Metro
Posted: Thu Jul 04, 2002 8:54 am
The blistering sun leans to the west over the dusty orange streets of Metro. Once a bustling city full of sophistication, Metro is now only a tattered skeleton of a town. Legend has it that one of the ‘big ones’ was headed here. A bomb of that size should have left a canyon in this part of the world. Delivered by a space-fired rocket, the population would have had little time to react before all hell went up. For some reason, it never landed or did and just never went off, no one knows. Instead, fighting armies and rioting citizens tore the city apart slowly. The few hollow buildings that remain are rod-iron and concrete statues of the past. Their walls are adorned with decorative carving and stonework scared with blast marks, ash and rust. In this desolate heat the great accomplishments of man are mocked by his own course of action. The streets are stripped of their pavement in huge patches and rubble covers most of the open ground. The dust in the air never settles it just blows from one direction to another. Dirty kids scurry back and forth throwing rocks and sticks at each other. Women gather in doorways to gossip and cluck. And the men of the town are either working in the mine, drunk or trying to get to either, neither or both.
And in the middle of it all is Leo. His eyes squinting, not from the dust or the glaring sun, but from hard concentration. He utters groans of pain and confusion as he makes his way through the haze. His heavy shoes leave crooked footsteps that are swept away by the passing breeze. Silhouetted in the glowing dust, his form rocks back and forth as he crosses the street. His oversized suit further deforms his peculiar shadow. A simple gray striped suit, shredded at all four cuffs. Reaching the curb Leo lifts his eyes to see if he has made it to the right spot. Above the door reads, “Hurley Burley�, this was the place.
Leo stands tall in an instant. He cinches his belt and thumbs the buttons on his jacket. Holding his head high, his fingers slide through his graying hair; licking his fingertips he straightens his eyebrows. With a ‘know all about nothing’ smirk on his face, and his collar in one hand Leo proceeds to the door.
The door flings open; Leo is still a few feet away but flinches with a small hop. He begins to sweat, he has never liked tension. His eyes dart back and forth as a pair of hands grip the doorposts and a man’s marbled voice cries out for forgiveness, something about an accident. Leo is torn between his destination and getting mashed in the scuffle here. He quickly decides to look as inconspicuous as possible. Just another gray suited, spit, walking in the opposite direction, constantly looking over his shoulder. The hands are wrenched from the doorposts by two huge cooking mitts. A muffled thump stops the agonizing pleas. Leo fidgets a glance at the entrance to the bar. Filling the doorway is Charity, the owner and bouncer of the Hurley Burley. The front of her dress is caught up in her womanly girth, but no one would dare point that out. Her towering figure is outmatched only by the filth that comes out of her mouth as she flings a flailing deadbeat onto the sidewalk. The man is wet from the crotch down and dust gathers in streaks on his pants. Charity lets the drunken man roll to a stop before the shouting continues; she wants things to be real clear here.
“And if I ever catch you in this place again, hot dammit, you’ll be sittin’ ta’ piss for the rest of yer life!� She huffs, takes her mitts off and straightens the front of her dress before going back in the bar.
Leo slows his pace; he glances up and down the street. No one seems to be interested in the scene in front of the bar. Seeing his chance Leo makes his way to the unconscious man slumped next to the burnt out carcass of a Plymouth Renault. The man smells of good drinking and bad living, and he looks even worse. Leo looks around himself again. All seems to be quiet, so he decides to help himself to what this guy might be carrying. He squats down and searches the mumbling stranger and finds some dried fruit, a piece of flint and a small wad of paper. Leo snaps the fruit into his mouth, throws the flint over his shoulder and it sparks on the sidewalk. Leaning back over the edge of the car Leo surveys the street again, still Metro as usual. Resting against hood of the Plymouth, Leo peels apart the wadded scrap of paper. He can make out a few words here and there.
“Now available.� “Personal.� “The Big One.� “Don’t need.� “Vault.� “Custom built.� “Plush leather.�
The bottom line was very legible and in red. “You’ll be the envy of the neighborhood with your own disaster shelter. Built by ShelTronics. Reserve yours now, before it’s too late.�
Leo begins to shiver, his mind draining the energy from his body. The wheels are turning and Leo is getting a bright idea, a plan, a vision, a headache. If these personal shelters are really out there, maybe no one knows about them. Maybe they’re still intact and holding their priceless treasures. Water, clothing, booze, the possibilities are endless and he is just the man to make the most of all of them.
Leo pushes against the Plymouth rust bucket and stands to his feet. He re-aligns himself with the Hurley Burley. It’s time to celebrate, to clear his head, to get wasted…more so.
The door to the bar nudges open. Leo steps in and dusts himself off under a sign that reads, “No dust beyond this point.� A regular in irregular places, Leo makes his way across the concrete floor, around wooden tables and clanking glasses. The establishment is held off-center by the bar that runs almost the entire length of the room.
