go finish moving the boxes for tomorrow.”
“Yes, okay,” he nodded as he ran into the next room.
Strange. My nicotine craving kicked up, and I decided to drop the odd situation in return for a smoke break. I went through the front door, and stood outside in the cold under the orange and neon, the street cameras, pedestrians, and thugs. I filled my lungs with smoke, and thought of Fung and how untouchable he was.
The truth about our business was that you do not stay in business without the investment of professional criminals. Drug lords, arms dealers, assassins, the type of people you hear inklings about on the news but would be unable to point out in a crowd.
II.VIII
Empty drunken nights. Long meaningless conversations.
I probably have to work again. What day was it?
The telephone rang. Blinding light reflected from the snow.
“Hello?” I said.
Every motion felt taxing.
I just want to destroy something.
“Hey, you haven't talked to me for the past couple of days.”
“I'm sorry, it just feels like I've been living in fragments.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I'm sorry. We'll go have coffee soon. How does Friday sound?”
“Sounds like a plan. Just don't bail on me again.”
“Deal.”
Everything had a price I wasn't willing to pay. Had I been betrayed?
Eris? Is that you?
“Alright, listen I'm calling on my break. I've got to get back to work.”
“Okay, I'll see you.”
“Bye.”
I just want to destroy everything.
Click. Silence.
III
Lights raced across the window. The train sped down the dark subway tunnels. Every stop would let in cold air. The floor was damp and blackened by snow covered boots. Old newspapers, transfer slips, and paper cups melted away as they laid on the floor.
Aleksi sat smiling across from me.
“This is going to be awesome!”
I could barely hear him over the roar of the train. Bits of pulped paper began to stick to my salt encrusted boot.
“Next stop is us!” Aleksi said giving me the thumbs up.
The station exit led us into a plaza. White lights dimly lit the way, reflecting off the snow and the ice of the artificial pool. Skyscrapers surrounded the plaza and shielded it from the rest of the city. The ceaseless hum of their heating units muffled the sounds of the outside world. Skeleton trees crisscrossed the plaza in intricate patterns, their bark pierced by chain locks and the posting of bills. Shards of ice and salt cracked under our feet.
“So where is it that we're going again?”
“Stacy's, I've told you about a million times!”
“Who the fuck is Stacy?”
“She was in our English class in high school, how could you not remember!?”
I gave Aleksi a blank stare.
“Fuck you!” Aleksi said as he quickened his pace. The vodka bottles clinked against each other in his backpack.
“You better not break those.” Sober nights had become long nights not worth enduring.
We left the synthetic valley and immediately found ourselves on the street. The orange and neon reminded us that we were still in the city.
This was where I grew up, where I had met Berne, Aleksi, Rean, and Eris. Like all places in the city it had since changed beyond recognition. The parks and their monuments were bulldozed to make way for more skyscrapers. Old highrises were retrofitted, their new additions protruded like mould on a corpse. Though these changes reminded the community of more prosperous days. The cancer of the ghetto had since crept in. We walked passed strips of dead street, broken lights, stores out of business. We passed the remnants of the bookstore re-purposed as a dive bar; the ice cream parlour that was replaced by a sex-shop. Little by little this place would be eventually consumed.
The crack of ice and salt beneath our boots began to be complemented by the crunch of broken glass. We ventured off the main street and into the suburban blocks. It was darker there without the neon and storefronts, though the orange lights were still present to dimly illuminate the way.
“We're here,” Aleksi said as we turned up the drive way to an old house. The white paint peeled off of every cracked wooden surface. Three men sat smoking in the shadows of the porch, their faces barely visible in the light from the house.
“Hey, how's it going?”
They nodded back and continued their quiet conversation while staring into the street.
“Hello?!” Aleksi opened the door. The floor vibrated, muffled voices could be heard.
“They're downstairs,” one of the men on the porch yelled in at us as the door swung shut.
