Friday, January 25, 2013

Outlaws


Act 1

"The Eye and The Precipice"



It was cold, and he could feel the breeze in his hair. He had no idea what time it was, but sensed that it was late in the day. Overhead, the gray sky was starting to blacken. He looked around and could see the white vapor of his breath escaping his lips. He couldn't remember how he got in the field, but a feeling inside him told him that maybe he'd always been there.

The grass was long and from the looks of it -- dying. He felt disorientated, unsure of which way to go. The field stretched out on all sides and disappeared into the horizon. However, directly in front of him the outline of trees showed the entrance into a dark forest.

He ran a hand through his thick hair and started to walk across the soft grass towards the woods. The sharp wind ripped through his t-shirt and he found himself rubbing his arms for warmth. Under different circumstances the sound of the wind blowing through the high grass would have been a peaceful sound, but out here it was unnerving.

He stood before the entrance of the woods and thought about going back.

The light was scarce in between the canopy of trees and he could hear no sounds of life. Something was swaying in him, though, telling him to venture forward. A path, about three people wide, spread out before him. The mud was still dark from a passing rainfall.

On weak legs he moved forward, eyes peeled, listening for … he wasn't sure what. He just wanted to hear something that sounded normal. A bird chirping or the sound of some other type of wildlife. Even the breeze he had felt out in the field had stopped.

The path started to incline, becoming steeper as he went, and he suddenly became aware of how dehydrated he was. He stopped for a moment and leaned against a nearby tree as he tried to catch his breath.

And that's when he saw it.

Across the path was a small ridge and slightly below the ridge was an opening into a cave leading underground. It took him by surprise, partially because it seemed so out of place. He started to approach, hoping that some of the light cutting through the trees would be enough to see into the cave.

He stepped to the lip of the ridge and peered over. 

It wasn't a cave per say, but an opening in the earth leading downward and underground. In a way, it was like there had been an earthquake and the ground had been split open just at this very spot. A gap in the trees overhead allowed one vent of light to shine all the way down to the floor of this opening in the earth.

Something caught his eye … no, it couldn't be …

He crouched, trying to peer down into the shaft. The light from above fell directly on the leg of someone down there. The rest of the body just out of sight in the darkness.

"Hello," he called out, but no one answered.

He began to estimate how far down he'd need to climb down. It was manageable. The walls of the opening were close enough together that he could brace himself again them and slide down. Very carefully, of course.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can I'm coming down for you."

He stood, brushed himself off and prepared for the descent. 

When he reached the floor of the shaft he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. Once he got his bearings set he glanced down, looking for the leg of the person he'd seen for up above, but he couldn't find it anywhere. He looked back up, felt the light hit his face, then he looked down to the dirt floor.

He was positive he was in the right spot … the leg had been there.

He walked forward and the walls of the earth started to close together, becoming tighter and he was forced to shuffle sideways down the cave. What little light there had been was fading and soon he'd be in complete darkness.

Almost as quickly as the walls had closed in, they expanded again, leading out into a large room with a tall stalagmite ceiling. Before him, a calm, inky black lake stretched into the nothingness. 

Laying face down in the water with his legs on the dirt shore was the man he had seen from up above. He rushed over to him, yanked him free of the water, and carried him back up on the dry land. 

He flipped the man over .. gasped … he was staring into his own face.

He fell back onto his hands and started to scramble away. 

The doppelganger sat up on his elbows and Anj could see that its eyes were black, like the dark pieces on a backgammon board.

"Don't be afraid," the doppelganger said. "You can't fix everything. You have to let go."


"There's a beauty in letting go. In accepting fate. In knowing, my dear Angelus, that everyone dies alone. Everyone dies alone."





"Another drink?"

He stirred in his seat, and looked to his left. The stewardess who had brought him the mix drink was back. 

"No, thank you. How long until we land?"

"We should be descending into Las Vegas momentarily."

She smiled and then moved onto the next row.