Behind the bar is Charity, she pays no mind to Leo, as long as he keeps his hands clean and out of trouble in her place, she had nothing against him. Her long fingernails and multicolored hair make her look like an overworked painting that had been given up on a long time ago. Her face is lined with anger wrinkles, the kind that are formed from years of squinting, shouting and spiting. Not at all attractive, she considers herself to be a bright and upstanding citizen and she expects people to treat her that way, or else.
Further down the bar is Linds. Young and obviously able, she is the anti-Charity. Her parents had deserted her here and she is staying with Charity in the hopes of making a future in Metro. If there was a farmer around, she would be his daughter. A true sight of the things that were no more in today’s war burned world. She is busy serving drinks and flinching off advances from Spine, one of the customers across the bar.
Spine makes every effort to get noticed, but when Linds is around, he turns it up a few clicks. He’s being loud, talking about rescuing a little kid from some raiders with only a knife or something. He leans across the bar to Linds and motions for the stairs that lead to the apartment she was renting.
Linds yells, “Dammit, I said no!�
Spine winces and looks around the bar laughing uncomfortably under his breath with an ‘I didn’t do nothing’ shrug.
The establishment is half-full, half-empty and completely not interested in anything.
Leo runs a filthy hand into a filthy pocket and fumbles the wadded paper. He feels his excitement welling up and makes his way to the front of the bar. As inconspicuous as a suited man can be, he saunters to the bar chair and slumps down, elbows first.
Charity looks his way, noticing he’s smugger than usual she asks him, “What’ll it be?�
Leo feels like the entire world is watching him. They must know that he knows what the guy that got thrown out knows. He needs to calm down, eyes closed, a slow breath, a lick to the lips…�Rot Gut.�
A glass slams down in front of him, mostly filled with a dark liquid with visible fumes rising from the rim. He eyes the people around him. They must be looking away when he begins to turn, crafty bunch. Charity is marking the new level on the bottle after pouring a drink, all the bottles on the shelves have little ladders marked on them. Leo slips his fingers around the cold glass and downs the muddy liquor.
All becomes quiet, a huge balloon fills his ears and heat runs down his chest. His throat burns all the way to his feet. Leo sucks a breath through his teeth and the room returns to normal again, he wipes the water from his eyes. Climbing off the bar chair Leo realizes that in order to make it to these personal shelters, he will need some help. Fighting was never his strongest characteristic. He was, however, quite good at negotiating his way in or out of trouble. He needs some muscle, to match his intellect.
The idea of letting someone in on his plan was against everything he stood for. A self-made man shouldn’t need to rely on others for his future; carrying said man across the street to the next bar was another matter of course.
As far as finding anyone useful in this place, forget it. Just a bunch of worthless chumps. Over worked farmers getting worked over. Good for nuthin’s doing what they do. Leo’s eyes fall on a hulking tribal with a glass of murky liquid and a plate of something terrible. He is sitting at a table by himself, minding his meal and his sunglasses very closely. Maybe he’s just dumb enough.
Leo begins to make his way to the back of the bar. The sunlight creeps in through the rusted tin roof. Every once in a while the breeze blows some dust in through the cracks. He pauses midway down the bar, and not to look out of place, gets another drink, a double. He is watching the tribal, making sure the large man is here alone.
Not paying attention, Leo has chosen a spot next to Spine. Spine edges a look in Leo’s direction, sizing him up. Making a good show for Linds, he leans over, “The hell you doin’ old man?�
Leo pays him no mind, downs a mouth full and grimaces, shaking his head and inhaling slowly through his crooked teeth.
Spine doesn’t like to be ignored. He looks back over his shoulder to see if Linds is watching him. Turning back to Leo, Spine leaps from the makeshift bar stool and lands beside Leo grabbing him by his pinstripes. “I was talking to you dammit, now…�
Leo, up to now, oblivious to Spine exhales a deep breath in a “Huh?�
Spine changes color, his eyes water, his muscles lock. Leo noticing that the attention is uncomfortably on him now, gives Spine a nod-wink and spins his bar stool away from the young man.
Spine grabs Leo by the shoulder, spins him the rest of the way around in one fluid motion. Leo is confused, he looks behind himself expecting to see two Spines.
“That’s it!� Spine shouts, his ego on the line. His hands tighten as he looms over the seated Leo. Spine grips the edge of the bar, “You’ve got some things to learn…�
Leo interrupts him, the booze getting into his speech and his breath, his words mush around as they come from his mouth. “Hang on there, if you are about to engage me with some sort of physical retribution for something I’ve done. I think you should mind my current state.� He waves his drink-less hand across his tattered suit and points to the almost empty glass in his other hand.
Spine paws at the breath in the air between the two of them, he is unable to speak. Leo’s leans closer to Spine, all is quiet in the bar, everyone is waiting for the fight to start. Charity squeaks a glass clean with her apron, determining which one to throw out first. “You see I’ve just gotten in from the wastes. I’ve seen horrible things and dealt death to horrible people. I’m here to relax, meet some women and shine my belt buckle. Besides that…�
Spine is motionless, listening to the older man, ready to strike at any moment. The air between them is thick with tension and booze fumes. Getting still closer Leo wets his dry mouth and mumbles, “…I’m wasted.� The bar lightens up with a few giggles and returns to the normal calamity of clanking bottles and trash talk.
