El Sexorcisto Z!

by Yuli Ban

  Maria lifted Ana off the ground and shook her. "I'll break you, you troglodyte! You're ruining our plan!"

  "What's this, what's this?" said this F. Scott Fitzgerald-ass motherfucker sweeping in from the red carpet. "You ladies and fine gentleman have a plan for the evening?" Then he stopped and gawked at Ana's bare body. Up and down, up and down, he feasted his eyes all the way up and down. "Good heavens! What a pure specimen of raw woman!"

  Ana smacked him across his face with her open paw and gave him a snooty little harrumph. Yet the man kept ogling her when she was waving all her parts at me.

  I tugged at my hat and walked away. Ana ran after me and said, "No, don't worry! I really do have a plan!"

  Maria picked Ana up again and through her out the door and into a rosebush. "Get out of here, you fool!" She ran back in, flustered and redder than was possible for a succubus like her. If she were any redder, she'd have fallen off the visible light spectrum. "God Christ, that kitten has weed for brains!"

  I shook my head and said, "I won't take a strong stance on this either way. Whatever serves us well. If she winds up helping us out, good."

  "How could she possibly help? She almost got us kicked out!"

  A waiter came along and offered us a shot of tea and vodka from his silver platter. I gladly took two, claiming one for "my lady" and the second for myself. Of course, Maria didn't drink alcohol so I got to shitface myself and become the Trashman. It wasn't until I had gotten the last drop out of the second shot that I wondered if I participated with Ana in this sabotage of our supposedly flawless plan.

  The way Maria facepalmed proved to me that it wasn't the wisest move, but by that point, the vodka was kicking in. Or maybe that wasn't vodka— maybe that was raw distilled alcohol, 100%. It tasted so strong that I thought my nose was going to shoot flames.

  I outright said, "Wow," and rubbed my hands. "That was, ah..." I took a few inhales and exhales. "That was poopy."

  Finally, I got Maria to crack a smile.

  Then I heard clapping from the center of the hall and looked over to see what was the occasion.

  "Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce to you tonight, straight from Hollywood, California, the one and only Katso Stasia!"

  And then began the first notes of a big band act. It would have been nice to dance along with Maria to such a neat and authentic performance, but both of our eyes boggled when the red curtain lifted and we saw Ana-fucking-stasia strutting about on the stage with the whitest, most glittery and glamourous dress I had ever seen in my life.

  And then she brought out this cute-as-hell French rendition of Josephine Baker's "Dis-Moi Josephine”. I'd love to recite the lyrics myself, but we'd just be copyright-flagged otherwise, so hum it to yourself while Maria prepared to smash bottles against the table to plan out how best to shiv Ana.

  "That pussy-ass piece of shit!" Maria pulled at her face. "What is she doing?!"

  I snapped my fingers to the beat. "I don't see the problem. It's fine to me, and no one suspects anything." I leaned against a bar and found the face of a pink-clad barman. That face of his looked familiar. "You see that dame on stage? That's one of my girls."

  He snickered and said, "Oh really? Lucky you."

  "Luck can't account for all of it, you know. I made this little concerto of birds myself. They keep falling right to me with no effort on my part."

  "Well! That sounds like luck to me."

  "It ain't luck, it's skill. I'm so skilled at this that I know how to make it look like look." When I was finished bullshitting, I paid for a shot of rum on the rocks and tapped glasses with Maria's Coca Cola.

  I'd say Maria was red in the face, but...

  Then again, she was holding her glass with a certain tenderness that no person could manage if they were truly overcome with any emotion. Once she took a sip, she turned away from me and sent me another thought.

  'Okay, fine. She's pretty good.'

  'That's not the point.' I lifted my glass to her and thought, 'Though you are right.' I looked back to Ana as she made some nice high kicks that showed off those furry thighs. She shook her furs and really got into the rhythm of the song as if she were the one who wrote it and the notes were pouring from her own body.

  If I could pay to see Ana live, I would have, especially since I had a solid quarter-mill in tow.

