Hell Is Empty

by Travis E. Hughes

  “You going to harass us until we leave town?” Roslyn asked, dropping her hand to be closer to her gun. “Is that the plan?”

  “The plan?” Ed scoffed. “You think I’m aware of some plan? We work for Mr. Omnious now. That’s the job.”

  “And he told you to do what? To follow us around? Constant surveillance? As if we’re the criminals here?” Roslyn shrugged.

  “All I know,” Ed said. “We’re supposed to keep the peace. Peace is good for business.”

  “Do you even have stun guns?” Roslyn asked. This caused Ed to laugh.

  “You think that’s funny?” Roslyn said with a sharp bite.

  “I think you’ve been replaced. I think you’re time is done here, little girl,” Ed said waving his hand as if to shoo her. “That’s what’s so funny to me. How you thought you’d come out here and liberate these local yocals from chaos. Well, Earth is a mighty long ways away. This is our true nature out here. This is real freedom.”

  “No it’s not,” Roslyn said with a bit too much falsetto in her voice, so claimed the mole. “You’ve replaced one corrupt system for an even worse system where guys like Rex Omnious can rule and bully and take whatever he wants.”

  “Out here, its survival of the fittest,” Ed said. “If the snowflakes can’t handle that, then they need to go back to Earth and suck off the government tit. And you can go to hells if you think you can control our guns. Take your stun guns and shove ‘em up your liberal asses!”

  “Damn right,” said the stocky familiar one.

  “My gods,” Roslyn said, shaking her head. There was no reasoning with people caught up in their own ideology. Logic no longer applied. She tried to contain her rage. Her warming cheeks indicated an inevitable explosion.

  “You have a good night now, girly,” Ed said. “And mind that dragon of yours. I hear they make for some good barbeque.”

  “What’d you just say to me?” Roslyn’s hand touched her pearl handle.

  “Easy, darling,” Ed said. “Remember, we don’t have stun guns.”

  Roslyn released a long sigh and held up her hands.

  “Walk away now,” Ed said, again shooing her with the back of his hand. She glared at him for a long beat before turning and heading toward her apartment. Once around the corner she whistled.

  A few minutes later, to Roslyn’s great relief, Puff returned. He had blood on his beak. He’d been successful. She wondered if he’d had time to eat it all before she called him. She’d offer him seeds when they got home. If he refused to eat them, then she’d feel better knowing he’d filled up on whatever small rodent, or large insect he’d killed. This caused her to rethink Ed’s words. But humans were more evolved than dragons. The Avians were more evolved than humans. Shouldn’t we aspire to something more, or were humans destined to their true nature. Puff didn’t aspire to be more human. Or did he?

  From her apartment window, she counted one Red Scarf lingering across the street on a bench. He was playing video games on his transponder. They’d lost. They’d now run to another place to try again. Or would they? Maybe Frank was right. If they ran they’d never have the credibility to sustain them in business. But if they lost the battle, then they would lose their credibility. Either way, it was a win or die situation.

  She wondered if everyone really believed the way Ed said they did. What would be the point of butting their heads against the brick wall of ignorance? The people here wanted things to be the way they were. The freedom of it appealed to the types that came out this far from Earth. Perhaps it was time to find another profession?

  It broke her heart. She poured a glass of wine and had a small cry, mostly for her father. She then turned on Channel One and watched the ancient movie. It had been made sometime in the early twenty-second century, she guessed. She glanced over at Puff’s bowl. The seeds hadn’t been touched. This gave her some solace and along with the wine, this allowed her to relax and think.

  *

  The Red Bird served ancient Mediterranean cuisine. It sat on the corner of L Street and Thirty-Third; a good distance from downtown and off the main thoroughfare by a long stretch. But the high rollers liked to ride their bikes or take the taxi to get there.

  It was a small joint with low lighting and classical music piped in over speakers. Word of mouth gave it a good reputation and it was usually crowded during dinner hours. The prices were high enough to keep the local riff-raff out.