Leo slumps back into the chair and returns his focus to his drink and staying upright. Charity steps in front of him and pours him another, she marks the bottle and places it back on the shelf. Linds tries to stifle her laughter but lets loose a few snorts here and there as she looks busy wiping the bar.
Spine, still staring into space trying to understand what just happened, finally realizes he looks even more like an idiot. His temperature rises, his face turns red. He bends down and rips a small knife from his boot strap. Someone screams in the bar as Spine flashes the blade. Leo, unaware, is placing his glass back on the bar exposing his ribs to the tarnished knife. Spine lunges forward, his eyes narrowed into evil slits, his teeth gnashed and wheezing with anger. Just then a huge hand reaches over Spine’s forehead and grips him by the nose and cheek bones rearing him backwards onto a nearby table.
Stretched over the table top, Spine knocks glasses to the floor and sits in a plate of warm mush, with a few bones in it. The knife falls to the floor, sticking the blade into the wood. Spine’s eyes roll around in his head till he looks up and sees the huge tribal holding him by the skull, smiling.
“Haha, Spine is silly.� The large tattooed man lifts Spine from the table by his shoulders and places him squarely on the floor.
Spine, looking the tribal in the chest, catches his breath and looks up at the man. “Munk, what was that for?�
Munk picks the knife up and hands it to the young man. “You not to hurt people Spine, you not being nice.�
Munk towers over everyone in the bar. Trial markings cross his arms and chest and his torn jeans are tucked into his shiny boots. He is looking down at Spine with a stupid grin on his face. “Say sorry.�
Spine twitches, he has never said that to anyone. He will absolutely not say it to that swilling Leo.
Leo leans around Munk and glares at Spine through Munk’s armpit. His eyes squinting, he wiggles his fingers in his ears, he wants to hear every word.
Spine hops and points past Munk at Leo. He is shaded red again. “You …� His voice is cut off when Munk palms his face. Through the large moist hand Spine can make out “Be nicer.� His face is let go, but a large finger is pointed at it.
Leo grins, this is the guy for sure. He’ll be perfect for the job.
Spine huffs and hangs his head, he muffs something under his breath.
Munk places his finger under Spine’s chin and lifts his head so he can try it again. Spine leans back away from Munk and looks Leo in the eyes. “You’re sorry.�
Munk smiles, he is satisfied. He pats Spine on the back and it sends him stumbling to the bar. Munk returns to his table to check on his sunglasses and finish his meal.
The bar has returned to it’s usual slack jawing, so Leo slips a hand full of coins on the bar and heads for Munk’s table in the back. Spine glances around the room to check his ego and heads for the door.
Leo, feet dragging, weaves between tables. He straightens his tuck and snaps his collar. Time to sell it. He gets to Munk’s table, which is covered with mostly empty plates, Munk squats at the other end, finishing something feral.
Leo presents himself. “Hey there big’n�
Munk looks around the cooked meat in his hands at the dingy little man in front of him. He grins, a stew of teeth and giblets muffle his happy reply.
Leo winks a ‘back at ya’ and looks for a place to sit. The chairs have disappeared a long time ago, so he decides to perch on the edge of the table after sliding some trays out of the way. “Munk, right? Have I got a great opportunity for you.�
Munk looks puzzled, Leo hops from the table and makes his way around Munk. He leans in over Munk’s shoulder. “Amazing adventure, a chance to see the world, put your face into the wind and never look back.� Leo switches sides on Munk. “You’ll be the talk of the tribe, and the squas?�
Munk’s ears perk up, Leo leans closer, “Oh yes, the squas.� Munk shrugs and blushes, he grins and closes his knees.
“Think of it as not just a job, but a serious privilage to make something of yourself.� Leo motions off into the distance, his gaze in fixed on tomorrow’s opportunities. “There is a future for Munk, now is the time to start that future.� Munk looks at Leo, trying to decide what he is looking at, he looks at the dusty crack in the roof, the man asleep at the front table, his sunglasses. Leo slowly rises, till he is standing tall and proud. “We will take this world for a new ride, our ride, we will master our own destiny, make our own way and brew our own beer. What do you say big fella? Are you ready to change the world?�
Munk is excited, he springs up from the table knocking Leo down. Munk gathers his things; a sledgehammer, a small leather pack and his sunglasses. He spins around, and to his surprise no one is behind him, he looks down to the floor and shouts a laugh.
Leo steps out the front door of the Hurley Burley. He leans forward and gazes into the setting sun. The sky is a mixture of stretched, dark clouds across a hazy orange light. The wind has seemed to died down, as it only does when it is about to change directions. Leo wraps his oversized jacket around his shoulders and looks behind him. Munk fills the doorway of the bar. He has a concerned look on his face, he faces the east and is sniffing the air. For once, he seems like a normal tribal.
