He’d survived only to find himself without food, water and shelter in the brown and dusty foothills of Afghanistan. The blast had destroyed everything; everything but Charlie’s hunger. And not all of that was for food. But after three days of trying to slake his thirst by licking morning dew off a burnt blade which had now thrust itself up from the desert floor like a grave marker for the tragedy, Charlie’s mind snapped.
It was too much deprivation for anyone, but for Charlie it was the last straw of his humanity. He was going to get out of here and he didn’t care what he did to do it. That was when he saw the boot of one of his buddies sticking out of a large bit of wreckage from the downed air ship. He staggered over and collapsed in front of the ragged hull and discovered two of his fellow troops putrefying within. They were ripped apart like rag dolls by the mouth of a Pit Bull. Charlie turned away from the sight and his head began to reel. He was in shock. He just didn’t know it and his mind compensated for this by taking him elsewhere. The desert, to his addled brain, was now a beach. The one he spent most of his summers back home on. The wreckage around him became a combination of laid out beach towels and umbrellas with coolers full of beer and food. The smell of decay was translated in his blasted senses to something else. It was like the portable grill he always brought there had just had its first juicy burger tossed on. Charlie began to get hungry. Ravenously hungry! He knelt down in the sand and like his mother had taught him in front of the wreckage that contained the corpses of his both his friends and his enemy. He began to bless the unholy sustenance he was about to receive.
The search for Charlie’s team had taken longer to mount than it should have. But between the discovery of a terrorist on board the ill-fated flight, the red tape from the both the White House and the current Afghani war lords fighting with the temporary local government over who was at fault caused the search to be delayed for a week. When the rescue chopper arrived filled with medical help and food and water, they found something no one could have after all this time passing should have expected.
Charlie was alive. And Charlie was not hungry. But after today, that would change. Charlie would always be hungry. There never again would be enough food or drink to take the taste of human flesh away from his tongue.
It was months and the greatest use of government resources seen since the Calli incident in the Viet Nam conflict until the Army had fully covered up what had happened out there in the desert wastes. The US covers their nasty secrets well. No more than any other country does, but the US does it like a farmer’s cat killing barn rats. It was bad enough that the worldview of the US was that of a bunch of barbarian cowboys with no moral compass.
Now add to that we would become, in their view, “Cannibals” who consumed even their own dead. This could have lost us all support amongst our “allies” and could have the US barricaded by every other country on the planet from venturing past its own continental borders. Even though it was out of temporary insanity and desperation Charlie ate what was left of his companions, it was that ancient act of taboo could have caused a global war. Fortunately, The US covers their dirty secrets well. And that is where Charlie Reilly became ‘persona non-Gratis’. He was analyzed, vilified, and secretly military court tried.
After a year of being shuffled to one secret facility to another, and after his dossier was re-made to make him look like a section 8 nutcase who was also a pathological liar. The government had basically said to anyone inquiring of Reilly that he was crazy and you couldn’t believe anything he said. Also, as far as anyone government or otherwise was concerned, Charles Michael Reilly, former Ball player, college drop out and US Army Private first class no longer existed. He was thrown out like the garbage he now slept, in to keep warm. His past offenses even if buried deep in a ton of trash from a fur factory would allow a chill to his body and soul even on a summer’s day. Charlie now felt that even the flames of Hell would still leave him asking Satan for a sweater.
The smell of stir fry from the back door of the Chinese takeout place, he had been waiting for the trash being brought out, yanked him back to the present day. The delicious smell of pan-seared meat and vegetables with ginger was drawing his stomach tight. It also drew another hopeful diner in the lanky emaciated form of another street denizen into his alley. Fuck you! Charlie had thought.
This was his alley and he would defend it with his life. The other man stopped and saw Charlie waiting for him as he stepped out of the shadows. They both growled at each other like two wolves about to fight over the carcass of a deer. The conflict was over in seconds.
