Copyright (c) 1995 by Edwin L. Wilson, Jr. All rights reserved. This work of fiction may not be copied by any means into any form without the express written consent of the author. Permission is hereby given for the electronic reproduction of this work for personal entertainment use and not for monetary gain. The author can be reached on the Internet at: katmandu@uga.cc.uga.edu or katmandu@negia.net ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some Blood, Some Gore, But No Sex; Sorry. ----------------------------------------- "Shit." Heath looked at the crumpled scrap of paper again. 385 Concord, it read in scrawled capitals. This was Concord, but the chipped numbers painted on the curb read 1173, and the last one he'd passed was 1160. His shortcut had taken him blocks in the wrong direction. He jammed the paper back into his pocket and scrunched further into his coat, his breath disappearing in white clouds over his head in the light from the street lamp. He turned back the way he'd come and assumed the eyes-down, carefully neutral walk of the inner-city commuter. He wouldn't be here at all if Henry hadn't guaranteed him that this was the best shit he'd ever gotten his hands on; the purest china white, not that crap tar that was the only thing either of them had ever seen on the street, or the brown sugar that they heard about from others at parties. Heath and Henry went back a long way, and Henry would cut him a deal on the stuff; which would take him a lot farther than what he usually had after he cut it. His pride was whittled down far enough at this point that he ventured out to Henry's new place on the bus, after dark, even though Henry told him to wait until tomorrow. He'd never been to the place Henry had moved to a week ago, and wouldn't be walking past the burned -out and boarded up storefronts of the Iron Triangle, as the residents fondly referred to it, even in daylight were it not for the lure of some clean shit for a change. He had gone three blocks without seeing another person on the street before he passed the house with the darkened porch. He realized after he had passed that the porch was occupied by two dark shapes, both of which had waited until he had gotten many feet beyond before coming down to the sidewalk behind him. He began to feel a moments panic, which quickened as he saw two more shapes, a block or so ahead of him, walking towards him on his side of the street. One of the figures moved quickly to the other side of the street, and Heath belatedly realized he'd been bracketed. He couldn't slow for the people behind him , the guy across the street kept him from going left and to his right was a featureless brick wall... The wall gave way to an alleyway which Heath ducked into without a second thought. He walked faster into the dark alley, seeing the lights of a liquor store across the street at the other end... and stopped short, forty feet into the alley, blocked by a high chain link fence that spanned the entire width. He turned his head in time to see the four figures silhouetted in the opening. No time to climb. The shortest of the group walked forward until he was standing a foot from Heath. He was clasping his hands behind his back and looked Heath up and down with an amused expression on his acne-scarred face. "You, ah, need some directions, buddy?" he asked smirkingly. Heath's jaw was trembling as he answered. "Uh, no, man, just took a wrong turn. Th.. thanks anyway..." he started to edge around the man, who pushed him with a flat palm back into the chain-link fence. Heath stumbled backwards and grasped the links with his hands to steady himself. The shorter man pulled out a thick-handled box cutter and tapped his nose with it. "You wouldn't be needin' anything, would ya?" he asked. His three companions had by this time moved up on either side of Heath, one of them leaning against the fence and regarding him with a gap-toothed grin. Heath straightened some. "Well.. uh, yeah, actually I was lookin' to score... some H, if.. you guys know where to find some. I can pay..." he said, instantly regretting it. The shorter man spread his arms and looked at his partners with a wide grin. "Well! What do ya know. You're in luck!" He reached forward and put a friendly arm around Heath's shoulders. Heath flinched from the contact but the man held him tight. "Tell ya what... show us what you got to spend, and we'll show you what we got to offer." His companions snickered, and Heath's hand tightened reflexively on the small roll of bills in his coat pocket. "I don't have much..." he said hesitatingly, fumbling two of the bills from the roll and pulling them out to show the man; who stepped back and regarded him with a sad expression. "Awww, man, now don't go fuckin' with me like that! I know you got more where that