“Something strong.� Munk manages a hushed voice, audible for only ten yards. He scans the horizon, his trained eyes fixed on the dark buildings that shape the sky. They say that these remaining buildings are haunted with the spirits of those who were there when the end came hundreds of years ago. Munk is visibly uneasy about his surroundings. “Very strong, not good.�
Leo glances inside his jacket and dares a sniff. Bad, but not that bad. He is watching the tribal, trying to find the destination of his fixed gaze.
Issued with a short attention span, he waves the condition away and tells Munk to press on. “We’ll stay at Katy’s tonight, a little bourbon, some smokes and be off in the morning. Come on.�
Munk hesitates, but follows the shorter man. Leo steps from the curb, behind the rotted Plymouth on the street. He notices that the man he saw on the ground just a while ago is gone, probably trying to sleep it off and come to grips with loosing a rare opportunity. Leo is the captain of that opportunity now and nothing would stand in his way of the fame and fortune he is destined for.
He would buy his own corner of Metro, open a grand tavern. Carpet, real drinks and girls, girls, girls. He would buy another suit, just like this one and everyone would have to greet him as they entered his casino.
Dropping their money into his business and thanking him for the privilege of loosing their money in such a fine establishment. He would be asked to run for Mayor, but would decline, running his business is much more important to him. He can help the people of Metro better by giving them a release with his boxing tournaments and booking agents. His fields of wheat and barley would be endless and his brew would be the currency of trade with other towns. His reputation would travel across the world as the man who will bring business and civilization to the land again. He would be hailed a hero of the people, they will immortalize him with a statue, their children will be called after him, and they will be compelled to stitch his name into their clothes. He would be surrounded at all times by twelve sprite lasses of virtue true, feeding him dried fruit and mutton into the late hours. Warming himself by a fire every evening, he would watch the sun set into the west, just like tonight but without Munk heaving his dank breath into the top of his hair.
Back on the street and out of the clouds, Leo motions for Munk to follow him. They start across the road. Streetlights are starting to buzz to life and the trash fires on the outskirts of town outline the hills in pale red. A snapping metallic sound darts Leo’s attention.
Leo turns to see Spine getting out of the Plymouth, pistol in hand and fixed on Leo. Spine slams the car door shut, rust and dirt shake from all sides of the car. “Not so fast, you can’t get the best of Spike!� Spine wrenches his neck back toward the bar trying to draw a crowd. “You’ve got your’s coming!� Nothing from the Hurley Burley. “Yes sir, you have got to pay the price now!� Quiet in the street, only the echo of his high pitched threats.
Leo manages a look at Munk, who is gnarling his brow at Spine and moving slowly in an arc that draws him away from Leo and closer to Spine.
Spine is sweating with anger. The vanes in his forehead are beginning to swell, but his gun is steady and fixed on the worried Leo. His voice gains an octave when he’s this angry “I’m not going to give you much time my friend, be prepared for the end!� Someone down the street shouts a very explicit request for quiet. That does it.
Leo’s freighted, pigeon toed stance loosens. He watches in amazement as Spine actually displays a tantrum, a conniption and a holy fit all at once.
Spine begins by hopping in place. Throwing his jacket to the ground and waving his gun all around, he shouts loudly about just who he is and that no one is safe from his ‘wrath.’ Again, a not too polite invitation to go ‘service’ himself comes from down the street. Spike officially looses it.
One by one the streetlights pop off filling the street with darkness. Spine empties his gun and shoots out the lights for at least a hundred yards down the street. He returns the local greetings to everyone within earshot and is beginning to draw a crowd, but not in adoration of his talents for sure. He drops the clip from his gun and slams a full clip in before the empty one hits the ground “You want some?!?�
Just then Spine is tackled and is dragged off the street into a darkened alley. Struggling to get free, Spine is captive of two huge marked arms that pull him further into the narrow passage. He is spun around and planted chest-first into the damp ground. He looses his breath and his gun slides across the gravel and stops against an Easy Loafer rimmed by a tattered pin stripped pant.
Leo picks the gun up and examines it. “Just an ordinary gun. No mods, no attachments, just normal like its owner.�
Spine gasps for air and, for a time, is forced into silence. He inhales dust and the horrible smells of the alley, his throat burns but he gasps for more putrid air.
“But, both could be more, much more.� Leo crouches next to Spine who is still in the locked, squeezing grip of Munk. “I can give you what you want Spine, fame, glory a name to be feared? Sounds too good right? You don’t need anything from me correct?�
Spine manages a wheezing “Piss off!�
“You know, that’s no way to respond to a man who is ready to make you famous. But I guess you’re not ready, not up to the challenge. See you around.� Leo stands and starts off down the alley, still carrying Spine’s pistol. Munk lets go of Spine and follows Leo out into the dim light of the street.
“Wait.� Behind them, from the dark alley, Spine lumbers forward still catching his breath. He leans against the corner of the building wiping the dust from the corners of his mouth. “What are you talking about? You better not be kidding me.�
Leo steps toward the huffing Spine, hands him his pistol and says, “See for yourself.�
Spine watches the firearm, waving in Leo’s unsteady grip. Munk casts a long shadow down the street and is standing dark and quiet behind Leo. Spine removes his hand from his stomach and reaches for the gun.
