by M. T. Miller
Everything I have eaten thus far has been heavily spiced, he noticed. From the Underbelly, and all the way up to this place. The foul gruel he had been force-fed back in the Manhunter camp was a peculiar exception. Is that done out of preference, or to hide something? He sniffed his meat, ignoring everyone’s stares. Aside from the spices, it completely lacked a scent.
“You didn’t seem to have any problems with it a minute ago,” the woman said, looking straight into his eyes.
“And I still do not have one,” the Nameless said as he took another bite. “I am merely checking something.”
“Don’t worry, if I wanted to poison you, I’d have done it more discreetly!” Max said.
“As if you could do anything discreetly!” the woman snorted.
“I can see where this is going,” the host said. “Break it up, you two. You want a room, go to one of your own.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We’re good,” Max said while raising his eyebrows.
The woman was silent.
“Yeah.” Al turned toward the Nameless, who sat at his left. “You’ll have to excuse them. Tough love.” Max was just about to comment, but Al interrupted him with his stare. “So now that you’ve had your fill, mind sharing a bit about yourself? We’re all mighty curious.”
“Where to begin?” The Nameless pushed his paper plate away, weaved his fingers in front of his face, and stared into the center of the table. What to do?
“Maybe you’d feel better if you knew everyone’s names,” Al said. “You already know mine and Max’s. That little piece of exposed nerve is called Andrea. The guy to your left is Nate, and the one to Max’s left is Jim.”
The Nameless let his gaze leap from one person to the next, memorizing their names. Despite being rough around the edges, the whole lot of them seemed like decent folk. Still… telling them everything would be the opposite of smart.
“I honestly have no idea,” he finally said. “I woke up several days ago, my mind a complete blank. I do not even know my real name. More or less everything else is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you.” This should be a better choice than saying I came from around the Underbelly. He did not know of any other place, so successfully lying about his background would be difficult.
“You’re kidding us, right?” Max said, causing everyone’s stares to turn away from the Nameless and toward him.
“I am telling you the truth,” the Nameless said. Mostly.
“Yeah, and in my spare time I like to put on a tutu and catch up with my ballet lessons!” Max said. “Listen, we’re trying to help you here. Don’t go and shit down our throats while we’re at it.”
“How do you know he’s lying?” Al asked.
“Maybe he isn’t,” Max shoved his nearly empty plate away from himself. “But I bet my ass he isn’t telling us the whole truth.” He looked straight into the Nameless’ eyes. “We don’t deserve this bullshit, man! If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but don’t take us for morons.”
Damn it. “You are right,” the Nameless said. “You all do not deserve to be lied to. Yes, there are things I would prefer not to share, at least for now. However, I assure you that I did not lie to you about my memories. They are genuinely gone.”
“There. Was that so hard?” Max lifted his palms slightly off the table.
Excruciatingly. “No. Not at all.”
“I knew there was a reason I keep you around,” Andrea said, looking at Max with a hint of a chuckle. He smiled in kind, albeit in a significantly less subtle fashion.
“Alright now,” Al said. “We won’t ask you about anything else, Bones. In the future, when you want to hang, you can hang, and if you ever feel like talking, by all means go ahead and do it. You’re welcome here.”
“Thank you.” The Nameless nodded.
“Now, if we are done with this,” Andrea said, “what do you all say we get horribly, monstrously drunk?”
The men roared like a bunch of grizzly bears.
***
“And then—then I said to him— ‘Well I guess your mom packs a mean right hook!’” Max practically knocked the table over with his legs. The entirety of the group laughed, including the Nameless.
These are not bad people at all, he thought, taking another sip of his hooch. It was a potent drink, and it did not take long for it to get to his head. What it had in strength, however, it completely lacked in taste, and drinking it felt like taking a sip of flaming horse bile. Still, he endured it. This whole event felt more than good.
“I know another person with a mean right hook,” Andrea said. As if no one knew whom she was referring to, she placed her paper cup right back on the table, and looked at the Nameless.
“Andrea,” Max said, “we’ve agreed not to ask him about anything anymore.”
“It is alright,” the Nameless said as he put his own cup down. Al was just about to pour him another shot, but he quickly raised his hand. “No, thank you. I fully intend to fight through the whole of tomorrow. Andrea, you want to know what made me almost kill the Turtle, yes?”
She nodded, and so did Max.
“As a matter of fact, I do not know. I was… I was on edge. At one point, I had full control of my actions, and then it left me, just like that.”
“So... in short, you’ve snapped?” she said.
“Indeed. I am not proud of it, but I admit it.”
“Well, glad we got that out of the way,” Max interceded. “Thing is, Bones, there’s this guy—a manager. You know, the kind that negotiates big-league fights for you, and you give him a piece of your winnings. He’s seen you, and is impressed. Granted, he got a bit worried after you almost smashed old Turtle’s head into the ground, but that’ll pass. Anyway, he’d like to talk to you for a little bit. Offer you a deal. What do you say?”
“Torres?” Andrea shouted. “Torres wants to work with this guy, right off the bat?”