Anj pinched the bridge of his nose, shut his eyes and tried to shake the cobwebs of the dream he had away. It felt like it was still there. Clawing at him with its sharp nails.

He shuffled in his seat and stared out the window into the night sky. Under different circumstances he'd have been glad to be returning to Nevada. He quite enjoyed it there. Enjoyed the weather even more and once upon a time he owned a little piece of property in a little town you could get lost in.

But he hadn't stayed lost for long.

He was back, and on Wednesday night, he and fifteen other competitors would all be competing for the same prize: a chance to be the United States champion.

He ran a hand through his hair and thought about how got here. The road ahead. The road had been paved with good intentions, but so had another road …

He thought about Sebastian Duke and the man's sheer ignorance.

Anj smirked to himself, and closed his eyes as he crossed his arms.

Duke, with all his bravado and confidence, but still the man had not done a damn thing worth anybody's time. He was still playing house, chanting in tongue, and spending too long sitting in the dark by himself.

And what about all the rookies in this match?

Two guys who looked like Mr. Clean and a slew of nobodies that would never get over. Where did Carver find these cast-offs?

Hell, where'd Carver find this one arm mute with an Idaho potato bag over his head?

Seriously, this was the competition?

Michael James, a never was who couldn't even win the European championship after he had patted himself on the back all week about what an opportunist he was.

Anj figured that ninety percent of the competition in this match was a joke.

Crimson Dong?

Yeah, that's the guy who's going to be the face of Warfare.

He hoped they all planned to bring their best, because even he knew it wouldn't be good enough and that --

*Ding*

Anj looked up. The fasten seatbelt light was on.




Hey there, partner. It's good to see you again. You don't know me yet, but we're going to get real acquainted here real soon. So don't you worry. I want to tell you a story, and like every story, it has a beginning. But sometimes, you miss that, and you find yourself coming in at the end. 

It's like going to the movies, got your popcorn, soda pop, girl on your arm, and whoops--! You've done stepped into the wrong theater as the credits are about to roll. 

Ah man, I sure hate that. Don't you?

Well there, partner. We're going to come in on the end of this little tale, but I promise you we're going to get to the beginning. 

You're just going to have to trust me. Think you can do that? 

Good. I thought so. 

So, let's rejoin the action some 900 hundred miles away in good ol' Denver Colorado…

***

He took a seat, alone in the corner of the diner, away from everyone else. He looked out thee window and smiled in mild amusement at downtown Denver. Sure, it was a nice city by the average plebeian standards, but to Cobb it was just another place where the worker bees scurried back and forth between the hives.

He pulled the dossier out from his jacket and laid it perfectly flat on the table in front of him. He didn't need to look at it. Everything contained in there was already in his brain. But, having it out though gave him a sense of peace and seemed to stop the buzzing in his head.

The overweight waitress came over and placed his cheeseburger, with a side of fries, glass of water (no ice) directly in front of him. She asked if he needed anything else, but he waved her off.

He took a bite into his cheeseburger and nearly gagged. He had asked specifically for no mayo, and yet, the burger was swimming in it. He took his dossier and placed it back in his jacket, drank down his water, and walked toward the counter.

The waitress who had served him came over to see what he needed.

"Help ya with something, hon?"

"I'd like to speak to the gentleman who made the cheeseburger you served me."

She gave him a puzzled look and then walked through the swinging bat wing doors that led into the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a man who had greasy, black hair and a goatee on a pockmarked face.

"You the guy looking for the cook?"

Cobb nodded.

"What do you want, pal?"

"I'd like to see the slip that had my order on it. You still have it?"

"Uh … I think so."

"Great. Bring it here."

Now it was the cook's turn to give him a puzzled look. He stepped back through the swinging door and came back with the white slip that had Cobb's order on it.

"What do you want -- ?"

Cobb snatched it out of his hand and held it up for the other man to see.

"Says here, plain as day, no mayo." Cobb said. "Yet, somehow when I got my burger there was enough mayo on it to drown the city of Denver."

"What's your point, man?"