Leo whips it away from his fingertips. “But right now, I’m in charge here.� His eyes are unusually steady and firm, his brow is furled into a serious stare.
Spine is cornered by that look, the look of someone defending all he owns, the look of not sleeping in days in order to watch over a prized possession, the look of a man too desperate to be crossed. Considering the source, it is either a good act or a serious threat from a distressed man. Either way, it seems like a chance to have some fun. He reaches for the gun and puts it back in his holster.
And in the middle of it all is Leo. His eyes squinting, not from the dust or the glaring sun, but from hard concentration. He utters groans of pain and confusion as he makes his way through the haze. His heavy shoes leave crooked footsteps that are swept away by the passing breeze. Silhouetted in the glowing dust, his form rocks back and forth as he crosses the street. His oversized suit further deforms his peculiar shadow. A simple gray striped suit, shredded at all four cuffs. Reaching the curb Leo lifts his eyes to see if he has made it to the right spot. Above the door reads, “Hurley Burley�, this was the place.
Leo stands tall in an instant. He cinches his belt and thumbs the buttons on his jacket. Holding his head high, his fingers slide through his graying hair; licking his fingertips he straightens his eyebrows. With a ‘know all about nothing’ smirk on his face, and his collar in one hand Leo proceeds to the door.
The door flings open; Leo is still a few feet away but flinches with a small hop. He begins to sweat, he has never liked tension. His eyes dart back and forth as a pair of hands grip the doorposts and a man’s marbled voice cries out for forgiveness, something about an accident. Leo is torn between his destination and getting mashed in the scuffle here. He quickly decides to look as inconspicuous as possible. Just another gray suited, spit, walking in the opposite direction, constantly looking over his shoulder. The hands are wrenched from the doorposts by two huge cooking mitts. A muffled thump stops the agonizing pleas. Leo fidgets a glance at the entrance to the bar. Filling the doorway is Charity, the owner and bouncer of the Hurley Burley. The front of her dress is caught up in her womanly girth, but no one would dare point that out. Her towering figure is outmatched only by the filth that comes out of her mouth as she flings a flailing deadbeat onto the sidewalk. The man is wet from the crotch down and dust gathers in streaks on his pants. Charity lets the drunken man roll to a stop before the shouting continues; she wants things to be real clear here.
“And if I ever catch you in this place again, hot dammit, you’ll be sittin’ ta’ piss for the rest of yer life!� She huffs, takes her mitts off and straightens the front of her dress before going back in the bar.
Leo slows his pace; he glances up and down the street. No one seems to be interested in the scene in front of the bar. Seeing his chance Leo makes his way to the unconscious man slumped next to the burnt out carcass of a Plymouth Renault. The man smells of good drinking and bad living, and he looks even worse. Leo looks around himself again. All seems to be quiet, so he decides to help himself to what this guy might be carrying. He squats down and searches the mumbling stranger and finds some dried fruit, a piece of flint and a small wad of paper. Leo snaps the fruit into his mouth, throws the flint over his shoulder and it sparks on the sidewalk. Leaning back over the edge of the car Leo surveys the street again, still Metro as usual. Resting against hood of the Plymouth, Leo peels apart the wadded scrap of paper. He can make out a few words here and there.
“Now available.� “Personal.� “The Big One.� “Don’t need.� “Vault.� “Custom built.� “Plush leather.�
The bottom line was very legible and in red. “You’ll be the envy of the neighborhood with your own disaster shelter. Built by ShelTronics. Reserve yours now, before it’s too late.�
Leo begins to shiver, his mind draining the energy from his body. The wheels are turning and Leo is getting a bright idea, a plan, a vision, a headache. If these personal shelters are really out there, maybe no one knows about them. Maybe they’re still intact and holding their priceless treasures. Water, clothing, booze, the possibilities are endless and he is just the man to make the most of all of them.
Leo pushes against the Plymouth rust bucket and stands to his feet. He re-aligns himself with the Hurley Burley. It’s time to celebrate, to clear his head, to get wasted…more so.
The door to the bar nudges open. Leo steps in and dusts himself off under a sign that reads, “No dust beyond this point.� A regular in irregular places, Leo makes his way across the concrete floor, around wooden tables and clanking glasses. The establishment is held off-center by the bar that runs almost the entire length of the room.
Behind the bar is Charity, she pays no mind to Leo, as long as he keeps his hands clean and out of trouble in her place, she had nothing against him. Her long fingernails and multicolored hair make her look like an overworked painting that had been given up on a long time ago. Her face is lined with anger wrinkles, the kind that are formed from years of squinting, shouting and spiting. Not at all attractive, she considers herself to be a bright and upstanding citizen and she expects people to treat her that way, or else.
Further down the bar is Linds. Young and obviously able, she is the anti-Charity. Her parents had deserted her here and she is staying with Charity in the hopes of making a future in Metro. If there was a farmer around, she would be his daughter. A true sight of the things that were no more in today’s war burned world. She is busy serving drinks and flinching off advances from Spine, one of the customers across the bar.
