Yawn, nyup nyup
Aaargh, he hasn' go back o me ye, so I can' pos he coffee shop scene. Bu I'l ps everyhing else, jus so you don' whine. he key beween r and y is broken, in case you didn' noice. So is he LJ cu, so I'M SORRY EVERYONE< BU I'M IRED AND I CAN' FIX I RIGH NOW!
“It’s always a possibility. Assuming, of course, that we ever get to this so-called coffee shop. Which one?” We’re walking as we talk. I let management know we’re out of the room and we leave the building. It’s not owned by the Warriors, so it’s kind of refreshing. I spend a lot of time around the gang. Almost too much, but I don’t think like that.
COFFEE SHOP SCENE I HAVEN't GOt PERMISSION FOR
“Well, I’ll let you figure it out for yourself, then. What d’you wanna do?” I check my watch.
“Well, I’ve got an hour before my shift starts, and I don’t feel like doing anything that too closely resembles work. And we didn’t go anywhere near the toilets…”
“Your place or mine?”
“Dad’s working.”
“Let’s go.” The sentences get shorter and shorter, as we head back towards my bike. Within minutes, we’re in my room, in an otherwise empty house, on the other side of Bridge Kanulu.
* * *
When we’re done, we feel a little lazy, so I take us to the park we’d rushed through on that night. I sit on the bench and she sits on me. The water flowing through the fountain’s the only sound for a while.
“What’re you thinking now, motorbrain?” It looks like that’s going to be her new name for me. I nod my head at the fountain.
“Must’ve taken a while to make that, it doesn’t look like run-of-the mill stuff.” It’s an old-style fountain in marble, nothing modern about it. A huge, topless bearded man kneels in a pool of water, arms stretched out at his sides, face turned to the sky, screaming water. I think it’s amazing.
“Probably took a team of a hundred slaves two years to finish him.” She’s definitely in a lazy mood, curled up like a cat on my lap. I hug her and she tucks her head under my chin. “Like the pyramids,” she murmurs. I can sense that her eyes are closed.
“Pyramids would’ve taken longer.” I say, even though I know it’s geeky. She shakes her head and makes a little pah sound.
“Stop thinking, motorbrain.” I stop talking, but I can’t stop my brain. She goes to sleep on me, actually sleeps. It’s a very nice, protective feeling.
I wonder how long it did take to make it? A skilled craftsman today would be able to, maybe do one of his feet in a day, but there would’ve been more, and they wouldn’t have had such good tools, probably, and they may not have been as skilled. I wonder who would have been hired to make it, and change my mind. So, a lot of skilled craftsmen, using inferior tools. Maybe a year, for ten of them? He’s pretty damned big, and they wouldn’t have worked full-on, and then there’s the plumbing. I wonder where the water goes in? Maybe he sucks it in through his toes or, heh, his crotch. There’s a turn-out for the books, “Fountain Discovered to be Constantly Urinating Backwards”
Ew.
I try my best to shut down my brain, like Julia has, but the espresso’s made me hyper, and the sex didn’t even take the edge off of it. The best I can manage is to shut down that train of thinking, and my brain reverts to Judas. I wonder where he is now. Must be a good hiding spot, no-one’s found him yet? Is he staying still or moving around? Has he skipped the country? He could be in America by now, faking an accent, or Mexico, where he’d fit right in and I’ll never find him. Is he hunting me like I’m hunting him? Is he even still alive? All questions I’ve asked myself a thousand times, no answers to any of them. I’ve actually hired a private investigator to track him down, and he charges me three hundred a day. I can live with it, because at the moment, I’m making almost three thousand a day.
Julia stirs on my lap, and I take the opportunity to check my watch. There’s not long before my shift starts. I’m going to be working with Julius today, we have to go and talk to a couple of members from the Aryan Vanguard, a white supremacist group we want to be allied with. We’ll take Judy and Judah with us as well, the Joel twins are massive. They’re a relatively small gang, so we want to freak them out. They’re mainly run out of a prison in America, so there’s not much happening over here. It should be simple enough.
Julia starts to snore. I wonder how fast asleep she is? I work my arms under her and stand up with her arms. She wakes up, and I smile at her. “Time for me to go, baby. Do you want me to drop you somewhere?”
“Can you take me home? I’ll finish my nap.” She doesn’t even seem worried that I’m just suddenly holding her off the ground, but she might just still be sleepy. I put her on the bike and step on behind her. I grin as I get a thought. I’m treating her like she’s made of china.
Before I can convince myself she’s fragile, I kick my bike in the guts, and it roars at me, almost in protest. We roar off towards her house, carefully avoiding the steps.