came from. Tell ya what... unzip that coat." The man made a come-hither motion with his free hand. "Wha...what?" Heath asked, confused. The man shoved him back against the fence again, grabbing his coat by the front and pressing the cutter blade under his nose. "I said open the motherfucking coat, asshole! Goddamn, don't you hear well?" He let him go and stepped back, pointing the cutter at him. "Now open it!" Heath looked over at the men at his sides, one of which he saw had pulled his jacket back to reveal a revolver, it's handle wrapped in black electrical tape, shoved carelessly in the waistband of his warm-up pants. He shakily unzipped the coat and spread it open. "See? I ain't carryin' nothing..." The shorter man's hand was a blur that connected with Heath's stomach. Heath felt an incredible pain, a pain that was seen more than felt, that burst from his middle in a white explosion and left him doubled over, gasping. The man jerked his hand back and planted a kick in Heath's groin as he collapsed to the asphalt. "Hah! Motherfucker!" he screeched, reaching over to fish through Heath's coat pocket. He yanked the roll free and held it up before bringing it to his lips to kiss. "Fuckin' A, yeah!" He punched the nearest man in the arm. "Take out this piece of shit and let's walk, man, I'm feelin' GOOD tonight!" He began to walk to the entrance of the alley, peeling bills off the roll. "Why'd you have to kill him?" The voice was even and nonchalant. The short man stopped and gaped at the figure in the alley entrance. Where'd this asshole come from? he thought. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked, tucking the roll into a pocket while hiding the cutter behind his arm. The man was only a little taller than he was, he saw; dressed in a tightly cut leather jacket and white sweat pants. "Why'd you stab him?" the figure asked again. "He would have given you everything he had. He sure wasn't gonna go to the cops." He shifted the cutter in his hand, and stole a glance behind him. His boys had stopped kicking the now motionless Heath and were spreading out across the alley. He looked back at the figure. "'Cause I fuckin' felt like it, asshole." He grinned again, his confidence back. This prick had startled him, comin' outta nowhere like that, but four on one wasn't even crappy odds.. it was fuckin' insane. "It's been a good night, man, and I think I like the sound of two for one... so start handin' over your wallet. Slow, man." He was within striking range now. The figure shrugged, and began slowly removing the leather jacket. The short man grinned. "Yeah, man, that jacket looks better on me than you." The figure dropped the jacket behind him. He wasn't so big, thought the short man, without the jacket. Looks solid, but no body-builder. The figure began to slip off his tennis shoes. The short man snorted. "Hey, fuckhead! What the fuck, over? Did I ask you to get naked or what?" The figure stood, one foot slightly ahead of the other, his arms loose at his side. "I can't dance in those shoes," he said softly. The short man cocked his head to one side. "Dance? What the fuck are you on, man?" He shifted over quickly, noting how the figure shifted slightly to follow the movement. "You some kinda martial arts guy, huh? Real tough motherfucker?" He held the box cutter with the back of the blade laying against his inner forearm, the end of the handle in his palm. "Well, I'm a fuckin black belt, asshole, so-" he threw the punch with his knife hand, aiming for the figure's neck. He intended for the punch to connect, then he'd draw back, slashing with the blade before bringing the hand down again to stab. The figure knocked the blow inside with his left hand, guiding the fist to his right hand which bent it at the wrist while twisting sideways. The short man gasped at the sharp pain in his wrist, pulled off balance by the maneuver. The figure continued by trapping the extended arm under his left armpit, sweeping the shorter man's feet out from under him and pivoting to land on the man's back with a wet crunch, his right arm sticking up at a right angle. The shorter man screamed as his shoulder disintegrated. The figure rolled over the back of the man and jumped to his feet again. The other three men were still standing in the back of the alleyway, stunned by the speed of the events. The figure took four quick steps towards the closest, his body twisting under the shirt and sweat pants. On the second step, his face had blurred and elongated into a snout, his ears shifting and lengthening... on the third, his feet were stretching the socks to their limit.. by the fourth, a fur-covered demon stood in front of the terrified man, covered in a tautly stretched white t-shirt and bunched sweat pants. The man could only watch as the creature's ebony-clawed