Twisted City (12 page)

Everyone
does their part to keep The Pinnacle machine running smoothly. Those who live
here all have specific jobs and responsibilities they share in shifts. Most
guardsman and grounds police were at one time actual officers of the law. A
small number of them are those who were once common citizens but showed an
interest in the job, and such duties have required shifts of twelve hours. A
fair justice system has been practiced since the beginning and makeshift jail
cells are used only when absolutely necessary, which in the beginning was
often, but since the bad apples were picked and tossed from the bunch (exiled
from The Pinnacle) the jail cells are rarely used. Other
duties
such as gardening and farming and butchering and baking is
luckily a
thriving market and trade. The concept is that if it is your duty to work such
a job then you will be able to reap the most benefits, and who really enjoys
going hungry. Not that anyone goes hungry. If you are healthy and able then you
are required to work, whether it’s guardsman or sanitation and maintenance worker
or whatever, and economic work equals your wellbeing.  People understand
the importance of their duties because without
them
things will revert back to draconian times and no one wants that. Complaints
run low. Most everyone is very content with how things are and the direction
they are taking. Happiness is on the brink.

Loak
Bosman is one of the many people who keep the water fountains and filtering
system maintained. He is one of the men who designed and built the water system
that branches
off the river. He always said that you
can live without many things but you’ll end up nowhere real fast without water.
And although Loak takes great pride in his job, he will always be an
auto-mechanic and body repairman at heart.

James
drives the jeep down the street at a slow pace as pedestrians, cyclist, and
rickshaws part sides to allow room for the jeep to drive through. As they pass
by everyone’s face quirks into sudden surprise and then instant joy to see
Lathan riding in the jeep alongside James. They wave and holler their thanks
and blow him kisses as if in a parade. It is uncomfortably overwhelming for
Lathan but he manages to return a smile and wave.

The
water purifier/mechanic/body repairman lives four blocks from James’ building
and one block from the main water fountain. He is married with one child, a son
named Matthew who is eleven years old. Although The Pinnacle is equipped with a
fully operational school and teachers urge parents to have their children
attend there are families who choose to homeschool their children. Matthew’s
mother, Rolanda, is a parent who homeschools her child. She is a robust woman
with long fiery red hair and a welcoming smile. Rolanda excitedly tells her
young son to hurry up and go get his daddy from upstairs, Mr. Grant and the man
who saved everyone from the Maddick’s is here to see him.

Little
Matthew gazes up at Lathan all wide eyed and awestruck; the man he had heard so
much about is right here in front of him.

“Go
on, now,” his momma pushes him toward the stairs. “Get your daddy. We can’t
have these good men waiting.”

Matthew
nearly stumbles over his feet as he races up the stairs.

“Good-looking
boy you got there,” Lathan says.

The
jolly woman’s face turns an even darker hue of red than it had already been
within the last few seconds. She giggles and says, “Oh why thank you, Mr.
Lathan. He is my pride and joy.”

“I’m
sure. But please just call me Lathan.”

“All
right then, Lathan. Why don’t y’all have a
seat.
Can I
get y’all a cup of coffee? I’ve got a pot already made. It’ll be no trouble at
all.”

“Sure,
that’d be great,” James says.

Loak
and his son
come
soaring down the stairs. Loak
abruptly stops at the last step, causing his son to run into him. He stares
unabashed at Lathan for a moment. He’s never seen the man up close before, only
from afar, and now here he is in his home.

“Mr.
Grant.” Loak thrusts his hand out and James shakes it. “Good of you to drop by.
I’m sorry I look such a mess, we weren’t expecting company.” He wears
a grease
stained shirt and shorts.
A thin
man but strong looking with cords of muscle in his arms and legs.

“Nonsense
Loak,” James says. “A man should never have to apologize for the way he looks
in his own home. If anything, I apologize for our unexpected arrival. I’d like
to introduce you to Lathan, who I’m sure you’ve already heard about.”

“Yes,
of course,” Loak shakes Lathan’s offered hand. “Who hasn’t heard so much about
you.
It’s an honor to have you in our home.”

“Thank
you, Loak,” Lathan says.

Loak
upends his palms and throws them out to his sides, now curious as ever. “So how
can I help you fellas?”

“Well,
Loak,” James says, “I do believe you are really going to enjoy this . . .”

“I’m
going to need an unlimited supply of power, a welder, a ton of welding rods, a
cutting torch, and unlimited access to the salvage yard.”

“Done,”
James says. “Is there a certain place you would like to work? You can use my
building’s garage if you’d like. It’s completely secure and you’ll have all the
power you’ll need there.”

