6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 (3 page)

I wait.

“I’m sorry. Your card doesn’t work.”

My head is about to pop. “Dammit, bitch. I . . .” I
shouldn’t have said that. The security guard rushes over.

“Sir, you’re going to have to leave,” The security
guard stands with his hands on his hips.

“I’m not leaving until I get my fuckin’ money!” I
really need the cash and my fuse has burnt up.

Two other guards leap on me from either side. They
drag me to the door and throw me out.

It’s raining. I look up, seeing the sides of the
brick buildings towering over me and above that, grey pregnant
clouds. The rain isn’t fresh. It’s rancid and bitter. I pull myself
off the sidewalk noticing a new hole in my jeans and a scratch
across the top of my new Adidas Micropacers. They are seriously
expensive shoes that my dad insisted on buying me.

I pull a cigarette out of my pocket. The instant I
do, a gangster walks up to me. He’s got panty hose on his head,
tattoos all over his arms and neck, and some fancy necklaces. Oh,
and his fucking pants are hanging, not off his ass, but his knees.
I’m not some conservative fuddy-duddy but some people just look
like, well, dumb fucks.

“Hey bro. Got a smoke for an old friend?”

I’m not thinking straight. In some neighborhoods,
having cigs turns you into a lighthouse that beckons broke assholes
to your shores. I don’t bother pointing out that he is a total
stranger, and I hand him my last cigarette.

“Thanks, bro.” He looks down then back up. His eyes
are shimmering and his brain is visibly mulling something over.
“Gotta light?” He never takes his eyes off me, which freaks me out.
Yeah, he’d be the first I’d throw off the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Yeah.”

He puts his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get out of
the rain, shall we?”

Did this fucker just use ‘shall’? He guides me down a
narrow alleyway, turns and socks me in my stomach. I fall,
splashing in a puddle. He kicks me. Then his buddies come over and
take turns. I can’t breathe. I’m seeing red.

My shoes are ripped off my feet and someone reaches
into my pocket and pulls out my wallet. They dig through my cards
and photos, toss the empty leather at me, and run off. When the
world stops pulsating, I sit up. There’s blood in my mouth and more
stains on my shirt.

“Are you okay?” I didn’t quite register the
stranger’s voice. This is, after all, New York. Strangers shouldn’t
even see me. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need me to call an
ambulance?”

The voice is sweet. She’s slender, has a red dress
covering her curves, and bright lipstick to match. Her hair is
brown. Oh, and she’s got a curious scar running from her cheekbone
to her jaw, a gnarly scar.

“No . . . Shit. I mean, no thanks.”

“Did you just get mugged?” She kneels right next to
me and holds out a golden lighter.

I notice my cigarette still in my fingers. It’s now
half broken and wet but what the hell. I put it up to my lips and
she lights me up. After a deep drag, I chuckle. “Some fuckin’ day.”
I struggle to my feet. I’m over three hundred fifty pounds these
days so it’s hard. The lady actually helps me.

“Do you want me to call the cops?”

I shake my head. “Right, that would be the fucking
nail in my coffin.”

She shrugs. “You wouldn’t get your shoes back anyway,
I suppose.”

I wiggle my toes. My socks are soaked through. “I
just want them to die a horrible death. You know? Where’s a piano
when you need one?”

She laughs. “What would you do with a piano?”

“I’d drop it on their fucking heads. That’s
what.”

The lady hands me her card. “Call me. I have a piano
that you might be interested in.”

“Figuratively speakin’?” I ask rhetorically.

Her smile flattens out like the dying of a beating
heart. “Not figuratively speaking.” She walks away swinging her ass
back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

That night at the bar I can’t think about anything
but the lady in red. I stare at her card while rattling the rocks
left over from my whiskey sour.

“You want another one?” Shane asks. He’s my favorite
bartender. He’s thin as a stick bug and just as ugly, but he’s
funny.

“I told you, I don’t have any money.”

“You’re in here almost every night. I know you’re
good for it,” Shane replies. He pours a new drink.

After two more I realize that I need a woman like the
lady in red. I look around the bar. It’s busy but not crowded. I
notice a large chick at a table with one of her friends. She’s got
blond hair and nice jewelry. I catch her looking at me. Sweat beads
out of my forehead like I’m birthing sand crabs from my pores. I
stand and wobble while cramming the lady-in-red’s card in my
pocket. The blond meets me half way.

“Hey, babe,” I say to the women then find the nearest
seat. I figure I’ll look less like a douche bag if I’m sitting
versus swaying in the wind. “I was wondering if you’d take a drink
and drink it with me.”

“Sure, darlin’,” the overweight blond says with a
southern accent.

I start laughing. “I can do a southern chick!” I say,
a little too loud. I just stuck my foot deep in my mouth with the
skill of a sixth street hooker. She douses me with her drink then
stomps back to her friend.

I leave before she comes back to finish me off. She’d
probably take a lighter to me and watch me burn. I wouldn’t blame
her. I smell the gin soaking my shirt. I fucking hate myself.

My feet take me home one stumble at a time. A car
horn startles me as I’m crossing the street. “Fuck off, asshole!
I’ll kill you. Kill you all!” I yell and then rush to the shadows
of a stairwell in case someone has heard me.

The wind picks up and cools my wet shirt. It’s
relaxing.
Maybe I need to chill. I’ve got to get home where my
bong is waiting. Oh, but I wish that lady in red was here.
I
pull out her card and stare at the number. Finding my phone takes
less than ten seconds but seems like forever. Finally, it’s
ringing.