The sweat choked air clung to the skin. Bass rocked and shook everything and everyone. I sat in a white room with white tiles, separate from the main party, sheltered from the roar of the speakers and the sway of dancers. The red pleather sofa creaked as I constantly readjusted myself and made small-talk with others seeking shelter from the noise.
Hey. Hi. How's it going. What do you do? Oh interesting. How so? Have you ever? The standard issue bullshit people say to kill the time. The kind of standard issue bullshit that starts becoming interesting after half a bottle of vodka.
Every exhaling breath was alcohol exhaust. My heart pounded, my veins danced.
“What is it that you said you did again?” the girl next to me said, a hood covered most of her face.
“Counterfeit entertainment.”
“What is that?”
I laughed and took another swig of vodka. She turned, confused, and began a conversation with someone else.
A slouched neanderthal of a man stopped at the doorway, a beer in his hand. His skin looked it was sun burnt red despite the winter climate. I put down my bottle of vodka.
'Fuck,' I thought to myself.
His walk was a forced swagger, which caused his oversized clothes to swing and sway as he waddled towards me.
“Hey Jon,” he said touching the brim of his red cap.
“How's it going Benny.”
“Not bad,” he began talking as if I had asked him to tell me about his life. He rambled on about how he had become a respected tough guy; how successful he had become from selling drugs; all the women he had been with as a result of his new found abilities as a player.
Hit him.
I didn't believe a word of it. News through the grapevine was that Benny was stuck slinging overpriced drugs to dumb high school kids, and that him and his buddies would partake in the occasional mugging in order to make ends meet. I would trust the hearsay and rumours of others over the word of this wannabe gangster. For Benny it was always about the image, the thrill of being a somebody. He was nothing more than an imposter, a thug.
His breath reeked of cheap beer.
“So how are you?”
“Fine,” I avoided looking in his general direction in the vain hope that he would get the message and simply leave me alone.
Hit him. Said another of my mind's voices.
“You still dating that girl?”
“No.”
“Oh yeah? How come?”
Hit him. A third voice chimed in.
I remained silent.
“That's too bad. I still remember her from high school-” he continued his monologue. He began to describe all the things other men were probably doing to her right now, laughing and spilling his beer as he did, patting my shoulder with his clammy hands. I faked a smile and stared off.
Hit him.
He changed the train of thought to what he would do to her if ever had the chance. All the debased and deviant acts. He laughed as if all in good humour, as if my separation made this conversation fair-game. I was starting to be unsure if I was being shook by the bass or by anger.
My mind was drowned in a chorus of voices. Hit him. They screamed.
&nbs
p; I looked him in the eye as my smile began to crack.
“Hey Benny.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck you,” I said as I punched him across the jaw. Nothing beautiful, just raw savagery. Benny fell backwards towards the door, surprise and pain on his face. He looked up at me, expression changing into anger, his body poised to stand.
The voices cackled. Hit him, hit him. They insisted. Anger and adrenaline surging through my right arm.
“You're de-” I kicked him in the face before he managed to finish his threat. His body went limp and I climbed on top of his chest. I managed to throw one punch onto his already bloodied face before I was knocked over from behind and rolled out of the room. I shielded my face from a kick that came soon after and quickly slid up the wall. The force stung my forearms. Two men followed me out of the room I had rolled out of, standing not further than seven feet away. Vigilante or friend of Benny's, it did not matter.
The music stopped and the thump of the bass was replaced by the beat of my heart. Everybody stopped dancing and stared. Blood began to trickle down my forearms and fingertips.
“This fucker,” one of the two men said while pointing at me, “just fucked up Benny.”
I started backing up towards the staircase. Men from the crowd began to side behind the two, as spectators began to back away from the situation. I was beyond angry but not stupid enough to think that I was in an advantageous position. Aleksi pushed through the crowd and stood by my side as he kept a watch on the mob that was gathering before us.
“The fuck did you do?” Aleksi whispered into my ear.
It was the calm before the storm.
We reached the wooden steps when one of the men rushed forward and struck me on the side of the mouth. He had overextended himself, I struck him on the temple with the tip of my elbow and watched him stumble