by Brian Parker
Javier made his way back to The Lane and identified a mark holding a phone. He walked toward the man, realizing that he was being reckless. Normally, he’d size up the person; see if they might have belonged to a street gang, or if they might be packing. He didn’t bother with any of that.
Instead, he rushed up and delivered a quick punch to the ear while grabbing the phone at the same time. He didn’t care that the street cameras saw him. In a couple of days, none of that would matter.
He sprinted down an alley toward the darkness, which was simultaneously safe and dangerous. He skittered behind a dumpster and held the stolen phone up to his face.
Javier was lucky. He’d hit the mark quick enough that the phone was still unlocked. He dialed the number from memory and a woman picked up on the third ring.
“Solomon’s Flowers,” she said.
“Uh… Is this Terri Solomon?”
“Yeah. Who’s askin’?”
“I am— Uh, I mean, my name’s Javier. I was told you know how to help a guy get revenge.”
“Maybe,” the woman replied guardedly. “Maybe not. Why don’t you come down to my shop and pick out some flowers.”
Javier nodded dumbly at the phone beside his ear. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he said as he dropped the stolen phone and began walking down the alley.
The pickpocket walked through the crowded flower shop to the counter and pressed the plunger on the ancient chrome bell. Its chime rang out loud and clear in the tight space.
A little, old lady emerged from behind a closed door. “Welcome to Solomon’s Flowers, boy.”
“I’m not a boy,” he countered. “Are you Terri?”
“I am. And who might you be?”
“Javier.”
“Ah, you’re the gentleman who just called.”
She bent down slightly and reached under the counter. When she stood upright, she held a massive pulse blaster. “Put your phone on the counter, kid,” she ordered.
Javier was acutely aware that her demeanor had changed. Gone was the old lady who was one step away from adult diapers and drinking her meals through a straw. In her place stood a mean-looking older lady with enough spring in her step to still get the jump on him.
How could you have been so stupid to let this woman get the jump on you? he asked himself as he set his personal phone down on the counter. He wished he’d been smart enough to keep the one he’d made the call from.
In one swift move, Terri Solomon brought the butt of the pulse blaster down on the phone, shattering it.
“Hey!”
“Shut up, kid. You want revenge?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ve got to leave your old life behind.” She glanced behind her at the door and then gently set the blaster down on the countertop beside the destroyed phone.
She lifted off the green apron she wore and placed it on a hook beside the doorway. “Come on around the counter, kid. How much money you got to make this adjustment?”
“How much do I need?” he asked, following her through the door. Javier jumped slightly when he realized that there were two hulking beasts of men on the other side, staring directly at him. The slight smell of coppery blood tainted the aroma of flowers.
“You ask that kind of question, you don’t have enough.”
“Not right now, but I could—”
She grunted. “I don’t work for free, kid. Get the fuck outta here.”
“No! Wait. I know a place where I can score a ton of cash. There’s an old boat out at the Dockyards that didn’t used to be there. They’re distributing synthaine out of it. Once I get the upgrade, I can pay them a visit.”
“You want to hit a drug boss’s distro site to pay for an upgrade so you can get hired to be a guard at the distro site? That’s rich.”
Javier nodded, running with the story. He had no intention of going out to the Dockyards—or ever becoming a drug lord’s bitch. After the upgrade, he would visit that cop first, and then find out what happened to his sisters.
Solomon seemed to consider his offer, and then slapped her hand on her pants leg. “Why the hell not?” she laughed, sounding slightly unhinged. “I got some extra parts—second hand, you see. No pun intended.”
Javier didn’t have any clue what the lady was babbling about.
“Get in here and sit in that chair,” she pointed at an old dentist’s chair and it finally dawned on Javier that he had no clue who this woman was, or what she was capable of.
One of the big men grabbed him by the nape of the neck and lifted him off his feet. He struggled, but it was no use as the brute threw him in the chair and held him down.