“Hello, Ben.” Her voice is soothing but strong. “I
want you to talk to my friend a while. He’s the owner of the
piano.” There’s a click.

“Wait, wait. What’s your name?” She doesn’t hear me.
To my disappointment, a man’s deep voice comes on. “Hello, Ben. My
name is Zilla.”

“Hi. Um, I’d rather talk to the lady.”

“I know. But talk to me for just a moment because I
know how alienated you feel.”

“I don’t really wanna talk about my feelings,
dude.”

“That’s okay. Sometimes in life we get an opportunity
like no other. There is a ray of light shining on you today. You’re
like me, a cog in the machine just turning and clicking. You’re as
overlooked as a grey sedan in a sea of exuberant sports cars. But
I’ve stopped at your door and I’m in that shiny red Ferrari, Ben.
I’m handing you the keys. So the question is, do you want to take
it for a ride?”

“If you were really tossing me the keys, I’d burn
some fucking rubber, dude.” I’m not quite sure what this Zilla is
talking about.

“Good. Now, just because I own a Ferrari doesn’t mean
I don’t know how the other side feels. I remember and I’m on your
side. I want the world to feel the pain we’ve felt. I want some
kind of revenge.”

“You talkin’ about . . . shooting people?”

“No. Nothing like that. I want you to make everyone
throw up. I’ve got a fun little prank to play, and I need your help
to play it. It’ll make history in a very clever way. It’s a neat
little bacteria that will grow in people’s water heaters. And when
they do their dishes or take a shower the bug will make them sick
to their stomachs. It’ll be a citywide barf fest. It will make
national news. It will be fantastic! Will you help me? Will you
help us?”

“Hell yes,” I say without a millisecond of
hesitation. The phone line goes dead.

I look at my cell, still feeling drunk. Revenge does
sound good. I hold up my middle finger and spin around. “Fuck you
all! You’re gonna feel my pain for once!” Though I’m still confused
about how.

When I stumble around the corner of my apartment
building, I see a streetlight illuminating a shiny, cherry-red
Ferrari. As I approach, the door opens open and the woman in red
steps out. I walk up to her trying to square my shoulders and look
manly and tough. She doesn’t say a word, just holds out the keys in
one hand and something in the other. I take the keys and let her
push a medicine bottle into my other hand.

She steps close to me and whispers into my ear. “Take
a drive, Ben, to work. Take out the guard, in a friendly way. Then
pour what’s in that bottle into the circulation tank and come home.
Take the long way home if you want. You’ve got two hours.” My hair
stands on end. I can smell her perfume and hear the jingle of her
earrings.

“Okay,” I whisper, kinda weak in the knees.

When I get in the car I notice a bottle of vodka in
the passenger seat along with a white bottle labeled ‘Chloroform’
and a battery powered hand drill. I guess chloroform is a friendly
way to take out the guard. Good thing he’s one of my buddies. He’ll
forgive me. Maybe even enjoy himself.

I start the engine. The radio clicks on and pumps
Crusaders out of the speakers. They’re my favorite band. How did
they know that? My blood morphs into rocket fuel. I rev the engine
then grab the vodka and swig. “Let’s do this fuckin’ deed!” I
squeal the tires and fishtail into the middle lane. The buildings
blow by me like I’m in a fighter jet. I pass by the snails on the
road and laugh. It’s the best I’ve felt, well, since I was nine
years old.

#

I remember that day well. I was shopping at Bed Bath
& Everything with my babysitter and five other snot-nosed kids
that I hated. I didn’t want to go back to her house, and I didn’t
want my parents to pick me up either. So my solution at the time
was to hide in the bathroom stall. I sat on the toilet and pulled
my feet up so no one could see them.

Hours went by and no one came looking for me. It took
a long time, but finally Bed Bath & Everything closed. One hour
later there was such a sweet silence I thought I was going to
explode with excitement. My first stop was the toy section. I
pulled out a Nerf body vest, loaded it with foam darts and grabbed
the biggest Nerf gun there was.

Though there were some security lights in a few
spots, it was dark and there were shadows over everything. The
darkness became a beast in the store. It chased after me like a
phantom security guard. I kept just far enough away, staying out of
its reach.

No matter, I was on top of the world! That stupid
babysitter must have totally forgotten about me. I laughed at the
thought of my father cussing her out. He would blame her for sure
because I was his pride and joy. I was his genius. I never did
anything wrong. See, my father didn’t get drunk and hit me. That
wasn’t why I hated him. He always tried to get me to be smarter,
the best. I had three hours of homework every night. I wasn’t
allowed to watch TV, play video games, or shoot a bb gun. I played
soccer, baseball, tennis and he had me volunteering at the library
on weekends. God! He never left me alone!

I ran down the home and bath section, froze at the
end of the aisle, then aimed my gun at the soap bottles. Rapid
fire! Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam! A bottle fell from the shelf
and shattered on the floor. I shouldered the Nerf rifle and ran. My
hand reached out and grabbed the towels, shower curtains, rugs, and
other decorations and yanked them to the floor. That would slow the
store phantom that still nipped at my heels.

I peeked around the end of an aisle in the toy
section. The aisle was filled with stuffed teddy bears and animals
of all shapes and sizes. I loaded a fresh clip into my rifle and
cocked it. To the left was Pooh Bear. Bam! Shot him through the
head. He’s dead. I turned right. There was Elmo. Bam, dead. I took
a few steps. On either side were more fluffy stuffed animals. Bam,
bam. All dead!