  Talbert took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting from the front of the restaurant before spotting Araceli seated in a booth toward the back. He’d put on his best suit and he was thankful for that when he saw the dress she wore. It made him slightly uncomfortable as he drew nearer. He wondered why she’d chosen a dress that showed so much cleavage. Perhaps she had a date after their dinner. She was out looking for her good time.

  “Hey, you,” she said, smiling warmly to him. She put her napkin on the table and scooted out of the booth to hug him. This made him extremely uncomfortable because she squeezed tightly enough for him to feel the curves of her body. She was well put together, he thought.

  As he slid into the booth he caught the sight of what was in her mug. It glowed a deep green from within.

  “Want a drink?” she asked, waving to the android wearing a tuxedo. “They serve Bugsy’s here. That’s my fave.”

  “What?” he said, trying not to show any emotion but feeling like a failure.

  “Have you ever had it?” she said, putting her fingers on her recently done hair and making an explosion motion. “I get visuals sometimes. Nothing hard core, but melting walls and stuff some times.”

  “I gave it up,” Talbert said with a grunt.

  “Oh, good for you,” Araceli said and giggled. “Sorry. That’s not… So, gods, where do we start?”

  “How about we start with your real name?” Talbert said, leaning forward, his hand naturally closer to his gun.

  “Well, that’s a good place to start,” she said, still maintaining her giddy teenage girl routine. “What is my real name? You never told me.”

  “Araceli Silva is what I have down now on file, along with your DNA,” Talbert said. Her face fell instantly. She blinked and then swallowed. Her mouth slightly opened but she managed not to let it drop. He pulled his goggles out of his breast pocket and looking through one eyehole, snapped a picture.

  “What is happening?” she asked, lifting her hand to cover the shot but it was too late. He now had her image on file. He’d register her under Con Artist.

  “What’s happening, Araceli, is that you are not my daughter,” Talbert said, keeping most of the growl out of his voice. He couldn’t let her know how badly she’d gotten to him. It would mean a small victory for her and whoever sent her. Rex came to mind.

  “But…” Araceli was an amazing actress, he had to hand it to her. She almost convinced him that she believed she really was his daughter.

  “DNA didn’t match,” Talbert said. He glanced at the mug of bug juice and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Did he put you up to this? Provide you with the right things to say?”

  “Who?” Araceli blinked, still acting like she was shocked. “But, Mrs. Silva said my father was General Talbert. We did the research.”

  “Rex Omnious is the man’s name,” Talbert said. “Did he put you up to this? Did he pay you and tutor you on the details of your story?”

  “I don’t know anyone by that name,” Araceli said loudly. She held up a hand to apologize for her outburst. But she maintained the shocked and hurt look in her eyes.

  “That’s a lie,” Talbert said. “You told me you went to our old home. You said a rich cattle baron owns it now. That means you know who Rex Omnious is if not just from that.”

  “It was a guy named…” she pretended to think. “Hoon. Ike Hoon. He’s the rich cattle baron I met.”

  “He works for Omnious,” Talbert said.

  “I didn’t get that far,” Araceli said, looking on the edge of tears.

&nbs
p; “What did you hope to get from me?” Talbert asked. “Money? Or were you sent to unnerve me?”

  “I wanted to meet you,” she said, now a tiny sob came to her lips and her shoulders rocked back and forth. Her head bent forward. His instinct was to reach out and rub her back but he reminded himself it was all an act.

  “You’re good, kid,” Talbert said. “You should come work for us, when this is all played out.”

  “I don’t understand. You have to be my father,” Araceli said, through tears. She blew her nose into the cloth napkin.

  “Care for a glass of bug juice, sir?” asked the android in the tux. “We serve Bugsy’s as well as Simons and Sprill.”

  “No thank you,” Talbert said. “Water. Actually nothing. I’m leaving.”

  “What?” Araceli looked up at him. There was something panicked in her wet eyes. “Don’t go.”

  “Kid, I am not your father and we both know it, so let’s stop the bullshit and you can tell me who sent you.” He glanced again at the glowing mug. His mouth filled and he swallowed and wiped his lips again.

  “No one sent me, Dad,” Araceli said and a new wave of tears ushered forth. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Because the DNA doesn’t lie,” Talbert said.

