Animal 4.5

by K'wan

  Kahn had been out robbing one night with some friends that he shared an abandoned house with. Everyone else in the group had managed to finagle something and they were about ready to call it a night, but Kahn’s pockets were still empty. When his friends had decided to call it a night, Kahn continued trolling the streets in hopes that his luck would change. It did when he wandered into an affluent section of Santiago de Cuba. He spied a Hispanic woman wearing expensive clothes, with diamonds accenting her hands and neck coming out of a shopping center carrying lots of bags. From her pale skin to her expensive clothes, you could tell that she wasn’t a local; likely one of the rich tourists who sometimes frequented the country. Kahn hated to take things from women, unless they were white, but he was desperate that night. From just her necklace alone, he could feed his entire house for months. After much internal debate, Kahn decided to make his move.

  He stalked the woman as she crossed the parking lot and made her way towards a silver BMW. She was so busy chatting on her cell phone that she didn’t even notice him behind her. When she sat her purse atop her car, Kahn swooped in. He grabbed the woman roughly by the shoulder, spinning her around, and scaring the daylights out of her. “Your money or your life,” he commanded, waving the raggedy .22 he was carrying at her.

  When the woman saw that the person who was attempting to rob her was just a scruffy looking boy, the fear faded from her face, replaced with a look akin to amusement. “Little one, you’re about to make a mistake that you’ll regret later. If it’s money you’re looking for, I’ll gladly give you a few dollars, but you won’t be taking anything from me,” she said calmly. The woman reached for her purse to hand Kahn a few dollars when he shoved her against the car.

  “Bitch, you willing to die over them jewels and whatever you got in that purse?” Kahn shoved the gun in her face. His hand trembled nervously. Back then, he had still been a virgin to death.

  Seeing how unstable the kid was the smile faded from the woman’s face. “Fine, take what you want, just be mindful with that gun.”

  Kahn grabbed her purse then snatched her cell phone too and stuck it inside. “Run that necklace too!” he ordered.

  “Son, you’ve already taken my money and I’m more than willing to let you have it, but this necklace was a gift from my late husband,” she explained.

  “I don’t give a fuck who gave it to you, it’s mine now,” Kahn snatched the necklace from her neck. He’d thought about taking her car too, but back then he didn’t know how to drive, so he settled for her money and jewelry and took off on foot. As he exited the parking lot, he spared a glance over his shoulder and found the woman watching him with an amused expression on her face.

  Between the cash he’d found in the purse and what he’d gotten from fencing the necklace Kahn felt like a kid on Christmas. The take wasn’t for more than a few thousand dollars, but to a kid who had nothing it was like hitting the lotto. He was the man of the hour when he got back to the house he was squatting in and told his fellow robbers about his successful mission. Of course, some of them wanted to share in his fortune, but Kahn horded it all for himself. None of them offered to share with him when they had broken lucky and he hadn’t. He went out and bought new sneakers, clothes, and gorged himself on fine food from the local markets. Kahn felt like he’d pulled off the most successful lick of his young life, until a few days later when karma paid a call on him.

  Kahn had been sleeping upstairs on the dirty mattress that served as his bed when he awoke with a start. He wasn’t sure what had awakened him, but he felt like something was wrong. He slipped into his new Nikes and ventured out of his room. The house was unusually silent that night. Normally in the house full of unruly teenagers there was always some kind of commotion, but that night the house was as still as the grave. He tip-toed down the stairs, looking for signs of one of his fellow thieves, but found none. That was until he tripped over something at the bottom of the stairs and fell on his face.

  When Kahn pushed himself into a sitting position, he noticed that his hands and knees were covered in something wet and sticky. At first he thought one of the other kids had spilled something and neglected to clean it up, but upon closer inspection he realized that it was blood. His eyes immediately darted to the stairs, where he had fallen, and it was then he spotted his friend Juan lying at the bottom of them. His eyes stared off aimlessly, but the life had long ago fled them. Across his throat, were several gashes as if some sort of animal had attacked him.

