Gutmouth

by Gabino Iglesias

  Screw stood beside the box, bent down and pushed a button. The skinned, rabbit-like creature started flopping and jumping so hard I was sure it would fly out of the woman’s ass, or rip her to shreds trying. But neither happened. Instead, the plump lady began squirming and moaning.

  The moaning mayhem was over in about five minutes. Screw pushed another button and there was a slurping sound followed by a loud, wet thud as the thing slid out of her butthole. The rabbit thing just lay on the floor, huge and lifeless. It had a human face. I mumbled something about having to take a leak and stepped out.

  The chunky demon chick came out of Screw’s office after a couple of minutes. Nothing in her ponytail, beige pant suit or thick-rimmed glasses hinted at what she had just enjoyed. Since I was standing beside the door, I opened it for her. She smiled at me with the sweetest, friendliest smile I had seen in a long time. As she walked past me, her scent wafted to my nose. She smelled like angel farts ought to smell.

  Screw came out, and I noticed he’d changed his shirt to one with one of those bullet-hole smiley faces on it. We locked the shop and began the six block trip to the bar.

  It was a quarter past nine. Darkness enveloped the city and the few working street lights only managed to fully illuminate the gigantic asses that hovered above the sidewalks.

  The city always struck me as a huge disaster waiting to happen, a tightly coiled spring of death ready to pop, a cosmic jack-in-the-box of mayhem, a Pandora’s Box of pestilence and blood, a fucking piñata of dangerous lunatics that is broken by the stick of night. Now, walking to a bar to plan a murder, I began to understand why violence is so common.

  Since MegaCorp became God, the night was filled with maimed and mutated creatures swarming the city’s hot, gloomy streets like misshapen mosquitoes on a fetid concrete mangrove.

  Screw and I walked in silence. We passed a few piles of unpicked garbage bags that offered a great meal opportunity for many a nighttime creature.

  When walking alone, I would sometimes stop to look at the remains of those nasty bags. They were like a repulsive addendum to life in the city. I always thought the garbage spoke volumes about what goes on behind the closed doors. On any given day I could come across used needles, broken glass, overloaded diapers, empty bottles of cheap booze, dead creatures of all sizes, fire-stained pieces of aluminum foil, sticky porn magazines, unopened envelopes containing MegaCorp bills, demon fetuses, pregnancy tests (both crushingly positive and mercifully negative), crumpled endorphinated beer cans, empty pill bottles, bloody clothing, used toilette paper, guts, unidentifiable flesh fragments, packages of microwaveable or self-heating dinners, broken computers, dead furries, soiled underwear…. the detritus of a cesspool.

  After a few piles of garbage and one undead addict vomiting on his own chest, Screw and I reached the Monocotyledonous, a greasy joint that played the kind of music we both enjoyed and served cheap, powerful drinks that got folks savagely drunk on a budget. Its neon sign consisted of its long name and an unrecognizable bunch of twisting lines over it that were supposed to look like an exotic flower but instead looked like a bunch of worms fighting a dozen shoelaces.

  We walked in and ordered a few endorphinated beers. We took a seat near the door. The joint was a long corridor that must’ve been about ten or twelve feet across and had no air conditioning and no windows. At some point before MegaCorp came along and enforced the use of their too-expensive vehicles on everyone, it had been a two-car garage.

  Screw and I picked a spot as close as possible to the door in a fruitless attempt to escape the heat inside and the offensive odors of the patrons. Our attempt at getting some fresh air collided with the putrid smells coming from the gutter.

  My nerves were almost fried and Screw kept the silence from becoming awkward by engaging in small talk. A few nods and a couple of monosyllabic answers almost made me look like an active part of the conversation. I was trying to mentally escape the stench-sandwich by entertaining other senses. I tapped my fingers continuously on the cold can in my hand and my eyes were glued to the huge woman behind the bar.

