by Maurice Hill
He pointed at the bunkers again. “Okay children, these are your living quarters. One of my main rules is, no hanky panky.”
Hailey and her brother frowned, grunting their frustration.
TB4 sighed. “But if you must...then go on ahead...”
The duo beamed at him, and TB4 held up an authoritative finger. “But only and I mean only in a private area away from the cameras.”
He cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together. I imagined him rubbing his-oh, I'll stop. Christine would be sick to her stomach reading my horny little mind!
“As mentioned before, there will be no TV. TV rots your brain and just isn't productive at all. Instead, I suggest you amuse yourselves by playing cards, chess, or training in the super special awesome-”
---
“PERFORMANCE CENTER!” TB4's voice echoed throughout the Gym.
It was empty save for dodge balls scattered on the floor, and bleachers on each sides. There were huge stadium lights on top of the ceiling that made my skinny ass look even more thin and fragile. I could tell thanks to the bullet proof glass wall in my way. There was also this blackboard next to the entrance where we came in that had half-broken chalk and chalk-dust lining the...um...what is that thing under the chalkboard? A ledge? I don't know what it's called. Surely Christine would know.
I nudged her on the shoulder once TB4 rolled the chalkboard over.
“What's that thing under the board called that holds the chalk?”
Christine opened her eyes wide, in bewilderment. “Are you freaking serious?”
I shrugged. “Hey, I don't know.”
She pointed up at her head. “There's a lot of things missing in there, huh?”
I put my hands together, as if I were praying. “But you can help me fill it. Your head must be so chalk full of knowledge my sista!” I put my fist up, like one of those black panthers.
She giggled. “You're a real trip, you know that?”
“Quiet down, you two! Before I make you!” shouted TB4, now standing in place next to the chalk-board.
“Okay, even though we're in futuristic Dystopian Chicago, we are still using technology from last generation...whatever time frame that was, because it's not clear what time period we are in. Anyway, we'll be using this old dusty chalkboard to tally the scores for each initiate. Now, there are only eight of you, and only five will make it to the final round where they will then compete to win three tickets to the semi-final round at the main Tricker Stadium where a threesome fight will be televised between three finalists and the winner will then go on to face a horde of evil robots equipped with razors and knives.
If you're lucky enough to defeat the horde of robots, you will then compete against last year's initiate winner-Analogous Sexton-to vie for your chance at becoming the newest member of the Tricker faction! Yeah!!”
He clapped his hands and we all looked at each other confused.
Christine raised a hand.
“Yes, you there handsome black woman. Er, Christine.”
Christine put her hands at her hips. “Excuse me, but aren't all of us supposed to be Trickers? It's only one? Like a tournament?”
TB4 snapped his fingers. “Exacta-mundo Ms. Christine! A tournament! It'll be just like that Hunger Games movie that came out not too long ago.”
Christine slouched. “Don't you mean, a century ago?”
He shrugged. “Hey, you know it better than me and everyone else apparently. I've been on this Earth longer than you, yet even I don't know what time we live in.”
She sighed and crossed her arms. “This is so stupid.”
I gulped. Oh God, first I jumped off of a roof, out of a plane onto a train, now I have to fight to everyone just to become a Tricker? Where's my ticket to get out of here while I can?
Al raised his hand.
“Yes Al?”
Al gulped harder than I did and cleared his throat. “Sir, what happens to the rest of us that lose?”
TB4 giggled. “Well that's quite simple lad, the rest of you will go into the faction with all the other undesirables. You know, the working class.”
“Noooooo!” I screamed. Limp Ussy and his crew made several swears. Even Christine was taken aback, but not by much.
“Screw that,” said Limp, putting his fists together. “I'm not going to work with some betas in a factory.” He looked at his group. “Consider our friendship over.”
Steven shrugged. “Like, whatever dude. We never had one.”
Limp Ussy nodded. “True. Then I guess that means you're no longer my bitches. But all three of you, and the rest of these punks here will be the cannon fodder in my way to becoming the new initiate into Tricker. No one's gonna stop me!”
