Chapter 113. Simon Adebisi’s War
He looks at the paper in front of him. What is this shit? There are little pillars with numbers under them - Homeboys maimed in battle over the past months? Homeboys in need of intensive care over the last month? Disease-statistics? What the hell? What do they expect him to do with this shit? Why do they keep bringing him this? It’s this Oscar-guy, he’s sure. Stuck up bastard, always wanting to show off how superior he is with his college degree. Fuck him.
The lights are flickering again, like some pesky bug. Simon’s about to dash those useless lamps to the floor - but before he could reach for the first one, everything goes black. Well shit.
At least that solves the issue with these papers, but how the hell is he supposed to find his way around here now? He’d rather just shove the useless shit down Oscar’s throat and have his light back.
He staggers around the room - hits his head there, his toe somewhere else - damn, that hurts - until he finally finds a candle in a drawer and lights it. Better.
Actually, quite nice. Reminds him of more… enjoyable times. White skin and big eyes, and warm legs against his sides. Soft hair tickling his chin. The hot wax of the candle drips down, but Lil’ Nino won’t make a sound unless his master tells him to.
But Lil’ Nino is gone. And the candle is the only light left for him. Damn it.
And fuck, where is his dinner? He ordered it an eternity ago!
As if on cue, the new kitchen boy pokes his unusually long nose in. “I brought you some sandwiches. There seems to be a blackout, I’m afraid, Boss. So can’t make nothing fancy tonight.”
Simon feels his blood boiling at the thought. Robert, he thinks that’s the kid’s name - but since when must a king bother with such trivialities - is already starting to sweat. In fact, Simon can be certain he was already sweating before he even got in here. For one is king when he inspires fear amongst his subjects.
“Look Boss, we don’t know what’s happening man...everything just froze and now...how are we going to get warm without being able to at least boil some water...what should we do?” His cook - no, the fucking kitchen boy - is giving him this desperate look, that only makes Simon more angry. Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? He is KING!
“Are you, a kitchen boy, asking me how I’m running things now?”
Now the little bastard looks defiant. “Yeah, what are you going to do about this man?!”
The nerve…
He ordered Mondo Brown bn doused with cold water and stuck to the wall. He doesn’t know how he came up with it, but it worked - after he managed to get off it, he swore his loyalty to Adebisi. He’ll know to watch his tongue in the future, Adebisi is sure. Asshole - after how well Adebisi treated him - he starts badmouthing his decisions behind his back, making him look bad. Well, he showed him.
At least the runt had the balls to face him directly. Adebisi can respect that.
Standing at the railing, he can see the people down there, sitting around the makeshift lanterns they’ve built. Electricity didn’t return to them. Like the very structure of Oz has abandoned them - only a question of time until the materials will run out and they’ll be lost in darkness.
He wonders what they are talking about, in those hushed voices. Are they complaining, too? Planning to conspire against him? Against their king?
The runt is standing next to him, looking confused, he can see it from the corner of his eye. “What are we doing here exactly?”
“I’m thinking”
“And why am I standing here?”
“You are watching me think”
There’s a short silence. Simon suppressed a sigh as he looks down again. He hopes those spics have it worse.
Or at least equally bad.
“That blows, shouldn’t you send someone to check that electricity-thing out?”
“No”
“What the hell, why not?!”
He rolls his eyes. Well, it’s better than talking to some of those braindead prags, or those wimps who don’t dare do anything but nod. Post is still hurt, and with the war the tits-business has suffered, so there’s little talking to him. Many of his other associates are out of it, too, or worse, captured by the fucking latinos. It’s not the shrimp’s fault his questions are so stupid he tells himself. He’ll be patient.
“Hey, are you listening?”
“I sent someone to check out the heating and they have not returned. Something is fishy.”
“The latinos?”
Adebisi shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not wasting more people on this until the war is won. Maybe it is just the place messing with us, who knows”
“I heard some say it’s divine punishment or something like that. You think that’s true?”
Yeah, Simon has seen them pray. He still does. Someone stands in front of a group, reading from the good book, while the others are on their knees. Let them.
Simon has his own demons. Praying won’t help him. Enrique is not to be underestimated - he knew that, but still he imagined this war to be over far sooner. He was mistaken. The bells of victory are too far away to hear - and the wait is starting to annoy him. Damn them all. He will make them pay.
He’ll make Lil’ Nino pay most of all. Because it’s all his fault.
A flickering light. The sound of people shouting in the distance.
“We protest! We protest! We can no longer rest!
