Blue Meat Blues

by Joshua McGrath

  “Is this the person who did this?”

  The crowd cried out in response. The words were indistinguishable. It was a pure animal sound; a combination of hunger and bloodlust and hopelessness.

  The Doorman turned and spoke to the Boss-Lady without acknowledging Jesus or Junior.

  “They call him Chatter. He’s insane. Harmless.”

  The Boss-Lady nodded and turned to Jesus.

  “Let him go. He’s barely alive, and barely human.”

  Jesus raised his voice to the crowd. It picked up a resonance that traveled through the cement and into my bones.

  “Did he do this?”

  He pointed to Insect’s head. It smiled down over us and ran a steady stream of blood onto the ground. Junior jerked the old man between himself and Jesus. Chatter babbled and looked at the ground.

  “Kill Chatter!”

  A solitary voice from the crowd shouted - cutting through the noise. Another voice echoed.

  “Kill Chatter!”

  And they began to chant. Stomping their feet and beating their fists together - laughter that was more animal than human.

  “Kill Chatter!”

  My stomach turned. I looked at the Boss-Lady. Her expression was calm but her jaw was clenched. I looked at Jesus and tried to fill my lungs.

  “So this is the product of your justice and your charity and your goodness.”

  I spat on the ground at their feet.

  “One man and a mob of blood-hungry monkeys.”

  He turned to me and tilted his head, squinting his eyes, without reply.

  Junior pushed Chatter to his knees. He turned to me and smirked. I drew a line across my neck with my thumbnail.

  Jesus addressed the crowd.

  “For the crime of murder, sentenced by a jury of his peers…”

  He gestured to the crowd with two fingers - his fingernails were wide and yellow.

  ”…we sentence the man named Chatter to death.”

  The crowd cheered - a mass exhalation of breath and sadism that burnt my throat.

  Jesus drew a small shiv - it looked like an icepick. It was brown and pocked with rust but the point was well-polished and a dull silver. He handed it to Junior, nodded slightly and turned to face the Insect.

  Junior raised the icepick over Chatter’s head - I raised the shiv and took a step forward but the Boss-Lady caught my arm. I turned to her and she shook her head sadly.

  Junior brought the icepick down - it punched neatly through the old man’s skull and he crumpled to the ground like paper. My eyes were burning. The Boss-Lady’s grip was digging into my arm. I felt impotent.

  The crowd didn’t respond. They continued to cheer but there was no climax. They were pushing forward, jostling for a better view of Chatter bleeding on the cement.

  Jesus sighed and spoke to the Insect.

  “And I guess you went and found your own justice, friend.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and kicked the pole. The head hit the ground and rolled; settling on the tar-stained cement. The Boss-Lady relaxed her grip and drew a sharp breath through her teeth.

  “It’s time. You’re free to go.”

  She released my arm and turned away.

  “Do it.”

  I threw myself at Junior.

  Both feet left the ground; hot air dusted my skin and an involuntary laugh shook from my chest and slapped the shrinking air between us.

  His face contorted from smug confidence to shock and went suddenly black as I drove the top of my skull into his mouth. His teeth raked my scalp and he tumbled backward.

  I wrapped my arms and legs around him and dug the shivs into the small of his back. He cried out but the sound was muffled by my hair.

  We rolled along the cement - I caught one final flash of the Boss-Lady disappearing into the crowd. The ferals rushed over us - a foot dug into my ribs and I threw my head into Junior’s face again. For a brief moment I caught him smiling - all blood and teeth.

  A wiry arm slipped around my neck and tried to peel us apart. I tightened my grip on the shivs and they tore a deep rut from the small of his back to his shoulder-blades.

  The arm tightened around my neck. Unseen ferals took handfuls of my jacket and looped their fingers around my arms; pulling me away from Junior and clean into the air.

  He sat up slowly and I kicked him in the face.