He ripped his shirt in two, and threw the pieces on the floor. TB4 looked on shocked at how much bigger Limp's muscles looked compared to his, but not by much.
“Damn it! I'm a beast! Nobody is going to take me down damnit! No one!!!!”
He picked up Max, and threw him toward TB4.
“Damn it!” TB4 leaped out of the way and Max shattered into and through the glass. The pieces fell like rain, and Max's blood splattered all over the floor, like out of some horror movie.
“Yeah!!!” shouted Limp, flexing his muscles.
I was so scared, I didn't even notice the small yellow puddle under my feet. My knees collapsed underneath me and Christine looked down, worried.
“Damn girl, he broke bullet proof glass.”
“Y-y-yeah...” I said, my voice breaking.
Al hugged Hailey tight. “Don't worry sister, you can lose to me so he doesn't kill you.”
TB4 cleared his throat, and picked himself back up from the floor. “Well then...I guess that makes seven of you. Um...” He looked at the rest of us. “And I suppose that also means six of you should start getting acquainted with the most powerful group in America once you get a working class job.”
“Who?” I asked.
TB4 gulped. “The I.R.S.”
---
“Like, did you see him? He's not human! He's not human!” said Al, gorging on a muffin and then downing some milk. Hailey nibbled at her carrot tenderly. We were sitting in the cafeteria room, just several tables away from Limp's old crew now consisting of two people. And Limp sat by himself, eating bowls of cut up ham, chicken legs, and beef.
Christine winced at Al. “Hey, watch yourself. You're gonna choke if you keep eating like that boy. Damn.”
I agreed. “Yeah, and what you're eating is disgusting. Enjoy your heart-attack.”
Al put down his milk carton and wiped away the little milk-mustache.
“Hey, my pops used to say it's not how many years you have in your life, but how much life you have in your years. I'll die forever young, and you two can revel in your wrinkly old age with dried up-”
Christine put up a hand. “I get it Al. So, what were you saying about Limp?” Christine picked up the fork from her plate and started eating a spoonful of collard greens.
Al put his milk carton down and coughed, his hands shaking with nervousness and anticipation. “He's a freakin' monster that's what I was saying. His veins were like huge snakes. I bet if we popped several of them, he could turn into a human fountain.”
Christine put down her fork and said, “Hell no, boy. What you're thinking about is against the rules. Not to mention, illegal.”
“Oh come on, what Limp did was illegal! TB4, that...that douche-prick!”
“Hey! Just because he's more fit than you, and has sexual relationships, doesn't mean he's a douche!”
“He's a douche! If his actions and words earlier doesn't convince you, consider this: I remember seeing this guy at one of my friend's clubs down by the freeway near the GET-A-Face-LIFE-Book store is in Main Square Avenue. This guy, came into the club with his wife, and and left with five whores. Who does that? It's not like his wife was one of the working girls! She was dragged there! By him!”
“How do you know that?”
“How? I saw it with my own two. Hell, Hailey saw it, she can vouch for me!”
Hailey nodded, still nibbling away at her carrot. “That's right. Yup, yup. I was giving brother a quickie with my mouth when it all-”
“Ewww! TMI!” whined Christine. I winced too.
“Okay, okay, enough of you Hailey. Anyway, that story he said about his wife swinging the knife first. True, but skewered. Wanna know what really happened? Heh, of course you do. This is what happened. These guys...you know...these guys...” He nodded his head, expecting we'd get what he was saying.
Christine and I didn't respond. We looked confused.
Al rubbed his face with his hands and looked back and forth around the cafeteria, and then back to us.
“Okay, you know how they call Chicago one of the most corrupt places in America? Hell, the world? Criminal underbelly? Organized crime up the ass?”
Christine nodded. “Yeah, so you're saying these guys are some Al Capone types?”