  Kahn scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could for the front door. It didn’t even matter that he was covered in blood, and only wearing his sneakers and underwear. He needed to get out of the house before whatever had gotten to Juan mauled him too. He had almost made it to the front door when he slammed into something very solid. His path had been clear only seconds prior, but now there was a black wall standing between him and freedom. As his eyes traveled the length of it, he realized that it wasn’t a wall at all, but a man. He was dressed in black from head to toe and wearing a mask crafted of silver, polished to a high shine.

  Young Kahn tried to run back the way he had come, but the man in the silver mask had grabbed him by the back of his neck and lifted him off the feet. The next thing Kahn knew, he was sailing across the room, crashing into the wall hard enough to put a hole in it. He sat on the floor, dazed and with his head spinning as the man in the silver mask stalked towards him. Kahn watched in shock as he drew a large axe from a scabbard on his back and raised it to deliver the killing strike.

  “No,” a voice called from somewhere in the next room. “Bring him here, Nicodemus. I have something I want to show our young thief.”

  The masked man, who had been called Nicodemus, pulled Kahn by his arm to his feet and dragged him into the next room. When they were inside, he shoved Kahn so hard that he lost his balance and fell. Instead of hitting the floor, Kahn landed on something soft and lumpy. When he rose up and looked down, he realized that he was lying on a pile of bodies. They were all dead, the murdered children and young adults that occupied the house they squatted in. All of them bore the same animal like slashes that he had seen on Juan’s throat. Kahn’s stomach lurched and he threw up everything he had eaten that day.

  “I’m disappointed in you, little one. You have the stomach to steal from a woman, but not to look upon death?” a voice slightly familiar to him mocked.

  He looked up and saw another masked figure. This one was a female, he could tell from the curve of her breasts in the black jumpsuit she wore. Unlike Nicodemus, who wore a plain silver mask, hers was the color of burnt copper with what looked like tiger stripes etched across the cheeks. An orange flower with black specks was carved in the center of her mask, just over the tinted eyeholes. Choked in the crook of her arm was another one of the boys who squatted in the house, Pablo. He was their leader and resident tough guy, but at that moment, he looked like every bit of the frightened child that he was.

  “Why did you kill my friends? We haven’t done anything to you. This isn’t right,” Kahn said. He wasn’t sure why he said it, or even if it mattered. He just needed to hear his own voice to be sure it was really happening and that he wasn’t caught in a nightmare.

  “Isn’t it?” she stepped forward, dragging Pablo with her. She regarded him from behind her mask. “Several days ago, you took something from a woman that didn’t belong to you, was that right?”

  Kahn could’ve shit himself when she mentioned the woman he’d robbed in the parking lot. He should’ve known from the expensive necklace and fancy car that she had the means to send killers after him for what he’d done. It was probably just his luck that he robbed the wife of some big time drug dealer or rich businessman.

  “Please, I’m sorry. I don’t have all of the money, but I still have some of it and I’d be more than willing to give it back if you let us go free,” Kahn pleaded.

  “This isn’t about the value of material things, it’s about karma. Tell me, what do you know of kar
ma?” the woman asked.

  “Nothing,” Kahn admitted. He was familiar with the word but didn’t truly understand it’s meaning.

  “Karma is a fickle mistress, but one thing that is consistent about her is that she always comes back to claim what is owed to her. Sometimes it affects the offender directly,” she raised her hand and for the first time Kahn saw the metallic looking claw covering it, “and sometimes it spills over to those closest to us,” she brought the claw down and tore out Pablo’s throat, before tossing his body onto the pile with the others.

  Khan stood there, watching Pablo bleed out onto the pile of other young boys. Of all the people who stayed in the house, he and Pablo were the closest. They had spent many nights staying up until the wee hours, talking about their dreams of escaping Cuba and going to America where they would make their fortunes. Seeing his friend Pablo slaughtered like a dog filled Khan with so much rage that his body began to tremble. He turned his hateful eyes towards the killer, and though he tried to hold it back, a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

  “I know that look,” the woman moved closer. “Hatred is the one emotion that we can’t mask, no matter how hard we try. It’s because unlike some of the others, hatred is something born from the heart and not the head. Right now, you’re probably thinking that if you had a weapon, you’d do to me exactly what I’ve done to your friends. Isn’t that right?”

