The Mind is a Razorblade

by Max Booth III

  “What?”

  Lamb reaches down at his desk, grabs a handful of the white powder spilled everywhere, and snorts it out of his palm. He returns his gaze back at me, smiling. “Hey, Bob, I hear you had a nice little run-in earlier with a renegade harvey. As I recall, you had just finished murdering my pickup boy, yeah?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “One of my sources tells me you and a harvey had yourselves a nice little chat. And word is, this was one of those nasty rebellious sons of bitches.”

  The creature with the surgeon’s mask. The thing that’d exploded into spiders.

  “What did you call it?” I ask.

  “Har...vey.”

  “That was...its name? Harvey?”

  Lamb pierces me with another sharp glare. “Short for harvester.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now, tell me what you two talked about before he...whatever happened to him. These things never talk, Bob, so if it did to you, then it must’ve been pretty damn important.”

  (‘Oasis. Save Oasis.’)

  But Oasis is already dead. The harvey was too late. I’d killed him myself. But why would the harvey give a shit about a cop?

  Why would the harvey give a shit about me?

  (‘Save Oasis.’)

  What am I even doing here? The man has already promised to blow my brains out, for Christ’s sake. The longer I stay here, the more I put my life in danger, and I’m just going to give this bastard the satisfaction of making up for his previous mistakes.

  His mistake being, of course, his failure to kill me correctly the first time.

  And now I’ve returned to show him how it’s done.

  “You know, Lamb, there may be something I do remember that I neglected to mention earlier.”

  Lamb raises his eyebrow. “Yeah? And what might that be?”

  “Well, you see, back at the river, there was something else I found there beside just the two dead bodies. Something I took other than a lousy coat.”

  Still leaning against the desk, Lamb laughs. “Boy, if you think I don’t know about that piece in your pocket, you is a goddamn fool.”

  Raoul shoves the barrel of a pistol against my ribcage as he takes my own gun from my pocket.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “You honestly expected to walk all up in here packin’ without me knowin’ about it? Bitch, please. Raoul here has had his sights on you since you walked in the joint.”

  I wait for Raoul to pull the trigger, but he’s waiting for some reason. Lamb is still talking, but I’m not even listening now. The man only talks to hear himself speak.

  I close my eyes and concentrate. I think about the man behind me, waiting to kill me as soon as he’s given the word. I think about the lamppost back at the park. It’d exploded at my command. I have the power. I am in control. I am the hero of my own shit.

  Something behind me cracks loudly and Raoul screams. The gun drops to the floor. “My wrist! My fucking wrist!”

  I shoot my leg back, thoroughly crushing the bodyguard’s unsuspecting nut sack up into his groin with the bottom of my trusty funny bunny slipper. His scream rises with volume as he collapses on top of me, limp and helpless. I shake him off and he drops like a stone. He holds his arm up, revealing his wrist completely snapped in half. Multiple bones stick out of his arm.

  Lamb is still standing where he was before, frozen. By the time he breaks his paralysis, I’ve already recovered my pistol and have it pointed straight at his stupid smug face. His eyes widen, and a moment later, his lips stretch out to his ears, revealing only a faint hint of a sinister set of canines.

  “Well shit, this is unexpected,” he says. “And certainly impressive, I’ll give you that. The last motherfucker to kick Raoul there in the balls and shove a gun in my face...well, I do believe you are the first one to attempt such a crazy stunt. Congratulations, Bob, I’ll have to give Molly my condolences at your funeral.”

  He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. “Oh, wait, there’s not going to be a funeral, is there? All there’s gonna be is you with a ton of bricks tied around your body, dragging you down to the bottom of the river where you should have been hours ago. But not to worry, good ol’ Mol will still be there for me to give my condolences to. Right before she joins you with her own set of bricks. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that cunt of an offspring of yours, either. I doubt she’s gonna need many bricks to get her little body to sink, though. Maybe a couple handfuls of rocks, huh? Shit, if that. One rock, two rock, three rock. ‘Bye, ‘bye, baby. ‘Bye, ‘bye.”