"My point?" Cobb asked. "My point is you're a goddamn idiot and I should shoot you in the f***ing teeth for being this stupid. Why would you put mayo on it when my order specifically f***ing says no mayo?"

"I don't know, man. Listen, I don't need this. I've been here since seven this morning."

Cobb gave him a little half smile and stole a glance around the diner where some of the patrons were now staring.

"You're right. My mistake."

He gave the cook a nod, and saw himself out of the diner. Outside there was a light snow coming down forcing him to pull the collar of his jacket up around his face. 

Over by the lip of the parking lot was a young kid standing with a cardboard sign and his hood up against the cold. Cobb stopped walking towards his car and decided to approach the kid. 

As he got closer he noticed the kid's sign read: "Will werk. Need to eat 2Nite"

The kid hadn't seen Cobb approach and was startled when he spoke.

"Sorry to spook you. I gotta ask -- what's with the sign?"

The kid pulled his hood back and stared at Cobb. He had glassy blue eyes, red hair and a face full of acne.

"I don't know, dude. F***king boss laid me off."

"His loss. What were you doing for work?"

The kid gestured toward the diner.

"You worked here?"

"Yeah, but I showed up late too many times. F***ing boss, man. He's a tool."

"Your boss, does he have a half ass beard and talk like he's got marbles in his mouth?"

The kid laughed.

"Yeah, that's him alright."

"Thought so."

The kid went back to holding up his sign for passing cars.

"Tell you what," Cobb said. "I can give you some work and a hot meal. Two conditions. I pay you cash and you do exactly as I ask. That work for you?"

"You serious?"

"Dead serious. First assignment, I need to meet an old friend of mine outside the city. I want you to drive me there. I need some sleep."

"I don't have a car."

Cobb tossed him the keys to his rental.

"Right on!"

Cobb could feel the buzzing in his ears again.

"Warm the car up. I'll be right back."

He marched back towards the diner, swung open the door so the bell above it rang loudly. In a full on stride he approached the counter, and in a fluid motion hopped it.

The overweight waitress tried to stop him, so he popped her in the face. Damn, that felt good. He heard someone yell, but he wasn't really listening.

He shoved the door to the kitchen open and saw pockmarked man smoking a cigarette over some burgers he was flipping on the grill.

"Hey!"

The man barely had time before Cobb put two silenced rounds right between his eyes. 

The man collapsed to the floor with almost no sound.

Cobb smiled, let out an exasperated moan. 

The ringing in his ears finally stopped.





Friday, January 18, 2013

Iron Fist (Part Two)


Iron FIst - Part Two

Act 2

"Welcome, Ghost"

~1~



Anj stepped into a world transformed. Like most cities, L.A. became a different beast by night. Final washes of pink and orange lay low on the horizon now, breaking up, fading, as the sun let go its hold and the city's lights, a hundred thousand impatient understudies, stepped in. Three guys with skinned heads and baseball caps flanked his car. Couldn't have looked like much to them. An unprepossessing 80's Ford. Without popping the hood they'd have no way of knowing what had been done to it. But here they were.

Anj walked to the door and stood waiting.

"Cool ride, man," on of the young toughs said, sliding off the hood. He looked at his buddies. They all laughed.

What a hoot.

Anj had the keys bunched in his hand, one braced and protruding between the second and third fingers. Stepping directly forward, he punched his fist at alpha dog's windpipe, feeling the key tear through layers of flesh, looking down as he lay gasping for air.

In his rearview mirror he watched the young tough's buddies stand over him, flapping hands and lips and trying to decide what the hell to do. It wasn't supposed to go down like this.

Maybe he should turn around. Go back and tell them that's what life was, a long series of things that didn't go down the way you thought they would.

Hell with it. Either they'd figure it out or they wouldn't. Most people never did.

Home was relative, of course, but that's where he went. Anj moved every few months. He existed a step or two to one side of the common world, largely out of sight, a shadow, all but invisible. Whatever he owned, either he could hoist it on his back and lug it along or he could walk away from it. 

