American Savage

by Matt Whyman

  ‘For us,’ said Oleg, and turned the dial on his scooter to complete the last few yards of their journey.

  Everything had been carefully selected to appeal to Priscilla. Oleg knew how much she liked Cuban sandwiches with thin slices of ham, pork, cheese and pickles. He had also made sure the cherry cake slices were fresh from the bakery. Then there were the beers that he had bought for the occasion. As soon as Oleg had presented them to Vince as thanks for his help in arranging everything, the man took himself off to a bench overlooking the inlet and left the couple to dine in peace. Knowing that alcohol would only send them both to sleep, Oleg produced a bottle of lemonade for a toast.

  ‘You’re a prince,’ sighed Priscilla, who had required some help in seating herself on the rug. ‘This is quite a feast!’

  Oleg was filling a plastic cup when she said this. He only glanced up at her for a moment, but it was enough for the froth to spill over the edge.

  ‘It’s the next best thing,’ he said under his breath. When Oleg offered her the drink, she smiled fondly. In that moment, as they touched the cups together in a toast, everything seemed just perfect to him. So it came as a surprise to the old man to see a tear streak down her cheek. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, suddenly concerned.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Priscilla wiped the tear away and mustered a little chuckle as if to suggest she was just being silly. ‘You really don’t have to worry.’

  ‘You can tell me,’ insisted Oleg, and offered her a napkin to dry her eyes. ‘All of a sudden, you look so sad.’

  Priscilla accepted the napkin, brushing his hand as she did so.

  ‘You’re a kind man, Oleg. At my time, I couldn’t ask for anything more.’

  ‘Your time?’ Oleg tipped his head to one side. ‘You make it sound like it’s running out.’

  He had never seen her composure slip before, even for a moment. It came as a shock from someone who was so naturally sunny. Now, as he held Priscilla’s gaze, awaiting an answer, Oleg sensed that what she was about to say was not something he wanted to hear.

  ‘I saw my doctor recently,’ she said, and dropped her gaze to the spread of food. ‘So it’s good that you’re helping me make the most of what I have left.’

  ‘I see.’

  Oleg had no desire to press her for details. He knew what she meant, and felt numb. Here they were, late-life companions, and now the woman he held in such fond esteem had to go.

  ‘These sandwiches are the best ever,’ said Priscilla next. On taking a bite, she made a circling motion with her free hand as if to draw his attention to their wider surroundings. ‘This is so beautiful, what you’ve done here, Oleg. I have butterflies and my heart hasn’t beat this quickly in a long time! You make me feel so young. I’ve loved every moment in your company.’

  Oleg blinked back into focus to see her eating with relish. It was almost as if the exchange had been a figment of his imagination. Priscilla gestured for him to take a sandwich. He reached out for one, only to hesitate and then withdraw his hand.

  ‘I don’t want you to leave me,’ he said, with a catch in his voice. ‘You can’t … die.’

  Oleg struggled with the last word. It barely made a sound on leaving his lips.

  Priscilla took a second to swallow, and then smiled fondly at him.

  ‘For years now, every day has been a surprise to me and a blessing,’ she told him. ‘What matters is that we make the most of what’s left.’

  ‘No,’ said Oleg, so forcefully that Priscilla nearly dropped the rest of her sandwich. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

  ‘Oh, shush now.’ Priscilla touched a finger to her lips. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that, but it’s important that we have no secrets. Now, you need to eat,’ she said sternly, and gestured once more to the sandwiches. ‘Don’t let this spoil, after all the effort you’ve made.’

  ‘It’s just a picnic,’ said Oleg, waving at the plates dismissively. He glanced across to the bench. Vince was nursing a beer, enjoying the sunshine with his back turned to the couple. Just then, Oleg knew he had a confession for Priscilla and struggled to remind himself why he shouldn’t share it. Ever since that first time, when he and his late wife forced down human flesh during the war, it had remained a secret that was never mentioned outside the family. Now, after decades of keeping it that way, Oleg considered breaking the silence. This centrepiece to his diet had kept him alive beyond his years, so he believed, so surely it would do the same for Priscilla? Looking at his dear companion once more, his heart bruising at the thought that she might depart, his reservations deserted him. ‘There is something I’d like you to taste,’ he said, leaning in across the blanket to find her ear. ‘Something … restorative.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Priscilla turned to beam at him. ‘Is it a chocolate?’