When we get there, she’s woken up a little more, and hops off the bike. She kisses me quickly then goes into the small house she shares with three other girls from the gang. I’ve offered to get her a better apartment, and some privacy, but she didn’t want to. Said she liked the little place, so instead I’ve been paying a workman to come in when they’re all out and do a little fixing up. The place is running smoother than it ever has, I think. I’ve got no time now, though, and roar off, fast, to Julius’ house. It’s on the complete other side of town, over Bridge Kanulu.
* * *
The intimidation tactic works. We talk for a while then start deciding the details of the allegiance. When they get a bit picky, one or other of us would flex muscles. I think my arms are the size of their main guy’s legs, and Julius is still bigger than me. I don’t think about how much bigger Joan was.
They cave pretty quickly, and have changed their name to the Aryan Vanguard of Bridge Kanulu, but they’ll just refer to themselves as the Aryan Vanguard unless they’re being formal. They give us a list of their members, with their rank. We’ll return it in a couple of days, with their new status among Bridge Kanulu members. Job’s always top of the pile, and most of the gang leaders we’re allied to are just below him, except Big Jimmy, who’s beneath almost everyone, because he tried to usurp Job’s place. I don’t think I really need to explain that he failed. His whole gang suffered for it, but enough were loyal to him that he’s still alive. Not always the case.
These people have something else they can give us, though, and so we don’t give terms as harsh as we want. They have information on Judas.
“Yeah, I heard about him. I think he’s meant to be up north, that city, what’s that city called?” He turns to his vice, who has a thick, slow American accent. The place we burnt that park bench?
“Ardougne.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I hear Judas is in Ardougne.” I thank him, and argue to let them keep their territory. It’ll be ineffectual, but I want to show my good will.
I go straight to Job afterwards.
“Is revenge worth it, James? He’s probably waiting for you, and he’ll probably have his Killer friends with him.”
“I’ll kill him before they can get a chance at me.”
“Live and let live, James.”
“If everyone did that we’d be overcrowded. I kill things every day. I ran over a slug this morning, I didn’t let the slug live. I can’t let him live, Job. Where’s this pacifist preaching coming from anyway? You’re the most feared man in the city.” He sighs.
“OK. You can go. I assume you’ll take Julia with you?”
“I hope so. I haven’t talked to her yet. We’ll drive out tonight or tomorrow.”
“OK. But I want you to report to me every night, OK? Even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive. Take two hundred dollars from the gang’s bank account to supply yourself.”
“I’ve got over twenty million dollars, Job.”
“I suppose you do. Alright then. Give me your first call tomorrow night.”
“I will. Bye, Job.”
“I hope it’s not goodbye, James. See you.” He seems really thoughtful maybe, or depressed. Or weary. I wonder why?
Julia agrees to go with me almost immediately. She doesn’t hate Judas as much as I do, but she’s been seeing my hate for the last two years. I can’t see a picture of him without destroying it. I think she wants him dead just so I can stop hating him.
We drive off the next morning. Driving solidly, we’re only about halfway to Ardougne by lunchtime, according to Google maps. Coffe is imbibed to keep us going, and we hit the road again. I pull into a hotel carpark at five. It’s posh, and I chose it because it’s got a pool. The receptionist sniffed when he saw me walk in wearing leathers, but softened up a lot when I pulled out my wallet and he spotted the cards. Most are forged, but he can’t know that.
We sleep together in a king-size suite that night, and next morning, while Julia checks out the pool, I take to the streets, trying to find he underworld of Ardougne. It’s not hard. It’s as close to the surface here as it ever was back home.
I ask a homeless guy about gangs. He rattles off about ten names, but the Killers aren’t among them, so maybe he’s on his own. Or maybe this guy doesn’t know about them. He doesn’t know how I can get in contact with any of them, but he gives me the name of a biker’s pub. I drop a note in his bowl and walk off without even bothering to check what I gave him. Judging by the little gasp as I walked away, it was more substantial than he’s used to. I don’t care.
The biker’s pub is a mean, nasty little place, down an alley off a main street. Bikes are parked In a thick bunch, five to a park, up the street in front of the alley, and there’s a few in the alley as well. Most of the bikes aren’t as good as mine, though. I park, lock it, and go inside. At the bar I ask for a beer, and sip it while I sit there, listening to the conversations around me. With any luck they’ll all think I’m just thinking about something. My story is that I’m thinking about a guy I saw earlier, a mate from ages ago I think. I’ll describe Judas and see if anyone knows him. But that’s the back-up plan, the least helpful plan. I don’t want Judas finding out I’m here, so I just listen, and hope to find some gangbangers.
