CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
LATER, OUTSIDE THE Best Bet diner, Milkwood told him what happened. “Got your passport from that jackass,” he said, rolling the dented bullet in his hand, fresh teeth slimy white, “but not our money. I don’t know what…happened to you in the basement before I got time off, but you seemed to get a bulletproof skull out of it.”
Malcolm rubbed his sore head. He had a five bell headache, but that wasn’t what was hurting him, holding his hands away from the telephone in the box. The bandage Malcolm had put on his head was tight, but neither that, nor the bullet, was what was causing him anguish.
“Do you really want to do this?”
Malcolm nodded and winced. Was it supposed to hurt? Milkwood rarely looked hurt. But Malcolm wasn’t like Milkwood. He had no idea what in fact he was. Vilkacis? Wolf eyes? It was all voodoo shit to him. The only certainty, the hardest fact, was that his bones ached. And there was a call to make. “Yeah. I owe him.”
Milkwood, arms crossed and leaning against the telephone box, sucked back a mouth full of blood soaked sugar. “Bullshit. Way he treated you, best let the Judge’s daughters be a surprise.”
“If they don’t come after us first?”
Milkwood shrugged. “He had it coming. Just like your brother.”
“You don’t get it. Rob’s an asshole. He is, always will be, and he’s worse when he’s high. But he didn’t leave me behind. At the park, when mom vanished. He could have, but he didn’t. He saved me from being flushed down the system in some broken home for lost kids where they rape and molest you and lie to the social workers. He saved me from that.”
“So he could hurt you himself?”
Malcolm swallowed a painful surge of emotion. “I have to do this. Even if it’s the last thing I do. After all. He’s family.”
Milkwood raised his hands in surrender. Malcolm dialled the calling card number, then Rob’s private cell. It wasn’t so late that he’d get the machine. Then, the sharp voice cut through the rings.
“Yeah, what? Make it quick.”
Even through the airwaves, the buzz was clear in his voice. “Rob. It’s Malcolm.”
“How much?”
“Rob—”
“You did not lose, Mal. Do not fucking tell me you blew our money away on a goddamn underdog.” Malcolm held his breath. “Didn’t know I knew that, huh? Well I still got friends watching you.”
“I lost.”
Three heart beats. “Lost? Lost what?”
He exhaled on the receiver and received static. “Everything. Including all I tried to win to clear your secret debt to Judge Sayers.”
“Malcolm, what the fuck is wrong with you? You don’t sound right. How the fuck do I know it’s even you? Probably some shithead Canadian circuit junkie who overheard you talking big about how you always win the bets and…”
A cold strength steadied his nerves. “My middle name is Modris. Yours is Karlus. Mom died in an amusement park. And I have been taking care of you since I was nine fucking years old. And I’m done. Done cleaning up your shit,” he smacked the receiver against the phone. “Done taking bumps.” Another smack. “Done being your punching bag. And done trying to fix your debts. I am fucking done, Rob. Do you hear me?”
The mangled receiver distorted Rob’s voice even more. “Mal? What the hell is going on?”
“Hope you like running. The Judge’s daughters, the ones who tried to blow my fucking head off because of you, they’re looking for us. So I am staying the fuck away from Troy. But I’d find new digs if you can.”
“Mal—”
“But I got him. The fucker who killed Mom, I got him and he’s dead. Dead, dead, dead.” He bit down hard enough to crush marbles.
“No, look,” Rob said. “What the hell is happening?” A genuine swell of concern laced Rob’s voice. “Those debts…I had them paid off through a local player but he stiffed me. I swear, Malcolm, are you okay?”
Suck it up, Slow Mo. But Malcolm was so tired and the receiver was so heavy with Rob’s voice.
“Mal, please. If this is true, I need you, man. More than ever. I know I can be a shit. But I need help. If I’m in trouble I need you to help me.” Rob sniffed.
Malcolm listened
“I know you’ve been taking a cut. I’m not mad. I understand. You were always better with numbers. But if I’m in trouble, Mal. I need it.” He sniffed again.
Malcolm shook his head.
“Just tell me where, Mal. I’ll use it on some sure things in car racing. I can make big money there, more than the circuit. I’ve got connections, Mal, just tell me where it is.”
Rob. A black hole. Everything just got sucked into him. No thanks on killing Dizzy. Not a note of concern about being shot. Nothing outside of Rob mattered to Rob and now, even at the edge of goodbye, it was more so than ever.
“Tell me where the fucking money is!”
Malcolm snorted. “A coffee tin in the toilet tank. There’s about a grand there. Just don’t blow it up your goddamn nose.”
Click. Then the steady beeps of a line that hung up.
“Good bye, Rob,” Malcolm said, and laid the receiver in its cradle.
Milkwood exhaled dramatically, then stuck the bullets he’d removed from Malcolm’s head in Malcolm’s palm. “So…where to now?”
Malcolm made a fist until the jagged metal slugs felt at home in his hand. “West. Cali circuit. We’re unknowns there. It’s about as far from this fringe as we can get and in a month there’s a tourney in Long Beach. We’re going to have to start from the dregs. My better’s card is likely worthless now, and they don’t give a fuck how many limbs you crushed on the East Coast.”
“Hope my ride will last that long,” Milkwood said. “Rabbits are fun to drive but it might die halfway there.”
“Halfway is better than standing here waiting for the Judge’s daughters to come for round two. Let’s go.”
Milkwood nodded, fishing in his pockets for packets of sugar. “You got it, boss.” He started walking toward the small yellow car up the block.
“Boss?” Malcolm asked.
Milkwood snorted, threw two packs of sugar in his mouth, and started chewing. “You prefer ‘Kid’?”
Malcolm marched in front of him. “Fuck no.”
“Then, boss, let’s get a move on.”
They walked side by side quietly until a figure stumbled out of an alley. Torn black clothes and soft white skin, eyes hidden behind glasses with shattered lenses. Her hands were filthy with old blood, a rat between her lips. She dropped it, gasping. “I can’t feel it…”
Milkwood stopped, and eyes distorted through cracked glass stared at him like a bug.
“You!” she ran, fell at his feet. “You can turn me back! You were my first. You can do it!”
Milkwood’s face puckered.
“Please, I’m begging you. Don’t leave me like this, like all the civilians in the world. There are nightmares coming, baby, and we have to be strong to fight them. Do it. Take me anyway you want but make me Lash again.”
Milkwood bent on his knee. “I would. But you never taught me how. Good luck, Larissa. I think you’re going to need it.” He strutted off and Malcolm followed. She screamed things at them, of what was to come, what was unleashed now in the world. The threats bounced off Malcolm like Nerf darts as he squeezed the crushed bullets in his palm. Wherever they were headed, whatever they were doing, he knew he could handle it. Whatever the fuck a Vilkacis was, it didn’t back down, it didn’t take shit from anybody anymore. It ran forward, head down, and ears back. Both hands ready.
He was done sucking it up.
It was time to spit it back.
Table of Contents
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Blood and Sawdust Page 23