“You got it,” Max said. “Our friend here is more than good. We’ve all seen it. What’s so unusual about someone else noticing it?
“You’ve promised me that you’d talk to him about me!” Andrea said.
“And I will. He came to me about Bones on his own,” Max said.
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said as she rose. “In that case, tonight you can sleep on your own!”
“You’re not serious,” Max said, but Andrea ignored it completely. With hurried, yet swaying steps, she moved up to the door, unlocked it, and stepped outside.
“Oh, God damn it!” Max rose as well. “Listen, I’m gonna go and make sure she doesn’t do anything ridiculous. She gets crazy when she’s drunk. Bones, think about the offer. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Certainly,” the Nameless said as the door closed behind Max.
“It’s times like these that remind me of just how happy I am to be single,” Jim said.
“Here, here!” Nate raised his cup.
“Yeah, I bet you are. So, Bones,” Al turned his gaze toward the Nameless. “How are you finding our crap-hole of a city?”
“Confusing, to say the least,” the Nameless said. “Although I would not exactly call it a crap-hole.”
“Alright, alright. Turd sandwich, then,” Al said. “After all, sandwiches sometimes come in triangular shapes.”
“Do you dislike living here?” the Nameless asked.
“I don’t have that luxury,” Al said. “I’d be murdered out there. That, or I’d have to join the Movement.”
“You do not seem incapable at all, Al,” the Nameless said. “If I’ve made it out there, with no knowledge of anything at all, then someone like you would have no trouble at all.”
“Yup, right up to the moment I bump into one of those Skull assholes.” Al put his cup up, emptied the contents down his throat, and immediately started pouring himself some more. “You’re white, Bones. You’ve got a choice out there. The only choice the rest of us have is whether to become cogs in this grand machine, or turn zombie-side. And I hate the
disgusting things!”
The Nameless was just about to say something, when a major realization downed on him. Of course! How did I not see it? The faces of everyone he had met ever since he came to Babylon flashed in front of his eyes, and the pattern became clear. A significant majority of them were non-white.
“You still with us, man?” Nate waved a hand in front of the Nameless’ face.
“Yes. I was just thinking about what Al just told me,” the Nameless said. “I did not notice it up until this point, but… am I right to assume that this place—this Pyramid, is in fact a refuge for people of… color?”
“Nothing is that black and white,” Jim said, laughing at his own joke. “Everyone comes here. It’s just that whites have more options, so they are the least numerous group in Babylon. Makes sense?”
“Yes,” the Nameless said. “Yet from what I have seen, Babylon is not all that bad when you can take care of yourself.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that, seeing how you fight like a coked-up gorilla in mating season. But regular people, they’re not really cut out for this place, you know? One slip, one wrong move, a shortage of money when it’s time to renew your pass, and it’s into the gutter with them. And lemme tell you, for your regular Joses and Marias, there’s no coming back! The moment they set foot down there, some gangbanger douchebag’s gonna tear his claws into them, and they’ll be in for a life of slavery in everything but name.”
The table went quiet, and three of the men each took sips of their drinks. Having thought about the implications, the Nameless decided to join them for at least one more.
“These gangs,” he said after emptying his cup, “why does the Management not do anything about them?”
“Because all of their time’s taken up already,” Jim said. “Being a complete dickwad’s a full-time job, or so they say.”
“You guys know as well as I do that the guards are not nearly as understaffed as they claim to be,” Al said. “It’s just that nearly all of Babylon’s production revolves around the ground floor, with the gangs acting as unofficial overseers.”
“So, they work together?” the Nameless asked. “With the Management, I mean?”
“Not really, no,” Al said. “It’s more of a ceasefire arrangement. You know, the big guys down there don’t make too much trouble for the big guys upstairs, and for as long as production stays cheap and on time, they get to be Lucifer. To rule in Hell, and all that.”
The most prosperous city in the States, indeed. The Nameless went silent for a moment. He considered pouring himself another cup, but dismissed the idea as unwise. After all, I must hunt tonight.
“I have a question,” he said. “It concerns one of the gangs.”
“Shoot,” Al said.
“The Rainbows. Where can I find them?”
“The who?” Al almost broke into laughter. The other two men did not share his self-control.
“I… I know of a gang called ‘the Rainbows.’ I have seen its members with my own eyes. Are you trying to tell me it does not exist?”
“No,” Al said, “I am trying to tell you that it’s neither big nor important. There’s lots of upstarts down there. Most are crushed or absorbed. The result is the same: they disappear.”
The Rainbows have disappeared as well, the Nameless thought. With my money. “I understand,” he said as he rose. “Gentlemen! It has been a pleasure. I hope that we can do this again sometime.”
“Pleasure was ours, man,” Al said. “Think about Max’s offer. Unlike the rest of us, you can make it real big. Build something with what you have.”
“I will,” the Nameless said as he turned toward the exit.
“Yeah. Take it easy in the meantime!” That was the last thing he heard before he closed the door on his way out.