Anonymity was the thing he loved most about the city, being a part of it and apart from it at the same time. He favored older apartment complexes where parking lots were cracked and stained with oil, where when the guy a few doors down played his music too loud you weren't about to complain, where frequently tenants loaded up in the middle of the night and rode off never to be heard from again. Even cops didn't like coming into such places.

His current apartment was on the second floor. From the front the dedicated stairway looked to be the only way up and down. But the back opened onto a general gallery, balconies running the length of each level, stairwells every third unit. 

A claustrophobic entryway just inside the door broke off to a living room on the right, bedroom to the left, kitchen tucked like a bird's head under wing behind the living room. With care you could store a coffeemaker and two or three cookpans in there, maybe half a run of dishes and a set of mugs, and still have room to turn around.

Which Anj did, putting a pan of water to boil, coming back out to look across a blank windows directly opposite. Anyone live over there? Had an inhabited look somehow, but he'd yet to see any movement, any signs of life. A family of five lived in the apartment down below. Seemed like whatever time of day or night he looked, two or more of them sat watching TV. 

A single man dwelled to the right, one of the studio apartments. He came home every night at five-forty with a six-pack and dinner in a white bag. Sat staring at the wall and pulling steadily at the beers, one every half hour. Third beer, he'd finger out the burger and munched own. Then he'd drink the rest of the beers, and when they were gone he'd go to bed.




Hours after Impact…

Anj sat in silence, icing himself down, contemplating his win. He stared off and got lost in his thoughts for a moment. 

He didn't hear someone approaching, they paused in the doorway to the trainer's room.

"Hey, asshole," the voice said.

Anj didn't answer at first. Instead, he slowly allowed his eyes to drift from the boots of the stranger, up to his worn denim jeans, to his face, covered in gray whiskers.

"One hell of a win out there," the voice said.

Anj nodded.

"I don't have to tell you that it's going to get harder from here on out."

Anj nodded again.

"I suppose you already figured that much out."

"Sure did."

"I just came by to pass on my congrats, and to see how you were doing."

"I'm good," Anj said finally.

"That's good, kiddo. That's real good."

Anj leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes.

"I hope you know that if you ever need my help, you just gotta ask, you know where to find me."

"I do," Anj said, eyes still closed.

"Well, I'll get outta your hair now. I'll see you on down the trail, kiddo"

The voice started for the door, but stopped.

"For what it's worth, I'm proud of you. I hope you're proud of yourself too."

"I am," Anj said, and when he opened his eyes he saw that the doorway was empty.



~2~


For a week or two when Anj first moved in, a woman of indeterminate age lived in the unit to the left. Mornings, post shower, she'd sit at the kitchen table rubbing lotion into her legs. Evening, again nude or nearly so, she'd sit speaking for hours on a portable phone. Once Anj had watched as she threw the phone forcibly across the room. She stepped up to the window then, breasts flattening against the glass. Tears in her eyes -- or had he just imagined that? He never saw her again after that night.

Returning to the kitchen, Anj poured boiling water over ground coffee in a filtered cone.

Someone was knocking on the door?

This absolutely did not happen. People who lived in places like Palm Shadows rarely mixed, and had good reason to expect no visitors.

"Smells good," she said when he went o the door. A younger girl. Jeans looking as if small explosions had taken place here and there, outwards puffs of white showing. An oversize T-shirt, black, legend long since faded, only random letters, an F, an A, a few half consonants remaining. Six inches of darks hair.

"I didn't know you lived here. I just moved down the hall."

A long narrow hand, curiously footlike, appeared before him. He took it.

"Roxie. I don't think anyone at work has introduced us."

He didn't ask what a girl her age was doing living in a place like this, though he had wondered the same thing about why she was working at the bar he bounced at. Where was her accent from? New York?

"Heard your radio, that's how I knew you were home. Had myself a batch of oatmeal all ready to go when it came to me that I didn't have a single egg, not a one. Any chance --"

"Sorry. There's a Korean grocer half a block up."

"Thanks… Think I could come in?"