Conversation rattles off the walls like machine-gun bullets. Subject is varied, and a couple of the bikers seem educated, or at least they’re arguing politics. Most are talking about girls, bikes, beer and rallies. Finally, I hear the word “Gang” mentioned, and snap my head up to look at the man who said it. He’s about my size, with a beard he probably hopes would be described as thick enough to hide a house in, but it’s small enough I can see the outline of his jaw. There’s a tattoo of a snake going up one arm and down the other, of a snake. I can see it at the back of his neck. He’s Mexican. His companion looks about the same, only shorter and wider - he looks tough. His beard is even weedier, and he’s Mexican too. I walk over to them. They look up from their beers, hostile.
“Hey, dudes, I’m wondering something.
“What’re you wondering, boy?” It’s the first guy who’s spoken. His voice is gruff and deep. It seems the part, even if his beard doesn’t
“I’m wondering about gangs here. I’m new, see. Can you tell me anything?”
“Maybe.”
I drop two fifties on the table, enough to buy them drinks for the rest of the night. The money’s gone in a moment.
“Flashing money like that around could get you killed, boy.”
“Maybe it could, but money’s not the only thing in my pockets.” He nods, approving.
“Alright, then. Yeah, we know about the gangs here.” He takes a look at his mate, who looks right back without saying anything. “You don’t have a chance in hell of joining ours, it’s a Mexican gang. But there’s a few white-boy gangs around.” He spits, a long stream of brown.
“I’m looking for one in particular. Have you heard of the King Street Killers?”
“Nope.”
“Well, the guy I know used to be in that gang, but he may have joined another. I saw him just earlier, I think, and I wanna find him. He’s a mae of mine, see. He’s Mexican and handsome. Clean-shaven. About six foot and skinny. He use to be called Judas. I dunno now.
“Judas?”
“Yeah, Judas.”
He mutters to his mate briefly, and I catch the words “Judas,” “New” and “shit.” I grin. I’m getting closer.
“We know a Judas. A pretty-boy.” I nod, even though it wasn’t a question. “Just joined up. But like I said, you got no chance in hell of getting in to see him. You set foot in Onda territory and you’re dead.” I raise my hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“It’s cool, I’ll find somewhere else. But d’you guys know where I can get hold of him? I haven’t seen him in years.” I’m just beginning to realize, that if they call him “pretty-boy” and “shit”, they’re tougher than hell, and saying I was his friend wouldn’t have been a good move.
“It’s always a possibility. Assuming, of course, that we ever get to this so-called coffee shop. Which one?” We’re walking as we talk. I let management know we’re out of the room and we leave the building. It’s not owned by the Warriors, so it’s kind of refreshing. I spend a lot of time around the gang. Almost too much, but I don’t think like that.
COFFEE SHOP SCENE I HAVEN't GOt PERMISSION FOR
“Well, I’ll let you figure it out for yourself, then. What d’you wanna do?” I check my watch.
“Well, I’ve got an hour before my shift starts, and I don’t feel like doing anything that too closely resembles work. And we didn’t go anywhere near the toilets…”
“Your place or mine?”
“Dad’s working.”
“Let’s go.” The sentences get shorter and shorter, as we head back towards my bike. Within minutes, we’re in my room, in an otherwise empty house, on the other side of Bridge Kanulu.
* * *
When we’re done, we feel a little lazy, so I take us to the park we’d rushed through on that night. I sit on the bench and she sits on me. The water flowing through the fountain’s the only sound for a while.
“What’re you thinking now, motorbrain?” It looks like that’s going to be her new name for me. I nod my head at the fountain.
“Must’ve taken a while to make that, it doesn’t look like run-of-the mill stuff.” It’s an old-style fountain in marble, nothing modern about it. A huge, topless bearded man kneels in a pool of water, arms stretched out at his sides, face turned to the sky, screaming water. I think it’s amazing.
“Probably took a team of a hundred slaves two years to finish him.” She’s definitely in a lazy mood, curled up like a cat on my lap. I hug her and she tucks her head under my chin. “Like the pyramids,” she murmurs. I can sense that her eyes are closed.
“Pyramids would’ve taken longer.” I say, even though I know it’s geeky. She shakes her head and makes a little pah sound.
“Stop thinking, motorbrain.” I stop talking, but I can’t stop my brain. She goes to sleep on me, actually sleeps. It’s a very nice, protective feeling.