  “What DNA?” she asked, glancing up.

  “From your water bottle, kiddo,” Talbert said in a gruff but fair voice. “You didn’t think I’d look further into this before welcoming you to my house? I’m a gods damned detective.”

  He could see the shift in her. It was as if a burden had been lifted suddenly from her body and she could breathe fully now. The tears dried. The shoulders straightened. The look she now gave him was pure malice and resentment.

  “Now,” Talbert said in his low menacing voice. “You’re going to tell me who sent you, or I’m going to haul your little ass back to the jailhouse and we’ll hold you until you decide to come clean.”

  “Bug off,” she said and scooted out of the booth. He reached out to grab her bare arm but she pulled away before his hand could touch her. Bumping into a table, causing people to rumble and complain, she hurried out of the restaurant.

  Talbert grabbed the mug of bug juice, and with a trembling hand, took down the rest of it before scooting out of the booth. He threw a white chip onto the table and hurried to catch up to Araceli. But out on the street, she managed to vanish. The bug juice warmed his skin and he longed for another shot of it. In his reasoning, he’d already taken that one shot. What difference would twelve more make?

  He made his way into a bar down the street that had a live band. He found a spot at the bar and ordered a stiff mug of bug juice. He prayed for the bug juice to take away the pain and confusion. He hadn’t realized how badly he longed for his family until that moment. There was a large empty hole inside of him that all the bug juice of Lynceus could never fill.

  *

  The sidewalk in front of Yellow Donkeyballs was crammed with bodies, all craning to see the clearing in the street. Thorton Gunderson sat on the balcony where Jia Fang and Rex had sat before. Juan the android served him a blue martini, made from the recipe Rex had purchased from Jia Fang.

  Chuck the Duck had returned to promote and officiate the fight. Adriana Johar stood next to Chuck, her drones buzzing about the air around them.

  She was speaking into one of them, the noise too great to hear what she was saying. Roslyn stood with Frank, Grace, Hattie, Talbert, and Wild Bull up the street, two buildings down from Yellow Donkeyballs. She had to lean forward on her toes to see. Talbert’s eyes were red but relatively clear, but the cast on his left hand meant he wouldn’t be much good if it came to a gunfight.

  “Look at that smug bastard,” Wild Bull said, nodding toward Chuck the Duck. “I should shoot him first.”

  “Easy, Bull,” Roslyn said. “This isn’t the place.”

  Vincent Van Grothic spun tunes on the balcony and threw down a headset to the Duck.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, aliens and freaks,” Chuck the Duck said into the microphone. “We have gathered here today to witness the duel between two rising stars of the galactic frontier. Rex Omnious versus Kidd Wylie!”

  The crowd erupted.

  “Now, if you’ll present your pistols,” the Duck said, holding out his hands. Rex and Kidd came together at the center chalk stripe and handed over their pistols. Roslyn struggled to see around a burly man with a large brimmed hat.

  “Does he cross-draw?” Roslyn asked, turning to Talbert.

  “Who?” Talbert asked.

  “Rex,” Roslyn said, frowning. “He’s not left handed, right? Do you remember when he fought Dogg?”

  “I usually note fellow south paws,” Talbert said. “But maybe he changed his style to a cross-draw? Why?”

  “Well, he just handed the Duck the pistol from his left holster,” Roslyn said and turned to Frank. “Did you notice that?”

  “Now at twenty paces, or at the marks already drawn, you’ll turn and face each other. Once both men have made eye contact… It’s go time!” the Duck said and the crowd bellowed.

  Rex slid the pistol back into his left holster and turned his back to Kidd. They both began to step it off.

  “Wait,” Roslyn said, trying to fight her way through the densely pressed flesh. “Something’s not right here. He’s going to…”

  At twenty paces, both Kidd and Rex turned. Once they locked eyes, both men threw down. Kidd used the gun the Duck had switched to stun. Rex used the pistol from his right holster.

  The left side of Kidd’s hat and skull exploded. A cloud of crimson mist rained down onto the street as the young man’s body fell backward. The crowd collectively inhaled and a few people screamed. The long blue feather drifted slowly to the ground, landing in the gathering pool of dark red blood.

