A Widows Daughter

Marie was nineteen. She had pale white skin. She had long beautiful legs. She also had bags under her eyes. And Marie had decided to forget about life. From what she remembered of her mother, the woman had been old, crazy, and mean. As her mother aged, she had done her best to avoid her.
Marie had been working at a chain restaurant, the kind if you run into one anywhere in the country they all look exactly the same. She hated her job, but at least it paid for her fix.
She had started off small enough. Just a few pills. Nothing too exiting. However, being the girl she was, Marie eventually worked her way up the latter to junk. Now she was pouring all of her money into her arm. Her mother would have been so proud.
Some fellow users had started squatting in an old abandoned warehouse. When she was evicted from her apartment she joined them. She had started to take on the look of a skeleton, her once round breasts had seemed to disappear, her eyes seemed to sink further in and her face bore a sullen look. She hadn't been able to afford much food anymore, since junk was so expensive. The nice thing was that when your on it, it didn't matter anyway, and when your off it, your only concern is how to get more.
One night Marie got up from a deep sleep. She left the warehouse and wandered outside in a hallucinatory daze. It was a very cold night, but she didn't seem to feel the cold wind biting into her. She wandered towards the harbor and made her way to he edge of the dock. She saw herself like she had been five years ago. She was beautiful again and carefree. A few friends and herself had gone to the beach on a warm summer day. One of the boys with them was a real rebel, he had stolen a six-pack from his father. Marie remembered how good the warm water felt. She felt all of her pain, and all of her suffering inching away as she slid in the water. Suddenly as reality made its presence know, she realized she was sinking. Her body had seized(sic) and went into shock entering the cold water.
She didn't struggle as icy water poured into her mouth. She felt her lungs explode with a stabbing pain. Marie, thought about trying to cry out for help, but decided it was a futile thought. Who would help a drowning junky sinking in icy water? She couldn't imagine anyone risking their life for what society had already thrown out.
She returned to her hallucinatory bliss. As she sank deeper, she remembered her mothers funeral. She had been angry that the casket had been closed. Marie wanted to be sure the old woman was dead. No one seemed to be crying that day, but some spinsters were making a strange squawking sound. Perhaps, she had wondered, perhaps that is just how they cry. She hadn't really cared, or wanted to understand. The whole day was a frustration for her. She had to remain clean for twenty-four hours. It would have gone better if Marie hadn't had a seizure from withdrawal during the funeral. This wouldn't have been the worst thing except she was one of the pall-bearers carrying the coffin. It dropped and her dead mother rolled out into the dirt while her junk addicted daughter seized.
Marie remembered the hospital she had woken up in after her mother's funeral, or perhaps she was in a new one. She heard people talking in tongues she could not understand. A large Irish dock worker smiled and told her she would be alright. She didn't recall him being in the hospital after the funeral. The hospital itself seemed wholly unfamiliar. It was then that dear sweet Marie realized this large man had robbed her of the peace she felt in the icy water. From that moment on she knew she hated that man, and she swore she would avenge herself.
After a period of convalescence and rehabilitation Marie set out to avenge her injured pride. The thing about junk users is, even after treatment, they still want one more hit. Eventually she was back living in the old warehouse with the other users. One night, she awoke in a daze. Much like the night before in fact. She decided she was going to go find that awful man who had saved her, and kill him.
She took with her a long knife that she had kept for protection. She hoped to find him, plunge it into his chest and have one more hit before the sun rose. Waiting at the edge of the dock she saw a figure slowly approach. At that moment she drew her knife and leaped at it. To her surprise the shadowy figure reacted in the same fashion. Marie wrestled with the assailant until she felt the knife plunge deep in her stomach. First once, then again and again. She felt the cruel stabbing pain. However each time the knife plunged into her she had stripped away one more of life's cruel illusions. Finally she realized, there had been no assailant, and she had been struggling with herself the whole time.
With what was left of her strength she stumbled toward the edge of the dock. She stood upright, and gripped her knife tightly as she stared across the cold blue water. At that moment Marie felt something she could hardly recognize. Standing there, with one foot still in this world and the other in oblivion, for that instant, perhaps the first time in her life, we can imagine Marie happy. That instant before the leap, soaked in blood, she rejects the world and climbs into the cold water. She frees herself, and although Marie dies by her own hand, the hand that broke the flesh is also the hand that broke her fetters.