left hand swept across in a wide arc to smack flat-handed into the side of his head, driving it into the brick wall on his right. The man was lifted off of his feet, his head fractured against the bricks, leaving a thin trail of watery blood and greasy hair as he slid to the pavement. The second man looked down at his motionless companion and back up at the creature, his eyes wide. He backed into the man behind him while tugging the revolver free of his waistband. He pointed it at the thing and jerked the trigger... ...the creature ducked and shifted again, blurring for a second into an enormous four-legged animal that leapt the distance between itself and the men, the bullets whanging off of the bricks without going through their intended target. It shifted again when it reached the man, slowly standing to full height. The man flinched and pointed the gun at it again with a trembling hand. The creature swiped its right hand across to grab the gun across the top, its fingers grasping the cylinder, preventing it from rotating a fresh cartridge into position. Its left hand swept across the other direction, striking the man's gun hand at the wrist, knocking the gun free from his grasp. The creature paused, its arms now crossed in front of its body, and roared; its muzzle opening wide and its hot breath rushing across the man's face. He voided his bladder at that moment. The creature turned its left hand palm outwards, fingers curled slightly, and swept its arms across it's body again. The right hand, still clutching the gun, knocked the man in across the bridge of the nose, rocking his head backwards. The left hand raked sharp claws across the exposed throat, tearing through almost half of its width. The man fell backwards into his companion, his scream now a hoarse rasp venting explosively from his ripped windpipe. A fount of dark blood spurted from the torn veins, splashing across the creature's white shirt and fur and drenching the man underneath the body; who hurriedly shoved the corpse aside and scrambled backwards until he bumped into the opposite wall. The creature regarded the man, and then the revolver in his right hand. He carefully placed it in his left and fitted the long, furred index finger of his right hand into the trigger guard and grasped the tape-covered butt. He worked the crane latch with his right thumb and pushed the cylinder open. Six brass case heads winked back at him, the shiny centers on four of them dented. He flipped the cylinder shut again and walked forward. The man was curled into a half-fetal position on the ground, his blood-soaked arms held weakly in front of his face. The creature placed the muzzle of the revolver directly against the side of the man's head. "Hell of a way to spend a Saturday evening, ain't it?" it rumbled in a molasses-deep voice, before pulling the trigger twice. The body stopped twitching very soon afterwards. The creature straightened and walked slowly towards the alley's mouth, tossing the gun aside. The short man was now laying propped up on his side by his left hand, cradling his right in his lap. He was gibbering short phrases and scooting backwards. The creature stooped to pick up the box cutter before crouching at the man's side. "Jesus!" the man gasped. "Jesus fucking CHRIST, don't kill me man, oh god don't kill me!" The creature placed a gnarled hand on the man's ruined shoulder, eliciting a short bark of pain. "As one black belt to another," the creature growled, "Don't put so much stock in a blade." The creature's right hand rocketed forwards, plunging the cutter deep into the man's stomach. The man screamed, and the creature dug the claws of his hand deep into the man's flesh; grasping the coiled loops of intestine before jerking the hand back in a gout of blood and fluid. The man's scream faded into a bubbly gurgle and the creature watched him fishtail on the pavement for a moment before walking back to the fence. It had changed into a very unimposing man by then, dressed in white and red-stained clothes, to crouch by Heath's side. Heath's eyes were closed to slits, and he curled around the fire in his gut. His breath was coming in short ragged gasps as the man gently put his hands underneath the body and lifted. "I don't know who you are," the man said softly into Heath's ear, "but you'll live, if you let me help you. Do you want me to help you?" Heath gasped a breathy yes before clenching his mouth shut against the pain. The man shifted the load gently when he snagged his coat and shoes. "Well, my car's right around the corner, and we'll get you fixed up. I hope you're not allergic to fur..." Written 1:30 to 3:20 am, 12/13/94, with the help of Red Wolf Beer, Nine Inch Nails (Pretty Hate Machine), Meat Puppets (Too High To Die), and the Violent Femmes (Add It Up). -30-