  ‘An elixir,’ he said, sounding as serious as he looked. ‘The cure for everything.’

  ‘So it is chocolate!’

  Oleg shook his head, waiting for her to realise that he was being deadly serious here.

  ‘All you have to do is let me make arrangements with my family,’ he told her. ‘I guarantee you won’t regret it.’

  Priscilla held Oleg’s gaze for some time, as if waiting for him to crack.

  ‘What are you hiding?’ she asked curiously, before a sparkle in her eyes preceded a grin. ‘You’re a sweetheart, Oleg. I hope there’s time for more dates, even if I do think there’s a wicked streak inside you!’

  13

  Titus Savage cruised to a halt outside the Crankbait Sports Saloon. As he did so, the reflection from the neon piping gleamed across the bonnet of his pickup truck. He wound down the window and rested his elbow on the edge. It was a warm, close night, underscored by the sound of crickets in the scrub behind the building and a muffled but thumping beat from inside. Titus studied the frontage for a moment. In his hands, he thought idly, the grilles would have to go from the windows so it didn’t look as if the place had something to hide. From experience, he knew the importance of outward appearances.

  ‘What a dive,’ he muttered to himself, and killed the engine. ‘Why would anyone want to work here?’

  Titus had just left the apartment complex when he decided to collect Amanda from her shift. It was only a short run down the freeway, and he could just sling her bicycle in the back of the truck. He had been working late on fixing a boiler. The new tenant was another software drone, but unusually this one possessed impeccable manners. The man had been deeply grateful to Titus, supplying him with cold drinks throughout the evening as he sought to restore the hot water. On his way out, Titus hoped his son might grow up to be that considerate. Certainly the guy would not be finding his way onto their dinner plates in a hurry.

  Now that he’d arrived at Amanda’s place of work, however, his sense of goodwill towards people began to crumble away. This became apparent when two dishevelled-looking figures tumbled from the main entrance and out into the night – one tall, the other squat, but both in the same state of inebriation. The pair could barely stand, observed Titus, and seemed overcome by some hilarious joke. What was with these idiots? Did they have no self-respect? Personally, Titus never touched alcohol outside the home, and even then it was limited to a fine vintage wine to wash down a feast. It was only when the two men turned to teeter down the steps that Titus realised with a jolt that they considered him to be their friend.

  ‘Hey, man!’ called out Kiril, on recognising the black-and-chrome pickup and the driver who’d been a moment too late to shield his face from them.

  ‘What’s a guy like you doing prowling the streets after dark?’ asked Lev, as Titus’s buddies from the golf course approached the truck. ‘You’ll earn yourself a reputation.’

  ‘Fellas.’ Titus nodded at them both, ignoring Lev’s comment. ‘I’m here to collect our lodger.’

  ‘Right.’ Lev shared a look of amusement with Kiril. ‘Sure you are.’

  ‘She works here.’ Titus swapped his attention from one man to the oth
er. ‘Serving drinks.’

  It was Lev who guffawed first, followed by his drinking buddy.

  ‘Serving beers and then some,’ said Kiril under his breath, which provoked yet more laughter.

  ‘Am I missing something here?’

  ‘The bar shuts in twenty minutes.’ Lev grinned and slapped the top of the vehicle’s cab. ‘Go make the most of it, big guy!’

  From the wing mirror, Titus watched them shuffling off into the night. Why they would want to be out at this time was beyond him. So long as work didn’t draw him from the villa, all he wanted to do was enjoy supper with his family and then spend some downtime with them. Even if that meant watching Angelica’s choice of makeover show on cable, while Ivan played videogames in his room and little Kat slept soundly, that was fine by him. Everyone was under the same roof, locked away from the world. Climbing out of the pickup, Titus wished Amanda would find herself a day job. One with regular hours so she could join her surrogate fold.