We are done! We are done! We are doggone it done!
Brothers unite! For the flames of injustice are alight!”
Simon can recognize that fat idiot’s voice anywhere. Well shit, said fat idiot actually has a following, he realizes as he groggily makes his way to the railing. A large crowd, carrying torches, has gathered on the bottom floor.
He’s too tired to deal with this shit, he decides before going back in, lying down. He waits for five minutes. It doesn’t stop. They even get louder.
That’s enough.
He dashes out, letting his fist crash against the railing.
“You rats” he shouts, his voice booming through Em-City. “You think you’ll defy me? And then what? Crawl up some latino-asses? You lose this war, they gonna give it to you good, trust me on that one. You pull this shit and destroy morale like that? You better start learning Spanish, because that’s what your masters’ll be speakin’! Our only chance is pulling through, even if times get desperate! Put your anger where it belongs - in battle! Remember, it wasn’t us who started this! Everything is the latino’s fault, and winning is our only option!”
Cheers. Only Poet and his goons look angry, but they lower their torches. Simon returns to his bed without a further word.
But Oscar Cleaver is already sitting there on a chair, some papers on his lap. Damn.
“Nice speech. I got some reports here from the front, thought you’d might wanna hear them. The last clash only cost us people, cost them about the same amount from what we can tell and gained us nothing but more beds filled with wounded” Oscar sighs.
“Anything else?”
“They sent a wave to attack our barrier, and our defence… well, we defended it but the guys were wiped out. As were the attackers… I don’t think we can call it a victory”
“You are talking too much, Cleaver… Instead of your annoying statistics and reports… that I never asked you to do anyway… go build me a chimney. It’s cold and dark here”
“Are you not interested in winning this?” The asshole dares go off on him.
“How can you be so-”
“You wanna keep that trap of yours? Then shut it and do what I tell you to”
It’s so damn cold all the time. It’s time they act before he freezes his fucking balls off.
Oscar sighs. “There is no way for the smoke to exit. You’d eventually pass out from the Monoxide building up”
“Then build some functioning heating. You are an engineer!”
“I can’t” he shrugs. “We’d need materials to heat either way, and again, we don’t have a way to get the smoke outta here. I’m already worried about those lanterns”
“So you are useless. Piss off then” He pulls the blankets tighter around him, not wasting his time with so much as giving Oscar a dirty look as he scrambles. Simon feels so tired. Maybe he’s coming down with something. Sure feels like it.
His empire burning to the ground, the flames engulfing him. Even the glass his palace is made of is melting - and among the searing heat stands his mother - his beautiful mother, severe and demanding. All mothers are like this, he’s been told - that’s how affection is shown.
But why was she so kind to his younger siblings? Why did she hold his older brothers and sisters in such high regard? Why did they pick him to leave out?
It wasn’t his fault things went to shit, he tells her. He screams, but her gaze remains unwavering. He’s nothing but an extra mouth to feed - just in the way. That’s what they are telling him. Her and his aunt.
Even his siblings. They hate him. They fear him.
They are just jealous. He hates them, too. He hates her most. Why did she bring him into this world only to abandon him? He screams, but she only looks on.
And then she disappears.
He feels a different presence behind him. He dares not turn. He doesn’t need to - he knows this one well. That woman, the one he married. Only one who had an appetite to match his, but he’d still be in charge of course… unless he said otherwise, that is. He liked letting her. Only with her. Elisa… whom he opened his heart to.
Elisa, who turned her back on him. Who walked away.
That bitch.
Everything is burning around him, and he hopes she’s burning with it.
And when it burns down, there’s only Simon left, lying in the ashes. Nothing else - Simon is all alone - he’s always been.
And then they come. He sees him first. His beautiful. His trophy. His prag.
Simon reaches out his hand. Wasn’t he the one who made him? He wants to feel the soft hand in his so badly.
And suddenly there are too many, standing around him. Ortolani. Nino Schibetta. Morales. The nameless wop and spic who dared cross a king and steal what’s his. They are all looking down on him.
It’s his own screams that wake him up.
It takes him a while to calm down. Only a dream, he tells himself. But he could use some distraction. The prag he calls to his bedside is a big strong man, with dark skin. Not exactly his taste, but he remembers that it was difficult to take him down. But once he had him, he was far too easy.
Then again, he’s not Lil’ Nino. None of them are. It makes him so angry.
He doesn’t want to see any of them. He only wants Lil’ Nino - and that’s the one he can’t have.