  I don’t think—I just act.

  The barrel of the gun smashes into the side of Lamb’s face and he goes flying against his chair, toppling over it to the ground, his body going still. It does very little to satisfy the anger seething through my veins, but it sure is a start.

  The bodyguard attempts to stand up again, moaning at his shattered wrist, so I turn around and stomp my foot into his face, knocking him back down where I want him. I kick him a few more times and leap over to the desk. Lamb is on the ground, groaning. If I leave him here, he’ll be after me before I even leave the building. He wants my blood. The sick fuck won’t stop until I’m dead.

  Or until he’s dead.

  He’s done answering my questions, anyway.

  I grab his dreadlocks and pull his head up, pressing the pistol against his jaw. He screams and tries to wrestle from my grasp, but it’s useless.

  Once the trigger’s pulled and the blood’s spilled, there’s no fighting anything. There is only sweet surrender.

  chapter ten

  The sound of my funny bunnies slapping against the steps forms a loud echo throughout the stairway, my heavy panting acting as backup vocals.

  I leap down the last three or four steps and kick the titanium door wide open, the music from the club welcoming my reentry. Everything is still the same as it was before I left it earlier—hell, even the same redhead is up on stage, dancing some eternal dance. Only now she’s lost the bra, her bare breasts swinging majestically with each sway of her hips. For a moment, I am unable to process any new information. Frozen, knowing I’m going to be discovered as a murderous psychopath any moment, and I just don’t care. I can’t take my eyes off her. They’re wonderful. She’s wonderful.

  And then this fat man, wearing a squirrel on his face in place of a mustache, goes tumbling down in front of me, landing on a small round table and snapping it to pieces. I jump back, shaken out of my little nudity reverie. Another man, this one a lot more muscular, comes running over and pounces on the fatter man, punching him repeatedly in the face. I recognize them as a couple of the drunkards who were playing cards when I first came in.

  “You still think I’m a cheat? Huh? I’ll cheat your face! With my fist!” yells the one doing all the punching.

  “Ahhhrrrgghhhhhaaa!” yells the one receiving all the punching.

  I casually step over them and stride toward the redhead. She spots me and manages a sly hand wave in the middle of her dancing routine, and I briefly debate waving back. Then I realize how ridiculous that would make me look and I instead hop up on the table with her, knocking a few badly concealed erections out of their seats in the process.

  The girl gasps, stepping back, although makes no actual indication to flee. The men I’ve knocked down slowly rise from their groggy states, becoming aware of what I’ve just done.

  I look the girl in the eyes—green, they’re so green and beautiful—and suddenly lose sense of all motive. Why am I here? Where am I? Who is she? Where are her clothes? And how do I make sure she never wears them again?

  “What the hell, Bobby?” she says, eyeing me like I’ve just done something totally outrageous.

  Oh please, it was mildly strange at best.

  I clear my throat. “Uh, hi.”

  “Hi...”

  “So, um, how’s it going?”

  “It’s going fine, Bobby,” she says casually, placing her h
ands on her hips. “Now do you mind telling me what you’re doing?”

  “Er, me and you, we know each other...right?”

  She cocks her head to the side and smirks. “No, not all. I just screw every random guy who comes in here.”

  One of the drunks still sitting pounds his fist against the table and shouts, “Oh shit, what did I tell you, Mick? You owe me five bucks!”

  Another patron goes, “Why don’t you shut it, huh? She was obviously being sarcastic.”

  “Oh.”

  I lean in and whisper, “Were you?”

  “What?” She gestures to her ears, reminding me of the music playing.

  “Ugh, never mind. Listen, you need to come with me.”

  “Sweetie, my shift isn’t over for another two hours. Can’t it wait?”

  “No.”

  “What’s going on?” She stops dancing. “What’s wrong?”