  I tried to find my feet but the crowd had me off the ground. Jesus had merged into the mass of bodies. I jerked my head backward and caught somebody in the face - I felt their cheekbones on the back of my skull. Their grip faltered and I had my feet for a second.

  I threw myself blindly backward - into the crowd. The hands on my arms and the grip on my neck went slack and I slashed the shivs into the wall of flesh without looking.

  Junior was on his feet and my hands were hot with feral blood. He had the icepick in one hand and the pistol in the other. I braced my feet and lunged at him. The ferals dragged along behind me. I thrust both shivs in front of me but he stepped backward and I caught nothing but air. He raised the icepick and I slashed at his forearm; he reeled backward and I saw his pale skin flap open and spray blood onto the cement.

  The icepick clattered to the ground.

  Somebody jumped on my back - their ankles wrapped around my waist and their arms tightened around my face. They were light and sharp with bones and through the tiny splinter of light between their arms I saw Junior raise the pistol.

  My stomach tightened. I bit down on the feral’s arms and slashed blindly behind me. Their grip never faltered. Junior pulled back the hammer. I tried to kick the gun from his hands but he was too far away. I threw both shivs - they bounced harmlessly off his chest.

  His face was bright red. His pupils were tiny pin-pricks. His smile split the mask and each tooth caught the yellow sky and made the mass of feral bodies darken to black by contrast.

  My mouth was filled with bitter feral skin.

  My hands were empty.

  The bullet hit me in the gut and the feral cried out and dropped away. The sheer force of the metal punched me through the air and into the crowd.

  Feral bodies crumpled under me.

  The muzzle-flash had fried my eyes.

  My vision was pure, burning white with the broad smile of Junior etched in black negative.

  I was nailed to the cement. I could hear my own voice - pitifully begging for something I couldn’t understand.

  The air rushed into my stomach cavity.

  Blood and bile pooled in my throat but I couldn’t swallow.

  I felt it slowly drip into my lungs. My breath gurgled for a while and finally stopped.

  The sound of the crowd died away. My vision faded to black. I felt my heartbeat in my eyes, faltering gently.

  The tyre iron dug into the small of my back. I tried to hold fast to the metal on my skin but the ground dropped away and I was sunk; numb and deaf and blind.

  Just another candidate for the meatbin.

  The blood had pooled at the back of my skull. My neck was bent at a sharp angle and my knees hung over my face. I rolled onto my side.

  My skin was stuck to the floor with coagulated blood; it felt like it was tearing.

  My feet hit the wall and it rung out thin and metallic.

  I had just enough space to curl up - knees to my chest.

  My mouth was cracked and dry.

  I tried to lick my lips but my tongue split as I stretched it. I let the blood roll around my mouth and my tongue thrilled to the touch of liquid.

  I peeled my crusted eyes open.

  The door of the cage was barred with thick wire. I gave it an exploratory kick and it rattled but felt solid. My muscles were stiff with rust. My spine ached at every vertebrae. I searched my stomach with two fingers. The skin was ragged and sticky - but the nerves were dead. I felt nothing.

  I could hear the gentle rhythm of tar hitting the roof and my heartbeat against the walls.

  I felt naked. My shirt was to
rn and hung from the collar in tatters. My feet were bare. I rubbed my eyes until they welled with tears and blinked until the room drew into sharp focus.

  The room was dimly lit and smelled of black smoke. It looked like the table I’d smashed the Kid through had been replaced. I could make out the blurred outline of three people sitting at the table, another leaning in the doorway. The soft illumination of tobacco embers lit their faces for a moment before pulling them back into darkness.

  Dad sat with his back to the window. The Doctor faced him. Fats sat at the head of the table. Junior stood in the doorway.

  My jacket was folded in the middle of the table, weighted with the tyre iron.

  “It makes sense.”

  Dad blew a cloud of pure golden smoke across the table. It caught the light and glowed. He shook his head and sat back in his chair.

  “How long will he be in there?”

