The Urban Fantasy Anthology

  Wayne got on the table next to Calhoun and Brother Lazarus strapped him down. The nun brought the tray over and Brother Lazarus did to him what he had done to Calhoun. The nun stood over Wayne and looked down at his face. Wayne tried to read something in her features but couldn’t find a clue.

  When Brother Lazarus was finished he took hold of Wayne’s chin and shook it. “My, but you two boys look healthy. But you can never be sure. We’ll have to run the blood through some tests. Meantime, Sister Worth will run a few additional tests on you, and,” he nodded at the unconscious Calhoun, “I’ll see to your friend here.”

  “He’s no friend of mine,” Wayne said.

  They took Wayne off the table, and Sister Worth and Brother Fred, and his shotgun, directed him down the hall into another room.

  The room was lined with shelves that were lined with instruments and bottles. The lighting was poor, most of it coming through a slatted window, though there was an anemic yellow bulb overhead. Dust motes swam in the air.

  In the center of the room on its rim was a great, spoked wheel. It had two straps well spaced at the top, and two more at the bottom. Beneath the bottom straps were blocks of wood. The wheel was attached in back to an upright metal bar that had switches and buttons all over it.

  Brother Fred made Wayne strip and get on the wheel with his back to the hub and his feet on the blocks. Sister Worth strapped his ankles down tight, then he was made to put his hands up, and she strapped his wrists to the upper part of the wheel.

  “I hope this hurts a lot,” Brother Fred said.

  “Wipe the blood off your face,” Wayne said. “It makes you look silly.” Brother Fred made a gesture with his middle finger that wasn’t religious and left the room.

  8

  Sister Worth touched a switch and the wheel began to spin, slowly at first, and the bad light came through the windows and poked through the rungs and the dust swam before his eyes and the wheel and its spokes threw twisting shadows on the wall.

  As he went around, Wayne closed his eyes. It kept him from feeling so dizzy, especially on the down swings.

  On a turn up, he opened his eyes and caught sight of Sister Worth standing in front of the wheel staring at him. He said, “Why?” and closed his eyes as the wheel dipped.

  “Because Brother Lazarus says so,” came the answer after such a long time Wayne had almost forgotten the question. Actually, he hadn’t expected a response. He was surprised that such a thing had come out of his mouth, and he felt a little diminished for having asked.

  He opened his eyes on another swing up, and she was moving behind the wheel, out of his line of vision. He heard a snick like a switch being flipped and lightning jumped through him and he screamed in spite of himself. A little fork of electricity licked out of his mouth like a reptile tongue tasting air.

  Faster spun the wheel and the jolts came more often and he screamed less loud, and finally not at all. He was too numb. He was adrift in space wearing only his cowboy hat and boots, moving away from earth very fast. Floating all around him were wrecked cars. He looked and saw that one of them was his ’57, and behind the steering wheel was Pop. Sitting beside the old man was a Mexican. Two more were in the back seat. They looked a little drunk.

  One of the whores in back pulled up her dress and cocked it high up so he could see her pussy. It looked like that needed a shave.

  He smiled and tried to go for it, but the ’57 was moving away, swinging wide and turning its tail to him. He could see a face at the back window. Pop’s face. He had crawled back there and was waving slowly and sadly. A whore pulled Pop from view.

  The wrecked cars moved away too, as if caught in the vacuum of the ′57′sretreat. Wayne swam with his arms, kicked with his legs, trying to pursue the ’57 and the wrecks. But he dangled where he was, like a moth pinned to a board. The cars moved out of sight and left him there with his arms and legs stretched out, spinning amidst an infinity of cold, uncaring stars.

  “…how the tests are run…marks everything about you…charts it…EKG, brain waves, liver…everything…it hurts because Brother Lazarus wants it to…thinks I don’t know these things…that I’m slow…slow, not stupid…smart really…used to be scientist…before the accident…Brother Lazarus is not holy…he’s mad…made the wheel because of the Holy Inquisition…knows a lot about the Inquisition… thinks we need it again…for the likes of men you…the unholy, he says… But he just likes to hurt…I know.”