Spine makes every effort to get noticed, but when Linds is around, he turns it up a few clicks. He’s being loud, talking about rescuing a little kid from some raiders with only a knife or something. He leans across the bar to Linds and motions for the stairs that lead to the apartment she was renting.
Linds yells, “Dammit, I said no!�
Spine winces and looks around the bar laughing uncomfortably under his breath with an ‘I didn’t do nothing’ shrug.
The establishment is half-full, half-empty and completely not interested in anything.
Leo runs a filthy hand into a filthy pocket and fumbles the wadded paper. He feels his excitement welling up and makes his way to the front of the bar. As inconspicuous as a suited man can be, he saunters to the bar chair and slumps down, elbows first.
Charity looks his way, noticing he’s smugger than usual she asks him, “What’ll it be?�
Leo feels like the entire world is watching him. They must know that he knows what the guy that got thrown out knows. He needs to calm down, eyes closed, a slow breath, a lick to the lips…�Rot Gut.�
A glass slams down in front of him, mostly filled with a dark liquid with visible fumes rising from the rim. He eyes the people around him. They must be looking away when he begins to turn, crafty bunch. Charity is marking the new level on the bottle after pouring a drink, all the bottles on the shelves have little ladders marked on them. Leo slips his fingers around the cold glass and downs the muddy liquor.
All becomes quiet, a huge balloon fills his ears and heat runs down his chest. His throat burns all the way to his feet. Leo sucks a breath through his teeth and the room returns to normal again, he wipes the water from his eyes. Climbing off the bar chair Leo realizes that in order to make it to these personal shelters, he will need some help. Fighting was never his strongest characteristic. He was, however, quite good at negotiating his way in or out of trouble. He needs some muscle, to match his intellect.
The idea of letting someone in on his plan was against everything he stood for. A self-made man shouldn’t need to rely on others for his future; carrying said man across the street to the next bar was another matter of course.
As far as finding anyone useful in this place, forget it. Just a bunch of worthless chumps. Over worked farmers getting worked over. Good for nuthin’s doing what they do. Leo’s eyes fall on a hulking tribal with a glass of murky liquid and a plate of something terrible. He is sitting at a table by himself, minding his meal and his sunglasses very closely. Maybe he’s just dumb enough.
Leo begins to make his way to the back of the bar. The sunlight creeps in through the rusted tin roof. Every once in a while the breeze blows some dust in through the cracks. He pauses midway down the bar, and not to look out of place, gets another drink, a double. He is watching the tribal, making sure the large man is here alone.
Not paying attention, Leo has chosen a spot next to Spine. Spine edges a look in Leo’s direction, sizing him up. Making a good show for Linds, he leans over, “The hell you doin’ old man?�
Leo pays him no mind, downs a mouth full and grimaces, shaking his head and inhaling slowly through his crooked teeth.
Spine doesn’t like to be ignored. He looks back over his shoulder to see if Linds is watching him. Turning back to Leo, Spine leaps from the makeshift bar stool and lands beside Leo grabbing him by his pinstripes. “I was talking to you dammit, now…�
Leo, up to now, oblivious to Spine exhales a deep breath in a “Huh?�
Spine changes color, his eyes water, his muscles lock. Leo noticing that the attention is uncomfortably on him now, gives Spine a nod-wink and spins his bar stool away from the young man.
Spine grabs Leo by the shoulder, spins him the rest of the way around in one fluid motion. Leo is confused, he looks behind himself expecting to see two Spines.
“That’s it!� Spine shouts, his ego on the line. His hands tighten as he looms over the seated Leo. Spine grips the edge of the bar, “You’ve got some things to learn…�
Leo interrupts him, the booze getting into his speech and his breath, his words mush around as they come from his mouth. “Hang on there, if you are about to engage me with some sort of physical retribution for something I’ve done. I think you should mind my current state.� He waves his drink-less hand across his tattered suit and points to the almost empty glass in his other hand.
Spine paws at the breath in the air between the two of them, he is unable to speak. Leo’s leans closer to Spine, all is quiet in the bar, everyone is waiting for the fight to start. Charity squeaks a glass clean with her apron, determining which one to throw out first. “You see I’ve just gotten in from the wastes. I’ve seen horrible things and dealt death to horrible people. I’m here to relax, meet some women and shine my belt buckle. Besides that…�
Spine is motionless, listening to the older man, ready to strike at any moment. The air between them is thick with tension and booze fumes. Getting still closer Leo wets his dry mouth and mumbles, “…I’m wasted.� The bar lightens up with a few giggles and returns to the normal calamity of clanking bottles and trash talk.
Leo slumps back into the chair and returns his focus to his drink and staying upright. Charity steps in front of him and pours him another, she marks the bottle and places it back on the shelf. Linds tries to stifle her laughter but lets loose a few snorts here and there as she looks busy wiping the bar.