  The Doctor drummed on the table with sharp fingers. His eyes lit up as he sucked on his pipe. His pupils were fixed on my cell. I didn’t know how much he could see. I waved with one finger. He didn’t react.

  Fats reclined in his chair - the wood groaned. Junior moved forward and put his hand on the Doctor’s shoulder.

  “We haven’t decided.”

  Junior spoke with a lisp. He spat as he formed the words. The spittle shone orange. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and winced.

  “He’s trouble. But we don’t know how much trouble. It’s just a…”

  Dad squirmed in his seat and met Junior’s eye. He nodded slowly and closed his eyes. Junior continued.

  “…just a feeling. A pre-emptive measure, altogether.”

  The Doctor coughed and tilted his head up to look at Junior.

  “So what’s the process? Do you have a… procedure? Some sort of system?”

  Junior walked back to the door and dragged on the pipe. Fats leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, balancing his pipe atop his tented fingers.

  “We will wait until he recovers, if he recovers. We’ll talk to him. There are a lot of questions. We have suspicions. After that… Jesus will decide.”

  The table sighed. Smoke hung thick in the still air. The Doctor waved his thin fingers in front of his face and sliced the cloud.

  “That sounds fair. Well…”

  He pushed the chair from the table and stood up.

  “I’ve done everything I can. I don’t know if he’ll recover. But I imagine he will. He’s… resilient.”

  He walked to the door and paused in front of Junior.

  “And what about my house?”

  Junior nodded slowly and tapped his pipe on his palm.

  “We will have some people come over to help you fix it up tomorrow. If anything is broken, tell them and we will try to replace it.”

  The Doctor nodded and walked out.

  Dad kneaded his temples with his thick fingers and slumped forward over the table. Fats stroked his head. His face fell with genuine concern; or at least a convincing counterfeit.

  “I’m sorry. I know. You did what you could. Sometimes… people are just bad.”

  Dad nodded silently and rose from the table. He looked small. He passed Junior wordlessly and they walked out together - closing and barring the front door behind them. The stairs creaked and the room fell silent.

  I strained to see Fats in the dark. The pipe lit his face in a slow, rolling rhythm. He dragged his chair around the table and turned it backward in front of my cage, propping his elbows on the back of the chair.

  “Well. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

  I said nothing. He blew a thick cloud of smoke into the cage. I sucked it into my lungs and felt disgustingly grateful.

  “You’ve almost a celebrity, you know. Almost a monster to the people.”

  I smiled weakly and twisted myself into a seated position, leaning against the back of the cage. My shoulders ached. I folded my hands across my stomach and waited for him to continue.

  “You’re awake? The Doctor was right. What did he call you, again?”

  He shuffled closer to the cage.

  “Resilient.”

  The words came out ragged and dry. I cleared my throat and said it again.

  “Resilient.”

  He smiled, face lit by the glow of his pipe.

  “Resilient. That’s it. Now, you’ve had a busy few days - haven’t you?”

  I stretched my fingers and cracked each knuckle in turn, waiting for him to continue.

  “Look… I don’t want to see you die. You’re a fascinating individual. So full of energy and anger.”

  I shook my head and coughed.

  “That’s a shallow reading of my personality.”

  He laughed softly and blew another lungful of smoke into the cage.

  “Maybe. But true nonetheless. Now… Jesus wants to see that anger and energy channeled into something positive. You can be redeemed. Think about it. You’re a monster to the people. You could be their angel.”

  I laughed. It shook the metal walls and I choked as it broke from my lungs. I licked the saliva from the corners of my lips and kicked the door of the cage. Fats startled and half stood up. He shook his head and took a step forward, putting his face up close to the door.

  “You think you’re something bigger than those people out there…”

  He moved out of sight and brought a fractured mirror back, spinning his chair and propping it toward me.

  “When the sun rises, you need to look at yourself. I think you’ll change your mind.”

  I kicked the door again - he laughed softly and left the room. The lamplight was low. The mirror was dark. I rolled back onto my side and folded my arms under my head.

