Her fingers gripped it tightly and swung it wildly in the air. It struck its target on the first shot, the syringe plunging straight into her stepfather’s eyeball. She let go and it stayed there, sticking in his socket as he squealed.
Addison lay there beneath him, breathing heavy, blood squirting across her face. Acting on pure instinct now, she reached back up and wrapped both hands around the wire cage installed in his broken jaw. She yanked the steel as hard as she could, the metal tearing from Del’s mouth, ripping several holes in his cheeks like a fish caught on a hook.
He flung himself off her and fell into a fit of convulsions, grabbing at the ugly mess that was now his face. Addison bolted to her feet and fled from the living room, smeared blood blurring her vision. Her original intended direction was the front door, but she soon found herself bumping into the door of Del and her mother’s bedroom. The gargling cries of her stepfather were nearer, chilling her spine. There was no time to return back to the living room. Addison opened the door and closed it behind her, locking it with an unsteady grasp.
Del was yelling now, although what he was yelling was incomprehensible. In a normal neighborhood the police would have already arrived, but the tenants in this building were used to such commotions. They kept to their own business and no one bothered them. It was fucking pathetic.
Addison could hear him stomping back and forth, colliding with the walls and falling down, getting back up again only to repeat the same actions. It wouldn’t take too much longer for him to find his way to his bedroom, and then who knew what would happen.
Whatever the case, she had to prepare for a fight.
Addison ran to the closet and slid it open, searching for a weapon. Shoes, coats, more shoes, a bowling ball. Her eyes glued themselves to this with pure hatred. So many nights he had come home drunk from tournament night; more often than not they had ended with black eyes and broken glass.
She heard him kicking at the door now. A few bangs and the wood splintered away, swinging open by a strong breeze of monstrosity. Everything was happening so fast. It wasn’t like how it was in the movies. There was no time to think—just react. And react she did.
“Addison!” Del gargled, an endless crimson waterfall streaming down his neck, soaking his T-shirt. His pants were now pulled back up, but not without a dark circle near the crotch area. He managed to stumble five feet inside the bedroom before Addison swung the bowling ball at his gut, knocking the wind out of him and sending him down to his knees. Desperate hands broke the fall. It left him crouched, head slowly lifting up to spot eyes on his prey.
Addison looked away and brought the bowling ball down on her stepfather. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, it made her cringe. The cracking of his skull pierced her eardrums. Del collapsed on his stomach. She no longer heard his raspy breathing. His body remained still.
Addison turned around and went into the living room. She sat down on the couch and watched the stillness of her mother. The sight was too much to take in, covering her face, she sobbed into her shaking hands. After some time she walked into the kitchen and picked up the telephone and dialed a number. She settled back down on the couch and closed her eyes for a while, and waited.
Chapter Nineteen
Room 101
“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!”
Vincent King’s large arms folded around Maddox’s spine and squeezed, nearly lifting him completely off the floor. He had been compared to a bear before, and it wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Medium height, maybe a little shorter, but wider than a bison. Arms, legs, torso, all engulfed in bulging muscle. Maddox had never seen his old boss with a head of hair, and today was no exception. He wore a black and gray pinstriped suit, shoes waxed to a shiny gloss. The man was practically born to be a gangster.
“Yeah,” Maddox gasped, “good to see you too, Mr. King.”
Realizing he was on the verge of crushing his lungs, King loosened his grip. “My apologies, mate. Just a wee bit surprised, seeing you is all.”
“It’s okay,” he assured, slowly regaining normality in his color. He wondered that why, after so long of living in America, the man still kept his British accent.
“When’d you get your release papers? You paroled, are ye?”
“I was let go yesterday morning.”
“Wow, seems like just yesterday you were arrested and lost all my drugs, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.”
King’s office was underground, below the boxing arena. It hadn’t taken much to persuade the desk clerk to give King a ring. At first he had acted like a hardass, but after Maddox had mentioned his name everything was a breeze.
The desk clerk had led Maddox through a door and down a stairway, which only ended at another, much larger steel door. After a quick pat down, the clerk granted him permission inside and returned to his station upstairs.
It was a rather large empty room. An echo could go a long way in a place like this. Two rows of stone ivory pillars were scattered from one end of the room to the other like a set of Greek dominos, forming a narrow walkway from the entry door to a wooden door attached to the opposite wall. The mystery of the contents beyond it gave him the chills. He gulped and tried to direct his attention elsewhere.
The floor, the ceiling, and the walls were crafted out of black marble. Located on the right side of the office, away from the pillars, was a fountain running the entire vertical length of the room. Clear, clean water streamed down into the small stone pool; countless pennies residing at the bottom. The peaceful sound made him have to pee. Maybe that wooden door was something simple, like a bathroom.
He turned to the other side of the office and spotted a long desk made of oak. Scattered papers and stacks of bills laid along its surface, a gooseneck lamp trapping the objects in its heavenly glow. The black leather chair resting behind the desk was unoccupied. It wasn’t too long after this that the wooden door across the room swung open and out squeezed Vincent King, hands raw and bloody.
“It’s good to see you again, Mads,” the Brit said now. “Very good.”