“Something like that. Anyway, my close friend told me this guy was beating on his wife first, and has the reports to prove it. So she gets these connected guys to help her out, but they can't be caught outside of their borough. There's no other guys she knows but them. So they give her this hunter's knife, and tells her to give him one deep stab into the head.
That, after she gets through the skull, it'll feel like cutting up a Chicken leg.”
Christine sucked her teeth. “Please...I mean, I believe you but-”
“Only because you hate TB4,” I shot at her.
Christine leered at me. “Honey, if you can't see past the curtains, that's your problem, but I was telling you before this guy is bad news.” She looked back at Al. “So anyway, I believe you, but why didn't they give her a silencer? Or hire someone outside of their borough to help her out? Why did it need to be her? That's all I'm saying.”
Al shrugged. “Hey, our society these days doesn't make any God-damn sense. Why the Hell would two degenerate scumbags make sense either? Besides, it was the wife that wanted to do the hit herself. She knew how to dump a lump thanks to watching this one show...a....I forgot what it was called, but it was about some teacher turning into a meth cook or something. Whatever. She knew how to get rid of stuff, but she wanted it to be gruesome. Like Friday the thirteenth shit. So they gave her the knife, she tried what she could, but that guy, that V back, 12 pack mother-sucker isn't even sleep!
He's pretending to be! How convenient eh? So he takes the knife away and slaps her around just like he always slapped her around and called the cops. That ended their marriage for good and now he's here. Now, he has a reason for those reports to help him. Now she's the crazy one, and he's just a handsome guy defending himself. Courts saw no problem, and they let him free after she sued for assault. Self-defense. He killed her after...like he was planning to anyway. Joey Two-Tone had him on Wire-tap at the hotel. Gave it to his wife. That's why she just decided to up and kill him first before he did it.”
He took another sip of his milk while Christine and I shared a look. He put it down.
“Anyway, as I was saying, this guy doesn't care about the law. If he did, he'd report Limp right away. He'll just write off Max's death like he jumped through that glass on his own. Even though that's not possible, stranger things have happened my friends.”
Christine tilted her head. “Like what?”
“Like my friend Joey Two-Tone. They called him two-tone because his shoes would be a different tone after a hit. One black, and one red. Same with his victims. Nevermind that though. One time, he ran this bus company and told the driver for this private school-girl route to play pop-music over the radio. You know, to make those little girls happy. So he does this, and one day the driver gets off at the wrong stop, in the middle of this rival neighborhood that's been gunning for Joey for years. Now this guy is shaking in his boots, and crapping his pants when one of these wiseguys comes up to him with a gun. But instead of threatening him about Joey, you know what he says?”
“What?” said Christine, leaning in, clearly interested.
“Wiseguy holds up the gun and says, 'Take that pop-shit off. Next time you drive around here, it better be the intro to Pokemon. We love Pokemon around these parts. Kids go crazy over those Pokemon cards.'”
Christine chuckled just a little bit. “What the fu-”
“Exactly. And if that's not enough, when the bus driver nods, the wiseguy says, 'By the way pal, were you a fan of Miley Cyrus back in the day?
Party in the USA was the shit bro!”
Christine exploded in laughter, and I didn't get it.
Al said to me, “Think about it, it's this tough as balls looking gangster holding up a gun, and he's seriously getting red in the face like a school girl over Miley Cyrus.”
“Oh!” I fake chuckled and Christine alerted me to stop. I did. I guess I'm somewhat of her bitch now in a way.
Al settled down and finished off his milk. “Anyway, he's a total douche. If he let our Limp friend over there break Max in two, he won't bat an eye at Limp having an accident.”
Christine shook her head. “It's intriguing, I will agree. It'll give all of us a chance, but I'm not sure. There's also those cameras in the room you need to think about.”
Al smirked. “Who says it'll happen in our room? We find a quiet place with no cameras, and do it there. All one of you two need to do is work your charm and lead him like a rabbit to a carrot.” He pointed at Hailey's carrot, making her giggle.
“That's all. We can work it out later, I just need to know if you're both in?”
