Chemical Burn

by Quincy J. Allen

  The Russian said nothing. He moved into a fighting stance, hands raised and flexing a jaw already starting to swell.

  I closed in slowly, my own hands raised but held open, loosely. The Russian circled to my left, away from the bar. By the Russian’s stance, I could tell he knew how to use his legs. He shifted his weight and came up fast with a snap kick. I leaned back a bit and blocked it lightly with an open palm, waiting for the follow-up punches. They came an instant later, right on queue—a fast flurry of left-right combos that I easily blocked, moving back a step with each punch.

  The Russian pulled back for an instant, creating the opening I needed. I let fly a quick right-jab, faster than he could see, landing it squarely on the swollen bruise that had formed on his jaw. As his head swiveled with the impact, I cocked my left leg and brought my foot around hard into his forward knee. The knee bent badly, shooting sideways in a direction knees are not supposed to go. He sank into his stance, trying to regain his footing, but he toppled. Rather than collapsing, however, he rolled to the side and came up immediately, favoring the leg. I smiled with grim satisfaction.

  “Stings, don’t it?” I asked. “Now an arm.” I saw Xen move towards the Beretta on the floor between us. “Stay where you are, Xen,” I growled without looking, and the icy tone was an order, not a request. Xen froze, looking almost as afraid of me as he had the Russians.

  The Russian went back to circling with his oh-so-satisfying limp. I shifted into the drift and let fly a fast left-right. The Russian blocked quickly and came around with a right aimed at my head. I leaned out of it and followed with a left that grazed his right cheek. The Russian leaned back and came up at my mid-section with a snap kick using the bad leg. It connected, but not hard enough to do more than slow me down. I stepped back, and the Russian smiled. I stepped in quickly and shot a weak kick at his face. He sidestepped and pivoted all the way around to his right. He hoped to catch me with a backhanded left.

  Most men couldn’t pull off a punch like that quickly enough, but the guy was really fast, I’ll give him that. At least I knew why Yvgenny had made a point of warning me. It had probably connected plenty of times before for the guy, but not this time. I saw it coming, tilting my torso and raising my left hand just in time. I caught his wrist in an open hand and clamped down. I pulled in his left hand hard towards my body and, using my right forearm, smashed it into the Russian’s straightened elbow.

  A sick, wet cracking sound filled the room as his elbow snapped, bending back ninety degrees in the wrong direction. He howled, but I didn’t let go. I kept pulling with my left and pushing with my right. He spun forward, losing his footing. I heaved with all my strength and sent him flying into the roulette wheel headfirst. He sailed into it, and the big wheel snapped off with a crash. Man and wheel bounced off the wall and toppled to the floor.

  I stood where I was, almost casually, and waited for him to get back up. “You alive back there,” I called out. “Come on … I heard you Russians were supposed to be tough. Someone even warned me about you. Imagine that.”

  He got to his knees, supporting his weight mostly on his right arm and leg. He looked at me with blood coming out of a broken nose and cut lip. He moved with fatalistic fury. He knew what was coming, but he got to his feet and stood, glaring at me. His left arm hung limply at his side. He grabbed it with his right hand and tucked his left hand into his belt, wincing as he did.

  “You know what. I’m going to cut you some slack,” I said. “Stay there.” I backed away from him and, keeping an eye on him, went over to the two bodies piled by the back door. I bent over, pulled the switchblade out of the eye-socket where I’d left it and wiped the blood off on the corpse’s coat. I strolled back towards the Russian who went into a wary crouch, thinking I would come at him with the blade. Instead, I stopped at the end of the broken roulette table and lay the knife down. I took a few steps back, giving him plenty of room.

  Narrowing his eyes, calculating if he should pick up the knife or not, he realized it was his only chance. He stepped forward. His twisted knee held his weight a little better, and he picked up the knife with his good hand. He spun it around so that the blade pointed down, away from his pinky.

  I nodded as I went into a crouch. The Russian came at me slowly, steadily, without any fear. We both knew this was the endgame. He either killed me here and now, or it was all over for him.