Javier thrashed wildly against the massive palm holding him in place to no avail. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and focused on Solomon. “Hey! Hey, I’m not ready for this.”
“No one’s ever ready for this, son,” she replied, placing the neck strap for a stained rubber apron over her head.
Beside her on the counter, Javier saw an archaic weapon of some kind; it looked like an old chainsaw blade that he’d seen a worker use at the park one time. “What the hell is that?”
Solomon patted the piece affectionately. “This came off my best client just yesterday. Now, it’ll be a permanent piece of you.”
“No— Wait. I—”
“You wanted revenge, Mr. Javier? I can give it to you. With this piece of gear strapped to your arm, there isn’t a ganger or cop on the street who can stand up to you.”
Javier swallowed. It was exactly what he’d imagined when he called the chop shop. He could get a slight alteration, an upgrade, and get his sisters back.
“Okay,” he replied calmly. “What do I need to do?”
A sick, twisted grin crossed the old woman’s face. “Just hold still,” she said, advancing toward him with a bone saw.
He thrashed once more and the second brute grabbed his left arm, extending it to full length while the first held him down.
“Don’t be such a baby, Javier,” the woman chided. “It’s only a few inches. I’m going to leave the elbow joint and implant an attachment point so you can accessorize for any occasion.”
Javier screamed as the saw bit into his flesh. He screamed until his throat was raw and his mind was on the brink of insanity.
Thankfully, he passed out before the old bitch got to the bone.
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Welcome to Easytown
By J.B. Havens
Rose Abagail Finch checked her makeup, using the tip of her finger to wipe away a smudge near the corner of her eye. She hated the heavy cosmetics her pimp made her wear, but she’d long since learned it was best to follow his orders. His punishments were creative, to say the least. Her waist length, honey-colored hair shone in the low light of her tiny room, which contained no more than a double bed, sink, and dresser with a vanity mirror above. It was not much better than a jail cell—which she knew all about from first-hand experience.
“Get a fucking move on! You have clients waiting!” Her pimp, Bobby, banged on the bedroom door as if his shouting wasn’t enough to hurry her up.
“I’m coming!” Giving herself one last glance in the mirror and a final adjustment to the silver metallic swatch of fabric that passed as a top, she took the few steps to the door, her heels clacking loudly on the concrete floor. Tugging her neon-purple spandex skirt down over her ass cheeks a little further she opened the door to another night of work she didn’t want, a future that held no hope, and the despair that clung to every surface in Easytown. It was the slum-filled, red-light district of New Orleans where the hopeless clawed for survival, drugs flowed down the gullets of addicts, and for the right price any wish could be fulfilled—no matter how twisted.
“Took your sweet ass time, Rose.” Bobby shoved her forward, making her stumble slightly in the narrow hallway. “You have a client waiting, and none of that bullshit you pulled last night. You deliver what they’re fucking paying for or you’
ll make me do something we’ll both regret.”
“That bastard last night was insane. He might be able to pull that crap with a droid, but I’m human, we have our limits.” She shuddered at the memory of the man’s demands. He’d wanted to tie her up while he took a bullwhip to her back. Some people may like that sort of kink, but it wasn’t on her list of services. More than one kink-club had droids on The Lane; next time the bastard could go there. Droids could take damage without pain or physical trauma. But the humanoid machines were expensive and not everyone in Easytown could fork over the payment for a night with one of them. So they turned to women like her. Trapped in an unending cycle of terror, addiction, and abuse, girls like her were cheaper—but fragile, compared to the droids for those with tastes leaning to the depraved.
Grabbing her by her nape and hair, Bobby jerked her downward, bending her at the waist. “The only limits you need to worry about are mine.” Squeezing her neck harshly, he shook her, the cruel grip of his large hand the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Gritting her teeth, forcing herself not to cry out in pain, she responded in the only way she could. “I’m s-sorry, Bobby. It won’t happen again.” Next time, she’d have to let the psycho do whatever he wanted, then maybe he’d kill her and release her from this pathetic life. She deserved it. A bubble of anger rose up within her, but she quashed it before it could surface. Fighting Bobby was futile, a lesson she’d learned quickly.