Anj stepped aside.

"I like to know my neighbors."

"You're probably in the wrong place for that."

"Wouldn't be the first time. I have a history of bad choices. A downright talent for them."

"Can I get you something? I think there may be a beer or two left in the fridge."

"Some of that coffee I smelled would be great, actually."

Anj went back into the kitchen, poured two mugs, brought them back.

"Kind of a strange place to live," she said.

"L.A.?"

"Here, I meant."

"I guess."

"Guy below me's always peeking out his door when I come in. Apartment next to me, their TV's going twenty-four hours a day. Spanish channel. Salsa, soap operas with half the characters getting killed and the rest screaming, godawful comedy shows with fat men in pink suits."

"See you're fitting right in."

She laughed. They sat quietly sipping coffee, chattering on about nothing in particular. Anj hadn't developed the capacity for small talk, could never see the point of it. But now he found himself talking openly about his parents and sensing, in his momentary companion, some deep pain that might never be lessened.

"Thanks for the coffee," she said at length. "For the conversation even more. But I'm fading fast."

"Stamina is the first thing to go."

They walked together to the door. That long, narrow hand came out again, and he shook it.

"I'm in 2-G. I'm off Wednesdays and Sunday nights. Maybe you'll come by sometime."

She waited and, when he said nothing, turned and walked down the hall. Hips and rear end a marvel in her jeans. Growing even smaller in the distance. Carrying that pain and sadness back with her to the lair where it, and she, lived.


Episode Seven




Subject: Angelus


Date recorded: 1/18/13

Location: Undisclosed

"Chaos Theory"

Yeah, that's a picture of me with a velociraptor.

I figured it was fitting metaphor since on Saturday I'll be in the ring with two dinosaurs and a guy who doesn't look like he should be allowed within fifty feet of schools. I'll let you decide which is which.

But dinosaurs are extinct. The world has moved on without them and it doesn't matter how many times Hollywood tries to recreate them. They are dead and gone.

Kinda like Sebastian Duke's career.

Kinda like Michael James' career very shortly.

Mike, I'm real proud of you. I think this time you only wasted about three hours of my life that I can't get back.

I guess that's an improvement. I'll take a win where I can get it.

Let me make one thing clear. I don't have a quote unquote delirious fixation with you, Mike. You're lucky I even know your name. You look like the guy selling Chinese food off the back of a truck at 2am in Queens. 

Try not to flatter yourself.

Also, I'm curious about these so called better things you have to do with your time, Mike. Find a new pair of Raybans that don't make you look like a tool? Teach your girlfriend, Velveeta Cheese, or whatever her name is, to read? Get your back hair waxed off? What is it?

All kidding aside. I think you need to take a look around at this apparent A-Team you have assembled. We got you, the Personification of Pussification. We got another guy with his little nursery rhyme of a name, and we got The Count running around trying to cast spells on people.

Wow, yeah, Mike. That sounds like ideal candidates for flagship players.

It really looks like you guys are one, big, undivided unit.

By the way, when was the last time Duke won a match?

Oh, over Brett Rayne? That must have been for a championship of some kind, right? Since Duke is a flagship player and all that.

It wasn't? You mean he just beat some nobody on live TV?

Mike, you're right. I totally see it now. You got a future legend rolling in your posse. I was just too blind to see it before.

What's that smell?

Oh yeah, it's your bullshit, Mike. I can smell it all the way from Japan. 

So keep telling yourself that you're needed here. That you matter. That you are this big shot like you dream about at night when you finally look at yourself in the mirror.

But we both know, as we always have, that you're none of those things.

You're an old, broken down ride, Mike.

You're not the future.

Hell, you're not even the present.

So keep trying to use your little insults, and your name calling, and keep trying to get the word douche nozzle over like the unhip, fifty something that you are.

You can talk about respect and admiration all you want. I don't need you to tell me when I've earned it or when I have it. I never back down. I am the best at what I do, Mike and that's why I am the… 

….whole...

…damn...

…show…