~Thus Spoke Jean

Inexplicability

Gripped by a terror, A terrific feeling,
An awesome motion, a state of aw,
A man is confronted with a cruel joke,
The joke is his life, the punch line his work,
He bled his best years dry,
Working for the faces of dead men,
Educated to endure,
To sell his soul for excess,
An equation he could not solve,
A riddle too strange,
A man came to know,
He knew his life meant nothing,
His efforts were futile,
Man was the measure,
The measure of failure.

~Thus Spoke Jean

Imbued with Insignificance

Signified once and awhile,
Seeking something of value,
valuing only that which has no value,
imbuing absurdity with meaning,
unmeaning that which meant so little.

That which means so much,
It is so insignificant,
It is the farthest I can see,
Cataractic eyes blind from stupidity.

Stupefied by filth and degradation,
Degraded by form,
Trash forming in the gutter,
Patterns of sensibility,

Sensible to consume,
All consumption leads to waste,
Waste leads to filth,
Filth imbues this world with significance.

~thus spoke Jean

Apologies

He told his confessor, “this is my last cigarette, my last woman, and my last drink.” The confessor laughed, and retorted “are you dying then?”. The man smiled, “no, I think I'm getting ready to live.” The old confessor walked over to him, and put his arm around him, “you know as long as you have been alive I don't believe I've ever heard yo talk such rubbish.” The man was hurt. They made their good buys and parted ways. He said to himself, “today it all begins, and today, even if it is just for one moment the world is mine.” His name was Patrick.
She walked down the cold street, her jacket was torn her hair a mess, and the words on her lips read it was all over. Everything, the world, this stupid city, nothing mattered. She walked into the road as if traffic didn't matter, and for her one can really believe it didn't. Into a coffee house she used to frequent she stared at old faces whose names and word no longer even crossed her mind. She sat down, out of breath, weak, stammered, if even for just a moment. Her name was Julie.
They took him down the corridor, and walked him thru the doors. At the final door the guards unlocked his handcuffs, he smiled, the first real smile in five years. The guard asks the man if he regrets what he had done. He smiled, “You are asking me if I regret driving to fast with a particular plant in my pocket?” The guard glared at him. The man continued, “No, I don't regret anything, accept being born in this awful country that has the most insatiable lust for incarceration in the world.” The guard began to raise his hand, and the man said “go ahead and hit me, I'm no longer in chains, I'm not on my knees, I will strike back.” The guard walked away and the man exited the jail a free man, his name was Mark.
Mark walked over to the parked car, Patrick was waiting their with a smile on his face. He couldn't resist, he ran out of the car to throw his arms around his brother. Patrick opened up and said “Mark, you are finally free, five fucking years in that hell. Your out though! Your finally out.” Mark remained silent, he had missed his little brother, but was worried. He looked down at his brother, and said “we probably ought to get going, I don't want to see this place again.”
They drove to the coffee shop where Julie had been waiting, the three of them had grown up together in the same neighborhood. Poor kids, with not much in their lives, but each other. Mark smiled as he remembered how jealous they both were when Julie got her first boy friend, he was some rich boy from the nicer part of town, she was only fourteen and she moved in with him. Eventually she was back. Where the two would look out for her, since the three of them were the only real family they had. Julie's parents had walked out on her when she was only ten, so Pat and Mark let her stay with them, their parents were drunks, and didn't care.
When Mark and Pat's mother died their father couldn't take it. He got into trouble with the wrong kind of people. One night he went out, and never came back. Eventually the news broadcast said he had been shot resisting arrest. The boys knew that the police were on the payroll of the men their father owed money to. At that moment the boys changed. Mark's life became about revenge, and Pat could only dream of escape.
When Mark went away Pat was so out of it that he barely made the trial. After Mark was put away, Julie left. Pat just continued to try to escape, and find some way out of this terrible world. Two years into Mark's sentence Pat had become almost completely lost. He drifted around, drugs, women, life meant nothing, he was just a lost soul.
Julie had a similar time, but that was then, those five years came and went, they were all a little older, but they were together again. Mark would bring them back to reality, he had been the one thing holding everything together until he went away. They went back to the old apartment. It was strange. As if nothing had been touched since Mark went away. They sat at the kitchen table, and Julie prepared the food they had brought home. Finally pat spoke “Mark what are you thinking about, you've hardly said a word.” Mark didn't respond, he looked a Julie and asked her to pour him a drink. He drank it down and looked at both of them. “I can't tell you all the things that are on my mind, some of them are terrible secrets, I may even never be able to convince myself of them. I learned to much in those five years. I was chained, I was beaten. A great man once said, behold the philosopher in chains what the mind loses in lucidity it gains in intensity. The same man went on to say there are only to philosophies that can be developed in bondage, one of subjugation, or one of domination. I've never been much for self induced enslavement.” he stopped talking and looked around. Pat started, “I know you have something planned what is it!” His brother smiled, and patted him on the shoulder saying, “when it all comes to life, you'll understand.” He finished his drink apologized to Julie for not being able to eat, and went to bed.
Pat and Julie ate in silence, and then both went to bed. That night Pat had a dream. He dreamed of a man falling. The whole way down the man would remember a girl he had loved, a food he had enjoyed, as the man ran out of pleasures, he began to think of all the things that hurt him in his life. Finally he tried to think of the most painful thing ever in his life, then the man collided with the ground, and Pat woke up covered in sweat.
Julie woke up that morning, she noticed Mark had already left, she headed out to explore the world as usual.