  He never slowed down. The instant he got within range, he popped forward with a fast kick to my knees and slashed at my face with the blade. I stepped back and let it sail by. His back swing was lightning fast, and I had to leap back another step to avoid getting a C-section. As his arm swung out, I popped up in the air and hammered a tight roundhouse into his broken elbow. He stumbled sideways with the impact and screamed in agony.

  I pounced like a cat, dropping a hammer-fist across his good forearm. The impact broke his arm, and the knife dropped to the floor. My momentum carried my arm down right on top of the blade. I grabbed it, spun in a low crouch and slashed down to the bone across his right knee. His leg buckled as the severed tendons gave way and shot back up into his leg. I came around behind him and grabbed him by his hair.

  I leaned in and whispered into his ear. “How many helpless people have you killed? How does it feel to be one of them, hmmm?” And there it was again. Someone could easily ask me the same question, with the same kind of rage for the things I’d done back home.

  The Russian closed his eyes and waited for it. I wondered if someday I’d be in the same position, waiting for someone else’s killing blow.

  I jammed the switchblade through the back of his neck. The tip of the blade came out through his throat, and he made a quiet gurgling sound. I let go of his hair. His eyes went wide, and he gurgled again, trying to say something, but only blood came out, pouring down his chin. He fell forward and never moved again. As his life expired, I felt the rage start to dwindle, and the one inside me who owned it faded as well.

  I stood and walked over to my coat. I picked it up and reached into an inner pocket, pulling out a smooth, oblong device the size of my palm, concave on one side and convex on the other. I walked over to where Magdelain still lay on the floor, panting. She had reverted to her natural gray and green coat. I looked at Xen who now stared at Magdelain, his eyes still wide.

  “It’s okay, girl. You’ll be fine,” I whispered “I’m sorry that bad man shot you,” I added as if talking to a child with a scraped knee. I placed the device over her wound. It glowed momentarily and then went dull-gray again. I reached under her, running my hand along the other side, feeling for any blood. “Did it get past these ribs, girl?” I asked, placing my hand gently on the device.

  She weakly shook her head.

  “You’ll feel fine in the morning. I’ll get you some Kobe beef. How does that sound? Would you like that?”

  She nodded her head with a little more vigor.

  I stood up and walked back to the bar. Grabbing the bottle of Wild Turkey, I filled the tumbler half full, set the bottle down and picked up the glass. I looked at Xen who stared blankly at me, speechless.

  I raised the glass. “Budem,” I said and downed the whole thing. I set the empty glass back on the bar, staring into it. The silence dragged by like a corpse in a procession. I could feel Xen staring at me. “Owwww …” I finally said, rubbing my chest where the bullets had gone through. I rubbed at it like other people rubbed recently whacked funny bones. Collapsing onto one of the barstools, I looked down at the wood and sniffed the gasoline. Xen stared at me, then at Magdelain for a few seconds, then back at me.

  “What the hell is that?” Xen asked a bit fearfully, pointing at Mag. “I’ll ask you why you’re not dead later. I don’t think I could handle the answer right now.”

  “That’s Magdelain. You know, my cougar,” I said matter-of-factly without looking up.

  “Cougar, my ass. What the hell is it?”

  “It’s a … cat,” I said without conviction.

  �
��Justin, I told you about my schooling, right?” Still mostly in shock, Xen’s scientific training got the best of him.

  “Yeah. You said you had three PhDs.” I thought he showing remarkable calm, considering everything that had happened. I figured it was only a matter of time before he popped … and went around the bend a bit.

  “Did I tell you what in?” he asked slowly.

  “No, we never actually got around to that, but I’m assuming one was chemistry.”

  “Chemistry,” Xen counted them off on his fingers slowly, “botany … and … biology, with a focus on mammalian life, coincidentally.” He pointed at Magdelain and said, “That doesn’t exist. Mind telling me how I’m looking at one?”

  Mag lifted her head with a bit more strength and stuck her tongue out at him.

