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Renquist opened up the trunk to toss his gloves in and I did the same. Then he walked back to the driver's side of the car and climbed in. I have to admit, I was a little slow in getting back into that vehicle. My eyes lifted slightly, looking back at th area where a human body had been laying only moments before. The pieces sitting in the back seat of our car, the blood vaporized almost completely from the crime scene. My mind felt as though it was swimming in quicksand, a thick tar that kept any thoughts from really being solid enough to consider sensible. I doubt that I blinked more than twice during the whole ordeal. I just dismembered a corpse. A corpse. While the blood was still warm. And the worst part was...I was getting ready to get back into a car with the man who helped me do it.
I shuffled my feet a bit, a little foggy in the head, and just as I stopped to open the car door, Renquist honked the horn. He seemed to get a real kick out of seeing me jump at the noise. A honker never sounded so loud to me before. "Hehehe, let's go, 'partner'. We've got more work to do." He grinned. I suppose he had finally gotten the weak-in-the-stomach expression he was looking for. He made a sucker out of me, alright. A real chump. And he did it all just by telling me the truth. Go figure.
As I got my nerves in order and sat back down in the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice the smug puss on my accomplice. Those damn dark sunglasses were covering up his eyes, but his smirk said it all. "I can understand if you feel like tossing your cookies right about now. Just give me some warning so I can open the door. I like a clean car."
I swallowed hard, and tried to get my senses back. "No thanks. If you've ever had my wife's cooking you'd know that I fought way too hard to keep it down the first time. I'll be damned if I let it out now."
"Gotchya." He said, lighting up a brand new cigarette. Then he tilted the box and offered it to me. "Smoke?"
"Nah. Not my thing."
"Not yet." He told me. "But I assure you, it won't last." That's when he finally started to drive again, and took a back alley to get us back to the main streets. I didn't say a word. My skull was too full of the idea that we had a cut up body no more than two feet behind us. And Renquist was cruising around the streets like we were operating a late night ice cream truck. I kept thinking about the smell. It lingered in my nostrils, and the very thought of it nearly made me gag. I straightened my tie with my right hand. No particular reason to do it...I just needed a momentary activity to keep my brain from running a marathon on me. I guess the silence got to be too much for Renquist to handle. Not that it really bothered him or made him uncomfortable, he just got fed up with the silent treatment, I suppose. He reached over quietly and turned on the radio. He had it tuned in to some old swing jazz radio station, and the volume was at a medium level. Benny Goodman's 'Stompin' At The Savoy' was playing, and despite the soothing tune, I was still feeling trickles of cold perspiration sliding down both of my cheeks. I tried to keep my eyes focused out of the window, my heart still beating like a congo drum from what I had seen. The upbeat tone of the music flooded the car, and Renquist tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel as he drove back to our route. But somehow, what I was hearing on that radio seemed to be more creepy than entertaining at that particular moment. The contrast of the lighthearted music and the darkness surrounding our recent deeds just...didn't match. It felt almost blasphemous. Was he seriously being 'normal' about all of this? Did that just happen back there? Or am I finally ready to be put away with the rest of the animal crackers I come across in my line of work?
I looked down at my hands, and my fingers were trembling. My breathing was heavy. I felt paralyzed mentally, but my body seemed to be throwing a party all on its own, subjecting me to a festive variety of involuntary side effects to having your whole world suddenly flipped upside down. Renquist lifted the armrest between us, and underneath was a small compartment with a metal flask inside. "Here....take a few swigs. It'll calm down those nerves of yours." He said. I didn't take it at first. In fact, I doubt that I had the heart to look him in the eye. But offering me a hit of the sauce was the most compassionate gesture that he's shown me since I first stepped out of my apartment tonight. Besides, the burn of alcohol would certainly taste good right about now. "Go on. Take it. Just make sure you're not too gone off your rocker to function." I looked up at those dark sunglasses for a moment, and then greedily took him up on his offer. I popped the cap back, and began to swallow as much down as I could without tilting the flask back to its upright position. Whiskey. He's got good taste. Not that I would have objected to any kind of liquor at this point. It could have been gasoline out of the tank for all I cared. Anything to shock my brain back into a method of thinking that would be somewhat useful. "Good boy." He grinned, and I handed the flask back to him while wiping the excess from the corners of my mouth.
