Kill Whitey

“Jesus Christ.” I swept my hand through my hair and sighed. “So let me get this straight. We’re talking about cannibalism here. Some real Jeffery Dahmer-style shit. Whitey is the descendant of some mutant freak of fucking evolution who needs to eat stem cells straight from babies in order to regenerate after they’ve been mortally wounded? And apparently, it can’t just be any baby. Oh, no. It needs to be their own flesh and blood, too. Is that right? Am I missing anything? Are you sure there isn’t something else you’re leaving out? Blood fucking sacrifice or eye of newt or toe of bat? Some bullshit like that? Maybe after he’s done eating babies, Whitey needs to cap dinner off with the blood of a young virgin?”

“See? You are angry with me again.”

“You’re god damn right I’m angry with you, Sondra. Listen to what you’re saying. Whitey wants to eat your baby!”

“This is why I no tell you everything before.”

“And look what’s happened because of that. Look at the fine fucking mess we’re in.”

Scowling, Sondra jumped to her feet.

“I go now.”

“Go?” I snorted. “Where are you gonna go? What, you planning on walking out into that firefight? Gonna let the cops bust you or let Whitey get his hands on you? You’re not going anywhere. You and the baby would both be dead the moment you stepped outside.”

She turned away from me, nose in the air, and headed for the hallway. I reached for her, but I was still slightly dizzy, and I missed. Groaning, I forced myself to my feet and stumbled after her. The room spun. Sondra glanced back at me.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re not finished here, Sondra. Not by a long shot”

Turning her back to me again, she continued towards the hallway.

“You’re not leaving,” I mumbled.

“Da,” she said without looking back. “I am.”

“What about the money you stole? We gonna talk about that? Want to tell me where you hid it? Or do you want to lie to me some more?”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Oh, yeah,” I whispered. “Go ahead and lie, Sondra. I noticed that you didn’t answer before. You ducked the question. Well, guess what? Whitey told me all about the money. And you know what’s really fucked up? At least he was honest with me about it, even while he was trying to kill me. Can’t say the same for you.”

“Your words. The things you are saying. They are very cruel. I was being wrong.”

I took a faltering step towards her. “About what?”

“About you, Larry. You are a bad man, just like others. Maybe worse.”

“Yeah,” I sneered. “That’s right. I’m just as bad as all the other men in your life. Sell that shit to someone else. I’m nothing like your Dad or the men on that ship or these mob fuckers. I didn’t beat you or rape you or force you to do things you didn’t want to do. All I tried to do was help you. And I got shit on and lied to for it. Why?”

I was aware of the pleading, whining tone in my voice, and of the fact that I was beginning to repeat myself, but I couldn’t help it either. I hated how I sounded, but couldn’t seem to stop. It was like my mouth had decided it didn’t like what the rest of me was doing, and had decided to take over on its own.

Sondra was silent for a moment. Her shoulders were slumped and she was breathing heavy. I couldn’t tell if she was crying, sighing, or just out of breath. She still hadn’t turned around, still wouldn’t face me. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper and I had to strain to hear her.

“I know not about any money. If Whitey tell you I take his money, then Whitey lie. If I had money, I would tell you.”

I stared at her, not speaking. The wave of dizziness had passed again and I felt my strength returning. I took another step towards her. When I didn’t fall down, I took another. As the ringing in my ears faded, it occurred to me that the gunshots had stopped. It was quiet outside. No explosions or helicopters or men screaming. The air still smelled of smoke, though. In fact, the smoke was getting thicker.

“We’ll finish this later.”

“You no believe me?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s head into the back and see if we can’t find another way out of here—or at least a place to hide.”

“Why?”

“Listen. You hear that?”

Sondra cocked her head. “Nyet, I hear nothing.”

“Exactly. My guess is that Whitey won, which means he’ll be coming after us next.”

“Are you…okay to fight him?”

“Sondra, my body feels like I’ve gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson.”

“Who?”

“Mike Tyson. A real bad motor-scooter. A world champion boxer.”

“He owns motorcycle? He can help us to get away?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. What is important is that we stop talking and get the hell out of here right now.”

I studied the door we’d come in through, the one that led out to the front of the machine shop. It could only be locked with a key, so we were shit out of luck as far as that went. A quick search of the room showed no junk heavy or big enough to block the door with, either. Worse, with the machines and equipment gone, there was nowhere to hide, and the tool benches were empty—nothing there that we could use to defend ourselves.