  Maria pat my shoulder with her knuckles and pointed to one of the exits that led into the rest of the building. Several men in black suits and black hats suddenly went through into the hall one by one. It was so conspicuous that I wanted to motion to her to not worry— 'If they were professionals, they'd take more care to cover their tracks.'

  'Not if everyone at this shindig is one of them.'

  I about-faced to her. She definitely got me with that one. Though I wanted to enjoy more of Ana's sultry, sexy voice tweeting and crooning into that microphone, I led the way towards the exit, making sure not to run into anyone else and keep my space. Same way we came in. Same way we'd leave. And to make sure, I pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes.

  In my coat, my ray gun rested nervously, anxious to kill a few mobsters and G-Men. It would have been amazing if I had an opportunity to disintegrate any of the Rocket 88s, but the knowledge that the G-Men were tied to the Hurricanes was fine with me. I just had to keep Myles and Mya right in front of me at all times— except, of course, when I had one of those bastards aimed down the sight.

  Maria kept looking back, and I didn't like her motions because it suggested paranoia. If I were watching her from afar, I'd have taken her to be a suspicious character to be watched herself. I thought as much to her, and she agreed— she wasn't trying to draw attention to herself, but she reminded me over and over that she was raised as a road pirate, not a spy or saboteur.

  "All of this tactical bullshit is Ana's specialty," she whispered over my shoulder.

  "Then why get angry over her playing a role?"

  She made perfect sense when she said, "Because she said nothing about it before and clearly chose this only after she made herself intoxicated. One wrong move..."

  "Right."

  We slipped behind the double doors as best we could without making a noise. Absolutely shoddy security! No guards. No one watching to make sure the back door was secure. They broke every rule in the mobster playbook and it made me sad, as if validating a fear that it only existed as a scripted trope in shlock. After these two books were so chockful of shlock, the world wanted to back out on me so easily! Bah, humbug.

  Then we found a men’s bathroom just behind the room where the mobsters congregated. Maria blinked and her eyes went black.

  She whispered to me, “We won’t have to use the vents. I only need to create a pinhole in this wall and we’ll be able to watch the entire meeting.” She lashed her tail about and brought the pointed end right to one of the tiles. Then her tail started jerking in a twisting motion as the tip started to wear at the integrity of the wall.

  I said, “You didn’t want to check for another route?” right as she bore a hole. Bits of plaster and ceramic dropped to the floor. Once she punched a hole large enough, she retracted her tail and ran her fingers over the tip. I bent over and gave it a little kiss, making her wiggle the entire thing.

  “No. We’re just here to eavesdrop. Then I’ll pass through the walls to find the ringleader, shiv him, and we’re done. Don’t get any bright ideas like Ana.”

  “Hey, you don’t need to rage against me. I’m not an NPC, so I don’t follow any scripts.”

  She shot me a particularly nasty eye as if I had just said a slur despite the fact we were talking so freely about this only an hour prior. When I shook my head at her, she scoffed and returned the favor. I was starting to really wonder if NPCs in this world were as carefree about their situation, but I didn’t have any time to quiz her on it. The papers were being shuffled and men were being seated. And as I stooped down to peer through the hole, Maria stepped away towards the bathroom door.

  Showt
ime.

  Noirville Blues

  “What’s it gonna be then, eh?”

  Twenty heavy faces stared at the one-eyed man in the middle of the room. They all had itchy trigger fingers and suffered twitches of paranoia on their faces. If I didn’t know better, I would have said I was watching a live execution— twenty men ready to marry Death and let him carry them off into the rain. They didn’t know any better either.

  “I lose Brother Duff and Brother Dowdy in a single night on the same block, and none of you damn simpletons bothered to tell me?”

  One tiger-faced chap must not have felt too optimistic about his lifespan. He stumbled on past the metal fold-up chairs and around the plastic white tables and said, “Brother Shotgonavan, with all due respect…”

  If my gun had a mouth, it would’ve gasped for me. Shotgonavan sounded off against the critic. A few saber-tipped words sat the man down. I pulled back and walked towards Maria.

  ‘Shotgonavan? That was Ana’s doc—’ Maria pressed her finger against my lips and shook her head with all the grace of a hurricane. Her lips making the subtlest motions, she said, “They. Are. G-Men. No psychic talk.”

