Nocturnal

A Visit from Chinatown

The sound of rattling machinery and chains dragging across stone brought Aggie out of a cold sleep. He had to move — he fought nausea and disorientation as he crawled toward the white wall. He didn’t make it in time before the chain drew tight, yanking on his neck and dragging him across the floor. He got his feet under him just in time to stand and turn his back to the flange.

The collar clanged home.

The white door opened, and this time it wasn’t the little old babushka lady.

Five white-hooded, white-robed monster-men came through. The last two carried a long pole, from which hung an unconscious man tied to it by his wrists and ankles. He looked like one of those old guys from Chinatown — sun-wrinkled face, black hair flecked with strands of gray, red flannel shirt over a faded Super Bowl XXI shirt, blue jeans and well-worn brown work boots.

Like Aggie and the Mexicans, the man had a metal collar around his neck.

Aggie stared at the monster-men. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He’d been high as fuck last time. He wasn’t high now.

Those weren’t monster faces … they were rubber Halloween masks. A pig and a wolf, like before, but now he saw the goblin was one of those green-faced things that guarded Jabba the Hut in Return of the Jedi. There was also a Hellboy with the red skin and stubby horns, and a white-faced, black-whiskered Hello Kitty.

The robed men wasted no time. Hellboy had that remote-control thing and used it to get some slack from a chain to Aggie’s right. Pig-Face and Hello Kitty untied the man’s wrists, hooked the chain to the man’s collar, then left him lying on the floor.

He lay there, unmoving.

The masked men turned and walked toward the Mexican couple, who had been pulled to their respective places along the wall.

“Devuélvame a mi hijo,” said the Mexican man, his tone a plea thick with despair. “A Dios le pido!”

The robed men said nothing. Their monster masks showed no emotion. They ignored the Mexican man.

Instead, they closed in on his wife.

Five sets of black-gloved hands reached for her, grabbing at arms and feet. She screamed.

“No!” the man shouted. “Déjenla en paz!”

She tried to fight, but she had no chance.

… His wife … Aggie remembered his own wife … remembered the gunshot … the blood …

The Mexican man’s voice betrayed shredding vocal cords. “Chinga a tu madre!” Spit flew from his mouth. His eyes blazed wide with murderous insanity. “Le mataré! Le mataré!”

Hellboy hit a button on the remote control. The woman’s chain went slack, just as it had with her son. The masked men dragged her to the ground, her body half hidden by their white robes.

Aggie stood there, helpless. He couldn’t help her. All he could do was draw attention to himself, and if he did they might take him instead. He stood as still as he could.

The Mexican man’s fingers clawed at his collar. He pulled, tried to slide his fingers inside the metal and leather. He lurched forward, choking himself. His eyes bulged from rage, from a lack of oxygen.

The woman’s bloodied hand shot up through the pile of white robes, clawing at air, reaching for her man.

“Hector!”

The Mexican man — Hector — could not help her.

Hellboy pocketed the remote control. He picked up the wooden pole, then stuck the end of it into the pile of wiggling bodies and hooked the woman’s collar. Like a trained work crew, the masked men quickly grabbed the pole and dragged her across the floor.

Hector shouted a stuttering something that wasn’t a word in any language. He lurched again and again, trying to pull at a collar that would not give. Threads of blood flew from his screaming mouth. Every vein on his face stood out in bas-relief. His wet lips pulled back in a sneer of helpless anguish.

The white-robed men walked out of the jail-cell door, dragging the woman out of sight.

The cage door shut. The chains went slack.

Chest heaving, a nonsensical roar rolling from his mouth, Hector ran forward at full speed. He made it ten steps, just past the shit hole, before the chain snapped taut with an accompanying ring of metal. His feet shot out from under him and he landed hard on his left side.

Hector didn’t try to get up. He started to cry.

The woman’s screams echoed, steadily growing fainter, fainter, until they faded away for good.

Aggie slowly shook his head from side to side. This couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t be. But it was, and he was stone-cold sober.

This was real.

He was fucked. Totally fucked.