“That’s better. Now get out there and make me some money.”
Taking the stairs down to street level, she sighed inwardly. Just two short years ago, she’d been on track to a bright and promising future with a degree from Tulane and a career in robotics. Now, here she was alone and working as a second-choice whore at the bottom of the cesspool of humanity that made up Easytown.
Stepping out onto the neon lit street that was Jubilee Lane, she ignored the passing search lights of the ever present police drones overhead. Burying her dejection under a pretense of congeniality, she met the eyes of her first client of the night. A short and rather tubby man leered at her disgustingly. Her stomach flopped in distress at the thought of what she was about to do. His beady, rat-like eyes gleamed under the street light where he stood. Practically drooling on himself, he rubbed his tiny hands together in anticipation.
“What are you waiting for? You have a paying customer, get going.” Bobby pushed her forward again, but this time she was expecting it and didn’t stumble.
Inwardly she was screaming, begging for release from this night—this life. But outwardly she felt her lips stretch into a smile and her hand trailed down the man’s sweaty neck.
“Ready, sugar?” she purred. “Time is wasting and you only have so much of it.” Taking the man’s hand, she led him upstairs to her room. The motion sensors activated the lights automatically when the door opened. The climate control system had been broken for months, making the room hot and stale. The one small window was sealed shut, depriving her of even the smallest breath of fresh air.
Rose pushed him down to sit on the edge of her bed. Having to use the same bed she slept in every day for this disgusting job was just another cross she was forced to bear. She stood in front of him, and stripped off the little clothing she wore. The girl ignored the vulnerability she felt and tried to focus on getting through the next half hour. Maybe she’d be able to get something to eat before another john showed up.
“Who needs a droid when they can have the warmth of a flesh and blood woman like you?” the john said, running a single finger down her bare side and over her hip. Her involuntary shudder of revulsion was easily mistaken for pleasure by the half-wit. “Those droids are fake; no matter how good the programming gets, I can always tell. They can’t imitate the real live touch of a woman’s skin.”
“That’s right, baby. I’m 100% real, live woman,” she replied. “No metal skeleton or latex skin here.” Pushing him flat onto his back, she tried not to stare at how his fat rolls jiggled with each movement. Repulsed by him, and herself, she unbuttoned his shirt, all the while wanting to puke up the little food she’d been given today.
“Who told you to do that?” Grabbing her wrists, he twisted them harshly. She swallowed her gasp of pain, seeing the evil in his eyes now. This one’s mind was warped in the worst way. Pain brought him pleasure, true pain at that. No slap and tickle for this psycho. It was all there in his eyes. The hunger and want for a woman on her knees, begging for mercy that would never come. Did Bobby know he’d sent her up here with this freak? She wouldn’t put it past him; he’d do anything for credits.
“I-I’m sorry. I ju-just figured you wanted me to,” she stuttered. Frozen like a rabbit, scared to move lest the snake struck, she waited for him to release her. Maybe she could still get through this if she played along.
“All you filthy fucking whores are the same.” He shoved her backward onto the floor, her spine smacking against the cold concrete, forcing the breath from her lungs. “Thinking you know everything. You don’t know shit!” He stood up from the edge of the bed and bent down. The pervert screamed in her face as he raised his hand, the crack of his palm against her cheek echoed across the room. The burning explosion of pain was a shock, even though it was a familiar one. He was stronger than she’d expected. His slap was hard enough that she saw stars. He straddled her with one knee on either side of her naked chest, trapping her.
“Please, don’t.” She wasn’t sure why she begged, no tears fell. Even though she was terrified of what he was going to do, she was resigned to the inevitable. What the hell did she have to live for? She was just another nameless prostitute in Easytown, disposable and easily replaced.