Charlie’s military training gave him the advantage over the other man. Charlie snapped put his hand out as if he was going be the filthy alley’s welcoming committee. The other man was momentarily confused by this tactic and that was all the time Charlie needed. Charlie reached up and in one smooth move snapped the man’s neck. But the victim had one last breath in him and as he eyes began to glaze like freshly iced donuts, the man choked out his final statement to his adversary. The man, just before his eyes rolled up into his skull, burbled “It’s okay. God says that he’ll forgive us…Both.”
Charlie didn’t feel like salvation was at hand. Instead, this final act of the man he killed for nothing more than Chinese take-out just made him angrier than ever and he planted a kick on the man’s head and turned away. He was a trained killer. And a killer shows no remorse when the killing was for survival.
Charlie silently wondered what he was going to do with the body. He didn’t want to lose a chance at that meal just because he had to dispose of this victim. The thought that always leapt to the front of his mind was the one he fought every day. He would not make an easy meal of anyone ever again. It was hard not to. Like an animal that had tasted human flesh, he craved more. It was a weakness and Charlie was getting tired of fighting it. He was almost ready to give in when a man was pushed into his alley followed by two others. Charlie dove into a nearby pile of moldy urine stinking carpet remnants as he hoped that the sight of the body would not lead to his discovery.
For once Charlie had gotten lucky. The people now arguing amongst themselves caused the Cook from the restaurant to shut the back door without even noticing the dead man laying ten feet from his threshold. The cook just a month here from Shanghai, had learned quickly that anything outside the door of his cousin’s takeout joint was not anything to be concerned with. This act made the alley almost completely dark with the exception of the restaurant’s dimly glowing exit sign over the now closed door.
The three men arguing there had also had not noticed the dead man lying a few feet away. They had more important matters to be discussed. Two of the men wearing business suits were confronting the third man who looked to be a biker of some kind, his ‘Colors’ vest barely covered the tattoos adorning his arms and upper torso. No matter how tough the man appeared to anyone else observing them, the two ‘suits’ were like a force of nature. They were both large men. One had a viking look to him, his mass of blond hair pulled back into a Ponytail with shiny metal beads woven into it. His partner was dark and swarthy with a pronounced Hispanic accent.
Pony tail reached into his pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, plucked on out, lit it and began to speak to the biker in quiet but determined tones.
“Okay, Malcolm…tell me what you said out there on the street to me again,” He paused and then added with an evil grin, “Please.”
The biker looked angry and spoke in a quavering voice, "I’m just sayin' that my homie's can't pay me right now, so I can’t pay you! Fact is that a lot of em ‘are dissapearin'. The Gang's down to six now."
Ponytail draws in the smoke and exhales it into the bikers face.
"I appreciate your position Malcolm. I really do."
The Hispanic man moves quietly nearer and to the back of the biker called Malcolm. Ponytail leans in closely to Malcolm’s face. Ponytail looks Malcolm up and down like he’s appraising an animal for purchase.
"It must be hard t
o feed that extra mouth.”
Malcolm replies looking confused, “Huh? I ain't got no family.”
Ponytail chortles, “That's not what I meant. I'm talking about the mouth that made the deal with me...” he pauses and takes a drag off his smoke, “And the other one that's lying to me now!
Ponytail backs up and begins to reach into his pocket while he barks out a command to his partner, “Chico, help him understand."
Chico moves with the speed of a jaguar as he shoves the man's face into an alley wall. The man's face explodes on one side as it hits the brick wall of the alley. Blood begins to stream down both the wall and the side of the injured biker’s face.
Before he can hit the ground, Chico grabs him by his vest and pulls him erect held from behind, his arms limp by his side. One side of his face is torn up. While this is going on, Ponytail is putting on a pair of black latex gloves.
“Well now,” intoned Ponytail while admiring the tight fit of the gloves on his massive hands, "That takes care of one side. Hopefully it was the one that was lying. Now, Malcolm, would you like to try another spin on "The Wheel of pain" or would you like to play instead "To Tell the Truth?"
