Kill Whitey

“The smoke is from the burning police cars outside, and there is nothing to work out. I’m going to kill you both, and then I am going to slice open your belly with a piece of sharp metal from this very machine. I will cut out our child and rip it open with my teeth.”

I shuddered, grinding my teeth together and re-opening the wound in my mouth. The taste of blood made my stomach sick.

“Ah,” Whitey sighed. “There is nothing quite like it in the world. To sink your teeth into soft flesh, to ingest what you need, feel it working inside of you, the power it brings coursing through your veins. It is too bad you are not one of us, Mr. Gibson. You have fought well today. Your valor is to be commended.”

“One of you?” I no longer saw the point in staying quiet. “You mean one of the Kwan?”

“The Kwan?” Whitey sounded surprised.

“Yeah, that’s right, fucker. Sondra told me all about it. She said you were one of them. That you guys secretly control the world.”

Since he was standing directly in front of the soda machine, I couldn’t see Whitey. I only had a glimpse of his arm. But judging by how it was shaking, I guessed that he was silently laughing at me.

“You think I am one of the Kwan? Oh, Mr. Gibson, you are entertaining, at the very least. If I didn’t know better, I would take your misconception as an insult. Earlier, I said you were smart. I was wrong. You know nothing. The Kwan are a bunch of feeble old men, playing at magic and clinging to fairy tales. Pretenders. They wield no power. No real power, anyway.”

He tapped the gun against the machine.

“This is where real power stems from, Mr. Gibson—the barrel of a gun. In that way, perhaps I am indeed like the Kwan. They spread hate and discontent, because they tend to learn more during times of upheaval and chaos, as this is when mankind is at its most creative. The Kwan want to bring about the end of time, just so they can see what happens next.”

“And that’s you?”

“Mankind desires peace and order, but real power comes only from revolution. Violence and fear are its tools. I am filled with both. I deal both, and thus, I wield power against which no man can stand. So yes, in that way, I am like the Kwan. But they have no hold over my kind.”

“You all sound like a bunch of nuts to me,” I taunted. “Call it the Kwan or the mob or whatever the fuck you want—it’s all shit.”

“I told you, Mr. Gibson, I am not a member of the Kwan. I spit on them. They are just babes. I belong to a much older line.”

“Rasputin ain’t that old, Whitey. He’s not exactly ancient history.”

“My ancestor was but one link in a very long chain. We are very, very old. My kind have always been here, and we always will be. We live for a long time.”

“And all you gotta do is eat a baby once in a while, you sick fuck.”

“And why not, if that is what it takes? This planet belongs to us, not to you homo-sapiens. We are homo-superior.”

“That’s funny. I figured you for a homo just like the rest of us.”

“A little joke from a little man. Are those really your final words, Mr. Gibson?”

I placed my palms against the back of the soda machine. “No, my last words would be, ‘go Steelers’.”

Sondra stared at me in confusion. I winked at her and then nodded at the machine, silently urging her to do the same as me. Hesitant, she shifted position and put her hands on it.

‘Get ready,’ I silently mouthed.

She nodded in understanding.

“So be it.” Whitey pointed the gun at the soda machine again. “I’ll kill you both, root through my offspring and partake, and then—refreshed—I’ll deal with the rest of the policemen. After that, I think I should get away for a while. It occurs to me that a vacation is in order. Perhaps I shall return to my homeland. Sondra, I’ll be sure to deliver your regards to your family.”

“Leave my family alone.”

“Now,” I shouted, pressing against the back of the machine. “Do it!”

Sondra pushed with all she had. The muscles stood out in her neck and arms, pulling taut like cables. My shoulders, back and neck erupted in agony, but I didn’t care. The machine wobbled. The gun went off. Sondra shrieked. I shoved harder. Whitey fired a second shot.

“Push, Sondra!”

With a loud groan, the soda machine toppled over onto Whitey, crushing him to the floor. His bones snapped with an audible crunch, like twigs underfoot in the forest.

The whole thing felt like it took forever, but in reality, it happened in about five seconds time. I kept expecting Whitey to squeeze the trigger again—to unload his weapon on us. But he didn’t. Maybe we’d surprised him.

Sondra ran around the machine. I stepped on top of it and jumped up and down.

“Like that, you fucker?”

Whitey let out a muffled groan. His arms and legs stuck out from beneath the machine. The pistol was still clutched in his hand. Before he could squeeze the trigger, I jumped to the floor, careful to avoid slipping in the pool of his blood that was spreading out from beneath the wreckage. Sondra and I ran to the break room door. I noticed red streaks on the floor where she stepped.

“Are you hit?”