Kill Whitey

eighteen

I stood there in the wreckage of the abandoned machine shop and tried not to pass out. The room seemed like it was moving, almost as if the building were a living, breathing thing. The walls rolled like the tide. I felt weak and dizzy, and even though it was chilly inside the machine shop, I was covered in sweat. It ran into my eyes, stinging them and further blurring my vision. I reached out and steadied myself against the side of a metal shelving unit. My legs tingled. Slowly, I eased myself to the floor and closed my eyes.

Outside, the battle continued, but the gunshots and screams were distant things that didn’t affect me. I knew I should run, knew that I should find Sondra and get away—or at least get some answers—but I just didn’t care anymore. Gasping for breath, I realized that I was going into shock again. This was the second time in less than twenty-four hours. No wonder my body was rebelling against me. I didn’t like me very much right now either.

Jesse, Darryl and Yul were dead. I would never see them at work again. I’d never drink a beer or watch the World Series with them. We’d never listen to the new Mastodon disc together. We’d never tell each other jokes. Never again would Darryl bitch about his ex-wife. Jesse would never see another naked woman. Yul would never get to tell Kim that he loved her. They were gone. Dead. So were a bunch of innocent cops—slaughtered in the line of duty by some Russian fuck who could still walk around despite the fact that half his brains had been blown out the back of his fucking head. They were all dead, just like my friends.

All because of some fucked up bullshit.

All because of Sondra.

That bitch.

I hated it when men referred to women as bitches. Didn’t like it when I heard it at work or in a bar. Didn’t care for it in my music. Thought it was misogynistic crap that ought to be abolished along with racism and homophobia. But despite my feelings on the term, I thought it about Sondra now, because that’s what she was.

Her lies burned like my scalp.

My vision cleared, and so did my head. I focused on my anger. It kept me strong. Kept me going. Gave me a purpose and reason to live. Then that feeling gave way to fear again.

Something exploded outside, and the entire machine shop quaked. Broken light fixtures swayed back and forth. Huge chunks of yellowed plaster fell from the cracked ceiling. Glass shattered, spraying across the floor. Whatever it was that exploded, it had been big. The helicopter, maybe, or one of the police cars? I heard flames crackling outside, and smelled burning fuel. The tremors continued, rocking the shelving unit I was sitting against, showering me with dust. I sneezed, spraying blood from the hole where my tooth had been. Wisps of black smoke drifted through the broken windows.

Sondra…

The physical pain was nothing compared that what I felt inside. The emotional hurt and betrayal. All of this had been her fault. Because of her lies.

I’d only been trying to help. But what was the old saying? No good deed goes unpunished? I’d been punished—in spades. I’d let my little head do the thinking for my big head, and in the end, a lot of innocent people had paid the price for my stupidity. For my needs.

I’d been lonely. Then Sondra came into my life and I wasn’t lonely anymore.

And now, here I was by myself again, lonelier than ever before. Abandoned and forgotten, just like this building. Falling apart. Friendless. Women come and go, but your friends are always there, standing beside you through thick and thin.

Until a woman comes between you and them.

Yeah, maybe a lot of this was Sondra’s fault. Maybe she was guilty.

But so was I.

That was the worst pain of all.

I closed my eyes and shivered, waiting for the world to stop. Waiting for the cops to arrest me or for Whitey to find me and put me out of my misery. I didn’t care which, as long as it took the hurt away.

Suddenly, I felt warm breath on my face. Cool hands brushed against my forehead and stroked my cheeks, fluttering like butterflies. Fingers felt my neck. Then they were gone. I heard rustling movement to my right and smelled perfume—a familiar fragrance. I slowly opened my eyes. Sondra was crouched at my side, peering out the window at Whitey’s confrontation with the police. Her expression told me all I needed to know about how the cops were faring.

“Hey.” My voice was raspy. I tried to say more, but I couldn’t. Considering how I felt, that single word was like Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.

Sondra scurried away from me, her eyes wide and shocked.

“Larry,” she gasped, “you are not dead?”

“No.” Blood dribbled down my chin.

“I think you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

She glanced toward the window. “Whitey is not dead, too.”

I struggled to sit up. “Imagine that.”

“We go now,” she whispered. “Get away before they find us. You can stand, yes?”

“No, I doubt it.”

She moved towards me. “I will help.”

“Don’t bother.” I paused, taking a deep, painful breath. “And stop fronting.”

“What is ‘fronting’? I no understand.”

“You understand more than you let on. You know what fronting is. It means stop with the bullshit. Stop with the lies. You don’t give a damn about me or anyone else, so save the phony concern for one of your johns.”

Sondra flinched as if I’d slapped her. Despite my pain, I grinned. It felt good, hurting her that way after all she’d done to me.