"Thanks." I told him.
"Don't mention it. Believe it or not, you handled yourself pretty well for your first time out. The fact that you didn't lose your lunch, pass out, or cry like a baby, lets me know that you've got some potential." He took a couple of uninhibited swallows of the whisky himself, "Ahhhh...." and put the flask back under the armrest. "You internalize your emotions, just like me. It's a healthy habit to have in this business. Makes things a bit easier."
"Right." I still couldn't really speak. My mind was still picturing the sickening image of that human head rolling backwards when it was cut from the neck. I kept imagining the twitch in the fingers as I severed the hand from his wrist. I could still feel the slippery chunks of flesh and bone as we worked feverishly to put them into the black garbage bags and load them into the back. I couldn't push it out of my noggin, no matter how hard I tried.
"Gotta love Benny Goodman. That man was a musical genius for his time." He said out of nowhere, his conversation making a feeble attempt to calm me down. "You know, they say Benny Goodman could never remember anybody's name. They all became just another face in the crowd after a while. So, what he did was...he called everybody 'Pops'. You could never go wrong with 'Pops'." Then he flicked his cigarette butt out the window, turned to me, and with a serious face, he said, "What we cut up back there...that was 'slag'. Nothing else. It was faceless, nameless, lifeless. It didn't have a family, it didn't have a history...it was just a couple more chunks of 'meat' for the freezer. Nothing more." He told me. "You reading me...'Pops'?"
As thought that was going to make things any better. But, I nodded regardless to let him know that I understood. And that seemed to put Renquist a bit more at ease.
We drove around for a while longer, and I was hoping and praying that another blip wouldn't come across that screen. Terrified of what it might mean. Already, I feel like God's watching me close, calling the devil's hotline to tell him to make some room for me when I bite the big one. In the meantime, my 'partner' switched back and forth between letting my mind process things in silence, and talking to me just enough to keep myself from going completely nuts over it. I take it that he's been through this before.
"So, Gus...what's your boy's name?"
"My....my boy?"
"Your son. You said he was 16, right? I assume you named him something? Makes it easier to call him to dinner." He said.
"It's Brian. My son's name is Brian." I told him the name, but I almost didn't want him to say it. Not outloud. This man was a murderer. A disposal unit for the murdered bodies of others. To have him put my son's name in his mouth was almost a betrayal of my parental instincts.
"So...is he a handsome boy? Girlfriend?" He asked.
He had to see my discomfort in talking about my family, but he kept pushing anyway. "He's...got himself a young girl that he thinks we don't know about. But she calls him all the time. He takes her to the movies and makes out with her there. Martha and I are turning our heads until he's ready to come clean about it." I was running off at the mouth now. But talking about something, ANYTHING, other than cutting up corpses, was a blessing.
"Sounds sneaky." Renquist smiled. "I was the same way at his age."
"Yeah. We all were, weren't we?" I said.
And then...just as I was about to come up with another topic of conversation that didn't involve my family...I heard the horrifying sound of another blip on that blasted machine. I stared at it, wide eyed, as Renquist studied the numbers, colors, and location of the disturbance. "We've got another yellow alert. It's not that far away from here. We can take it slow. I'd rather our little hunter finish his meal and be on his way before we come in to do our thing. No need to put ourselves in harm's way if we can help it, right?"
I couldn't een answer at first. My eyes were still fixated on the small yellow circle on the box. It was fading in color to a mellow green as we got closer, the pheromone effects wearing off as the body grew cold. My hands started shaking again, and my heartbeat started warming up for its next big race. "Are we....?"