I wonder how long it did take to make it? A skilled craftsman today would be able to, maybe do one of his feet in a day, but there would’ve been more, and they wouldn’t have had such good tools, probably, and they may not have been as skilled. I wonder who would have been hired to make it, and change my mind. So, a lot of skilled craftsmen, using inferior tools. Maybe a year, for ten of them? He’s pretty damned big, and they wouldn’t have worked full-on, and then there’s the plumbing. I wonder where the water goes in? Maybe he sucks it in through his toes or, heh, his crotch. There’s a turn-out for the books, “Fountain Discovered to be Constantly Urinating Backwards”
Ew.
I try my best to shut down my brain, like Julia has, but the espresso’s made me hyper, and the sex didn’t even take the edge off of it. The best I can manage is to shut down that train of thinking, and my brain reverts to Judas. I wonder where he is now. Must be a good hiding spot, no-one’s found him yet? Is he staying still or moving around? Has he skipped the country? He could be in America by now, faking an accent, or Mexico, where he’d fit right in and I’ll never find him. Is he hunting me like I’m hunting him? Is he even still alive? All questions I’ve asked myself a thousand times, no answers to any of them. I’ve actually hired a private investigator to track him down, and he charges me three hundred a day. I can live with it, because at the moment, I’m making almost three thousand a day.
Julia stirs on my lap, and I take the opportunity to check my watch. There’s not long before my shift starts. I’m going to be working with Julius today, we have to go and talk to a couple of members from the Aryan Vanguard, a white supremacist group we want to be allied with. We’ll take Judy and Judah with us as well, the Joel twins are massive. They’re a relatively small gang, so we want to freak them out. They’re mainly run out of a prison in America, so there’s not much happening over here. It should be simple enough.
Julia starts to snore. I wonder how fast asleep she is? I work my arms under her and stand up with her arms. She wakes up, and I smile at her. “Time for me to go, baby. Do you want me to drop you somewhere?”
“Can you take me home? I’ll finish my nap.” She doesn’t even seem worried that I’m just suddenly holding her off the ground, but she might just still be sleepy. I put her on the bike and step on behind her. I grin as I get a thought. I’m treating her like she’s made of china.
Before I can convince myself she’s fragile, I kick my bike in the guts, and it roars at me, almost in protest. We roar off towards her house, carefully avoiding the steps.
When we get there, she’s woken up a little more, and hops off the bike. She kisses me quickly then goes into the small house she shares with three other girls from the gang. I’ve offered to get her a better apartment, and some privacy, but she didn’t want to. Said she liked the little place, so instead I’ve been paying a workman to come in when they’re all out and do a little fixing up. The place is running smoother than it ever has, I think. I’ve got no time now, though, and roar off, fast, to Julius’ house. It’s on the complete other side of town, over Bridge Kanulu.
* * *
The intimidation tactic works. We talk for a while then start deciding the details of the allegiance. When they get a bit picky, one or other of us would flex muscles. I think my arms are the size of their main guy’s legs, and Julius is still bigger than me. I don’t think about how much bigger Joan was.
They cave pretty quickly, and have changed their name to the Aryan Vanguard of Bridge Kanulu, but they’ll just refer to themselves as the Aryan Vanguard unless they’re being formal. They give us a list of their members, with their rank. We’ll return it in a couple of days, with their new status among Bridge Kanulu members. Job’s always top of the pile, and most of the gang leaders we’re allied to are just below him, except Big Jimmy, who’s beneath almost everyone, because he tried to usurp Job’s place. I don’t think I really need to explain that he failed. His whole gang suffered for it, but enough were loyal to him that he’s still alive. Not always the case.
These people have something else they can give us, though, and so we don’t give terms as harsh as we want. They have information on Judas.
“Yeah, I heard about him. I think he’s meant to be up north, that city, what’s that city called?” He turns to his vice, who has a thick, slow American accent. The place we burnt that park bench?
“Ardougne.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I hear Judas is in Ardougne.” I thank him, and argue to let them keep their territory. It’ll be ineffectual, but I want to show my good will.
I go straight to Job afterwards.
“Is revenge worth it, James? He’s probably waiting for you, and he’ll probably have his Killer friends with him.”
“I’ll kill him before they can get a chance at me.”
“Live and let live, James.”
“If everyone did that we’d be overcrowded. I kill things every day. I ran over a slug this morning, I didn’t let the slug live. I can’t let him live, Job. Where’s this pacifist preaching coming from anyway? You’re the most feared man in the city.” He sighs.
“OK. You can go. I assume you’ll take Julia with you?”
“I hope so. I haven’t talked to her yet. We’ll drive out tonight or tomorrow.”
“OK. But I want you to report to me every night, OK? Even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive. Take two hundred dollars from the gang’s bank account to supply yourself.”