“You too, Mr. King.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off King’s hands, especially the knuckles, and the splotches of blood crusted on them. He should have never come here. Should have just taken his chances with that freaky hooker.
“So, how was prison and all that?”
Maddox cracked his neck. “Over with, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Ten years is a long time, me boy. A long time indeed.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
“How did you get through it?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess I read a lot.”
King laughed. “I can’t believe you’re already out. I had marked my calendar and everything. Of course I never check the fookin’ thing. We should celebrate! Except, well, now’s not exactly a good time.” He caught Maddox staring at his hands and blushed. “As you can probably tell, I’m in the middle of some business.”
“Yeah,” Maddox said, forcing the syllables from his lungs, “well, that’s kinda what I came to see you about.”
There was no going back now, watching the man’s smile widen. “Ah, so this isn’t just your simple welcome back visit, eh?”
“Not exactly.”
“Excellent!” King clapped his hands together diabolically. It was a gesture that reminded Maddox of a small child finally getting hold of the cookie jar that’d always been out of reach. “Always ready for work, that’s me boy!”
King leaned forward, clamping a large paw on Maddox’s shoulder. “Listen here, lad,” he said. “I know you just got here and probably want to catch up on old times and all that jazz, so my apologies for rushing like this, but Mads, there is some major top secret shit going on back here. Now, it just so happens that I do need a guy for a very important job—one that’ll pay quite handsomely, I might add. So, why don’t you come along and follow me into the back and get a clearer picture of what exactly we’re dealing with here, eh?”
Maddox nodded solemnly and allowed King to lead him toward the wooden door.
King wrapped his sausage fingers around the knob and twisted it open. A draft of cool air immediately exploded against their bodies. They stepped into a room fueled by numbing darkness. A dimly lit light bulb attached to a thin chain hung in the center of the room. It swung back and forth over a man’s head. The man in question was a Mexican sitting in a shabby kitchen chair. His hands were tied behind his back with a length of rope; crusted blood covered more of his face than an actual expression. His drenched tank top and camouflage jeans were also stained and torn. He would be dead within the hour without serious medical attention.
Despite the gruesome injuries, Maddox was still able to detect the ruined eye patch hanging idly from his face. He looked incredibly familiar.
A malice grin spread across King’s face. The man was so giddy it made Maddox want to turn around and go running for the hills. Think of Addy, he told himself. She called you Daddy.
“This, Maddox, is Felipe,” King said. “Or, as we like to call him, test subject number eighteen.”
“Fuck you, King!” the Mexican spat out.
Before the words had barely left his mouth, a figure sprung out from the dark and struck him across the face. The Mexican yelped like a punished dog and fell silent. The attacker slunk back into the shadows before Maddox could get a good look at him.
“And that was my good ol’ chum, Winston.” King chuckled. “Now, Maddox, since there is not a moment to waste, allow me to begin our demonstration. You see, Felipe here has been a naughty little cunt—haven’t you, Felipe?”
“It wasn’t me!” the Mexican cried. The man in the shadows backhanded him across the mouth.
King went on. “We received word that he was pocketing my product from one of my clockers, the dirty little spic that he is. So now the wanker’s test subject number eighteen. And the next name he’ll have will be attached to his toe. Just ask the previous seventeen subjects.” He snickered.
Maddox focused on the dying man sitting before him. He felt sickened that there was nothing he could do to help the poor guy. Where had he seen him before? He was sure he had. There was something about that eye patch.
“A while back,” King continued, “an associate and I underwent a series of experiments, conducting a very scientific trial of chemistry. Well, at least he did, and I supported him financially. Fuck me if I understand any of that bollocks. It doesn’t matter, though, because the experiments were a success.”
“What experiments?” Maddox asked.
“Oh, no worries, they only affected filth like Felipe here. You see, my partner and myself have effectively developed a brand new drug; one that hasn’t seen the light of day until this past year. This is going to make us millions…billions, even.”
Maddox tensed as King reached in his suit pocket and brought out a miniature spray bottle. There was nothing threatening about this, for Maddox had laid eyes upon dozens of similar bottles containing men’s body spray in the past. The only feature he thought shady was the lack of a logo. The bottle was completely black.
“A revolution in narcotics,” King said, presenting the bottle up in the spotlight with pride. “This is a significant psychedelic piece of history, my blue-blooded friend. Nothing like this has ever been completed with such outstanding results. This is a hallucinogenic chapter in future school books; each word transfused into particulates that spray out of this little bottle right here. One whiff of this shit and your ol’ noggin’ grows a damn near supernatural dependency for it. It is the most addicting and ingenious creation ever to be conceived, and it is mine. This is the beginning of the new drug era.”
Maddox remembered where he’d seen the hostage before. Standing there trembling in Vincent King’s Room 101, he gaped at the Mexican tied up in the chair with absolute horror. Ten years or so ago, during his first day served in Megaton, he’d had a very powerful conversation with this man. Then he had stabbed him in the eye with a plastic spoon. It was because of him that Maddox had served the whole ten years instead of the minimum seven.
“Jesus,” Maddox said. He didn’t realize Sox fans could have so much life in them. “What are you going to do to him?”