"Yep. This is us. You ready?" I didn't answer him. "You remember what to do?" I couldn't speak. Not at all. Renquist loudly snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Hey!!! Gus! Come on now, I need you to get in the game here. I want us to go in, do what we've gotta do, and split before we draw any attention to ourselves. Got it?" He said. "The LAST thing we want to do is run across a witness. Trust me....you're not ready for that." He pulled the car into an alley, and I looked out of my window to see an abandoned burned down convenience store. The building itself was still standing, but boarded up from the outside and decorated with bricks that had been burned black from the blaze. He stopped to put the car in park, and opened the door, letting the cold October wind rush in to chill me from the outside. As though the trembles from inside weren't bad enough. He walked around the car, and motioned for me to get out and do my job. Heh...'job'. How sickening of a title is THAT for what I was doing?
I crept my way out of the passenger side, and got my 'tools' ready as we climbed over the charred debris and into the dirty husk of the old building. Renquist brought a flashlight with him this time, and turned it on as he searched for the body. Something I wasn't really looking forward to finding.
We both stepped over lose bricks and fallen wood, broken glass and dusty air, and that's when we heard a soft growl coming from over in the corner. Renquist stopped in his tracks, and I saw him stiffen up instantly. The tension was thick, almost too thick to breathe, and I saw him slowly reach down to put his hand on his sidearm pistol. I froze dead in my tracks, my heartbeat pounding in my ears loud enough to deafen me to everything else. The old place was so dark that you couldn't see anything outside of the flashlight's beam, and my knees nearly gave way when I heard the growl get a little louder than before.
There was movement from one of the dark corners behind us, and I felt a panic rising up inside of me. Renquist remained calm, but alert. And after taking a deep breath, he waited for the movement to happen again so he could pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. Then he SWIFTLY drew for his gun and spun aroundwith his flashlight pointing straight ahead!
"WAIT!!! WAIT!!! Please!" It was a young lady's voice, and with the light shining in her eyes we could see she was simply sitting in the corner of the room, a small boy, about 11 years old, sitting on her lap. She was holding him with both arms, as the boy gently struggled and wiggled in her embrace. "He's just a boy! Don't hurt him. Please?" She begged.
Renquist lowered his sidearm, and took the flashlight out of her eyes. It was then that I noticed something. Their eyes...they were....'glowing'. They were emitting a soft light all their own. Especially the little boy, who's eyes had turned a deep red, and he had blood dripping from his lips and chin. My breath got heavier and heavier with each exhalation...and I realized that I was, indeed, in the presence of vampires. Actual, living, breathing, vampires. I stared at their innocent faces, looking just like anybody else on the street. But that glow. That glow. And the blood. The blood had stained the boy's shirt down the front, and he growled a little bit more as he tried to get away from the lady holding him. I couldn't really see what he was reaching for, or why he was so desperate to reach it. But when Renquist shined his light on the spot that he was trying to get to...I figured out what it was.
Lying dead in the corner, was the body of an older man, unshaven, shabbily dressed...I'm thinking a homeless man. And his neck had been ripped open violently, the remaining supply of blood was a mere trickle down the collar of his shirt. The man was dead, he had almost been drained entirely, and yet, the boy still wanted more.
Renquist stepped forward and examined the body briefly, then he took a hold of one of the man's legs, dragged his corpse away from the wall until he was lying down flat on his back. His eyes....those eyes were full of such horror. How long did he fight before his body was forced to give in to the pain of it all? "Move it." He said, and the lady took a strong hold of the boy and they moved aside so that Gordon and I could get to work. "Alright, let's make this quick. This dust is killing me." He said, and I tried to approach the second corpse that I had seen tonight. My eyes glanced at the young lady, who couldn't have been more than 19 or 20 from the looks of her. And the little boy was just coming down from his earlier frenzy, his eyes becoming a softer shade of red, then pink, then it mellowed out into a soft glow that mirrored that of the woman holding him still. I cleared my throat, and looked away from them as Renquist fired up his laser and began with the left arm.
The body was easily dissected and dismembered, that disgusting aroma filling the air as I tried to tell myself that it was only 'slag'. Nothing more. He's faceless. Just remember that he's faceless. It didn't work very well, but the constant mental chant gave me something to think about other than the amputation of body parts. For that, I was thankful.