Spine, still staring into space trying to understand what just happened, finally realizes he looks even more like an idiot. His temperature rises, his face turns red. He bends down and rips a small knife from his boot strap. Someone screams in the bar as Spine flashes the blade. Leo, unaware, is placing his glass back on the bar exposing his ribs to the tarnished knife. Spine lunges forward, his eyes narrowed into evil slits, his teeth gnashed and wheezing with anger. Just then a huge hand reaches over Spine’s forehead and grips him by the nose and cheek bones rearing him backwards onto a nearby table.
Stretched over the table top, Spine knocks glasses to the floor and sits in a plate of warm mush, with a few bones in it. The knife falls to the floor, sticking the blade into the wood. Spine’s eyes roll around in his head till he looks up and sees the huge tribal holding him by the skull, smiling.
“Haha, Spine is silly.� The large tattooed man lifts Spine from the table by his shoulders and places him squarely on the floor.
Spine, looking the tribal in the chest, catches his breath and looks up at the man. “Munk, what was that for?�
Munk picks the knife up and hands it to the young man. “You not to hurt people Spine, you not being nice.�
Munk towers over everyone in the bar. Trial markings cross his arms and chest and his torn jeans are tucked into his shiny boots. He is looking down at Spine with a stupid grin on his face. “Say sorry.�
Spine twitches, he has never said that to anyone. He will absolutely not say it to that swilling Leo.
Leo leans around Munk and glares at Spine through Munk’s armpit. His eyes squinting, he wiggles his fingers in his ears, he wants to hear every word.
Spine hops and points past Munk at Leo. He is shaded red again. “You …� His voice is cut off when Munk palms his face. Through the large moist hand Spine can make out “Be nicer.� His face is let go, but a large finger is pointed at it.
Leo grins, this is the guy for sure. He’ll be perfect for the job.
Spine huffs and hangs his head, he muffs something under his breath.
Munk places his finger under Spine’s chin and lifts his head so he can try it again. Spine leans back away from Munk and looks Leo in the eyes. “You’re sorry.�
Munk smiles, he is satisfied. He pats Spine on the back and it sends him stumbling to the bar. Munk returns to his table to check on his sunglasses and finish his meal.
The bar has returned to it’s usual slack jawing, so Leo slips a hand full of coins on the bar and heads for Munk’s table in the back. Spine glances around the room to check his ego and heads for the door.
Leo, feet dragging, weaves between tables. He straightens his tuck and snaps his collar. Time to sell it. He gets to Munk’s table, which is covered with mostly empty plates, Munk squats at the other end, finishing something feral.
Leo presents himself. “Hey there big’n�
Munk looks around the cooked meat in his hands at the dingy little man in front of him. He grins, a stew of teeth and giblets muffle his happy reply.
Leo winks a ‘back at ya’ and looks for a place to sit. The chairs have disappeared a long time ago, so he decides to perch on the edge of the table after sliding some trays out of the way. “Munk, right? Have I got a great opportunity for you.�
Munk looks puzzled, Leo hops from the table and makes his way around Munk. He leans in over Munk’s shoulder. “Amazing adventure, a chance to see the world, put your face into the wind and never look back.� Leo switches sides on Munk. “You’ll be the talk of the tribe, and the squas?�
Munk’s ears perk up, Leo leans closer, “Oh yes, the squas.� Munk shrugs and blushes, he grins and closes his knees.
“Think of it as not just a job, but a serious privilage to make something of yourself.� Leo motions off into the distance, his gaze in fixed on tomorrow’s opportunities. “There is a future for Munk, now is the time to start that future.� Munk looks at Leo, trying to decide what he is looking at, he looks at the dusty crack in the roof, the man asleep at the front table, his sunglasses. Leo slowly rises, till he is standing tall and proud. “We will take this world for a new ride, our ride, we will master our own destiny, make our own way and brew our own beer. What do you say big fella? Are you ready to change the world?�
Munk is excited, he springs up from the table knocking Leo down. Munk gathers his things; a sledgehammer, a small leather pack and his sunglasses. He spins around, and to his surprise no one is behind him, he looks down to the floor and shouts a laugh.
Leo steps out the front door of the Hurley Burley. He leans forward and gazes into the setting sun. The sky is a mixture of stretched, dark clouds across a hazy orange light. The wind has seemed to died down, as it only does when it is about to change directions. Leo wraps his oversized jacket around his shoulders and looks behind him. Munk fills the doorway of the bar. He has a concerned look on his face, he faces the east and is sniffing the air. For once, he seems like a normal tribal.
“Something strong.� Munk manages a hushed voice, audible for only ten yards. He scans the horizon, his trained eyes fixed on the dark buildings that shape the sky. They say that these remaining buildings are haunted with the spirits of those who were there when the end came hundreds of years ago. Munk is visibly uneasy about his surroundings. “Very strong, not good.�
Leo glances inside his jacket and dares a sniff. Bad, but not that bad. He is watching the tribal, trying to find the destination of his fixed gaze.