  The room was silent but for the soft rolling of the tar and a quiet, sharp skittering that sounded like it was coming from inside my head.

  I dreamt of Dad, slowly shaking his wet face as Jesus dried his cheeks with rough fingers.

  “Look at yourself!”

  I clenched my eyes shut.

  Junior’s voice shook. He hit the cage door with his fist. I smiled and blindly spat toward the voice.

  “You can lead a horse to water, friend. But you can’t make him drink.”

  I laughed. It sounded hollow. He stomped across the room and I cracked open my eyelids. He stood in the doorway. Fats sat at the table. It was daylight and the room was hot and bright. The mirror was still propped on the chair. It caught the light at its corner and the reflection was blinding.

  Junior came back to the cage - looping his fingers through the bars and bringing his face down toward me.

  “I will drag you out of there and cut your eyelids off. And it would be close enough to justice that nobody would care.”

  I kicked his fingers with a sharp heel and laughed. He recoiled and shook his hand, moving back to the table. I smirked and cleared my throat.

  “The only thing that stands between you and the meatbin is this door, friend. You drag me out of here and it’s game over.”

  Fats cooed gently.

  “It’s not important. It’s not why we he’s here. He doesn’t have to look at himself if he doesn’t want to. We can’t force him to.”

  Junior slammed his hands on the table.

  “He’s just city trash! Don’t talk about him like he’s human.”

  Fats sighed and said nothing. I tapped my fingers on the metal wall.

  “Better to be city trash than some old world relic. Do us all a favor and go back to sleep; go back and dream of public servants and truffles and salaries and television”.

  He crouched by the mirror, jerking an angry finger toward me.

  “You talk like a human but you behave like an animal.”

  I laughed.

  “That’s the most old world bullshit I’ve ever heard. The fact that you make the distinction tells me that you’re beyond redemption.”

  He picked up the mirror and held it to the cage, shaking it for emphasis.

  “Re
demption?! Redemption?! You’re a waste of a brain and you’re barely fit for rough. There will be no redemption for you.”

  He put the mirror on the table and turned to Fats.

  “Don’t waste your time taking to this animal. I’ve judged him. Guilty. There’s no better gift you can give the people than to allow them to watch him die.”

  Fats didn’t respond. Junior walked to the door. I rapped my knuckles on the wall.

  “Before you go, I’ve got a little story for you. Call it my death-bed confession.”

  He stopped and looked at Fats. I blinked until my eyes watered and fixed them with an earnest stare.

  “Go on. Sit down. Get comfortable. You’re going to enjoy this. Guarantee.”

  Junior sat on the edge of the table facing me. He folded his arms over his chest. The pistol was in his waistband. Fats moved his chair closer and leaned forward intently. I cleared my throat for dramatic effect.

  “Once upon a time I was was walking down the street. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. You remember birds, right? They were singing. And I came across the Insect.”

  Junior sat upright and stared at me. I smiled.

  “Yeah. You know where I’m going with this. And on this sunny day I beat her face open with a rock and cut her head off while she was still alive. She screamed the entire time, until her throat was finally disconnected from her lungs. And even then they kept pumping air at me.”

  Junior drew the pistol and stood, fingers furiously working the air. I continued.

  “It was quite refreshing, in retrospect. I continued down the street. And who did I come across? Your muscular friend. He was walking hand in hand with his little boy love. They looked so happy. I think one of them was carrying a flower. Do you remember flowers?”

  Junior aimed the pistol into the cage, point blank. I ignored it and continued.

  “I beat his little friend until his face fell apart, and then I stuck the big guy so full of metal that he looked like some sort of mutilated spider. Spider. Spider. Do you remember those?”

  I hit the side of the cage to punctuate the sentence.

  “He kept trying to get up - but he was nailed so firmly into the ground that he just flopped around. It was almost funny. Actually… scratch that. It was funny. Hilarious.”