  The noise when he opened the door to the saloon bar really wasn’t pleasant on his ears. It was the kind of pumping techno that kids down on South Beach liked to blare from their car stereos. Titus was surprised to find the interior strikingly gloomy, with little more than the glare from the big screens and the neon to light the tables. It was also very busy, with clusters of men standing around expectantly with drinks in their hands. He looked around, hoping to spot Amanda, and that’s when the first of the pole dancers swung into his line of sight. Wearing only a tiny pair of shorts and body glitter, the girl beamed at the new customer, who promptly dodged around her and hurried to the bar.

  ‘What can I get you?’ asked a man with a chipped tooth and thick eyebrows, before Titus had even reached him. ‘If you want a private dance with your beer, that’s forty bucks and the drink is on the house.’

  Titus glanced over his shoulder. It just hadn’t occurred to him that the Crankbait Sports Saloon would be host to this kind of gymnastics. More importantly, a girl he had taken under the family wing had found employment here. Had he known, Titus would’ve paid her not to take it.

  ‘I’m looking for Amanda,’ he said, scanning the booths and tables.

  ‘Oh, her.’ The barman glanced from one side to the other and then leaned in over the counter. ‘You can try, but we don’t do refunds.’

  Titus held the man’s gaze until he withdrew from the counter. Then he ordered a bottle of water from the cooler cabinet.

  ‘Keep the change,’ he growled, and flipped a twenty-dollar bill at him. ‘The drink is all I want.’

  ‘She’ll bring it over.’

  With a bad feeling rising in his guts, Titus cut back through the gloom. The TV screens showed a montage of shots from a basketball game, but few customers were watching. Most were on their feet, gathered around the girls as they twirled and gyrated for them. Titus ducked into the first available booth, sinking into the shadows. He’d barely settled, however, when a figure in silhouette rolled up to the table.

  ‘Here’s your drink, sir. Before you ask for anything else, that’s restricted to potato-based snacks. You got a problem with that, have someone else serve you.’

  The voice sounded bored, brittle and tired. Titus looked up with a start.

  ‘Amanda?’

  The young woman with the tray wheeled back on her skates, gasping in surprise.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed, setting the tray on the table.

  ‘Look at these animals.’ Titus gestured at the men gathered to eyeball the dancers. ‘You think it’s acceptable to be treated like a piece of meat?’

  ‘I won’t dance for them,’ said Amanda, as if to clarify. ‘It wasn’t in the job description … at least, not until I started.’

  Titus grimaced, closing his eyes for a moment.

  ‘Who is in charge here?’

  Amanda looked pained. She glanced nervously at Rolan, who was still behind the bar where he had served Titus.

  ‘None of us are wild about the terms, but it’s a wage,’ she reasoned. ‘At least it would be if we didn’t have to hand over the tips.’

  Titus considered her for a moment, his mouth flattening.

  ‘Get your coat,’ he said next, and gestured for her to move aside for him. ‘Everyone is leaving.’

  Rolan had been quietly watching the encounter from behind the bar. The new girl did a passable job waitressing, but her reluctance to work the floor like the others meant he’d have to get rid of her soon. He figured maybe the end of this shift was as good as any. On seeing the man with the shaved dome rise from the booth, Rolan wondered if Amanda had managed to offend by her dogged refusal to dance for him. He certainly had a grave look on his face as he approached, Rolan noted. But Rolan barely had time to step back before Titus vaulted over the counter, using one hand as a pivot and grabbing him by his shirt with the other as he came over the top.

  ‘A word,’ he growled, and shoved Rolan against the wall. ‘This bar is closing with immediate effect.’

  ‘Hey!’ Rolan lifted his hands in protest at the assault, but found himself powerless.

  ‘Not only do you brazenly parade these women, you don’t even pay them properly,’ snarled Titus. ‘They’re human beings, not cattle. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Are you crazy? Get outta here!’