  She starts to walk toward me when I hear the titanium door over at the bar swing open and bang against the wall. I turn around on the table just in time to spot Raoul rushing into the room, wielding a gritty submachine gun in his uninjured hand. I see him scanning the large area for my whereabouts, so before I allow him the pleasure of spotting me on the table, I desperately dig into my coat pocket and pull out my own gun.

  I aim it in the bodyguard’s direction, the gun shaking in my hand. I try to think of a quirky one liner to yell out, but nothing seems to come to mind, so I squeeze the trigger. The gunshot is just loud enough to steal the room’s attention.

  The bodyguard stays right where he is, completely unfazed. That’s just because I came nowhere close to hitting him.

  The fat drunkard who’d previously gotten his ass handed to him by an equally intoxicated pugnacious card player, on the other hand, turns out to not be so lucky. He clutches his immense gut, mouth agape, a river of crimson flowing between his fingers, and collapses.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Now, like everyone else in the club, Raoul knows exactly where I am. I turn around and tackle the naked redhead off the stage just as he swings his submachine gun in our direction and unloads a spurt of fire upon us. If I would have moved a second later, the both of us would have a few more orifices in our bodies than necessary.

  We land on the ground hard, her body under mine. It occurs to me that I may have crushed her ribs. Although I’m sure a couple of fractured ribs are a helluva lot better than a couple of gunshot wounds. I think she’d agree with me on this.

  I try not to think about the fact that she is under me and her bare breasts are pushed against my chest, because I know if I think about this long enough I won’t be able to think at all and we’ll both be dead meat. There will be time to get her back under my body later, I tell myself. Much later. Now is not the time. Maybe once we’re out of range of a gun-toting nutjob.

  “Uh, hi,” I blurt out again.

  “Bobby, if you broke one of my nails I am so going to kick your ass,” the redhead says.

  “Fair enough. Let’s get out of here.”

  “’Kay.”

  I grab her hand and lead her around another set of tables, crawling, careful not to accidently move into the bodyguard’s target. Even though we’re out of sight, it still doesn’t stop the man from raining another hail of gunfire in our general direction. A few bullets shatter glasses just inches from my head.

  “Get low!” I scream.

  People trample around in an absolute frenzy, screaming and fleeing for the door. Others hide behind tables, while some just stand there like they’ve forgotten how to make their legs work, until the inevitable happens and they are shot down for being in the way. Many of the strippers who were currently up on stage doing their rounds are rewarded with the same fate—now nothing more than naked, sexy chunks of dead flesh.

  Man, this cannot be good for business.

  I realize that every time his mayhem pauses, it is because he is reloading his gun. The next time the gunfire ceases, I spring up to my feet, the gun gripped tightly in both hands. He’s still standing in the same exact spot over by the bar, fumbling for another clip of ammo, when I pull the trigger. A bottle of liquor explodes on the counter beside him, so I aim a little bit more to the right and try again. This time I am rewarded with a more promising outcome as a cloud of red mist sprays out from his shoulder. The bodyguard drops his submachine gun and goes stumbling back until he finally trips over a knocked over stool and goes tumbling down with it.

  I take this as our cue to get the hell out of here.

  “Oh, shit! I got him! I got him!”

  I probably shouldn’t be as excited about this as I am, but screw it: I got him! Who’s the king of guns? I am, that’s who. Yeah, that’s right, baby.

  “Why did you shoot Raoul?” the redhead shrieks, clearly hysteric.

  “Because he was trying to kill us?” I suggest, helping her to her feet. I grab her by the hand again and lead her toward the front door.

  “Well, why was he trying to kill us?” she asks.

  “I may have kicked him in the balls.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  As we’re leaving, I notice that some of the younger patrons are still on the dance floor, partying with the flow as if nothing has happened whatsoever. And considering how zonked they look, it’s very possible they have no idea. But then again, maybe they just don’t care. This could be a common occurrence here for all I know.