Wisps of smoke took to the air as more and more of the body had been surgically sliced and diced for our two person audience. I only took short glances at them out of the corner of my eye, wondering how they could watch this with such a fascination. Maybe they had mastered the 'it's only slag' mantra better than I had. They weren't what I expected. Then again, my only vision of true vampires came from novels and horror movies. So if they weren't dressed up as French royalty, hideously deformed in the face, or wearing a cape like some kind of 16th century pimp from hell...I was gonna be surprised either way. They looked so human. So familiar. Especially the kid. You could hardly tell the difference...except for the glow. It was eerily beautiful. I might even go so far as to say that it was strangely exciting. But, like I said, I didn't stare for too long. They did just kill a man in cold blood, afterall.
Renquist's laser cut through the man's side, and the tatter of his clothes spawned a small fire, which Renquist had to put out with his foot. I tried to stay focused, but my laser wasn't cutting deeply enough when I tried to rush through it. So I slowed down and made sure each cut was complete. God help me, I think I might actually get 'good' at this kind of thing someday.
It was then that I had a strange feeling rattling around inside of my skull. I suddenly started thinking about my son Brian for no reason. His 12th birthday, when I bought him that bike he wanted from the toy store window. And then I thought about that vacation Martha and I spent in Lake Tahoe, just for the fun of it. My thoughts were so random, as if they were being 'pulled' from somewhere. And then...I was brought right back to the crime under the bridge earlier tonight. The scent, the sight, the disgusting ease of it all. I saw it all again, clear as day, almost reliving it. That's when I saw Renquist quickly lift his head and shut off his laser, as I think he started to feel it too.
"Hey! KNOCK IT OFF!!! You hear me?" He shouted at the young lady and the boy. "I don't look too kindly on that mind reading shit! So stay out of my head!"
The lady hugged the boy close to her chest. "I'm so so sorry!" She said, then turning the boy around. "Scotty...that's RUDE!" She told him, and then held him close once again. "You'll have to forgive him. He's still new to all of this. This is only his second feeding." She told us as Renquist went back to work. "He was diagnosed with a rare heart condition this past Spring. He was fading fast. There really wasn't any way to cure him, other than crossing him over. He's my sister's kid...and she asked if I'd..."
"I don't seem to remember asking you to tell me your fucking life story." Renquist snarled. The attitude cut her off in mid sentence. I had been listening closely, but he made it clear that we were just here to do a job and leave. "Get the gloves and bags out of the trunk. I'll finish up here."
I took another look at the vampires next to us, and a look of sadness had washed over them. It was almost...a sense of 'shame' for what they had done. Despite the savage act done to this poor man in front of me...these young kids were hardly the monsters I expected them to be. I don't know why that bothered me so much. Probably because it made it all the more difficult to put them in a different category. A different 'species'. They were....they were just like me. How can I hate and fear someone who's just like me?
"C'mon, pick up the pace, Showalski! We don't got all night!" Renquist barked another order in my direction, and I handed him a bag as he scrambled to locate all of the severed pieces scattered across the dusty floor. I slowly bent down, and began assisting him in the task, feeling my dinner rising up in the back of my throat as the slippery, blood soaked, chunks of flesh wobbled limply in my hands. The pieces were still warm. Still fresh. Still bleeding. Do I even want to reach a level of confidence that would allow me to be desensitized to this kinda thing?
At long last, Renquist began burning traces of the leftover blood at the scene. He showed me what button to press on my 'thigamajig' to spread out the laser and get rid of the copius liquid beneath my feet. Then, without another word to our two 'watchers', we tossed the black bags in the back seat, and climbed back in. I did manage to make eye contact with the little boy though, his protective companion gently wiping the blood from his cheeks. And despite the gore on his face, he gave me the most adorable smile, and waved goodbye. He waved as though he had just gotten off a ride at Disney World, and that thin line between horror and total normality was instantly blurred all over again. A confusing conflict that left your head spinning, that's for sure.
As my partner pulled back out of that alley and started driving again, the car returned to silence. He didn't pry too much though. He must have really been experienced in breaking in new partners, because he knew just the right balance between talking and not talking. I suppose I was doing a decent job for my first crack at it. But I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.
