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He’s helpless. That’s the fucking problem. It doesn’t feel sporting to just walk up and shoot someone who isn’t expecting it, even a cop-killing monster.
“Hey, asshole,”I say. That's enough warning.
He laughs at me, swings around, and grabs at me with all four of his hands. I lost the split-second advantage of surprise and now I am just as helpless as the rest of his victims.
The junkies scatter as the alley erupts into violence. Nobody here is laying down their lives for anybody else. They’re saving their own skin, and it’s a good move.
Rage pulls me into the dumpster. Foul smells and worse substances coat us both as he attempts to choke the life out of me. His MO is to slash at his victim’s belly and rend them open. He tries to do just that. His claws hit the kevlar of my bulletproof vest. I did not come unprepared.
“Weren’t expecting that, were you motherfucker?”
This is now self-defense.
I shoot him. I pull the trigger at point blank range, and all the parts of him capable of entertaining a thought or planning a murder become grime, fluid, and biomass. The sound damn near makes my ear drums rupture, but there’s no time to worry about hearing loss. I need to get out of this filthy tomb before I throw up.
It takes seconds for me to throw myself out of the dumpster. I pull my turtleneck off, wipe my bloodied face off, and toss it back in the dumpster.
Retreating to the car, I make a call.
“Hey, Hank. Can I get a pick up on a dumpster? Yeah. Brooklyn. Alley between Forsyth and Hencher. Gonna need that done ASAP, bud. Drop at the usual place.”
Hank is a man who could be in prison, but is not, and that is all anybody needs to know about him.
It takes twenty minutes, but Hank shows up. He backs his truck down the alley like a pro and hooks that dumpster up like it’s his business. I suppose it is.
Hank is thickset, with heavy brows, dark hair, and an abundance of body hair. He wears oil-stained blue overalls that bring out his bright blue eyes. He must have been very handsome when he was young, in a Brando sort of way. Middle age has transformed him, as it no doubt will transform us all. He’s still handsome, but in a more accessible sort of way.
He gives me a slight wave as he pulls out, taking the evidence of my crime away with him. The dumpster is on its way to a place where a lot of criminals drop a lot of things.Criminals.The word sticks in my mind. Am I one of them now? My hands are shaking slightly. When I look down at them, I see there’s a fine mist that used to be Rage.
* * *
Next thing I know, I’m in the shower. Not entirely sure how I got here, but I have to assume it was in the ordinary way. My brain isn’t tracking as it usually does.
My phone is ringing. I step out of the shower to answer it, not bothering to turn the shower off or put a towel on. I just drip where I stand, butt naked.
“Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Just having a shower?”
“You took my car ten hours ago. Obigor and I need to go home.”
“Shit. Did I? Fuck. Sorry. I’ll bring it back to the station now.”
“What have you…”
I disconnect the call. I have got to get my shit together. I cannot afford to fall apart now.
When I glance out the window, I notice that night is starting to fall. Have I been showering for hours? My skin does seem particularly pink in spots, and sensitive. You could even say raw, especially on the backs of my hands when I was covered in parts of a recently departed sentient creature. I should probably get some moisturizer on those.
* * *
“Where have you been!?” Tessie is not pleased to see me. Obigor isn’t either, but he greets me anyway in case I have any secret flavors on my skin. He licks my hand with his little tongue. I yank my hand away with a hiss. It feels like sandpaper being dragged over a raw wound.
“What the…” Tessie gets up, hops to the door, and shuts it, pulling the blinds down with quick snapping motions. “What have you done?”
“Uh. Nothing.”