  Wayne opened his eyes. The wheel had stopped. Sister Worth was talking in her monotone, explaining the wheel. He remembered asking her, “Why” about three thousand years ago.

  Sister Worth was staring at him again. She went away and he expected the wheel to start up, but when she returned, she had a long, narrow mirror under her arm. She put it against the wall across from him. She got on the wheel with him, her little feet on the wooden platforms beside his. She hiked up the bottom of her habit and pulled down her black panties. She put her face close to his, as if searching for something.

  “He plans to take your body…piece by piece…blood, cells, brain, your cock… all of it… He wants to live forever.”

  She had her panties in her hand, and she tossed them. Wayne watched them fly up and flutter to the floor like a dying bat.

  She took hold of his dick and pulled on it. Her palm was cold and he didn’t feel his best, but he began to get hard. She put him between her legs and rubbed his dick between her thighs. They were as cold as her hands, and dry.

  “I know him now…know what he’s doing…the dead germ virus…he was trying to make something that would make him live forever…it made the dead come back…didn’t keep the living alive, free of old age…”

  His dick was throbbing now, in spite of the coolness of her body.

  “He cuts up dead folks to learn…experiments on them…but the secret of eternal life is with the living…that’s why he wants you…you’re an outsider…those who live here he can…test…but he must keep them alive to do his bidding…not let them know how he really is…needs your insides and the other man’s…he wants to be a God…flies high above us in a little plane and looks down… Likes to think he is the creator, I bet…”

  “Plane?”

  “Ultralight.”

  She pushed his cock inside her, and it was cold and dry in there, like liver left overnight on a drainboard. Still, he found himself ready. At this point, he would have gouged a hole in a turnip.

  She kissed him on the ear and alongside the neck; cold little kisses, dry as toast.

  “…thinks I don’t know… But I know he doesn’t love Jesus… He loves himself, and power… He’s sad about his nose…”

  “I bet.”

  “Did it in a moment of religious fervor…before he lost the belief… Now he wants to be what he was… A scientist. He wants to grow a new nose…know how…saw him grow a finger in a dish once…grew it from the skin off a knuckle of one of the brothers… He can do all kinds of things.”

  She was moving her hips now. He could see over her shoulder into the mirror against the wall. Could see her white ass rolling, the black habit hiked up above it, threatening to drop like a curtain. He began to thrust back, slowly, firmly.

  She looked over her shoulder into the mirror, watching herself fuck him.

  There was a look more of study than rapture on her face.

  “Want to feel alive,” she said. “Feel a good, hard dick… Been too long.”

  “I’m doing the best I can,” Wayne said. “This ain’t the most romantic of spots.”

  “Push so I can feel it.”

  “Nice,” Wayne said. He gave it everything he had. He was beginning to lose his erection. He felt as if he were auditioning for a job and not making the best of impressions. He felt like a knothole would be dissatisfied with him.

  She got off of him and climbed down.

  “Don’t blame you,” he said.

  She went behind the wheel and touched some things on the upright. She m
ounted him again, hooked her ankles behind his. The wheel began to turn. Short electrical shocks leaped through him. They weren’t as powerful as before. They were invigorating. When he kissed her it was like touching his tongue to a battery. It felt as if electricity was racing through his veins and flying out the head of his dick; he felt as if he might fill her with lightning instead of come.

  The wheel creaked to a stop; it must have had a timer on it. They were upside down and Wayne could see their reflection in the mirror; they looked like two lizards fucking on a window pane.

  He couldn’t tell if she had finished or not, so he went ahead and got it over with. Without the electricity he was losing his desire. It hadn’t been an A-one piece of ass, but hell, as Pop always said, “Worse pussy I ever had was good.”

  “They’ll be coming back,” she said. “Soon… Don’t want them to find us like this…Other tests to do yet.”

  “Why did you do this?”

  “I want out of the order… Want out of this desert… I want to live… And I want you to help me.”

  “I’m game, but the blood is rushing to my head and I’m getting dizzy. Maybe you ought to get off me.”

