICAL GARDENS

  He’s waiting outside the gates when I arrive. Tanz stares at me and says, “Things have gotten worse.” He’s bleeding from the lip and seems frail like an old man.

  “Are you okay? My place was vandalized.”

  “Shh, wait until we get inside.” Tanz pays the admission with exact change. The ticket booth woman gives us sideways glances. Smaller city buildings stand close by.

  Inside the wrought iron gate, we pass a cluster of apple trees.

  Tanz says, “I smelled sulfur then someone knocked me down.”

  Among rose bushes a hundred yards in we find a bench down a small path covered with wood chips. He sits scanning himself with imagery stopping at a floating haze ball around the corner in his apartment. Then a punch comes from the side. Turning the image, he tracks the arm back to the man with the symbol under his eye, the same guy in the grocery store, and probably the one in my apartment.

  Tanz falls to the floor and the scruffy man kicks him. Tanz passes out.

  “Weirdo,” is all the man says. The recording continues.

  Staring at equations all over the apartment the thug says, “What the…?” Peeking in front and behind walls he rubs his chin. He tries grabbing the images, but his hands pass through. In confusion he kicks Tanz again.

  Tanz’s nose drips blood as he slumps forward on the green bench.

  “Can you go on? Do you need a hospital? You look awful,” I say, placing my hand on his shoulder.

  “I am bound by blood to continue.”

  “An accountant soldier, huh? Bad ass.” I nod approvingly and try making him laugh. “I once heard, ‘Pride takes a hit the same time as one’s face…’ ”

  “Yes, I too have heard this, and my case appears to confirm that.” He smiles with a wry grin. “However, emotions have never clouded mathematical equations.”

  “So, what’s the plan, Tanzy?”

  “My name,” he says, sitting up with eyes glowing, “is Tanz. Two blocks from here lies Qualmsy and his network. We begin there. That is the plan. First, we store our things here behind these rose bushes. The bushes should mask any scent.” He stands while his words grow more confident.

  “There is a safe house, an abandoned church on Miranda and Ostrand. If we get separated meet there, second floor rear. Now let us find this Qualmsy who will surely lead us up the chain. For if there is a chain, there is always a chain-maker…”

  THE PAIN DEALER

  At the tail end of rush hour people come and go. Perfect for us to blend in as we peek around the corner at the building one block away.

  Tanz lectures me. “A hornet’s nest awaits. So, stay calm. Anger begets anger. Aggression begets aggression. We cannot go in fighting. We will lose.”

  I nod, ready to spin fists and feet.

  A haze envelopes the building top as a rain cloud would. My arm hairs bristle as I cross the street. It’s colder here, clammy.

  The tattoo guy with the symbol under his eye stands out front with four other goons looking mean.

  “What do you want?” Tattoo says like any tough guy would stepping down to me.

  I put on my best outlaw voice and say, “Payback for what you did.”

  The goons tighten in, ready for a fight, sleeves rolling up. I study them squinting my eyes like Clint Eastwood would, then release. “Nah, just kidding. I’m here to see Qualmsy with a deal.”

  Tattoo pokes me in the chest. “That’s Mister Qualmsy to you. But wait, how do you know who our boss is? That might not be his name,” he says, crossing his arms and nodding to an associate who follows suit.

  Oh boy, these guys are dumb.

  Tattoo raises a fist to strike me when his associate whispers into his ear.

  “I know, I know.” He shrugs the buffoon off and types something into his watch. The door pops open behind them.

  Tattoo and Beefcake #2 escort me down a freight elevator. The other three remain in front.

  “So, you’re some kind of freak, huh?” Tattoo asks, staring at me once the door closes.

  “Nope, just a regular guy.” I look straight ahead without making eye contact.

  “I hear ya,” he says, bopping his head. “Yup, me too.”

  I look but there are no floor numbers, so I count seconds in my head. Seven seconds pass then the doors open to a palatial room with red carpet and red velvet curtains. Haze balls rush up and swirl around my head. They smell horrible, like rotting garbage and sulfur. A whistle calls them off from the far side of the room. Qualmsy, I presume.

  Businessmen along the walls are being beaten. Haze balls exact pain, ecstasy. Some men weep on the floor. “Oh, this is horrible. Give me more.” More haze balls encircle him. “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. That’s it,” he says.

  Another man shouts, “I’m bad. I’m so bad. I was mean to my wife…” He weeps on a chair.

  I’m shoved farther into the room. Qualmsy and others sit on plush sofas. The woman who pulled my arm at the grocery store sits a few feet away from him. Others play cards.