“Larry, you are injured. You not know what you say.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying, you fucking whore. You lied to me, and my friends are dead as a result. You strung me along from the moment Darryl and I found you hiding beneath my car. We should have fucking left you there when we had the chance.”

“Nyet.”

“Nyet,” I mocked. “Nyet, nyet, nyet… speak fucking English or die, bitch! You think your hero, Jennifer fucking Aniston, talks like that? Do you think she walks around all day saying, ‘Nyet’? Hell, no. You’re in America. Learn the goddamn language. Half the time you make sense and the rest of the time you sound like a fucking retard.”

A single tear rolled down Sondra’s cheek. She didn’t speak, didn’t utter a sound—just stared at me with those shocked, wounded eyes. I watched the tear slide down her face and fall to the floor. It seemed to take an eternity. Something dark twisted inside of me. I wanted to hurt her the same way she’d hurt me. I wanted more tears. One simply wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close.

“You are like all the others,” she said. “You are a bad man.”

Then I got my wish. The first tear was followed by more. The floodgates opened and tears streamed down her cheeks. Sondra buried her face in her hands and wept.

For a second, I felt guilty about what I’d said, but then I remembered how Darryl had looked, lying on my kitchen floor, and what Yul had sounded like, breathing his last breath. The darkness swelled inside of me, eating away at my guilt and replacing it with a grim sort of satisfaction. Steeling my resolve, I sat up the rest of the way and took another deep breath.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it Sondra? But you know what hurts worse? You know what’s really eating at me? That I’m guilty, too. That I let you do this to me.”

There was another explosion outside, followed by more shouts and emergency sirens. Radios squawked and flames crackled. More smoke poured into the machine shop. Even inside, we could feel the heat. The single shot gunfire was joined by the concussive buzz of automatic weapons, which meant that the York County Quick Response Unit was on hand—complete with body armor and grenades and hostage negotiators. They even had a remote-controlled robot that was capable of storming the building all by itself. I’d seen it on the news once, when they used it during a bank robbery. The robot could end this whole thing very quickly.

Unless, of course, Whitey had fucked the robot up, too.

“Larry,” Sondra sobbed. “Is not so. I thought you and I were to be special. We were—”

“Don’t pretend you care about me,” I interrupted. “The only reason you came down here was because you wanted a better look at what was happening outside. You said it yourself. You thought I was dead. You don’t give a shit about me. Admit it.”

Sondra shook her head. Her face glistened with tears.

“Is not true. I care very much for you.”

“Oh yeah? Is that why you lied to me? You always lie to the people you care about?”

“I no lie.”

“Then where’s the fucking money you stole from Whitey? Huh? Forget to tell me about that? And why’d you tell me you didn’t know who your baby’s father was, when all along you knew it was him?”

“Da. I knew it was Whitey. But I not let him kill baby. So I get away. I tell you this before. Is not lie.”

“Bullshit. Whitey told me what was really going on. He said that you were the one who wants to kill the baby. He was trying to stop you from getting an abortion. Now, I’m a pro-choice guy, but still…you should have just told me the truth.”

“I did tell truth,” she insisted. “Yes, I should have been honest. Should have told you Whitey was father. But I not lie when I say he want to kill baby. Whitey do. He want to kill baby very bad. He needs to. Especially now.”

Testing my strength, I crawled away from the shelving unit. Every muscle cried out from the strain, but I didn’t pass out, so I continued. The smoke made my eyes water. I wondered if the machine shop could catch on fire. The walls were cinderblock, but what about the rest?

“You must believe,” Sondra said. “Whitey will hurt baby now more than ever.”

“What do you mean?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Why the urgency?”

“Whitey needs the baby. Needs something inside it. Just like Rasputin did. There is secret to their powers. There is reason why Rasputin have so many children. Reason why many were kept secret.”

“What?”

“To… how you say? To grow again? Re something…”

“To grow again—you mean regenerate?”

“Da, that is word. To do that, Whitey needs stem. So did Rasputin.”

“Stem?” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“Da. Stem. They must come from his bloodline.”

Outside, the violence intensified. A stray round punched through the cinderblock wall just a few feet away from us. Sondra screamed.

“Come on.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s get the hell out of the way before you catch a bullet. I want to hear the rest.”

“And then?”

“Who cares? You’re on your own. I don’t give a shit what happens to you after that.”

“Is not true.”

“Try me.”

Still crouched, we made our way to the center of the room

“We must get out of building,” Sondra said. “Must get away!”

“Not until you finish telling me what the fuck is going on.”

“But we will be killed!”

“Fine by me. Perfect end to a perfect fucking day.”