“All right.
I’m going to need a couple of extra
hands also. There’s nothing lightweight or easy about a job like this.”

“Whatever
and whomever you need is yours.”

Matthew
has been sitting quietly by his daddy’s side while the three men discussed the
project, and now that there is a break in the conversation he tugs on his
daddy’s arm, getting his attention. Matthew whispers into his ear, and his
daddy responds by saying, “I think you should ask Lathan first. After all, it
is his vehicle.”

The
boy’s big blue eyes, the
spittin
’ image of his
father’s, shyly captures Lathan’s. He swallows and takes a good breath,
building up the courage, lets the breath out and says, “Can I help out, too?”

Lathan
considers Matthew for a moment and then says. “What can a young man such as
yourself
bring to the table?”

As if time itself is threatened to be
snatched away if he doesn’t explain quickly enough he says, “I’m a good helper.
I used to help my daddy out all the
time when he worked on cars and trucks. I know how to do lots of things.”

“Is
that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lots
of things, huh?”

“Yes,
sir, lots of things.”

“Well,
I tell you what, if your father will cosign for you then I don’t see why not.”

A
big toothy smile springs on the boy’s face.

“What’re
you
cheesin
’ so big for?” his daddy says. “I still
ain’t
approved you yet.”

“Aw,
come on, dad.”

Loak
wraps his arm around his son’s neck, pulling him into his side, and vigorously
knuckle rubs the top of his head, giving his son one hellacious
noogie
.

“
Daaaad
,”
Matthew protests as he tries to ward
off the vicious knuckles.

“You’re
not off the hook in doing your studies, mister.” Mother Law says sharply. “I
still expect you to do those as well.”

“I
know, mom. I can still do my school work and help dad too.”

“Why
don’t you go now with your mom and get back to your studies,” Loak says. “We
start tomorrow, bright and early. Okay champ.”

“Okay
daddy.”

Matthew
gives his daddy a big python hug and then without hesitation runs over to
Lathan and gives him a quick hug as well and says, “Thank you.”

The
boy’s sudden embrace catches Lathan off guard and for a moment he isn’t sure
how to respond. The weird thing is that Lathan is almost able to actually feel
the emotional happiness coming from the boy and that unexpectedly stirs
something inside
himself
, momentarily throwing him
off.

Lathan
pats the boy affectionately on the back and then he runs off with a giddy smile
on his face, disappearing somewhere into the back of their home. Rolanda
follows behind him.

Ever
since the day the stranger mysteriously arrived at The Pinnacle he’s been
watching him. Anywhere the stranger goes, he follows. It’s been a bore for the
last couple of weeks, the stranger being injured from the supposedly selfless
act of heroism he so miraculously displayed has kept him secluded for recovery,
but now he’s come out and has accompanied James Grant to the Bosman’s home
.
Very curious.
What could they
want with the Bosman’s? So he waits, busying himself with cleaning the area,
his job as a street sanitation worker, yet keeping an ever watchful eye on the
Bosman’s home. Many things run through his mind as to what business they have
here but none of them makes any sense. Loak Bosman is a water boy whose wife
homeschools their little son, a small family who enjoys their privacy with
nothing even remotely interesting about them. Maybe that’s just it, it’s too
clean-cut, and something is taking place here that only a select few know
anything about and now this stranger is being allowed in on it.
But why not himself?
  Isn’t it he who has been here
since the beginning, busting his ass for the Great Mr. James Grant and helping
him build his precious Pinnacle? But who gets the glory and adoration?
Certainly not him.
He’s stewed over it for some time now,
and it’s just begun to boil.

It
really got to him when the stranger showed up after claiming to have saved Taya
Grant, precious niece of James Grant. How convenient. He is probably now laying
the pipe to her and he bets that she is only too eager to spread those legs for
him. The bitch should be his instead.
Pretty little thing
that she is.
She is like all the others though. He can’t stand it. It’s
like acid in his brain when he thinks about it and he thinks about it often
since this prick showed up.

So
the stranger killed many Maddick’s. That’s something they would have done
anyway. There may have been many casualties but he’s sure they would have
prevailed. If only he was running things . . .

Finally
the injured hero and the Great Mr. James Grant step out of the Bosman’s home
and get into the jeep. He hops on his bicycle and follows them back to their
building where they disappear into the underground parking garage, a place he
cannot go. He doesn’t possess authorization to enter the parking area or the
building itself but he plans to fix that very soon.

He
peddles his way back to his own place; the basement of a small building. Ideal
for him since no one seems to want to bother a man who chooses to reside in a
basement rather than have a place with a decent view. But he feels safe and
secure in this completely private and windowless shelter. One word comes to
mind: entombed. That’s just as well, he likes it that way. It’s kept clean and
free of varmints so it is far from squalid.