  She was dancing by herself while serving the few customers that were brave enough to put up with the stifling heat and dreadful smell inside. Not much of her horrendous anatomy was left to the imagination. A tight pair of low-riding jeans were topped with a roll of stretch-marked fat and her thin, black spandex sports-bra couldn’t quite contain her massive fat-pocked breasts. The stub of a single horn sprouted from her left temple.

  Sweat poured from her round body. Beads of salty skin water glistened under neon lights, giving her an alternating greenish-reddish glow. She looked radioactive. I was sure her kiss was more dangerous than a plutonium bath.

  I was looking at her and vaguely smiling any time she looked my way. It wasn’t that I liked her. In fact, she scared me more than any of the other alcohol-fueled lowlifes in the place. It was that on top of the greenish glow and the jerky alien dancing, she had a lazy eye. Her left eye seemed to be either watching out for airplanes inside the bar or scanning the floor for loose change. I’m a cruel bastard, but I found the whole thing funny as hell. As if that wasn’t enough, Tony and his appreciation for women kept popping into my head. Some of the names he usually used seemed to fit this blob perfectly: porky, lardo, whale, elephantine, chank, heifer, hog, obeast, fucking yak...

  She would also wipe herself off a bit with each napkin before wrapping it around the bottom of every endorphinated beer or hallucinatory drink she served. Other people had noticed too, but nobody said a thing. When people end up hanging out at a place like this and paying next to nothing for their drinks, nobody bitches about a sweaty napkin. As I was enjoying another swipe-and-wrap maneuver from the dancing Queen of Cellulite, Screw broke whatever bullshit silence thing we had going on.

  “Why are we here Gut?”

  “What?”

  “We have a beer three or four times a year and it’s usually someone’s birthday or something. Today you come looking for me, bring me here and then stare at that blob behind the bar instead of talking to me. Wouldn’t you agree something’s up?”

  “You’re right Screw. I brought you here because I need your help.”

  A smile slowly curled the sides of Screw’s mouth up and the metallic teeth reflected the flashes of red and green that came from the overhead lights.

  “That’s more like it. What can I do for you?”

  “Well… it’s not an everyday favor. What I need is kind of… I guess you could say it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Come on, man, you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count and

  “Listen, Screw, I need to get rid of Marie,” the words left my mouth before I could process them. Apparently my subconscious had already decided not to sugarcoat the whole mess.

  “What are you talking about man?” asked Screw with a playful smirk on his face. “Do you have her body stuffed under your bed or do you want some relationship advice?”

  “I want to see how you handle this, you barmpot,” said Philippe. Thankfully, his voice was muffled by the shirt that covered him.

  “Did that toothed hole just say something?” asked Screw.

  “Forget about him,” I replied almost whispering and suddenly paranoid about discussing Marie’s death in a public space. “The point is that Marie needs to be… dealt with.”

  “Dealt with?”

  I leaned over the table as far as my gut would allow. “I need to kill her, Screw.”

  “Are you serious? I’m in no mood for sick jokes. I had a long day.”

  “I’m dead fucking serious.”

  Philippe chuckled audibly.

  Screw leaned in a few inches. “And what do you want me to help you with?”

  “I thought maybe I could bring her to the shop for something and then…you know, whatever she decides to get done can go horribly wrong.”

  “You can’t be fucking serious,” said Screw.

  Philippe mumbled something.


  “No, man, this is no joke. The only way…”

  “Listen, Gut, I really don’t know what you want me to do for you but, I can’t help you kill Marie,” said Screw.

  “I see clients leave your shop in body bags every week...”

  “You do, but they are hardcore freaks, hemophiliacs that lied on their paperwork, weirdoes that showed up high on something that reacted bad with the Algolagnix…I mean, the thing is there’s a lot of paperwork and sometimes MegaCorp will come by and investigate shit if they’re not happy with our report, you know better than anybody how they hate to lose paying customers.”

  “Yeah,” was all I could muster.