  Kahn didn’t reply.

  “I’m a sporting woman,” she selected one of several blades that were strapped to her thighs and tossed it at Kahn’s feet. “Take up the blade and avenge your friend. Strike me down for killing your comrade.”

  Kahn hesitated. He figured it had to be some kind of trick. Even if he did manage to make it to the blade and kill the woman, Nicodemus would likely strike him down shortly after. Still, if he was to die with his friends, at least he would take Pablo’s killer with him. The minute Kahn reached for the blade, pain exploded in his back when the woman slashed him with her claws. It burned as if someone had opened his skin and poured alcohol inside of it. Kahn was in so much pain that all he could do was lie on the floor and whimper.

  “The first rule of battle is to never take your eyes off your opponent,” the woman told him, wiping her blood stained claws clean on the dirty sheet they had hung over the window as a curtain. She looked down at Kahn and shook her head. “A pity, because I’d had high hopes for you. Kill him and meet me outside, Nicodemus,” she ordered and started for the door.

  Behind her there was a feral growling, like a wounded animal sending out a warning to someone who had strayed too close. She turned around just in time to see Kahn streaking at her with the blade she’d offered him. He was faster than she’d expected, but untrained, and it took little to no effort to deflect his strikes with her metallic claws. She moved her arms in a circular motion, disarming Kahn and leaving him exposed. With a flick of her hands, she pierced both of Kahn’s shoulders to the wall with the index fingers of her claws.

  Kahn howled as he felt muscles and tendons ripping. He had experienced pain in his life but never on that level. A few minutes prior he wanted nothing more than to live, but at that point he was praying for death if it meant the pain would stop. Just as he was about to black out, she removed the claws and let him fall to the ground. Kahn lay there, bleeding like a stuck pig while the woman knelt over him. She raised one of her bloodied claws and removed her mask and he was shocked at who he saw behind it. “You?” he gasped.

  “I tried to warn you when you were robbing me that you were making a mistake you’d regret later.” She smirked at him. “You’re street trash, but you have potential. I can respect a man who is willing to fight until the end. For this, you get to keep your life.”

  “So you’re not going to kill me?” Kahn asked, both surprised and relieved.

  “No, but by the time I’m done you may wish that I had,” she stood, removing her claws and hooking them to either side of the utility belt she was wearing. “Bring him then burn this place and its secrets to the ground,” she told Nicodemus before leaving the room.

  *

  That was the last night Kahn ever had to steal or go hungry. The woman who had entered the house as his executioner turned out to be his savior, and later on his mentor. Her name was Lilith, but she went by Tiger Lily and was an elder in what would become his new family, the Brotherhood of Blood. For years, Kahn had studied under Tiger Lily, learning from her and soaking up everything she taught him. Of all the lessons she taught him, the one she was the most animate about was; failure was unacceptable. This is what made it so hard for Kahn to digest what his second in command, Bastille, was standing in his office telling him.

  Bastille was one of the most, if not the most, dangerous men in the Brotherhood. Him being named the order’s official executioner was not by chance, but because he was amongst the best at what he did, which was deliver swift and merciless death. In all the years Kahn had known him, Bastille had never lost a battle, but at that moment, he looked like a whipped dog. His clothes stank of gasoline and there were fresh burns on the side of his face and his neck. It was a grotesque sight and he needed obvious medical attention, but Bastille wouldn’t hear it. For as bad shape as he was in physically, his pride was hurt worse than his body.

  “I’m telling you, Khan, I had the bitch beaten. I would’ve taken her head if those other guys hadn’t shown up!” Bastille fumed.

  “And who were these men who were able to best the Brotherhood’s executioner and make off with the prize?” Kahn asked.