He
carries his bike inside the building and down to his domain. He keeps the door
to the basement locked; he stands his bike against the wall next to the door
inside the basement and relocks the door from the inside with the same master
lock. He lights all the candles situated around the room and one kerosene lamp.
It’s a simple place; a bed and dresser drawers in one area, a desk surrounded
by tables covered with electronics and other equipment in another area, a lone
table off to the side serves as his dining area, and neatly stacked boxes full
of knickknack’s he’s accumulated over time covers one wall. He’s played with
the idea of opening a thrift store but decided against it, there are many of
those as it is and he gets by well enough with the trades he makes anyway.

He
opens a desk drawer and takes out a small cardboard box and a pleather bag. The
batteries are rechargeable but he still only uses them sparingly in his
flashlights and what-not’s. Both transmitters work like new. Not much use for
them lately or for any of the other things he is about to use until now. He
cannot stand for someone to have so
much spotlight
! He
should be the one with it all, not him! But he is about to change all that. Oh
yes, he is. First thing’s first though, he needs to find out what they are up
to. There may be value in it.

The
ground is caked with blood. Teeth can be found embedded in the dirt like the
one just spat out with a mouthful of blood and saliva. One eye is closed up, the
lid so taut and swollen that it appears close to bursting, the skin of his
cheekbone is cut, and the fresh punch to the mouth split his bottom lip wide
open. The other man is just as thrashed with a busted cauliflower ear, broke
nose, and busted mouth. The fight will last until one of them taps out, is
knocked out, or is killed. Fights are set up nearly every day and this is the
fifth fight today. It has proven to be the best form of entertainment. The
crowd cheers, yells, screams, curses, some close to losing their minds with
excitement. Violence, the ultimate stimuli, and the place
is
constantly fueled by it, never seeming to run short of it.

 Mongoose
comes to the fights often.
For the learning experience if
anything.
He pays close attention to each fighter’s flaws – open areas
of missed opportunities, clumsy footwork, checks and balances – just as much as
he pays attention to their able fighting abilities. Most of these men only know
how to street fight with no real technique. Occasionally someone will show up
with experience in boxing or has some type of martial art skill but unless they
are exceptionally good their knowledge and know-how still doesn’t amount to
much. It all comes down to who has the most will and heart to defeat their
opponent. And then again sometimes it depends on just how crazy they are.

“Aha!”
yells the dusty old man standing next to Mongoose after the fighter with the
broken nose falls on his ass from another punch to the nose. “I told
ya
he was going down! Didn’t I tell
ya
that in the beginning? He’s going down!”

Mongoose
grins to himself. He and the old man bet a cup of bootleg on who will win,
something the two have been doing ever since they met at a fight almost two
weeks ago. So far Mongoose has won nearly every bet, but even so, he still buys
the old man a cup afterwards.

The
fighter is bleeding profusely from the nose; his whole face is a mask of gore.
The other fighter faces the crowd, arms held high, growling and parading
around, prematurely celebrating victory. The one on the ground touches the
mangled mush that is his nose, understands the damage done, and then lumbers to
his feet by the force of sheer madness. He charges and tackles the other man to
the ground and follows through with a rapid succession of punches to the face.
First the nose breaks. Next, the swollen eye busts open. After that he is too
overwhelmed to even try to fight back so he does his best to ward off and block
the punches the best he can. Soon he is knocked out but the winner isn’t
finished. He drags the fallen fighter to the center of the ring, takes one of
his arms, and snaps it with a fall. The crowd goes wild. He does the same to
the other arm and then throws his own arms up into the air and the crowd roars
with excitement.

“Bah!”
the old man grumbles, waving the back of his hand toward the ring. “I tell
ya
, back in my day I would’ve –”

“Torn
both of them apart, limb by limb,” Mongoose says, being quicker on the uptake.
He’s heard it several times already.

The
old man casts a leer at the kid that says,
Okay, smartass
.

Mongoose
snickers, taking the old man by the shoulder, and says, “Come on, Tank, let’s
go have that drink.”

Max
follows as they weave themselves through the crowd. Being in large groups is
something new to Max and at first he was timid but is now getting used to it.

There
are a few outside bars to choose from but the one they frequent most is run by
a big black Jamaican who is so black that he makes most black folks look
light-skinned. His bar tends to have the best bootleg, which still isn’t saying
much.

They
seat themselves at the bar and Tank hollers, “
Yo
,
Gorilla Black! I need two!”