  Haze balls float above Qualmsy, some rest nearby upon rafters, armchairs, some roll around toge
ther on the floor like cats playing.

  TV monitors line a side wall. Displays of muggings on street corners and in stores, thefts, people drinking too much, fighting in the streets. There’s war, explosions, more war, protests, and violence.

  I step closer and now see what the extra skin on Qualmsy’s forehead is—an extra nose just beneath his hairline.

  Tanz had warned me: that somehow he’s developed this to smell sulfur nearby and control it. Smaller haze balls rest within his black curly hair like a nest. He strokes them gently as a father would.

  “Don’t you love the smell of sulfur on a rainy day?” It seems like a rhetorical question that I don’t answer. He grabs a haze ball floating nearby and rubs his face in it, breathing deeply. “Ahh.” He releases the ball and it floats off giggling.

  Accepting what my eyes see, I try to sound strong like Tanz and I had discussed.

  I step forward. “Since you’ve been looking for me, I figured I’d save you the trouble. You know, you and I aren’t so different. Maybe we could work out a deal. I’ll work with you, but not for you. With my abilities what are you willing to pay? Or perhaps I could buy my claim back. What was their offer?” I step closer still.

  He puts up his hand. “Stop. You don’t have that kind of money, boy. I saw where you worked and lived.”

  Speechless, he’d seen my apartment. “So, you and Tattoo broke into my place. Why?”

  He studies me. “I’m simply a businessman hired for a service.”

  “Again, what are my services worth to you?” I say more bluntly. Tired of this game. Tired of my whole life being a game. “Your boss, Mister… I forget his name… would pay an awful lot…”

  “I would consider a deal if you had anything I needed. Besides, we know your friend, the Accountant, ooohhh,” he says, shaking his hands as laughter fills the room, “is waiting outside.” He types into his watch.

  One monitor switches to Tanz getting beat up in an alley.

  “No!” I lunge at Qualmsy, but the thugs stop me.

  “Bring him in,” he speaks into his watch. “We’ve been looking for him, too. And now we have you both. You made it so much easier on me. I thank you.”

  They bring Tanz in and throw him to the floor in front of Qualmsy. Beefcake #3 lifts him up, punches him in the face and stomach, and drops him to the floor again. Tanz chokes, coughing up blood.

  “Enough.” Qualmsy stands. “Our client has plans for these two. An old man and a weak boy. Scary stuff.” He spreads out his arms and shouts, “Is this the toughest this town has to offer? Give me a break.” He lowers his head and stares at us.

  Tanz flashes his eyes and blue waves radiate, but Qualmsy laughs. “No, no, no, sir. Save your strength,” he says, waving his hand as if brushing it aside. The woman cowers on the sofa. Qualmsy offers her solace. “It’s all right, my dear. He cannot harm you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Qualmsy.” She speaks meekly. His confidence relaxes her; her face turns mean again.

  “What kind of grandfather brings a boy to a place like this, anyway?”

  They stand me up and punch me in the stomach, dropping me to the floor next to Tanz. I can’t breathe. Fire crashes into my brain, eyes watering. My solar plexus spasms, grasping for air.

  Tattoo says, “I’ve been waitin’ to do that.”

  Qualmsy steps closer. “You two are having a really bad day, hmm? Well, it’s gonna get worse.”

  “You’ll pay for that,” I say.

  “No, I’ve already been paid for that.” He chuckles, turning to watch the monitors. “Must see TV, gentlemen.”

  “We’re connected,” I say.

  He turns quickly. “That’s not what I heard. Besides, I have an army. And what does your store sell, granola and milk? Are you going to beat me with a protein bar and blue chips?” He shakes his head. “Quite a fearsome duo.”

  Laughter fills the room again from ghastly faces and corrupt humans. Even the businessmen on the side laugh.

  “Why have you been tracking us anyway?” I ask.

  “I know everything about you, boy. Even your dead parents. So sad. Terrible accident.”

  I get quiet and ask, “You did that?”

  “Think of me as a caring uncle who’s watched you grow. Now that I think of it, I could use an errand boy, and well, Slim, you could do my taxes.” They all laugh again. “This is just too comical.” He slaps his knee, strolling to the sofa. “I can’t get enough of these two.”

  Rage grows inside me and my legs begin twitching. Blood boiling. I can taste revenge.

  Tanz covers his pulsating forehead. “No, Claremone. Not yet. Channel this anger.”

  I calm, growing faint.

  “You should be a standup comedian, Mr. Qualmsy.” The woman says then cowers as he stares disapprovingly at her.

  He grabs another floating haze ball and inhales it using both noses. This time he throws it to the floor.