  I looked at Mag with compassionate eyes. “Of course she exists. Look. He didn’t mean that girl,” I soothed. I turned back to Xen, rubbing my temple, “And it’s a long story. How about I tell you later?”

  “I’d rather you tell me now.” I picked up a trace of frantic desperation in Xen’s voice. He was on the verge of popping. I could hear it is his voice.

  I looked around the room, taking in all the destruction. “Shit,” I said to change the subject.

  “What?”

  “I told Marsha she wouldn’t even know I’d been here.”

  “You do seem to be getting into the habit of wrecking other people’s places. It’s bad for your Karma. Which reminds me …” Xen stepped up and hit me in the arm … hard.

  “Owwww! What the hell was that for? I’ve just been shot … remember?”

  “That’s for my front fucking doors! For my fucking living room, and for my fucking kitchen!” Xen shouted, genuinely pissed off.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said sheepishly. “That. Sorry. I may have to light one of my own houses on fire just to fix my Karma. How about I let you bring marshmallows?”

  “You’re on,” Xen said way too seriously. “You know, you should be dead,” Xen added with a scared tone in his voice. The shock was wearing off. I could see it in his face. “How long have we known each other?” he asked.

  “I don’t know … a little over two years,”

  Xen’s face showed a mix of fear and fascination, bordering on a total freak-out. “Yeah. Well, I’ve known you long enough and seen and heard enough things to piece together that something isn’t normal about you. In fact, a whole lot of somethings. I’m not an idiot. But this?” he said motioning around the room. “This puts it way, way beyond impossible.…” He stared at me for a few seconds. “What the actual fuck?”

  I sighed. “Fair question,” I said quietly and poured another glass of Wild Turkey. I would have to come clean with Xen, at least a big piece of the story, anyway. But I couldn’t right there and then. I reached into a coat pocket and pulled out my phone. “Look, can we talk about it later? I have to get this cleaned up.” My eyes pleaded for a break.

  Xen hesitated for a moment, desperate for some sort of explanation. He looked around the room, took in the carnage and finally realized that there were eight dead bodies on the floor.

  “Yeah. Later.” He reached behind the bar and pulled out a fresh tumbler. He filled it to the top with Wild Turkey and took three long gulps. Then he went into a coughing fit while I tried not to smile at him. I took a stiff belt of my own. Between coughs he said, “But we’re going to talk about it. You’re not getting off this particular hook. You hear me?” I heard steely resolve in his voice. Something I wasn’t used to.

  “Alright, man. I guess I owe you that.”

  “You do, and keep in mind … I’m a scientist. I’m pretty objective about things when I can see and touch them. And I’ve seen and touched quite a bit tonight. You know what I mean?”

  “I think I do, Xen. Thanks,” I added sincerely. I selected a speed dial and hit CALL. Putting the phone to my ear, I waited for an answer.

  Yvgenny picked it up almost immediately. “Da?” he said.

  “Yvgenny, it’s Justin.”

  “Justin! How are you my boy?” he asked, laughing lightly. “Isn’t it past your bed time? Or maybe milk and cookies have keeping you awake. What trouble are you getting into this evening?”

  “Funny you should ask that,” I said not at all innocently.

  Yvgenny picked up my somber tone. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need a mop up. Fast. No questions. The guy I normally use is on vacation … in Norway,” I added with not a little disgust.

  “Normally use?” Xen asked incredulously, shaking his head. He realized there was a lot he didn’t know about me. I held up my hand to shush him. Xen was always interrupting phone conversations.

  “Norway?” Yvgenny asked.

  “Yeah, his mother died.”

  “Did you kill her?” Yvgenny chuckled lightly.

  “NO! Yvgenny! Come on, this is serious,” I said, but I finally had a smile on my face. The old rage was, thankfully, gone. Yvgenny always managed to crack me up.

  “How many?” Yvgenny asked.

  I hesitated, “Uh …” I twisted my toe in the carpet like an embarrassed child.

  “Two?” Yvgenny prompted.