  “I don’t know; they were wearing bandanas to cover their faces. At first I thought they were gang bangers, but the way they moved was too organized for them to be common thugs. They’ve had training, likely some of those band of misfits she’s taken to running with,” Bastille suggested.

  “I doubt that. Ashanti and his bunch were all accounted for the last time I checked, except Animal,” Kahn told him. He’d had eyes on them almost the whole time they were in New York. Animal had managed to slip past his watchers and no one was quite sure where he’d gotten off to. Though his face didn’t show it, this troubled Kahn greatly. Animal was only one man, but an extremely dangerous one. Losing track of him was like having your pet poisonous snake escape in your house and wondering if you would catch it before it snuck up on you and bit you.

  “Then maybe it was Animal who saved her.”

  “I’d thought about that, but had it been Animal who got the drop on you, you’d be dead instead of burned,” Khan said seriously. Animal’s affiliation with Kahllah made them enemies, but he still respected his skills as a killer.

  “I don’t care who it was, but when I find them I’m going to skin them all alive and wear their pelts like a winter coat!” Bastille slammed his meaty fist onto Kahn’s desk, almost knocking over the picture of him and President Obama at the last Inaugural Ball.

  “My old friend, you are as gifted with words as you are with a blade,” Khan said good-naturedly. “Fear not, I’m sure you’ll have a second chance at the Black Lotus sooner than later. If she’s in the D.C. area it doesn’t take a lot of thought to figure out where she’s headed.”

  “To the Mountain,” Bastille voiced what Kahn was thinking.

  “Yes, in a futile attempt to plead for her life no doubt,” Kahn said in disgust.

  “Well if that’s the case, she’ll be marching into her own death. Since you’ve revealed her traitorous plans to overthrow the order all doors have been closed to her. I made it clear to other brothers and initiates that anyone who is caught aiding the Black Lotus will meet the end of my blade. I promise you, there is no one foolish enough to lend help to that turncoat.”

  “If that were true then you wouldn’t be standing here looking like Freddy Kruger and it’d be her head on my desk instead of your fist prints,” Khan shot back.

  “On my honor and my title of executioner, I swear to you that the next time we meet I will crush the Black Lotus under my boot as easily as the flower she w
as named after,” Bastille promised. He hated to be made to look inferior, especially in the eyes of Khan. He was the leader of the Black Hand and his opinion carried a great deal of weight.

  “I’m sure you will. Had there been any doubt in my mind about your abilities your head would complement hers on my trophy wall,” Khan said seriously. “I’m concerned about the Black Lotus being here, but I’m more concerned about those who helped her and what they mean to our plans for the future,” he got up from behind his desk and began pacing his office.

  “They were probably just mercenaries or something. You know the Black Lotus has a great many friends from all different walks of life,” Bastille said.

  “No, these weren’t mercenaries. Whoever helped her knew exactly when and where to intervene, which was information known only to those with access to Brotherhood networks. There is a snake in our midst.”

  “Kahn, it’s as I’ve said; all the Brothers know the penalty for helping her. Who would be foolish enough to risk excommunication and certain death for a traitor?”

  Kahn stopped his pacing, and stroked his goatee absently. His eyes were still fixed on the city outside his window. “Who indeed?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Kahllah sat at the card table in the middle of the dimly lit garage, with her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea. The heat coming through the glass soothed her sore fingers. It had been quite painful popping them back into place after Bastille had dislocated them, but Kahllah was no stranger to pain or dislocated bones. Until that moment, she had never really appreciated the simple things, such as a cup of tea or the temporary quiet of having survived almost being killed. Kahllah’s mind kept replaying the look on Bastille’s face as he prepared to take her head, and the feeling of helplessness as she watched. She had been on death’s door many times, but each time she always had options. Not that night. She was so mentally and physically exhausted that her body betrayed her. Bastille had been right when he said she was slipping. She’d become so involved in the problems of others that she’d taken her eye off the ball and it almost cost her. Thanks to the mercies of the young man sitting across from her she’d have a chance to correct her mistakes.