  If nothing else, I was a man who learned quickly. They were no more than fifty bullets old and already the G-Men had made enough of a name for themselves.

  As if it was worth the risk, she leaned over to me and said, “Ana’s our spy.”

  I nodded. Immediately, my mind was filled with images of Ana donning a variety of costumes and uniforms, making Hollywood-esque getaways from nefarious organizations in picturesque backdrops. Even her ditziness made sense: one could never blend in to foreign locales without experimentation with unlabeled substances upon which one put faith based on the words of the village crank. Perhaps this eventually took its toll on her mind.

  The lull in screaming ended when Shotgonavan’s fist knocked his revolver off his oil-wood table.

  “And where is El Sexorcisto, goddammit? I send three good men to whack the bastard and I haven’t heard from them since.” My eye began to strain so I let Maria take a peak. Within seconds, she began to fiddle with her dress’s zipper.

  “They’re all wearing those red, green, and grey hats.” Indeed, I had noticed the sea of such panama hats but did not consider it an important detail until Maria mentioned it. She said nothing else for the rest of her snoop.

  While she looked on, I listened to Shotgonavan talk.

  He said, “I didn’t rent out this cheap-ass whorehouse for you wops to throw around your musk. You know how much it cost to use that tornado-makin’ machine? Lemme tell you, I could sell a hundred Turks and still not break even. I want Sistar crucified up on that stage by the buttcrack ‘a dawn or there’ll be forty fewer eyeballs starin’ at me like I’m a victim.” The finality of his demand astounded me. I was sure that the bad guys were more well organized and fully in control of the situation. That’s how it always worked. I had locked and loaded everything I needed for the honor of laying waste to their master plan. And yet here was the presumed mastermind of the previous day’s shittiness, whining about how much of a badass I was. One man on the loose, unstoppable and out for revenge. If I was less humble, I would have felt like a 90s antihero.

  Maria backed away and said, “Nothing changed.” Then she gave me a nasty eye and asked, “You weren’t watching the door?”

  I hit my head with my palm and apologized lightly. She shook her head like a disappointed wife. Not my fault I’m a curious man.

  She eased over towards the door and keep an ear out. Immediately, she jumped and said, “Someone’s coming.” I scrambled towards one of the stalls as Maria sat in my lap. We could hear the footsteps approach and the door swing open over Shotgonavan’s sudden mellow directions. I tried to disengage my ear to the passing pisser as he stopped by the urinal.

  Then he broke the number one rule of public restroom etiquette. “You enjoyin’ the entertainment?”

  I froze. Maria slapped her knuckles against my cheek. “Pardon?”

  “I said, you seein’ that chick out on the stage? She’s some hot stuff. Like a swingin’ Tatiana with even better curves and a sweet tail, yessirree.”

  I chuckled and said, “Absolutely. I could tell she was going places from the day I first set mine eyes upon her. Gorgeous girl, absolutely gorgeous!”

  “Oh yeah? You know ‘er?”

  I chuckled. “Buddy, you’d better believe it. I discovered her.”

  His piss stream stopped. “Oh. Is that so?”

  Then he walked over to the stall and opened it up. That F. Scott Fitzgerald-ass face of his and the pink bar-apron wasn’t one easy to forget.

  I jumped back and reached for my ray gun. Maria threw out her elbow at his face.

  And he caught her and kicked me back. As I fell, my head bashed against the edge of the toilet and broke the seat. That alone stole fifteen hit points and threw down a little spot of blood.

  The man manhandled Maria, getting her arms behind her back. However, that damn fine succubus put her thick legs to work high-kicking him in the chin and nailing her heel through his jaw. The man fell back, clutching his impaled face and bleeding all over the floor. His red and green hat fell onto the floor.

  When he came forward again with a switchblade, I fired one good shot at his chest. The bolt hit immediately and began to liquefy him from the inside out. He screamed going down, body tearing in half, eyes rolling back— a gory scene. And certainly not one that would be ignored.