The
barkeep cuts his conversation off short and goes over to Tank and Mongoose,
placing two cups on the bar. He brings up a large jug from under the bar and
pours each a cup of brown liquid.

“
Mmm
,
”
 Mongoose
says, “what’s it made out of today?”

“You
don’t want to know,
mon
.
”
Gorilla Black’s Jamaican accent is thick.

“And
I don’t care, so long as it gets me to where I want to be,” Tank replies,
taking up his cup and making half of it disappear in a single gulp.

“I
take it you be
payin
’ again, uh, Mongoose?” Gorilla
Black says jocularly.

“Don’t
I always?”

“What
the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Tank says,
indignance
written all over his deeply lined face as he stares at one and then the other.
“You don’t think I can pay? Or you don’t think I can call a winning fight?”

Gorilla
Black hunches his massive shoulders and says, “Both.”

Mongoose
laughs and Gorilla Black follows suit.

“To hell with the both of you.”
Tank kills his cup, slaps it down on
the bar, and says, “Now pour me another, damn Puerto Rican.”

“Jamaican,”
Gorilla Black corrects.

“Whatever
the hell you are, pour me another.”

Tank
is poured another and this time he takes a smaller gulp, wanting this one to
last since it may be the last cup he gets today. Well, and possibly the one the
kid is sipping on, he hardly ever finishes his, not much of a drinker, bless
his heart, he just enjoys the scene.

Gorilla
Black shoots the bull with the two for a few minutes then leaves to another
customer. He gives everyone a bit of his
time,
it
keeps him well informed on the town’s gossip.

Once
alone, Tank says, “So have you figured out what you’re going to do?”

“I
already told you.”

“No,
you told Vincent what he wanted to hear, which is completely different than
what you’re going to do. Just like what you’re going to do may be completely
different than what you really want to do or even should do. And wants and
shoulds
can be two completely different things as well.”

“I
know what I should do.”

“Okay.
And while you are undoubtedly considering what you should do as being
beneficial for yourself, are you also considering it being beneficial for the
greater good of others?”

Mongoose
stares unseeingly into his drink, displaying no emotion.

“You
know, Mongoose, it’s a known fact that I hate that son of a bitch, Vincent, and
the things he does. There’s nothing but a bunch of haters here hating on the
next man for what he is or for what little he’s got and Vincent is the worst
hater there is. And this place may be screwed up to all hell because of him but
for most of us it’s all we’ve got. There’s nowhere else for us to go. The
Pinnacle sure as hell
ain’t
going to welcome us with
open arms. They’ve allowed all they’re going to
allow,
with a few exceptions, but other than that they’ve closed their gates on the
rest of the world. Can you blame them? Hell, look what’s out
here.
Sheesh.”

“So
what are you saying exactly?”

“Look,
all I’m saying is keep everybody in mind.
The people here,
plus those at The Pinnacle, because there’s plenty good people in both places.
Just like I’m sure
there’s
still some bad folks at The
Pinnacle. They’re obviously a lot more inhibited than those here but they’re
there. The main thing is to watch your back. Don’t think for a minute that just
because you’re under Vincent’s protection you won’t be stabbed in the back
because Vincent is just the one who’ll do it.” Tank takes another gulp of his
drink. He sighs with quenched satisfaction,
then
says,
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe we’ll all just end up killing each other. Who
knows?”

Yeah,
maybe,
Mongoose
thinks to himself.

Tank
is the first friend he’s ever had. Mongoose has always been leery of people, doesn’t
trust too easily, but when he met Tank he felt an honest credibility in the old
man like no other. Maybe it’s because he gave Tank the social chance that he
would not give others. And for that he still doesn’t understand why? But what
he does know is that he enjoys Tank’s don’t-give-a-damn attitude, a winning
trait in the eyes of Mongoose. Although the old man probably won’t bust a grape
in a fight, it sure as hell doesn’t mean he won’t try and give it his all. He
confided in Tank about Vincent’s proposition a few days ago and for any and all
purposes he doesn’t feel much like discussing it now.

Mongoose
carries his cup down to Max. “Want some, Boy?”

Max
sniffs the cups contents and recoils.

 
“Didn’t think so.
Here you go, Tank. I’m taking a walk.” He
digs out several pistol cartridges from his pocket and tosses them on the bar –
bullet money. “Have yourself a couple more. I’ll catch you later.”

“All
right, my
boy,
will do.”

Tank
notices the direction his young friend is heading and hollers out behind him,
“Don’t let them whores take you too fast!”

Mongoose
spins around, smiling mischievously, and hollers back, “They can take me any
way but loose!”

To
be young again,
the
old man thinks to himself.
If only to be young again.