“Watch and learn, Mads,” King said softly. “You’re about to witness something magical.”
He stepped forward and told the Mexican to open wide. Felipe just sat there with a cold stare, refusing to budge. King gently chopped him one in the throat, laughing as the Mexican began choking and searching for breathable air. It was the chance King needed to squirt the bottle’s substance in his mouth. It was sort of a drizzly, bright purple mist.
The Mexican continued gagging as King sprayed another dose of the product down his throat, as if he was being force fed too much garlic, or perhaps had swallowed too much phlegm and it was now blocking his airways. It was a sickening retch, droplets of purple spraying from his lips. He didn’t nudge his finger from the trigger until the bottle started shooting blanks.
Empty.
King moved away and watched the Mexican shaking in his chair, that evil grin never leaving his face. King was proud of his work. Maddox found all of it disturbing.
It took a few minutes before Felipe managed to settle down enough to speak. “What the fuck…did you…give me?”
“Jericho, baby,” King said, “just Jericho.”
Maddox cleared his throat. His brain told him to flee while he still had the chance, but his feet kept him glued to the floor.
The Mexican yelped.
“Now watch very closely, Maddox,” King said. “This is important.”
Maddox bit his lower lip and watched. What else could he possibly do? It wasn’t like he could make the Mexican undo the purple mist ingestion. What’s done was done. Now all he could do was watch and learn. And hope for the best.
Felipe Mexican fell into a disturbing series of twitches, teeth clacking together rapidly. He swung his head around wildly like a rocker; all the while a low steady hum escaped his throat, volume rising higher and higher, bouncing off the cement walls. His head was still shaking, resisting an offer visible to only him, when he suddenly froze in mid-swing. He focused on the two gangsters standing in front of him. Maddox saw his pupils transforming into a mystical purple and he found himself wondering just what the hell he was getting himself into.
“Why is he looking at us like that?” he asked.
“Shh,” King said.
“Faces,” Felipe muttered hoarsely. “Where are your faces? Where are your faces?”
The Mexican resumed rocking, this time with much more force. Violet tears drained down his cheeks as he shrieked. “Faces! You have no faces! Oh my Jesus Christ, what is happening to me? Get off! Get the fuck off of me oh shit oh damn get off please God get off oh no get off GET THE FUCK OFF!”
His frantic shaking led to the chair legs’ ultimate destruction. He slammed to the floor and rolled against the wall, screaming and defending himself from faceless intruders.
The man King had dubbed Winston came out of the shadows again and cautiously approached the hysterical Mexican. Maddox didn’t have a chance to view any more of this frightening scene, however, for King grabbed a hold of his shoulder and led him back out into the office. King shut the door behind them, miraculously drowning out the ear-bleeding madness they had just witnessed.
“Well, that’s enough of that,” King said.
Maddox couldn’t have agreed more.
“So, what do you think?” he asked after settling down behind his desk.
I think you’re insane, Maddox thought, and said, “It certainly is…interesting.” He stood there in front of him with his hands slumped idly in his jacket pockets. His choice of words would have to be chosen wisely.
“Indeed.” King sighed contently. “This bad boy’s been on the market for a little under a year now, and the number of buyers increases by the second. This is a fortune in the making, Mads. I can’t even begin to imagine where
this will be next year…or where I’ll be, for that matter. Hell, I could probably retire—maybe move on to a new location. Chicago’s growing old.”
Despite the horror Maddox had just observed, he still couldn’t help but find some humor in what King was saying. “And you couldn’t retire before?”
King smiled. “Oh, of course I could retire. I could’ve hung up my guns half a bloody century ago. But I haven’t, and I doubt I ever will. You know why?”
“Why?”
“I love this shit too much! I was born to be a gangster, Mads, and I’ll always be one. Just like you.”
“Me?”
“Well, you’re here, aren’t ya?”
Maddox vomited in his mouth, then swallowed it back down his throat.
“Speaking of which,” said King, “you came here for a job. I assume you’re still interested.”
Finally, Maddox sighed, but out of relief or fear he was not sure. He nodded, feeling exhausted.
King leaned forward in his chair. “You listening?”
Chapter Twenty
Drowning In Toxicity
Addison was still sitting on the couch when Connor arrived. The door was unlocked so he just barged inside, breathing heavy from the winding run up the three flights of stairs. Given her call earlier, which had been a short “Help, please, dead, all dead”, one could understand his frantic haste. He saw Sheryl lying there in the living room and nearly passed out.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, leaning against the wall.
Addison was just sitting there staring off in her own little universe, completely oblivious to her surroundings. Her mouth was hanging open a tad and she didn’t appear to be blinking. He walked over and sat down next to her. It felt good not to stand. He wrapped his arm around her. “Jesus Christ, Addy, what the hell happened?”
But she didn’t say anything. Only sat there and continued living in whatever other world she could imagine. After a while Connor stood up and ventured into the kitchen for a glass of water. He also planned on calling the cops. Halfway in, however, he spotted something from down the hallway. The door was kicked open; shards of wood splintered all over the place. He didn’t want to know what was waiting for him in the room but he knew he had to look, anyway.
Toxicity Page 12