He looked at both of us, like a mother asking her daughter if she wants to go shopping with her, and expects her daughter to say yes.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Christine agreed. “Okay. I think the best one for this job is Mika.” She turned to me. “What do you think tumbleweed? You'll probably have to let him feel you up a bit.”
I grimaced. “Feel me up? I just have to lead him.”
Al chuckled. “You can't just do that with a guy. You have be a little sensual with us. Rub his face, his legs, anywhere but his prick, you know? That gets him all worked up, and hot. You lead him to where we are, and then-boom!” He punched his hand. “They'll be calling him the human fountain after we're through with him.”
I didn't know what to think. I never beat someone up before. Or-
“Wait, just to make sure, we're beating him up right? Nothing permanent?”
Christine nodded but Al didn't give us an assurance. He just said, “Ehhh...” and tilted his head and hands back and forth.
“Right?” I asked him in a low tone.
He said, “We'll see. If you ask me, he's better off taking the big sleep as my friend Joey Two-Tone would say.”
“But that's wrong.” I said, in a low shaking tone. “We can't...” I shut my mouth, my mind shut as well. I got the shakes as Christine would say.
Al shook another carton of milk and opened it up. “Listen, I think even your friend Christine here would agree.”
Christine didn't respond. She folded her arms, listening as Al took a sip and put the carton back down.
“Look at it this way, Limp is like a rabid dog. This guy is just doing whatever the Hell he wants. If we beat him up to the point where he is out, believe me...and this happens all the time where I'm from. You beat him up, he goes to the hospital, this big jacked up stronzo comes back and doesn't just beat you bloody, he leaves you dead. Now, I plan on making this quick, and very painful, but also so that he never sees us.” He points to me.
“But this bloodsucker will see you. And it doesn't matter if you win or lose, he will find you, rape you, then ask you where we are. When you say you don't know...he'll rape you again, and then he'll ask you one more time before he rapes you a third time and then puts you underneath with the fishes. Oh God, I'm sorry, I hate using the 'fish' cliché but it just came to mind. Ha!” He patted Hailey on the back as I thought of Limp...doing those terribl
e things to me. I felt a pit in my stomach.
Christine nudged me. “Don't worry about it tumbleweed. He makes a good point. It's something we'll have to do. That guy is nuts. He killed someone, we'll deliver him his just desserts. A psycho like that who doesn't care about human life deserves to be put down like the dog he is. I mean, you can say we're not the ones who should decide that, but I say screw that. He killed once, and he'll do it again.”
I nodded. “Okay. I'll do it. When?”
Al tapped the table. “As soon as Hailey finds a nice spot that's camera free. She's good at that mission impossible shit.”
Hailey crunched the last bit of her carrot and smiled. “I love dark and tight places. It reminds me of my vagina.”
Christine let out a groan and put her collard greens down. “Yeah, I think I'm done eating for today.”
I looked down at my plate with only five peas on it. Even I started to feel sick.
“Yeah, me too.”
Al leaned in. “Alright, it's settled. Once Hailey finds the space, we'll move into our plan. Now, I have another concern. It's about TB4. Christine, I think you're right. He's hiding something more from us, but I don't think it's a matter of people protecting themselves or us. It's about them watching one sole person.”
My heart sank. Did he know about Avirgents?
Christine batted a brow. “What?”
“Avirgent,” said Al, confidently. My heart sank lower.
“Please, Avirgent is as real as bigfoot. There's been no such case,” said Christine.
Al shook his head. “Then explain the cameras. This city doesn't go into extreme measures like that, except when someone is a risk to national-or in our case, regional security. Someone here is Avirgent.” He looked between us two. “It could be you, and it could be Mika. It could be one of Limp's old crew over there, or Limp himself. You ask me, it's probably him.”
Christine nodded. “That's an if a big if. If, he is one, it'd make the most sense. I can imagine him being a hybrid of Rambunctious and Tricker. Like breeding a lion and a wolf together.”