“I’ve got over twenty million dollars, Job.”
“I suppose you do. Alright then. Give me your first call tomorrow night.”
“I will. Bye, Job.”
“I hope it’s not goodbye, James. See you.” He seems really thoughtful maybe, or depressed. Or weary. I wonder why?
Julia agrees to go with me almost immediately. She doesn’t hate Judas as much as I do, but she’s been seeing my hate for the last two years. I can’t see a picture of him without destroying it. I think she wants him dead just so I can stop hating him.
We drive off the next morning. Driving solidly, we’re only about halfway to Ardougne by lunchtime, according to Google maps. Coffe is imbibed to keep us going, and we hit the road again. I pull into a hotel carpark at five. It’s posh, and I chose it because it’s got a pool. The receptionist sniffed when he saw me walk in wearing leathers, but softened up a lot when I pulled out my wallet and he spotted the cards. Most are forged, but he can’t know that.
We sleep together in a king-size suite that night, and next morning, while Julia checks out the pool, I take to the streets, trying to find he underworld of Ardougne. It’s not hard. It’s as close to the surface here as it ever was back home.
I ask a homeless guy about gangs. He rattles off about ten names, but the Killers aren’t among them, so maybe he’s on his own. Or maybe this guy doesn’t know about them. He doesn’t know how I can get in contact with any of them, but he gives me the name of a biker’s pub. I drop a note in his bowl and walk off without even bothering to check what I gave him. Judging by the little gasp as I walked away, it was more substantial than he’s used to. I don’t care.
The biker’s pub is a mean, nasty little place, down an alley off a main street. Bikes are parked In a thick bunch, five to a park, up the street in front of the alley, and there’s a few in the alley as well. Most of the bikes aren’t as good as mine, though. I park, lock it, and go inside. At the bar I ask for a beer, and sip it while I sit there, listening to the conversations around me. With any luck they’ll all think I’m just thinking about something. My story is that I’m thinking about a guy I saw earlier, a mate from ages ago I think. I’ll describe Judas and see if anyone knows him. But that’s the back-up plan, the least helpful plan. I don’t want Judas finding out I’m here, so I just listen, and hope to find some gangbangers.
Conversation rattles off the walls like machine-gun bullets. Subject is varied, and a couple of the bikers seem educated, or at least they’re arguing politics. Most are talking about girls, bikes, beer and rallies. Finally, I hear the word “Gang” mentioned, and snap my head up to look at the man who said it. He’s about my size, with a beard he probably hopes would be described as thick enough to hide a house in, but it’s small enough I can see the outline of his jaw. There’s a tattoo of a snake going up one arm and down the other, of a snake. I can see it at the back of his neck. He’s Mexican. His companion looks about the same, only shorter and wider - he looks tough. His beard is even weedier, and he’s Mexican too. I walk over to them. They look up from their beers, hostile.
“Hey, dudes, I’m wondering something.
“What’re you wondering, boy?” It’s the first guy who’s spoken. His voice is gruff and deep. It seems the part, even if his beard doesn’t
“I’m wondering about gangs here. I’m new, see. Can you tell me anything?”
“Maybe.”
I drop two fifties on the table, enough to buy them drinks for the rest of the night. The money’s gone in a moment.
“Flashing money like that around could get you killed, boy.”
“Maybe it could, but money’s not the only thing in my pockets.” He nods, approving.
“Alright, then. Yeah, we know about the gangs here.” He takes a look at his mate, who looks right back without saying anything. “You don’t have a chance in hell of joining ours, it’s a Mexican gang. But there’s a few white-boy gangs around.” He spits, a long stream of brown.
“I’m looking for one in particular. Have you heard of the King Street Killers?”
“Nope.”
“Well, the guy I know used to be in that gang, but he may have joined another. I saw him just earlier, I think, and I wanna find him. He’s a mae of mine, see. He’s Mexican and handsome. Clean-shaven. About six foot and skinny. He use to be called Judas. I dunno now.
“Judas?”
“Yeah, Judas.”
He mutters to his mate briefly, and I catch the words “Judas,” “New” and “shit.” I grin. I’m getting closer.
“We know a Judas. A pretty-boy.” I nod, even though it wasn’t a question. “Just joined up. But like I said, you got no chance in hell of getting in to see him. You set foot in Onda territory and you’re dead.” I raise my hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“It’s cool, I’ll find somewhere else. But d’you guys know where I can get hold of him? I haven’t seen him in years.” I’m just beginning to realize, that if they call him “pretty-boy” and “shit”, they’re tougher than hell, and saying I was his friend wouldn’t have been a good move.