Malaise

Part 1-The City
It was ten in the morning. I had slept peacefully. I got out of bed, and stepped on a floor caked with broken glass, and varieties of filth. My feet were so used to it the glass it didn’t even tear the skin. During the summer as a kid I could go months without shoes. I walked all around the city and my feet became tough as rocks. It seems strange, nakedness turning jello into steel and all, but life is kind of like that. Some people pay for alarm systems to prevent home invaders, I dared them to try to brake into my apartment. My apartment was a cruel naked statement. It was a perfect little death trap. I could see the thug coming in. He would be looking for anything to steal. He would rummage through the kitchen only finding expired food and empty bottles. If he could get past the smell he could go into the living room. I had tore up the rug one drunk night. I was looking for treasure. I didn’t find any but I found a book of matches and a condom. I used both of these items on a different drunken night.
I stumbled into the shower; the water was brown and tasted of decay. Paradise wouldn’t be as beautiful as this place. I reached for a towel, but then I laughed at the thought. Instead I found a less dirty sheet. I dried myself off with it and then tossed it into a closet full of dirty sheets. I didn’t bother doing laundry much since most of the time the laundry came out dirtier than when it went in, and on top of that it was usually stolen if you looked away for a second. I truly love this place. Shaving was not required since I had lost my job two weeks ago. I dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. The jeans had a stain on the knee, it was blackish red, and maybe it was blood. I placed my red shirt on. The hole at the bottom was becoming a bit too large to go unnoticed.
My kitchen had a hole in the wall where rats probably lived. I had never seen any, but at night I heard the noises of them scurrying. One time a lady who lived in this same apartment building fell asleep and woke up covered with rats. Instead of exterminating, the landlord evicted her. He cited that she could not have pets in these apartments. When I signed the lease they were very explicit about this.
My refrigerator is always empty. Even if I did keep food in my house there would be no point since the rats eat anything that’s not kept in the fridge, and the fridge doesn’t work so anything kept in it tastes of stale air. I thought about leaving the rats some vodka. I figured that at least if I offered them alcohol they might not eat me one night in my sleep. As a boy I remember my friend Johnny had a cat. The Cat’s name was Doug, we would play cards, and Doug would climb onto the table in the middle of the game. The reason he would interrupt us was the cat had a taste for vodka. He would drink half my glass, and them stumble away to his happy drunken cat play. Johnny loved that little cat. His heart was broken when the poor thing died. We suspected poison; the people in my town don’t care much for life. Death on the other hand, well every paradise is obsessed with the dead. We live in filth and misery and yet most people worry about death. I think death couldn’t be so bad. Since I have already experienced the blissful paradise of this world, my fair city, I would be excited to see what other offers the universe has. Claims to the same word. Yes, death and paradise are always intertwined.
I stepped out of the apartment into the hallway. The widow Céline was sitting outside her apartment door and was staring at my door. This woman was fantastic. She was forty something, and everyone believed she had chopped up her husband and fed him to the neighborhood cats. When the police came to find out what had happened to her husband the search turned up nothing. All the other neighbors shunned her. Before I started any day I always stopped by her apartment to say hello. She fascinated me.
We sat in her kitchen drinking coffee that tasted of iron; her water wasn’t much cleaner than mine. I liked the taste. She would tell me the best stories of her wild youth. Apparently she had been one of the easiest girls in her school. When she was fourteen she was raped by a visiting football team after they beat her high school team. She never pressed any charges or told anyone because she had actually enjoyed it. She went through high school being that weird art looking girl who jocks would practice on before they would find the perfect cheerleader to impregnate and keep out of college. After her sixth abortion her parents kicked her out of her house.