  “What I’m trying to say is that it’s not that easy, Gut. I know we don’t have to put up with the police anymore, but that doesn’t mean there’s no bureaucracy, you know what I’m saying?”

  “I know, Screw, don’t worry about it. Forget I even asked you, man, I don’t know what got into me.”

  “Breakups can be a bitch, Gut. Listen, I have some pills that’ll help.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Screw. Seriously.” I stood and gave Screw a pat of the shoulder. Screw’s metallic teeth glinted in the night. “I’m going to hit the sack. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I went home and climbed the stairs to my apartment. I heard klepto roaches scurrying to distant corners, dragging stolen things.

  I took my shoes off, tied them down to the coffee table and climbed into bed. My resolution to kill Marie was now shaky.

  “You need to kill that trollop, mate. If you don’t, she’s going to make a nutter out of you,” said Philippe.

  “How the fuck did you know what I was thinking about?”

  “I’m part of you, mate, I don’t need to read your thoughts to know what’s on your mind.”

  “I’m going to sleep now. We can talk about it in the morning.”

  “No problem. Can we get something to eat first?”

  I grabbed the gun that was still wedged in my pants and stuck the barrel inside Philippe. I’d taken my gun before leaving the house, and now it was serving a purpose. The mouth mumbled something and I removed the gun.

  “I get your point, you bloody whacko. Good night.”

  I didn’t reply. Somewhere in the distance a man kept screaming “No, don’t do it!” Fortunately, I didn’t believe in omens.

  My eyes felt heavy. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow Velcroed to my bed.

  That night, I didn’t dream. If I’d know then that my life would take such and awful turn that my ass would end up in prison, I probably would have eaten a bullet or taken enough pills to ensure there would be no waking up. However, Philippe had me convinced getting rid of Marie was the way to go.

  On my third day in prison I got a visit from Tony. I was awake and Philippe was finishing the last of the purple porridge when the smelly guard brought Tony over to the cell. Tony was a tad shorter than the guard but considerably wider. It was obvious that the guard felt uncomfortable with the situation.

  “You have a visssssssitor,” said the squid.

  “Let him in and go get us some coffee, Stinky.”

  The guard didn’t reply.

  The door swung open and Tony’s hulking figure stepped into the cell. He looked around and poked the wall a few times with his fingers.

  “Cozy place you got here, Gut.”

  “I’ve had worse. At least there’s no klepto cockroaches.”

  “I hear you,” said Tony. He sat beside me on my cot. “How you holding up?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Yeah, I guess death row is a bitch, ain’t it?”

  “More or less.”

  “Listen,” said the rat while looking toward the door. “Screw came by the Rehab Center yesterday.”

  “And?”

  “And he was feeling bad about not helping you out.”

  “Well, tell him not to worry about it.”

  “I told him about Philippe and Marie and he realized you had your reasons to get rid of her,” said Tony. His protuberant nose twitched.

  “I would appreciate if you didn’t talk about me behind my back, you filthy rodent,” said Philippe.

  “I’m not here to talk to you, you toothy fuck,” replied Tony.

  I couldn’t handle an argument between the mouth and the rat just then, so I interrupted. “Thanks for coming Tony. I missed seeing a familiar face.”

  “Don’t mention it. I feel a little responsible,,, You know. Oh, Bella sends you a bunch of kisses,” the rodent said with a smile.

  “You can keep them.”

  “I gotta go, Gut, but I’ll see you soon, alright?”

  “Wait. What? You came here just to tell me Screw is feeling bad about not helping me?”

  “Pretty much. And I wanted to check out your digs.” Tony stood.

  “Okay. Great. Thanks.”

  Tony called for the guard. Then he turned to me. “I don’t know how you can stand that fuckin’ mouth on your stomach. He reeks of chum.”

  “I know,” I replied. “Hey, Tony, you think you can try to figure out when they’re going to kill me?”

  “I’ll come back soon, and I’ll try and find out.”