  ‘First, I’m going to tell you something that might persuade you to leave,’ snarled Titus. ‘You see, I eat people like you for breakfast. That’s right, breakfast.’ Titus was now so close to Rolan’s face that the barman would later swear that he could smell beef on the guy’s breath. ‘Now, if you’re still here at daybreak, and my mood remains this bad, I’ll be back to cut out your kidneys and force you to watch me frying them in a pan!’

  As he outlined his plan, Titus jabbed deftly at the organs in question. Rolan responded by urinating a little into the fabric of his pants. There was no way of knowing if this psycho was bluffing, but the sheer purpose in the man’s voice told him not to question it.

  ‘Let me go,’ he whispered, aware that the brute had scrunched the throat of his shirt and lifted him onto his toes.

  ‘First, you promise to pay these ladies what you owe them, plus three months extra to see them right while they find better employment.’

  ‘Nobody is forcing them to dance,’ Rolan protested, a little unwisely.

  Titus responded by tightening his grip on the man’s collar.

  ‘Even when I’m slaughtering someone for the table,’ he hissed, no longer blinking as he constricted Rolan’s windpipe, ‘I do it with respect.’

  By now, the drama behind the bar had become the focus of the entire club. Through bulging, oxygen-starved eyes, Rolan was dimly aware that a lot of the customers were hurrying to leave, while the girls on stage just gawped in shock and amazement. None of them were paying any attention to the thumping music, nor did they react when Rolan’s flailing foot swung into the CD rack behind him and brought silence to the club.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ he croaked, just loud enough for Titus to hear him, before gasping for breath as his soles found the floor once more. Finding himself released in this way didn’t stop him from crumpling, however, and balling up with his back to the stereo. ‘Are you for real?’ he asked in barely a whisper. ‘Another one?’

  Titus heard him clearly, and immediately figured this wasn’t the first time a customer had taken him to task for the operation going on in here.

  ‘Don’t make me mad by breathing a word about what I just told you,’ he warned, as Amanda Dias appeared behind him with a murderous look in her eyes. ‘All this grief has given me an appetite,’ he added, ‘and you really wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.’

  SECOND COURSE

  14

  Alone in her bedroom, Katya Savage stood before her wardrobe and blinked. There had been no need for her to remove the shoeboxes concealing the gerbil cage. They had already been disturbed. As soon as she had opened the door, excited about providing breakfast for her new pet, the little girl�
��s eyes began to glisten like rock pools.

  ‘I knew it,’ she whispered to herself, sounding choked as she drew breath, before rushing out to find her parents.

  Kat could tell from the smell of frying bacon that she’d find them in the kitchen. At weekends, her dad enjoyed a traditional English breakfast. He couldn’t understand why she preferred her rashers with waffles and maple syrup. Just then, however, his youngest daughter had no appetite whatsoever.

  ‘Good morning, Kitty Kat!’ said Angelica, who turned from the hob with a spatula in hand. ‘Just in time.’

  Her father sat at the breakfast bar, leafing through the Miami Herald, but it was her brother who commanded Katya’s attention. Ivan glanced up at her, hunched over his bowl, and continued to scoop cereal into his mouth.

  ‘Tinky Dinks is missing!’ declared Kat with unbridled fury.

  Angelica responded by sighing wearily. Titus closed the paper and joined her in staring at Ivan. The boy set down his spoon. Then he glanced at them in turn.

  ‘What?’ he asked defensively. ‘I didn’t torture him!’

  In the silence that followed, his protest seemed to hang unsteadily in the air. A moment later, Angelica’s cell phone on the counter signalled an incoming message. She picked it up to glance at the screen, looking tense and uncomfortable all of a sudden. Katya, meanwhile, just stared at her father expectantly. Titus drew breath to address the situation, only for his own phone to begin bleating. Frowning, he checked the name that had flashed up before answering.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, mouthing an apology to Katya as he moved away from the table to address the caller. ‘What’s up?’

  With Ivan still glowering at her, stung by her accusation, Katya switched her attention to Angelica.

  ‘But he’s been a bad boy again … Mommy!’

  It took a second for Angelica to lift her attention from the phone.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked distractedly. Behind her, the bacon continued to crackle unattended in the pan. ‘Anyway, it’s Mummy, Katya. How many times?’