  I looted his corpse, pocketed $7,000 and a Magnifico! Then we both sprinted to the door. Twenty Tommy guns were ready to say “Hi.”

  I raised my hands. Maria backed up. Two of the thugs grabbed my arms and kept them behind my back. Another one restrained Maria. The air went cold. I could see the glow of green brains beneath their red and green hats. All of their faces were the same. All except one.

  Shotgonavan bolted from the meeting room and locked eyes with me. A grin ran across his face like a cockroach.

  “Well! Well well well! Well well well well. If it isn’t little Alex.” He swaggered on over to me, swinging a shotgun that I recognized as being similar to the one Brother Dowdy used to clock me. “Small world, it is! I never expected to see you here.” One of the goons patted me down and took the ray gun right out of my inventory. I also got notifications that my grenades and chemicals had been swiped. For the sin of being armed, I took a Tommy gun’s butt to the gut. Shotgonavan’s clammy hands grabbed me by my cheeks and lifted me back up. I could see the cavities in his teeth.

  It took a moment for me to find some more of the snark I spat onto the floor. “You almost got lucky this morning. Ana and I would’ve made out right on top of your desk. I would’ve been right there for you, too. No need for you to cry like a helpless little baby in front of your men, or overcompensate with that elephant gun ‘a yours.” He was the man with the 4-gauge shotgun and I was disarmed. Pissing him off was the smart thing to do.

  I took the gun’s butt to my face. I was getting a lot of butts to the face lately. Then came the second crack. Then the third.

  By the fourth strike, my head felt five sizes too small for my brain and I could hear my blood pumping through my arteries. Blood was leaking off my lip and I was involuntarily snorting. If any of that had been real, I’d have been a vegetable for the rest of my days. But the only real damage was 75 hit points lost.

  Once again, he grabbed my cheeks and brought me to eye level. “A fuckin’ comedian, eh? Guess what— the house says you’re canceled.”

  “You play, you pay, you bastard,” is what I tried to say, but it came out as a bunch of gurgling spits of blood.

  He stepped back, took my Magnifico! from the shaker thug, and passed the end over above the brains of a nearby goon. The sheer heat of the G-Man’s superior radioactive brain lit the blunt and Shotgonavan swaggered off, taking several hits.

  “Take these two to separate rooms. 109 for the little demoness and 101 for Alexei. Then, I wantcha to break ‘em.
Make it slow. Make it painful. And when they’re done weepin’ for they’s mommas, do it again. I’ll have as many health kits as you need. Have as much fun as you want.”

  He disappeared behind a corner. As he vanished, I felt my body tremble. This was the part of all those litRPGs they never talked about— I couldn’t leave and I couldn’t turn off the pain, so I was about to actually be tortured. And unlike real life torture where they had to be careful to keep you alive, there were very well-set parameters and statistics they could use. If they so wanted, I’d be their bitch for the rest of my days.

  How horrible a thought. Right as it occurred to me, my lip quivered. Why hadn’t I ever thought of such stakes before? They owned me, now. I’d never die again no matter how much I wished for it. They’d break everything I was and remold me into whatever they wanted me to be. And they’d do it again and again every day if need be until there was nothing left of what I was.

  And unlike real life, there was no escape. I was doomed.

  All at once, I began to kick and moan. “Uh… Uh!! Uh!! Maria! Maria, I can’t do it! I can’t do it alone!”

  The goons holding me punched me in my stomach to shut me up. That alone sucked several hit points. That gave me a new idea— if I could get one of them to kill me before they brought me to the room, I’d be free. The risks were great, but even being processed and killed by the Hurricanes IRL was a better prospect than a never-ending loop of Hell in the game.

  All that I had said before were echoes in the hurricane’s wind. There was no substitute for real life.

  My mouth dried, my vision tunneled, and my cheeks ran hot. The realization of my potential future had finally begun tearing at me hard enough to bring my legs to tremble and knock. Their grip didn’t loosen. I felt spit on the back of my neck as they laughed. Wherever my hat fell, I didn’t care.

  Over and over again, I called out, “Maria!” And when I didn’t hear her, I finally started cycling though. “Ana! Olga! Tatiana! Anyone!”