  “What the hells?” the Duck said over the PA.

  “Oh, no!” Rex said, pretending to be confused.

  “You mother--” Roslyn shouted.

  “I suppose I used the wrong pistol,” Rex said, striding with purpose toward Kidd’s corpse. “How careless of me.”

  Red Scarves flanked the crowd in every direction, spilling out into the clearing with guns raised.

  The hearse buggy floated out over the crowd. In the cockpit drove Ed. He sat it down a few feet from Kidd’s body.

  Rex grabbed Kidd by the leg and dragged him toward the descending ramp of the buggy’s bed.

  “Someone stop him!” shouted a lady from the crowd. This was met with a gun butt across the face.

  Red Scarves and Amazons aimed their guns down at Bat Matters, Earl Wyatt, and the rest of Roslyn’s detectives gathered.

  Ed helped pull Kidd’s body up into the bed of the buggy and Rex turned back to the crowd.

  “And now, y’all are in for a special treat today!” he shouted at the stunned crowd. “A double header. I now call upon Wild Bull McQueen, who came to town thinking he could take on Devil Bill Talbert. Well, let’s see how well you do against me now?”

  Roslyn turned to Wild Bull. His expression was steel. If he had fear he knew very well how to hide it.

  “Now, in my town, we play for blood,” Rex said. “I think Wild Bull, being an old school gunslinger knows a thing or two about that. Right, sir?”

  “I’ll gladly end this right now,” Wild Bull said, stepping into the clearing and taking his place at the white chalk line.

  “Don’t do this, Bull,” shouted Roslyn.

  “Bull?” came a gruff voice from across the street. Jane Goodaire stepped forward. “What are you doing? You can’t fight this goddamn maniac, Bull.”

  “The hell I can’t,” Wild Bull said, brushing back his jacket.

  “This isn’t your fight, Bull,” Talbert said, stepping into the clearing. The crowd cheered suddenly.

  “Bill!” shouted Roslyn and Hattie at the same time.

  “Why, Devil Bill,” Rex said. “This isn’t our time yet. I’m not as seasoned as you. Now, easy big fella. I
have to earn the right to fight you, sir. Did my message with your hand not sink in?”

  “Let’s end this now,” Talbert said, standing next to Wild Bull.

  “But your hand,” Rex said. “You can’t hardly expect to be taken serious with--”

  “I’ll fight you with my right hand,” Talbert shouted.

  “No!” shouted Rex, like a child throwing a tantrum. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! This isn’t how we finally fight each other, Devil Bill. You let me fight Wild Bull today and when your hand mends, I should be ready to fight you proper.”

  “Devil Bill,” someone began to chant. “Devil Bill! Devil Bill!”

  The chant seemed to agitate Rex that much further. He grabbed the sides of his head and closed his eyes. It felt odd, them chanting his name. But perhaps they were outraged enough by what Rex had done, so much so that popular opinion had turned swiftly against him. Roslyn felt a glimmer of hope for the people of New Vegas.

  Vincent Van Grothic took up the mantra over the PA. Rex suddenly drawing and shooting him off of the balcony ended the chant. This sparked outrage and turned it into pure rage. The crowd surged. Guns were produced. Thorton Gunderson retreated into the room the balcony was attached to.

  Feeling the tide turn, Rex hurried up the ramp and onto the hover buggy. Ed sped away as people took shots at the black hearse.

  “We gotta go after that son-of-a-bitch,” shouted Talbert, running toward a hover bike waving the rider off. “I need your bike.”

  “Shit,” Roslyn said, looking around for another bike or anything that would give chase. They had him on the run. They couldn’t let him go now.

  People attacked the Red Scarves and the Amazons and blood ran along the curbs and painted walls. The Reds and Amazons fought back and an intense close-quartered battle played out in the streets of New Vegas. One Amazon smashed a man’s skull into a post, splitting the skull open like a watermelon.

  Once out of the main crowd, Talbert found the streets relatively cleared and he pushed the bike to its full speed. Roslyn and Frank had commandeered bikes of their own and were speeding behind him at a few hundred feet.