Issued with a short attention span, he waves the condition away and tells Munk to press on. “We’ll stay at Katy’s tonight, a little bourbon, some smokes and be off in the morning. Come on.�
Munk hesitates, but follows the shorter man. Leo steps from the curb, behind the rotted Plymouth on the street. He notices that the man he saw on the ground just a while ago is gone, probably trying to sleep it off and come to grips with loosing a rare opportunity. Leo is the captain of that opportunity now and nothing would stand in his way of the fame and fortune he is destined for.
He would buy his own corner of Metro, open a grand tavern. Carpet, real drinks and girls, girls, girls. He would buy another suit, just like this one and everyone would have to greet him as they entered his casino.
Dropping their money into his business and thanking him for the privilege of loosing their money in such a fine establishment. He would be asked to run for Mayor, but would decline, running his business is much more important to him. He can help the people of Metro better by giving them a release with his boxing tournaments and booking agents. His fields of wheat and barley would be endless and his brew would be the currency of trade with other towns. His reputation would travel across the world as the man who will bring business and civilization to the land again. He would be hailed a hero of the people, they will immortalize him with a statue, their children will be called after him, and they will be compelled to stitch his name into their clothes. He would be surrounded at all times by twelve sprite lasses of virtue true, feeding him dried fruit and mutton into the late hours. Warming himself by a fire every evening, he would watch the sun set into the west, just like tonight but without Munk heaving his dank breath into the top of his hair.
Back on the street and out of the clouds, Leo motions for Munk to follow him. They start across the road. Streetlights are starting to buzz to life and the trash fires on the outskirts of town outline the hills in pale red. A snapping metallic sound darts Leo’s attention.
Leo turns to see Spine getting out of the Plymouth, pistol in hand and fixed on Leo. Spine slams the car door shut, rust and dirt shake from all sides of the car. “Not so fast, you can’t get the best of Spike!� Spine wrenches his neck back toward the bar trying to draw a crowd. “You’ve got your’s coming!� Nothing from the Hurley Burley. “Yes sir, you have got to pay the price now!� Quiet in the street, only the echo of his high pitched threats.
Leo manages a look at Munk, who is gnarling his brow at Spine and moving slowly in an arc that draws him away from Leo and closer to Spine.
Spine is sweating with anger. The vanes in his forehead are beginning to swell, but his gun is steady and fixed on the worried Leo. His voice gains an octave when he’s this angry “I’m not going to give you much time my friend, be prepared for the end!� Someone down the street shouts a very explicit request for quiet. That does it.
Leo’s freighted, pigeon toed stance loosens. He watches in amazement as Spine actually displays a tantrum, a conniption and a holy fit all at once.
Spine begins by hopping in place. Throwing his jacket to the ground and waving his gun all around, he shouts loudly about just who he is and that no one is safe from his ‘wrath.’ Again, a not too polite invitation to go ‘service’ himself comes from down the street. Spike officially looses it.
One by one the streetlights pop off filling the street with darkness. Spine empties his gun and shoots out the lights for at least a hundred yards down the street. He returns the local greetings to everyone within earshot and is beginning to draw a crowd, but not in adoration of his talents for sure. He drops the clip from his gun and slams a full clip in before the empty one hits the ground “You want some?!?�
Just then Spine is tackled and is dragged off the street into a darkened alley. Struggling to get free, Spine is captive of two huge marked arms that pull him further into the narrow passage. He is spun around and planted chest-first into the damp ground. He looses his breath and his gun slides across the gravel and stops against an Easy Loafer rimmed by a tattered pin stripped pant.
Leo picks the gun up and examines it. “Just an ordinary gun. No mods, no attachments, just normal like its owner.�
Spine gasps for air and, for a time, is forced into silence. He inhales dust and the horrible smells of the alley, his throat burns but he gasps for more putrid air.
“But, both could be more, much more.� Leo crouches next to Spine who is still in the locked, squeezing grip of Munk. “I can give you what you want Spine, fame, glory a name to be feared? Sounds too good right? You don’t need anything from me correct?�
Spine manages a wheezing “Piss off!�
“You know, that’s no way to respond to a man who is ready to make you famous. But I guess you’re not ready, not up to the challenge. See you around.� Leo stands and starts off down the alley, still carrying Spine’s pistol. Munk lets go of Spine and follows Leo out into the dim light of the street.
“Wait.� Behind them, from the dark alley, Spine lumbers forward still catching his breath. He leans against the corner of the building wiping the dust from the corners of his mouth. “What are you talking about? You better not be kidding me.�
Leo steps toward the huffing Spine, hands him his pistol and says, “See for yourself.�
Spine watches the firearm, waving in Leo’s unsteady grip. Munk casts a long shadow down the street and is standing dark and quiet behind Leo. Spine removes his hand from his stomach and reaches for the gun.
Leo whips it away from his fingertips. “But right now, I’m in charge here.� His eyes are unusually steady and firm, his brow is furled into a serious stare.
Spine is cornered by that look, the look of someone defending all he owns, the look of not sleeping in days in order to watch over a prized possession, the look of a man too desperate to be crossed. Considering the source, it is either a good act or a serious threat from a distressed man. Either way, it seems like a chance to have some fun. He reaches for the gun and puts it back in his holster.