She hooked to pay for college. She actually did well. She got a degree in art history. After college she began living with her professor. He taught art history and was named Robert Céline. He got her pregnant and married her. She miscarried two days after the wedding, but Robert was already too embarrassed by the entire affair to divorce her. He stopped teaching and they moved to the slums.
My sweet home. Robert used to beat her every night. Other nights he would bring home whores and make her sleep on the couch. She knew some of them from the nights she used to work the streets.
When Robert disappeared I became her only company. We drank so many cups of the dirty coffee that tasted like iron.
After the coffee we went back to her room, and she taught me a few things she remembered from the days she had been beautiful. I cleaned up a little, and she told me I reminded her of number sixty-seven.
I left her in her room; she was talking to the dresser now telling him to be patient and that he would get his turn as well. Down the hall and I was out the door, I saw my favorite gray sky. The air tasted of glue. The city was once a big glue-manufacturing hub in the twenties, but after the glue industry moved on the city kept its smell, but none of its profits. It had never had another boom, except that it was the place all of the immigrants who couldn’t make it anywhere legitimate could stay. I love this place. The corporate coffee shop I went to everyday since I lost my job was three blocks away.
I used to work for a newspaper. I don’t mean to imply that I was some big shot reporter. Actually I cleaned the ink trays and reloaded them when necessary. One day my boss was printing the stupid thing, and it got jammed. We both went to see what the jam was. A young boy had got his hand caught in one of the printers and was bleeding profusely. My boss started yelling at me. He told me to fix it. He reminded me we had deadlines. I half smiled and walked over to the machine. I patted the boy on the back and pressed the override button. The machine began pulling the boys hand in harder. My boss began to yell louder at me. I told him there probably wont be a newspaper after this boy or his parents get done suing you. I was right. After someone actually called the authorities and helped the boy out of the machine, my boss was arrested. The newspaper was shut down, and another building in this town became nothing more than ruins. A town with no news is a town that time has forgotten. Since there was no newspaper I never found out what happened to my boss. The police probably beat him to death before his trial.
Actually the police in this town weren’t much more corrupt than the police anywhere else. A tidy bunch of fascists that believed they were entitled to anything. I remember there was a special office dispatched to the old newspaper company. His job was to go through the stories and make sure there was nothing to objectionable contained within it. One time he missed an article suggesting the police exhorted the local shops, and he disappeared. They said he was transferred, but I supposed he had been beat to death too, just like my old boss. Such a violent paradise, but I guess if paradise wasn’t so violent, so destructive it might experience overpopulation.
The street that I liked the best was twenty-eighth. On a typical day six people were murdered. One day on twenty-eighth a young couple was walking home from the store on thirtieth. This couple had just got engaged. They were full of beauty and hope. The girl had movie star like long blonde hair, and the man had a strong chin. Well, this town doesn’t have a place for that sort of thing so when they started down twenty-eighth a man began to follow them. They thought maybe he was just going to rob them. They began to hurry their movement, and so did the man. When he finally caught up with them they saw that he had been running from some people who had now caught up with the three of them. The group walked up to the wife first and one threw her over his shoulder. Then the other two shot the two men standing there down. They picked up the corpses and got into a limo. That was a usual day on twenty-eighth. Anyone too happy or too pretty was usually dead. The funny thing was no one ever thought I would be worth the money to rob or even stab. I wasn’t very happy, and I wasn’t very pretty. So I lived anywhere and did anything I wanted. I had a certain amount of freedom.