  Holding the redhead’s hand tightly so I don’t lose her in the masses, we pour out the front door with the rest of the frenzy. She’s too slow, though, and starts to drag behind. Then I remember that it is cold and she is naked, which includes a lack of footwear. The gravel paved road isn’t exactly comfortable, even with my funny bunnies on, so I can imagine what it must feel like for her. I stop and throw her over my shoulder, despite her protests, and continue running down the street with everyone else, her breasts bouncing against my back.

  Suddenly I feel as if I could run like this all day.

  What’s the hurry?

  A gunshot rings out from the club and a bullet zips past my head, exploding into the neck of another man ahead of me.

  I increase my speed, my hand clamped tightly down on the stripper’s ass to make certain I do not drop her.

  It’s for safety reasons only, I swear.

  * * *

  I run a few more blocks until I’m completely out of breath. No one else from the club is in sight, although the streets are still filled with the aimless vagrants that had been wandering around before. If any of The Risqué Cabaret’s patrons are indeed still around, then the zombies must have converted them awfully fast.

  My mind is racing a mile a minute, caught in a wild frenzy that I no longer have any control over—train of thought collided into the platform of oblivion long ago, the flames still bright and strong. There’s no way I’m going to be able to think clearly until I get a little rest—not to mention how difficult it is to concentrate when there’s a naked stripper thrown over my shoulder, her ass held nicely in my palm.

  Jesus, get a hold of yourself, man.

  I slow down, my legs feeling like rubber, and take a sharp right turn into the first blind alley I come across. I lower the fidgeting redhead to the ground, her bare inches slapping against the wet grimy concrete. She folds her arms over her chest, shivering from the bitter coldness of the night. I’m just grateful it’s no longer raining.

  “What the fuck just happened?” she shrieks.

  “Hell if I know.” I shrug. “That was pretty crazy, huh?”

  “Crazy? They were trying to kill you! What the hell is going on?”

  “Uh, well, I don’t exactly know. I guess they just don’t like me?”

  “They don’t like you? What is that? What happened?”

  “I don’t know! Stop screaming!”

  “Well what do you expect me to do? It’s cold! I have no clothes on. And what the hell are you wearing, anyway? Do I even have a job anymore? I want to know what’s going on, dammit
. Tell me!”

  “I don’t know, okay? Just please calm down.”

  “Okay, I’m calm!” she yells in a tone that is anything but calm. “Now tell me why Raoul was shooting at you.”

  “I told you. I kicked him—“

  “—in the balls. Yeah, yeah, I got that part. You know what I meant.”

  I sigh, shrugging again. “Um, well, I’m still not exactly sure. I guess they were upset that I wasn’t dead from when they tried to kill me earlier today.”

  “What?”

  I place a hand on her shoulder, doing my best to keep my eyes trained on her face and nothing more, although I sincerely would love nothing more than to lower them a few feet down. “Listen,” I tell her, “it is a very confusing time for me right now, all right? I have just as many questions as you do, and right now I would like very much to ask you one of them, if that’s all right with you.”

  She breathes out a visible gust of air, shuffling her legs up and down. “Well, go ahead.”

  “Okay, uh, this may sound a little strange, but please just bear with me, all right?”

  “All right...”

  “What is your name?”

  She looks at me as if I’ve just asked the most ridiculous question ever thought possible. Then her expression changes to a more serious concerned tone when she notices the absolute terror across my face.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Please. Just tell me...”

  She gently caresses her finger along my cheek and brings my face down to hers, our lips embracing into a kiss that sends a nice warm feeling down to the very core of my soul—of my life force. It reminds me of home. Of safe, perfect tranquility. Here, her lips on mine, my life force tasting her life force, this is where I am meant to be.

  And, standing here in the alleyway with her in my arms, I know this truth will never change. Not now, not ever.

  She briefly breaks contacts, but keeps her face close to mine, so close that I am able to breathe in her perfume and revel in its lovely scent. I never want this moment to end. I want to live in her perfume, retire my mouth on hers and never move away. This girl is my home—if I’ve only been positive of one thing tonight, it is that. My home. My warmth. My fuel.