Crawling across the dirty concrete floor, we avoided broken glass and rusty screws. The machine shop was a mess, even worse than the warehouse had been. Piles of junk and debris lay everywhere. It was murky, but not dark. Enough daylight came through the broken windows and holes in the roof, so we could see pretty well. There were signs of water damage on the ceiling, and pools of sludgy, oily water covered the floor. The oil slicks glittered like rainbows on the surface of the puddles. Black mold clung to the walls and pipes.

We made it to the center of the room. Behind us came the sound of breaking glass as another window was shot out. I searched the room and saw a gray door at the rear of the building. A greasy, broken sign above it advised us that safety goggles and hearing protection must be worn at all times beyond that point. I giggled at the warning. Too late. My hearing might already be fucked and goggles weren’t going to offer much protection against Whitey. The sound of my laughter scared me. It must have frightened Sondra too, judging by her expression. She wasn’t crying anymore. Instead, she looked terrified.

“Come on.” I tottered to my feet, pulling her up with me. “There’s a door over there.”

“You can walk?”

“I don’t know. Let’s find out together.”

A third bullet crashed through the wall, ricocheting around the machine shop. Shouting, we both ducked low and waited for it to pass.

“Yeah,” I said when the coast was clear. “I think I’ll manage.”

The doorknob was greasy and slick, but it turned in my hands, unlocked. I hurried Sondra through the doorway.

“Do not push, Larry. You are hurting me.”

“Then we’re even. You hurt me, too.”

I closed the door behind us and then looked around. We were in another empty room, this one darker than the first. There were only a few windows, and all of them were boarded over with thick sheets of plywood or painted shut with black paint. The only source of illumination was from a single dirty skylight. A row of tool benches and work stations lined one wall. Brackets were drilled into the floor at various points, indicating where machines had once been—die presses, drills, vices, and who knew what else. A patch of sawdust covered one section of floor, the remnants of an ancient oil spill. Little piles of mouse shit and dangling spider webs filled the corners. We could still hear the chaos outside, but with the door closed, it was muffled. At the back of the room was a dark, narrow hallway and a stairway leading down to a basement level.

My head started to throb again, and the pain swept back into my joints and muscles. The hole where my tooth had been was starting to clot, but my mouth tasted salty and felt like it was coated with slime. Leaning against the door, I slid to my knees. Sondra crouched next to me. She reached for my cheek but I brushed her away. Her face saddened again.

“You are angry.”

“Goddamn right I am.”

“But I tell you truth. Whitey is to harm my baby. What am I supposed to do? To let him eat stem?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Sondra. What the hell is this stem?”

“He needs them from the baby.”

“Needs what?”

“The stems. You know, like your President Bush?”

I sighed in frustration. “You’re making less sense than before. What does that idiot Dubya have to do with this?”

“Your President say nyet to them. He sign bill that say no using stems to make people better when they are sick.”

“A bill that… stem cells? Do you mean stem cells?”

“Da!” She clapped her hands together. “Stem cells. That is what I tell you. Whitey needs them. That is why he wants to kill baby. To eat.”

“H-he…Whitey wants to eat your baby?”

“Not whole baby. Just the stem cells. He eat them and his body use them to fix itself. This is how he is able to keep living when he is hurt. Was same way with Rasputin. Can take a lot of hurt. Lot of damage. But needed stem cells to keep alive after that. Is how Rasputin stayed alive for so long. When he was finally put in river, he drowned. But maybe he drown only because he have no stem cells to eat.”

I clenched my jaw, disgusted by what she was saying. My fingernails dug into my palms, drawing blood. It was a minor pain compared to the rest.

“How do you know all this? Did Whitey tell you?”

“Not all. Some is old rumor in my country. Some Whitey tell.”

“Can’t they find another source? Does it have to be from their own…” My voice trailed away. I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Sondra shrugged. “I do not know. Some say the stem cells could come from anyone, but Whitey seem convinced it had to be from his baby.”

“Jesus Christ.” I swept my hand through my hair and sighed. “So let me get this straight. We’re talking about cannibalism here. Some real Jeffery Dahmer-style shit. Whitey is the descendant of some mutant freak of fucking evolution who needs to eat stem cells straight from babies in order to regenerate after they’ve been mortally wounded? And apparently, it can’t just be any baby. Oh, no. It needs to be their own flesh and blood, too. Is that right? Am I missing anything? Are you sure there isn’t something else you’re leaving out? Blood fucking sacrifice or eye of newt or toe of bat? Some bullshit like that? Maybe after he’s done eating babies, Whitey needs to cap dinner off with the blood of a young virgin?”

“See? You are angry with me again.”

“You’re god damn right I’m angry with you, Sondra. Listen to what you’re saying. Whitey wants to eat your baby!”

“This is why I no tell you everything before.”