  Tanz speaks in my head again. “We are not strong enough to defeat them. Wait for the right opportunity. One will present itself.” Then his arms give out on the floor and he passes out.

  I grow dizzy from the telepathy, can’t see straight and fall to my knees. “Please, sir, we offer our services.” One last attempt knowing we have to get out of here.

  “Boy, what you offer I have never needed. I’m a businessman and you are simply out of business. We’ve waited for years to kill you. Don’t take that away from us.” He steps closer and shouts, “Take them to the Rack!” His hands flail violently, and the goons grab us.

  Tattoo jams his elbow into my ribs. “I really like doing that to you.”

  Leaning on Beefcake #3 Tanz tries to touch Qualmsy by falling forward with extended hands but the bruiser blocks him.

  Qualmsy steps off, bending down to meet his gaze. “I know your game, Slim. I don’t know how, but you won’t be reading me. I’ve been warned about you: some kind of psychic mind reader. Gives me the heebie jeebies.” He stands and grabs another haze ball.

  We’re turned to be escorted out. The wall behind us has a dozen hanging shirts with live faces trapped inside them.

  Qualmsy shouts. “Our client doesn’t even want his free trip to the Bahamas!”

  Then after a pause, he shouts again, “Wait! Stop! Make printed shirts out of them, so I can hang them on the wall with my other souvenirs. Then we’ll deliver the goods.”

  *

  The Rack is a room with an old clothes rack for hanging and stretching material connected to a metal production line that runs along a steel track above.

  A glass wall rests with an immense gray machine on the other side that feeds the rack. Sprayers for dye and a steaming vat of boiling water bubbles in front. Plain white shirts hang at the end awaiting imprint and ink.

  Once we step into the room, they spritz us with something that makes my head go foggy. My legs weaken. They spritz Tanz and his legs give out. They punch me in the gut, and I go down. Shaking my head trying to see straight as a kick comes into my ribs.

  “The toxins,” says Tanz weakly, breathing hard, eyes watering then he endures another blow.

  “Now, Claremone, now.” On all fours his words slur like a disoriented bull after a sword slashed him.

  I try moving my legs but can only straighten them, feeling weak. My body slackens. Listing from side to side, Tanz drops to the floor, eyes closing.

  My vision and thoughts disorient. I’m seeing double. Beefcake Brothers move to the door standing like unblinking beasts.

  Beefcake #4 must be three hundred pounds and six-five. He picks me up like a feather with one hand while Tanz lays in a heap.

  He clamps my hands into the metal clothesline with heavy steel clips. Ahhh. It hurts so bad. Metal pierces the skin, digging in. The pain travels up my arm as metal nubs cut in around the knuckles. Tanz wakes, letting out a howl of pain as the clips sink into his flesh. We dangle several feet above the concrete floor.

  My sight returns slightly. I pulse my body trying to wake it up. Be
hind the window, Tattoo adjusts knobs and switches. The rack bounces alive with a groaning rumble and rolls upon metal wheels to the boiling water and dye. Tanz will be first. My hands ache from the metal nubs cutting in. I try making a fist, but my hands throb too much.

  Four television monitors with abuses hang to entertain as we move to the vat and suffering, to remain permanently trapped inside a shirt.

  On one monitor, an old woman is mugged and her purse stolen. I look closer and it’s the same old lady I helped that first day. The greasy mugger grabs her purse and pushes her to the ground. No one is there to help her.

  I’m angry. Sick of all this crap, all these spreading lies and abuses. People deserve better. I want to knock the dark forces back to where they came from. Impulses tear at me from within. My brain fires, legs twitch. Flex and release. Flex and release.

  In a dull, disinterested cadence Beefcake #4 says, “The water boils off the body and the toxins remove the essence. Then the colorful dyes make a beautiful shirt.” He begins humming some happy tune, turning from us to check levels with a stick. His dull eyes look up again from a few feet away as we bounce closer. “It is a very interesting process.” He’s humming something that sounds like a nursery rhyme or a song sang at camp.

  “We have to get out of here,” Tanz mutters, eyes half open, studying the room.

  Clear vision has returned. Only two thugs stand at the door now. Tattoo is in the room on the other side of the glass. Only Beefcake #4 is close.

  Tanz calls him over. “Excuse me, young man?”

  Beefcake #4 steps closer, holding the measuring stick. “Yes, sir, how may I help you?” Blue waves float out from Tanz’s eyes.

  Black soulless eyes stare back. “Old man, I have no fear or remorse. They have been cut away from my emotions. I am quite sorry. You will make a fine shirt,” he says, going back to his humming, now bopping his head from right to left.