Another five minutes went by, and I had a question burning hot in the back of my mind. My only restriction was wondering whether or not I really wanted to know or not. But since we weren't exactly talking baseball stats here, I decided to give it a go. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot." He told me, lighting up another cigarette. "But if it's about that body back there, I already told you...it's just one more black bag for the freezer. End of story."
"Well, it's not that, exactly." I said. At least, I was hoping it wasn't the same thing. "What happens if there's a witness?"
"Say again?"
"A 'witness'. Back there, you said...the last thing we would want to do is attract a witness. You said I wouldn't be ready for that." I looked over at him as he took a deep drag off of his cancer stick. "So....what happens if there's a witness?"
"I think you 'know' what happens, Gus." He said calmly.
"Well, just for clarification, why don't you humor me here?"
Renquist blew his smoke out the window and said, once again, "One more black bag for the freezer. End of story."
"You mean the 'murder' of an innocent civillian?"
"I mean the details of your JOB, Showalski. Your guidelines of right and wrong had better turn an about face and understand that if you wanna get anywhere in this business." He said it with such a cold tone of voice. Not angry, not even commanding, just cold. As cold and as lifeless as the bodies in the back seat. None of this seemed right. How long could this have been going on right under our noses? How many 'slaghunters' were there in this city alone? And...how many people had to die to protect their secret? How many?
We had a few more 'jobs' that night. Two more to be exact. One on the West side of Chicago, and one up North not far from Wrigley Field. The sun was on the rise, and that meant the inevitable end of my shift. Renquist says that four bodies was a slow night for him. He sounded almost disappointed in the take. But not me. Another dead body and I was gonna go bonkers. How wild is that? I've been cutting up bodies, and it takes more than four to push me over the edge. Weird.
Renquist drove back to my neighborhood and stopped right in front of my apartment. He looked over at me with a hardened grin and said, "Not bad for a rookie. But you're gonna have to be a lot faster and a lot more focused tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night...." I trailed off, repeating the words as I realized that this was my new 'habit'.
"Don't get all shakey on me now, Gus. You keep your eyes open and your mind on the task at hand...and you just might make a killing being a slaghunter for the city of Chicago." He grinned a bit, and tossed his cigarette out of the window. "Remember, after the first three days, you've gotta check in with your newly appointed therapist and scratch things out with them before you go back out on the streets." He leaned closer to me, "Do yourself a favor, buddy...be honest. Cry, shout, punch walls, dance around in your jammies if you think it'll help...but don't hide your true feelings from your therapist. You don't want them backing up on ya. So push the macho routine aside and wet up the shoulder of your therapist's sweater, because if you don't, you'll be sucking on graham crackers in a locked room at the mental ward in a week. Probably wondering how the hell you got there. You get me?"
I nodded slowly, and opened the door to the car. But before stepping a foot outside, I asked him, "What if I decide this ain't for me? What if...I figure I just can't go through with this anymore?"
Renquist gave me the most serious, most unemotional, look that I had ever seen from him. The kinda look you get from security at the airport when you've got something ticking in your carry-on bag. His eyes bore into me, even through his sunglasses, and basically gave me the signal that I shouldn't even play around with a notion like that. And he told me, "Once you're in....you're in. End of story. Like it or not. There's only one way out of this outfit...and I haven't found a single person who has done it 'willingly'." I gave him a slightly tilted grin, but his face didn't change. He was very grim about all this. "Remember, Mr. Showalski...you agreed to do this job. You signed a contract. The department frowns on deserters. If you try to back out now, chances are they'll be sending you on a permanent vacation."
"Right." I said. "I kinda figured that." I closed the door, and began to walk towards my front steps. It was then that Renquist rolled down his window.
"Hey, Gus?"
"Yeah?"