  After an eon she said, “I have a plan.”

  She untwined from him and went behind the wheel and hit a switch that turned Wayne upright. She touched another switch and he began to spin slowly, and while he spun and while lightning played inside him, she told him her plan.

  9

  “I think ole Brother Fred wants to fuck me,” Calhoun said. “He keeps trying to get his finger up my asshole.”

  They were back in their room. Brother Fred had brought them back, making them carry their clothes, and now they were alone again, dressing.

  “We’re getting out of here,” Wayne said. “The nun, Sister Worth, she’s going to help.”

  “What’s her angle?”

  “She hates this place and wants my dick. Mostly, she hates this place.” “What’s the plan?”

  Wayne told him first what Brother Lazarus had planned. On the morrow he would have them brought to the room with the steel tables, and they would go on the tables, and if the tests had turned out good, they would be pronounced fit as fiddles and Brother Lazarus would strip the skin from their bodies, slowly, because according to Sister Worth he liked to do it that way, and he would drain their blood and percolate it into his formulas like coffee, cut their brains out and put them in vats and store their veins and organs in freezers.

  All of this would be done in the name of God and Jesus Christ (Eees num be prased) under the guise of finding a cure for the dead folks germ. But it would all instead be for Brother Lazarus who wanted to have a new nose, fly his ultralight above Jesus Land, and live forever.

  Sister Worth’s plan was this:

  She would be in the dissecting room. She would have guns hidden. She would make the first move, a distraction, then it was up to them.

  “This time,” Wayne said, “one of us has to get on top of that shotgun.”

  “You had your finger up your ass in there today, or we’d have had them.”

  “We’re going to have surprise on our side this time. Real surprise. They won’t be expecting Sister Worth. We can get up there on the roof and take off in that ultralight. When it runs out of gas we can walk, maybe get back to the ’57 and hope it runs.”

  “We’ll settle our score then. Whoever wins keeps the car and the split tail. As for tomorrow, I’ve got a little ace.”

  Calhoun pulled on his boots. He twisted the heel of one of them. It swung out and a little knife dropped into his hand. “It’s sharp,” Calhoun said. “I cut a Chinaman from gut to gill with it. It was easy as sliding a stick through fresh shit.”

  “Been nice if you’d had that ready today.”

  “I wanted to scout things out first. And to tell the truth, I thought one pop to Brother Fred’s mouth and he’d be out of the picture.”

  “You hit him in the nose.”

  “Yeah, goddamn it, but I was aiming for his mouth.”

  10

  Dawn and the room with the metal tables looked the same. No one had brought in a vase of flowers to brighten the place.

  Brother Lazarus’s nose had changed however; there were two pearl onions nestled in it now.

  Sister Worth, looking only a little more animated than yesterday, stood nearby. She was holding the tray with the instruments. This time the tray was full of scalpels. The light caught their edges and made them wink.

  Brother Fred was standing behind Calhoun, and Brother Mold Fuzz was behind Wayne. They must have felt pretty confident today. They had dispensed with the dead folks.

  Wayne looked at Sister Worth and thought maybe things were not good. Maybe she had lied to him in her slow talking way. Only wanted a little dick and wanted to keep it quiet. To do that, she might have promised anything. She might not care what Brother Lazarus did to them.

  If it looked like a double cross, Wayne was going to go for it. If he had to jump right into the mouth of Brother Fred’s shotgun. That was a better way to go than having the hide peeled from your body. The idea of Brother Lazarus and his ugly nose leaning over him did not appeal at all.

  “It’s so nice to see you,” Brother Lazarus said. “I hope we’ll have none of the unpleasantness of yesterday. Now, on the tables.”

  Wayne looked at Sister Worth. Her expression showed nothing. The only thing about her that looked alive was the bent wings of the bird birthmark on her cheek.

  All right, Wayne thought, I’ll go as far as the table, then I’m going to do something. Even if it’s wrong.

  He took a step forward, and Sister Worth flipped the contents of the tray into Brother Lazarus’s face. A scalpel went into his nose and hung there. The tray and the rest of its contents hit the floor.