Red faced with a mixture of excitement and rage, the man hit her again on the other cheek. She moaned in pain as she retreated into her mind—the only sanctuary she had left. Closing her eyes, she waited for it to be over.
“Oh no, you don’t! None of that you little bitch!” he hissed. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her hard enough that her head smacked against the floor. Dazed from the blows to her face and head, she blinked up at him.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered, fear and despair taking her voice.
Grinning like the madman he was, he stood, dragging her to her feet by her hair in the process. “Your participation. If I wanted you to just lay there like a cold, dead fish, I’d spend my credits at the morgue.”
Even that admission didn’t surprise her anymore. “I’ll do whatever you want; just don’t hit me again. Bobby gets so pissed when the men damage his product.” Terror kept her frozen, unable to act or protect herself. When had she changed so much? Had this place really beaten her down and changed her so drastically that she wouldn’t even defend herself? Where was the girl who was brave and strong; the girl that would clock some ass wipe for copping a feel on the bus?
“Then let’s not make Bobby mad, shall we?” Grinning in victory, the disgusting man finished stripping off his shirt while she stood there mutely.
The suppressed sea of anger popped up within her again. Its warmth spreading as it rose, tightening her hands into fists. She kept her eyes downcast, staring at her toes while she waited for the bastard to finish undressing. Mentally she reviewed all the items scattered across the top of her dresser. While she wished she had something like a pulse blaster or even an old-style gun with bullets, the metal nail file would have to do. The feeling was foreign and strange, yet familiar. In another life, she would have slapped the shit out of this bastard for even thinking about touching her. Was that girl really gone? Or was she just asleep? Gently touching her sore cheek she noticed it was hot to the touch and swelling rapidly. The small bubble of anger grew and popped into a tidal wave of rage.
Calmly taking two steps over to the dresser she kept her now ramrod straight back to the man, and picked up the nail file. The blade gleamed under the florescent lights hidden along the edge of the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly sharp, but it had enough of a point that it would do so
me damage if applied properly. Sparing a glance at herself in the mirror, she watched the fat pig struggle with his shoes behind her. He was looking down, trying to see his feet past his grotesque stomach, while balancing on one foot at the same time. With caution, she stepped out of the heels which threw her off balance and silently pivoted on her bare feet Her grip on the nail file was tight, her knuckles white with the force. She trembled slightly, but not with fear. Rage made her nerves jump and quiver as she prepared to advance, her hold on the file stayed firm.
Two more steps and she was beside him. She gently touched what hair he had. Most of it was gone to reveal a shiny bald spot on the crown of his skull. He tilted his chin up at her, smiling at her touch. She responded in kind, even as she shoved the file into the side of his neck with all her strength. Blood poured over her hand, splattering hotly across her bare chest as she jerked it out, only to stab it forward again. He gargled and fell over, his hands clutching the gushing and spurting wound as the thick, scarlet liquid washed across the floor faster than she expected. It was warm against her knees as she knelt beside him. He blinked up at her, his small, rodent-like eyes glassy.
“I want you to participate,” Rose spat, repeating his earlier words back to him. Grabbing his hand, she placed the file against his palm, forcing him to make a fist. In just a few short moments, he was already weak. The strength he’d used against her so recently was disappearing with every ounce of blood that seeped across the cement floor.
Drawing his hand toward his face, she used it as a handle to shove the blade downward. It pierced his eye easily. A small pop, then clear and yellowish fluid mixed with the blood already covering them both. A metallic stink hung in the air, overriding the stale odor of sweat in the hot room. He twitched violently, his mouth open in a silent scream. As his hand fell away, she took possession of the blade again and pushed down with all her weight until it was deep in his eye socket. His legs thrashed and she sat on his chest to keep him still. The one shoe he hadn’t had a chance to remove scraped against the floor, the rubber soles squeaking along the smooth concrete. His movements slowed, bit by bit, and then stopped altogether.