Malcolm musters the last of his nerve and spits out, “Sick Motherfuckers!! Don’t you ever listen to the news? There's...uhh…a killer on the loose up here! Nobody's doin' business! They're all too…oohh… scared to go out!"
Ponytail leans in close to Malcolm’s face and spits his cigarette into his good eye. Malcolm grunts from the pain. Ponytail snickers and says, “Maybe your gang should change its name from the “Original Men" to the "Original Chicken Shits!"
Malcolm starts to struggle against Chico and yells, "Fuck you! You don't know nothin'!"
The big blond steps back, rubs his hands together as if to warm them for what is about to come. Chico raises an eyebrow and looks down at the pocket of the pants that Malcolm is wearing. Some secret knowledge is passed between the two “collection” agents. This prompts the blond to say, "Wrong, Asshole! I know two things! First thing is that a debt must be paid. The second thing is..."
Chico tightens his grasp on Malcolm causing the biker to groan with pain. Ponytail then places his hands on either side of Malcolm’s head and begins to squeeze while saying, “That the gun in your pocket won't help you do it!”
Ponytail squeezes Malcolm’s head with such force that the cranial structure of the biker’s head implodes and kills him instantly. Chico, in a smooth motion throws the man down where he lands on the body which has laid there unnoticed till now.
Both Ponytail and Chico look down. Neither seems bothered by this. Ponytail speaks for both when he says, “Hmmm, this city is getting way to violent, Chico. We should think about moving someplace nice…Like Florida. Plenty of opportunities down there these days.”
The men laugh and Ponytail slaps Chico on the back saying, “But I don’t know if you could take all that Cuban cooking my Colombian friend. I know how spicy food affects you.”
Chico looks irritated at the slur, but just keeps silent.
His friend lit another smoke and began to walk out of the alley. Chico followed closely as the blond spoke.
“Speaking of food… This type of job always makes me hungry. Let's go eat. You want Italian, Chico?"
Chico looked up at his partner and said with earnest, “Nah, too spicy, it always gives me the shits."
“Really? That sounds mighty entertaining. Well… Italian it is!"
Chico swallowed hard and mumbled, “Whatever." He said this along with some Spanish epithets.
As they walk away, Charlie decides that getting away from here is the only thing to do. Damn it, he thought, I’m running again! Angry at what is happening to him yet again, he pauses on his way out of the alley. He turns and looks at the corpses. He pushes down his first thought; he would not give in to his weakness for an easy meal. Plus the busy city is not like the dry hills of Afghanistan. He’d be caught for sure here. Instead, he wonders if the corpse on top has anything of value to pawn. Looking around to see if anyone is watching, he starts to rummage in the dead biker’s pockets. What he finds in the man’s pants pocket delights and scares him.
Charlie looks at the 9mm he just pulled out of Malcolm’s pocket and says to no one in particular, “All right! My luck is changing! Sorry buddy, but I need this more than you do.” He then pockets the gun in his tattered coat and then thinks further, “Wonder if his shoe’s fit me?"
They did.
The “Silver Dollar” pawn shop was the one place in the neighborhood that was open to people like Charlie no matter what. The owner was not a man who asked questions…most of the time. As usual, Charlie’s luck had run out again. The owner did not accept weapons from anyone. Charlie had never tried this, so he didn’t know this fact; a fact that the owner was now yelling into Charlie’s migraine pounding head. Charlie got mad and yelled back.
“For the fifth time Sid, I ain't tryin' to rob you!"
The Pawn Broker looked into Charlie’s pleading eyes and still was not moved by the pain and hope he saw staring back.
“Fuck if you ain't! Charlie, forget it! I don't take guns from bums, and even if I did, I wouldn't take it from a guy who's too stupid to unload the fucker first!"
The pawn broker threw Charlie and his gun out of the store yelling “Get out! And stay out!” He then slammed the door shut and put up his “Out to Lunch” sign.