  “Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”

  The hissing squid showed up and opened the door. Tony looked him up and down. “Despite what they might’ve told you, breath mints are not poisonous.”

  “That’sssssssss very funny coming from a hairy dissssssseassssssse carrier sssssssuch asssssss yourssssself.”

  “If I gave you leptospirosis I don’t know what would be more painful for you—the symptoms from it or having to say it,” said Tony.

  I laughed and even Philippe chuckled. The security squid led the bodybuilding rat down the corridor. I sat alone and pondered the laughs I would never get to have with Tony, Bella, Screw, Gage, Star or anybody else again.

  The two remaining acidophilus bacteria swam in the toilet. Shitting in my hand and then sitting there and waiting for the guard to pass struck me as a constructive way of spending the next hour or so. The only good thing about facing death is that you learn to appreciate life’s little pleasures.

  Tony’s visit cheered me up a bit. The rat was a real friend. Even feeling guilty, he came to see me. If only briefly. I thought it might even be a little risky for him. I was happy to see he hadn’t been implicated in my crime.

  After Screw shut down my first plan of action, I decided to take care of business myself. In order to do that, I required something not available to the general public. Namely, one of the special guns used at the Customer Rehabilitation Center. Why? Because a simple bullet from a .38 would be too crass and impersonal. Furthermore, it would also be easily tracked back to me and, last but not least, it would leave the problem of a bleeding one-legged corpse to deal with.

  So a few days after Screw said no way, I had a new plan. I nestled the gun between my jeans and lower back and dropped by the office after my first text came. It was 9:20 AM. It seemed like people couldn’t get up fast enough to start doing shit that went against MegaCorp regulations.

  The address was almost out of my area. I hopped on my car and drove for about twenty minutes with the GPS cussing at me for missing exits over and over again.

  I finally reached a dilapidated building smack in the middle of what used to be the meat-packing district. Someone had reported a small group of individuals living there instead of paying rent to MegaCorp like the rest of the world.

  I parked in front of the ramshackle building and approached it with the healthy dose of trepidation that every hunter should use to keep him hyperaware. I heard the sound of something heavy being dragged a few floors above me as I reached the doorway. I entered the place with gun in hand and slowly checked out the first floor.

  The only thing I found was a circular patch of yellow fungus growing on one of the bathroom walls that seemed to be whispering something. I got close to it and heard indistinct voices coming from it. I got my ass out of
there quickly.

  The second floor was also empty except for a few discarded items of clothing, some rotting furniture and a pile of rusty home appliances. The dragging sound seemed to be coming from the top floor, just above me. As I neared the stairs at the end of the hall, I noticed a transparent, viscous substance slowly dripping from the ceiling and making a clear puddle on the floor. I hesitated to climb to the third floor. The dragging noises were certainly coming from there and whatever was making them was either very heavy or strong enough to drag something very heavy around. Neither of those possibilities pleased me. I took a deep breath and climbed the rickety stairs trying to make as little noise as possible.

  The morning sun was coming through the windows and the whole place was inundated with the sort of daylight that normally keeps fears of dark things at bay. I tried to concentrate on the light but still felt a bit scared. Walking across the threshold, I entered a big room. It was empty. I walked down the corridor at the far end of the room.

  I entered a second room which held the first nasty surprise of the day. A small, black, bony creature no taller than a dwarf was standing in a corner. It faced the wall, shaking. Small, membranous, bat wings ran down its back.

  I slowly approached with the gun trained on it. I heard something scurry behind me and turned just in time to see another one of those things crawling toward my legs. The bat-thing shrieked when I shot it and reached forward with its scrawny arm. My second shot blew off the top of its nasty little head.

  Turning, I found that the other creature had disappeared from the corner. A flapping noise came from somewhere above my head. I looked up just as the thing came diving straight at my face. This time a single shot did the trick and the thing landed on the floor with a loud thud. I pinned the wriggling thing to the floor with my boot to get a good look at it.