That was refreshing, the Nameless thought as he made his way toward his own apartment. The alcohol had taken effect, but hopefully not enough to sway his judgment too much. I will splash myself with cold water and rest up for an hour. After that comes preparation. Just like today, tomorrow would be busy, and risking everything to lethargy would be unwise.
The sweet, filthy scent of home, he thought when he entered his room. It was just the way he’d left it: a complete and utter mess. At least I know that no one else has been here. He closed the door, locked it, and approached the bed. Then he lifted the mattress, exposing his hidden stash of weapons.
Everything is still here. Good. He let the mattress drop, and waited for a second before he came crashing down on top of it. I will need it tonight.
Chapter Eight
Four days had passed since the Nameless started making a career in the fighting pits. Every afternoon, sometimes up to ten times total, he’d fight everyone willing to face him. Unsurprisingly, that number slowly kept decreasing.
His visits to the ground floor had become more expedient as well, and he did not have to use up a single bullet after shooting that Asian man. Sadly, as he stopped relying on his revolver, so did his prey become more and more daring, Last night, for instance, he had to massacre an entire search party, as opposed to just one person.
I did warn them. I always warn them.
“You’re looking awfully lost there,” an unfamiliar voice pulled him back to the present, where he was sitting on one of the amphitheater’s lower seats. He turned toward the speaker.
“Greetings,” the man said. He was of average build, dressed in an expensive brown suit, and almost as tall as the Nameless. He had a pair of rectangular spectacles, while his black hair had been combed backwards. “I am David Torres. Pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine.” The Nameless extended his right hand, then realized how sweaty he was. But just as he was about to withdraw the hand, David grasped it firmly with his own.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I deal with fighters all the time. It wouldn’t make any sense for me to be scared of getting my hands dirty.”
“Comforting. What can I do for you, David?” The Nameless rose to his feet after the handshake ended.
“The same thing I will do for you, Mr. Bones.” He gestured for both of them to ascend the stairs. “We are going to help each other make a ridiculous amount of money.”
“Tempting,” the Nameless said as he walked beside him. “By all means, tell me more.”
“It’s simple. What you’ve been doing up until now, however impressive, was nothing more than preparation for the real deal.”
“The nightly fights, yes?”
“Exactly! Here is good, no need to climb anymore.” David pointed up at the hanging squares above the cages. “I know you haven’t seen the night fights yet, Bones, but by all means you should! Everything springs to life, the seats get filled up to the last, and the crowd screams your name in unison! All while you mercilessly pummel the other guy senseless!”
“Are you a fighter?” the Nameless asked, more perplexed by David’s enthusiasm than by the contraptions he was pointing to.
“Everyone is a fighter, Mr. Bones. If you’re asking whether I fight in the cages, however, then the answer is no.” David turned his gaze toward the Nameless. “My father, though, he was the real deal. World heavyweight boxing champion, twice over. I used to love watching him fight, and my passion for the sport has survived the end of civilization.”
His zeal appears genuine. “You have my attention, David. What exactly do you have in mind for me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” David smiled. “I’d like to start your career with the biggest bang you can possibly make! That’s why I’ve waited a couple extra days before speaking to you; I wanted to see how far you’d get on your own.”
“And did I disappoint?”
“Not in the slightest! Tell me, Mr. Bones, what are you worth right now? Just shy of eight hundred, I guess?”
“Seven hundred and eighty six,” the Nameless said. “Accurate enough.”
“And have you noticed how difficult it has become for you to keep c
limbing the ladder?”
“Indeed I have.” The Nameless looked down toward the cages. “Less and less people are willing to face me by the day, and I am spending more and more time in idleness.”
“Exactly! That’s because you’ve outgrown this part of the sport, and everyone is scared of you. However, you are still relatively unknown in the big leagues, and the two of us are going to capitalize on that!”
“I am listening.”
“Have you ever heard of Jean-Pierre Hermans?” David asked.
“Not at all,” the Nameless said.
“Up-and-comer. Undefeated, just like you.” David smiled. “He’s been crushing everything we’ve thrown at him ever since he came here. I figure it’s about time someone ended his reign of terror. Don’t you agree?”
“So, he is the current champion?”
“No, not at all. He’s what we call a ceiling. Keeps everyone below him away from the top tier, but is not quite there just yet. And if you do what I expect of you, he never will be.”
“Assuming I agree to do this, what would be in it for me?”
“Sixty percent of two blue chips, delivered into your hands the very moment he hits the ground.”
Six thousand. “That is definitely a handsome sum.”
“You haven’t seen handsome yet, Mr. Bones!” David tapped him on the back. “This is just the tip of the iceberg. You down this guy for me, and the two of us will be raking it in.”
“When exactly is this fight due?”
“When are you up for it? Hermans has a spot in more or less every night’s program.”
“Is tonight good enough for you, David?”
“For me, it sounds just about perfect,” David grinned. “But I can’t swing it on such short notice. What do you think about tomorrow?”
“Why not?” the Nameless said.
“So, do we have ourselves a deal?” David extended his right hand, staring straight into the Nameless’ eyes.
“Indeed we do.” The Nameless accepted the handshake, squeezing it firmly. “Let us make some blue together.”