Charlie yelled back “Fuck you double Sid!” Turning away, Charlie thought, "I should've shot his ass! They'd have blamed it on that serial killer fuck! Now, how am I gonna eat..?"
While Charlie was standing frustrated on the sidewalk, he pocketed the weapon. And just in time…
"Well, well.” Said an all too familiar voice, it belonged to Manny Garcia; the local cop on the beat in this part of town. Charlie had run-ins’ with Garcia before and all had ended with Charlie being told by Garcia that he would run him in, but even the jail was too good for him. Garcia finished his greeting to Charlie. As I live and hold my breath…Its `stinky Charlie'! What are ya doing you bum? Trying to pawn some old beer cans again?"
Charlie snarled in response, “Get lost Garcia! I'm havin' a bad day. Go screw your Momma till your sister gets outta nursery school!"
Garcia winced and then grinned while saying in a sweet voice, “Nah. It's closer to Valentine’s Day than Mother’s Day. How about I screw you instead? Come on Charlie, let's go down to the station and I’ll read some love poems to you as they strip search your filthy ass!"
Garcia then grabs the back of Charlie’s coat as if Charlie could get away now. Charlie is struggling valiantly while screaming, “Lemme go you Spic bastard! I didn't do nothin'!"
Garcia hits Charlie upside his head and says, “Tsk, tsk. First you want me to screw my mom, now you tell me I got no father. You've hurt my pride Muchacho'.” Garcia pulls out his baton and is about to administer some fast justice, before he can; both Charlie and Garcia hear a voice from the left of them.
“Excuse me, Officer…"
Standing nearby the two men is a clean cut looking man. Garcia recognizes him as Sal DeMatto. Dematto is known to be an “angel” to the homeless. That is a benefactor to those in need. Garcia has actually served Christmas dinner at his shelter this past year.
DeMatto is a well-known and beloved resident of the run down area. He always looks like he should be a target of the people he helps. He is wearing an expensive trench coat and looks out of place for the neighborhood. He speaks in a cultured voice. A voice that sounds like it has never known anything but good times. Garcia relaxes his hold on Charlie but not enough that he could get away. Dematto looks at Charlie and then shaking his head ruefully he says to Garcia, “I've seen this man around the district. He's always rummaging for food. You can't arrest a man for being hungry."
“Mr. Dematto, Garcia said in almost pleading tone, “This ain’t one of your usual `lost souls'. ‘Stinky’ here, is a mean SOB and has a record as long as a whale's dick! I know you like
to help these guys out, but trust me…this one isn't worth it!"
“Be that at it may,” replied DeMatto in a smooth and almost unctuous way, ‘I'll make a deal with you officer. Let me take him to The Fallen Angel mission. If after a good meal and a bath, I can't find some use for him, you can take him.” Dematto waited a moment and then added, “Sound fair?"
Garcia looked conflicted. After a few moments of biting his lower lip, he said, "You've done a lot for the area, Mr. D. I'm sure I’m gonna regret this, but if you want him smellin' up the mission, fine by me. Honestly, Charlie's never really hurt anyone. He's a petty thief at worst."
Garcia releases Charlie to his new benefactor. Dematto smiles broadly and places his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. This of course disturbs Charlie and he pulls the man’s hand off of him like he was plucking at a large hairy spider. Garcia watches this and shakes his head as if to confirm that this is a bad idea on all their behalf. The police man looks at Charlie one more time as if sizing him up for jail cell and as he walks away he states, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Sir.” As he takes a few steps he turns and adds, "By the way, the kids at juvenile hall loved the Video Game system you sent over; made them all feel special. Well, take care Mr. D and be careful. That killer is still around here.”
Dematto grins even bigger and replies, “Well bless the children for their good thoughts and thank you for the warning about that horrible person. I’ll keep an eye open for anything…strange.”
Gracia tips his hat to Dematto and then looking at Charlie one last time he says, “As for you Charlie, I hope that nutcase finds you next!"
Masters of Taboo Presents: Cannibalism, Digesting The Human Condition (Limited Edition) Page 14