  “Well … you see …”

  “Three?” Disbelief grew in his voice.

  I sighed. “Guessing will take too long.…”

  “Christ, Justin! How many?”

  “There are eight bodies in here … most of them bleeding out.”

  “Good God! What did you do?”

  “Well, they started it,” I said like a child in trouble.

  “I’m thinking you are saying that a lot to people these days.”

  “There’s more, Yvgenny.”

  “What?” the old man asked with a touch of anxiety and suspicion in his voice.

  “Well … you see …” I cleared my throat nervously. “They … they’re not Italian.”

  “Really? Then what are they?” Yvgenny asked in a deadly serious tone.

  “Well, you know that Russian hit-man you warned me about?”

  “Da …” he said slowly.

  “He … he sorta’ brought friends.”

  Yvgenny was suddenly very calm. “Before we continue, I need you to go to one of them. It is not mattering which. You may have placing me in difficult position.” I picked up the tone in Yvgenny’s voice and got a knot in my stomach.

  “Alright,” I said carefully and walked over to the one Xen had killed by the TVs.

  “Can you seeing any of their arms?” Yvgenny asked.

  “They’re all wearing long sleeves.”

  “Pull one up … a left sleeve.”

  I leaned over, holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder, then unbuttoned and rolled up the corpse’s left sleeve. “What am I looking for?”

  “Tell me what you are seeing on his wrist, on the palm side.”

  “He’s got an iron cross, like those German ones, and some Cyrillic characters under it.”

  Yvgenny let out a sigh of relief and quietly said something in Russian.

  “What’d you say?” I asked.

  “I said, ‘This boy will being the death of me.’ You are being most lucky these men are not part of our organization. Our crews only work together, and they all have double-skulls on left wrist. If they were ours, I could not help you.”

  “I understand. So do you know anyone?”

  “I can’t using one of our people. It would get … complicated.”

  “I hear ya. Look, Yvgenny … I need these guys to disappear.” I changed my voice to one of a teenager in double-dutch. “I mean, when mom gets home, she’s gonna be pissed.” There was a pause, then Yvgenny and I both laughed, but Xen lost it completely. His laughter started out normal enough, but it quickly shifted into a slightly higher-pitched, nervous, frantic sort of cackle.

  I heard an imaginary pop in my head as the weight of what happened hit Xen full on. His laughter was the kind people make when they’re straddling the fence between sane and …
not so much. I turned my head away from Xen’s laughter so I could hear Yvgenny a little better.

  “I am knowing a man, but he’s not cheap.”

  “Can I trust him?” I asked cautiously.

  “I do,” Yvgenny said with complete certainty. “We usually keep things in-house, but he’s worked for me before. He is professional, although, he is being sort of oddball.”

  “If you trust him, I will.”

  “How much do you have on you?” Yvgenny asked.

  “Just shy of four grand.”

  Yvgenny started laughing. “You’ll need five times that, and that’s if he is being in good mood when I wake him.”

  “Make the call. Tell him to meet me at Grady’s in forty-five minutes … and to come in the back. If he wants, he can have their car or cars. I don’t know how many they came in.”

  “That is … how do you say? S.O.P.? It will not change price.”

  “I know. Just get him here. It’s eleven-thirty. If he’s here in forty-five, there’s an extra ten grand in it for him, okay?”

  “That will most certainly putting him in good mood.”

  “Thanks, Yvgenny.”

  “Of course. And Justin.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try not to kill anyone for rest of day. You are having thirty minutes before midnight, and if you are trying really hard, I think man like you can make it.” Yvgenny started laughing definitely at and not with me this time.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said dryly.

  I hung up the phone and looked at Magdelain. “Can you walk, girl?” She still lay on all fours.

  She nodded her head and slowly got to her feet.

  “Come on, Xen. We’re going back to my place.”

  “Un-hunh.” Xen had finally calmed down and had a blank stare on his face. He took another gulp of bourbon, stepped around the bar and walked mechanically towards the back door.