“And look what’s happened because of that. Look at the fine fucking mess we’re in.”

Scowling, Sondra jumped to her feet.

“I go now.”

“Go?” I snorted. “Where are you gonna go? What, you planning on walking out into that firefight? Gonna let the cops bust you or let Whitey get his hands on you? You’re not going anywhere. You and the baby would both be dead the moment you stepped outside.”

She turned away from me, nose in the air, and headed for the hallway. I reached for her, but I was still slightly dizzy, and I missed. Groaning, I forced myself to my feet and stumbled after her. The room spun. Sondra glanced back at me.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re not finished here, Sondra. Not by a long shot”

Turning her back to me again, she continued towards the hallway.

“You’re not leaving,” I mumbled.

“Da,” she said without looking back. “I am.”

“What about the money you stole? We gonna talk about that? Want to tell me where you hid it? Or do you want to lie to me some more?”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Oh, yeah,” I whispered. “Go ahead and lie, Sondra. I noticed that you didn’t answer before. You ducked the question. Well, guess what? Whitey told me all about the money. And you know what’s really fucked up? At least he was honest with me about it, even while he was trying to kill me. Can’t say the same for you.”

“Your words. The things you are saying. They are very cruel. I was being wrong.”

I took a faltering step towards her. “About what?”

“About you, Larry. You are a bad man, just like others. Maybe worse.”

“Yeah,” I sneered. “That’s right. I’m just as bad as all the other men in your life. Sell that shit to someone else. I’m nothing like your Dad or the men on that ship or these mob fuckers. I didn’t beat you or rape you or force you to do things you didn’t want to do. All I tried to do was help you. And I got shit on and lied to for it. Why?”

I was aware of the pleading, whining tone in my voice, and of the fact that I was beginning to repeat myself, but I couldn’t help it either. I hated how I sounded, but couldn’t seem to stop. It was like my mouth had decided it didn’t like what the rest of me was doing, and had decided to take over on its own.

Sondra was silent for a moment. Her shoulders were slumped and she was breathing heavy. I couldn’t tell if she was crying, sighing, or just out of breath. She still hadn’t turned around, still wouldn’t face me. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper and I had to strain to hear her.

“I know not about any money. If Whitey tell you I take his money, then Whitey lie. If I had money, I would tell you.”

I stared at her, not speaking. The wave of dizziness had passed again and I felt my strength returning. I took another step towards her. When I didn’t fall down, I took another. As the ringing in my ears faded, it occurred to me that the gunshots had stopped. It was quiet outside. No explosions or helicopters or men screaming. The air still smelled of smoke, though. In fact, the smoke was getting thicker.

“We’ll finish this later.”

“You no believe me?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s head into the back and see if we can’t find another way out of here—or at least a place to hide.”

“Why?”

“Listen. You hear that?”

Sondra cocked her head. “Nyet, I hear nothing.”

“Exactly. My guess is that Whitey won, which means he’ll be coming after us next.”

“Are you…okay to fight him?”

“Sondra, my body feels like I’ve gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson.”

“Who?”

“Mike Tyson. A real bad motor-scooter. A world champion boxer.”

“He owns motorcycle? He can help us to get away?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. What is important is that we stop talking and get the hell out of here right now.”

I studied the door we’d come in through, the one that led out to the front of the machine shop. It could only be locked with a key, so we were shit out of luck as far as that went. A quick search of the room showed no junk heavy or big enough to block the door with, either. Worse, with the machines and equipment gone, there was nowhere to hide, and the tool benches were empty—nothing there that we could use to defend ourselves.

“Shit,” I said. “Come on.”

Without thinking about it, I took her by the hand and led her towards the dark hallway. She squeezed my fingers. I squeezed back.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “About before. I shouldn’t have said all that. I feel like a real asshole.”

“Is okay, Larry. We are both…how you say? Having a bad day?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you can say that again.”

“We are having a bad day?”

This time I laughed. “You’re something else, Sondra Belov.”

“As are you, Larry Gibson. And I was wrong, too.”

“About what?”

“When I say you are like other men, I was wrong. You are not like them. If they say mean things, they not apologize. You do. You say you are sorry.”

“Well, I am. And I do apologize. I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“Once we get out of here, you buy me big dinner and we make it up to each other after—in bedroom. Does this sound good?”

“Sound good? It sounds great. Especially the bedroom part.”

Smiling, Sondra squeezed my hand again. Suddenly, it was like falling for her all over again. Even after everything that had happened, her smile—that perfect, beautiful smile—had complete power over me.

And that was all that it took to suck me back in.

I no longer felt pain. No longer felt betrayed.

Instead, I felt hope.

Women will do that to you—make you feel things that you shouldn’t.