He paused for a moment, a solemn look on his face. "You know what I mean when I say...'permanent vacation'.......right?" The words fell lightly on my ears, but their meaning...their meaning hit me like a brick fired out of a cannnon. "We're not talking a pink slip here. Not 'fired', not 'jail time'....permanent. You'd do well to keep that in mind." He said, politely threatening me just minutes before I try to go to sleep. "Goodnight buddy." He smiled. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Same time tomorrow......sure." And with that, he drove off, leaving me on the steps, staring up at my windows. What had I done? What had I done?
I don't think the long walk up those apartment steps has ever been longer or more stressful than it was tonight. It's especially hard to walk a flight of steps when your knees are still shaking.
I opened the door slowly, softly. So happy to taste the welcome scent of my own home again...and yet...I didn't know if I was worthy to step foot in it. Not after the things I've done tonight.
I kicked off my shoes in the hallway, and walked towards my bedroom. I guess Martha was walking back from one of her late night visits to the bathroom, and gave me a warm smile as she saw me enter the room. I never thought a slightly overweight woman with green wrinkle cream under her eyes and her hair in curlers could look so divine. Especially while wearing a ten dollar nightgown from a garage sale in the Edgewater area. "So? How did it go?" She asked. What do I tell her? What do I say?
"It was...'interesting'." I said, trying not to look her in the eye. God forgive me if my gaze gives away the horrors I've seen tonight. "Very eye opening." I told her, sitting down on the bed with my back to her.
"Well, I would certainly hope so with all the money they're paying you." She smiled. "With a paycheck like yours, Brian's going to have his pick of colleges to go to in the next few years." I felt the bed being weighed down gently as she climbed back into it. "Although, I think I should warn you...he has his heart set on getting a car for his 17th birthday."
"Heh....figures." I mumbled. I sat there in the dark, feeling a few unwanted tears in my eyes, but refusing to let them fall. It was only one or two. Don't even know where the waterworks came from to be honest. But I didn't want anything to be wrong. I refused. "I'm gonna take a shower, alright." I turned to look over my shoulder at my wife, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. "Go back to sleep. I'll see you when I wake up." And I got up to shower some of this...wickedness off of me.
I remember grabbing a towel to go to the bathroom, but as I walked down the hall...I saw my son's bedroom door open slightly. He was sleeping so peacefuly. So quietly. I pushed the door open a bit, and stepped inside. I could see him sprawled out on his stomach, his long arms and legs stretching from one side of the mattress to the other, the pillow scrunched up under his face. And I noticed some movement from the curtains on the other side of the room. The window was open, a chilling breeze blowing in to cool him off. No matter what time of year it was, that boy was always complaining about how hot his room was. He's the most warm blooded boy I know.
He has Martha's eyes. I can see so much of her in him. So little of me exists in him physically...but he was quick to pick up all of my bad habits. Every personality flaw and quirk was mirrored to a tee in his every smile, gesture, and motion. My little boy. My heart's favorite treasure. Looking at him now...it's hard to imagine how he got so big without me noticing.
Brian....our Brian. Too old to believe in monsters. Too young to know the horror of the REAL monsters waiting for him out there in the darkness. After all that I've seen tonight, what role could I possibly play as his protector? What will define me in his eyes...if one of those things ever decided to make a faceless victim of him? Another black bag for the freezer.
I walked over to the window, and shut it tight, locking it up and pulling the curtains closed. Renquit was right...I need a stronger lock on this thing. I let out a sigh as I realized that it wouldn't be enough, and with one last lingering look at my son...I left his room and closed the door.
I signed a contract. This is what I am now. This is what I do. And if I stick with it for a while, and prove myself, my family will get safeguard marks from the department. They'll be off limits to these creatures, and maybe I'll be able to rest easy knowing that I was able to provide them with the protection they needed. I may not ever be able to tell them what it is that I do night after night in these city streets...but at least I'll always know that I have a family to come home to. A haven of safety for the ones I love.
In a world full of so much evil...it's one of the only comforts I have left.
I hardly slept a wink that night. I stared off into space as I saw the sun coming up once again, the room brightening with the hope of a new day. A new beginning. A new opportunity. But...how long could that light last? And how much will I treasure it...when it's inevitably gone again from my eyes?
Day one.
That's how it always begins, isn't it?
Day one.
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