  Before Brother Lazarus could yelp, Calhoun dropped and wheeled. He was under Brother Fred’s shotgun and he used his forearm to drive the barrel upwards. The gun went off and peppered the ceiling. Plaster sprinkled down.

  Calhoun had concealed the little knife in the palm of his hand and he brought it up and into Brother Fred’s groin. The blade went through the robe and buried to the hilt.

  The instant Calhoun made his move, Wayne brought his forearm back and around into Brother Mold Fuzz’s throat, then turned and caught his head and jerked that down and kneed him a couple of times. He floored him by driving an elbow into the back of his neck.

  Calhoun had the shotgun now, and Brother Fred was on the floor trying to pull the knife out of his balls. Calhoun blew Brother Fred’s head off, then did the same for Brother Mold Fuzz.

  Brother Lazarus, the scalpel hanging from his nose, tried to run for it, but he stepped on the tray and that sent him flying. He landed on his stomach. Calhoun took two deep steps and kicked him in the throat. Brother Lazarus made a sound like he was gargling and tried to get up.

  Wayne helped him. He grabbed Brother Lazarus by the back of his robe and pulled him up, slammed him back against a table. The scalpel still dangled from the monk’s nose. Wayne grabbed it and jerked, taking away a chunk of nose as he did. Brother Lazarus screamed.

  Calhoun put the shotgun in Brother Lazarus’s mouth and that made him stop screaming. Calhoun pumped the shotgun. He said, “Eat it,” and pulled the trigger. Brother Lazarus’s brains went out the back of his head riding on a chunk of skull. The brains and skull hit the table and sailed onto the floor like a plate of scrambled eggs pushed the length of a cafe counter.

  Sister Worth had not moved. Wayne figured she had used all of her concentration to hit Brother Lazarus with the tray.

  “You said you’d have guns,” Wayne said to her.

  She turned her back to him and lifted her habit. In a belt above her panties were two .38 revolvers. Wayne pulled them out and held one in each hand. “Two-Gun Wayne,” he said.

  “What about the ultralight?” Calhoun said. “We’ve made enough noise for a prison riot. We need to move.”

  Sister Worth turned t
o the door at the back of the room, and before she could say anything or lead, Wayne and Calhoun snapped to it and grabbed her and pushed her toward it.

  There were stairs on the other side of the door and they took them two at a time. They went through a trap door and onto the roof and there, tied down with bungee straps to metal hoops, was the ultralight. It was blue-and-white canvas and metal rods, and strapped to either side of it was a twelve gauge pump and a bag of food and a canteen of water.

  They unsnapped the roof straps and got in the two-seater and used the straps to fasten Sister Worth between them. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was a ride.

  They sat there. After a moment, Calhoun said, “Well?”

  “Shit,” Wayne said. “I can’t fly this thing.”

  They looked at Sister Worth. She was staring at the controls.

  “Say something, damn it,” Wayne said.

  “That’s the switch,” she said. “That stick…forward is up, back brings the nose down…side to side…”

  “Got it.”

  “Well, shoot this bastard over the side,” Calhoun said. Wayne cranked it, gave it the throttle. The machine rolled forward, wobbled.

  “Too much weight,” Wayne said.

  “Throw the cunt over the side,” Calhoun said.

  “It’s all or nothing,” Wayne said. The ultralight continued to swing its tail left and right, but leveled off as they went over the edge.

  They sailed for a hundred yards, made a mean curve Wayne couldn’t fight, and fell straight away into the statue of Jesus, striking it in the head, right in the midst of the barbed wire crown. Spot lights shattered, metal groaned, the wire tangled in the nylon wings of the craft and held it. The head of Jesus nodded forward, popped off, and shot out on the electric cables inside like a jack-inthe-box. The cables pulled tight a hundred feet from the ground and worked the head and the craft like a yo-yo. Then the barbed wire crown unraveled and dropped the craft the rest of the way. It hit the ground with a crunch and a rip and a cloud of dust.