Freedom was all that mattered. With it we can have our lives. Our silly pointless lives. I lived everyday free, whatever it meant. I associated freedom with filth. Paradise with decay. In my brain a certain cruel logic had taken hold. I lived in this wonderful place so long that it had become my expectation. Nowhere was so great. Filthy dirty and decaying we were still free. I really believe that the only thing that matters in paradise is freedom.
When I arrived at the coffee shop a homeless man spit in my face telling me I was the face of decay that haunted his dreams. I love the strange and wonderful things that come out of the twisted mouths of the citizens of this dead town. There were a lot of homeless. Although their clothes looked old they always had clean-shaven faces, and short hair. The reason being that one immigrant who moved into town had opened a barbershop. His name was Jean, and he was a lunatic. Cheapest haircut in town, but I would never trust him to shave anyone. At night Jean would sneak around the town shaving and trimming the homeless. He would tell people it was community service, and that even the destitute deserved a good haircut. I usually agreed, and I knew if I brought him a jug of red wine I could always get a free haircut as we split the wine.
One night I came in right before close. He cut my hair and we finished the wine. Jean asked me if I wanted to join him on one of his community service nights. I only agreed on the condition that we got more wine first. He agreed and we each got another big jug. This was a lot more complicated than it seemed. Since he had to shave and cut every homeless he met Jean would throw me his jug of wine whenever he spotted one. Sometimes they would resist and then he would pin them down and force them to accept a haircut. After every cut they would thank him and some actually tipped him. We finished his rounds just as the wine ran out. Jean was definitely the best activist I had ever met.
Inside there was the same young supple woman I had been dreaming about for a year now. I wiped the spit from my face, and approached her. She smiled in a way that made me want to cut her eyes out. I ordered my coffee and we began to talk.
Her name was Marty I had never cared to ask what it had been short for. She hated her job so when I would show up she would fix my coffee spit in it and we’d sit down to talk. I would tell her that if I were her jailor and she was my ward I would cut out her tongue. She liked that sort of talk. She would tell me that if she were ever locked in my apartment she would cut out my liver in my sleep. I hoped she would move in one day.
In fact that day the owner of the coffee shop walked in. He saw her digging her nails into my arm watching the blood drip. He came over to us. I think he was German. He yelled at us in some unintelligible tongue. She started swearing at him, and he slapped her. That was a mistake. Marty was many strange things, but she did not like supervisors. In fact it all stemmed from her first job. Marty had been working at a fast food place. She needed the money for her sick mother or something like that. She worked twelve-hour days for a cruel boss. He would show up at work drunk. He hit her and belittled her all day. Sometimes he would come up behind her and press his body against her. Marty was young, but she knew that this wasn’t right. So, one night after work her boss had been particularly drunk. She followed him into a dark alley. He was drunk and full of fear. She came up behind him and he fell to the ground. In all his terror he never recognized her. She took out a knife. Needless to say the man would never be able to have kids, but if it were the 17th century he would have been an Italian celebrity in the choir circles.
This boss wouldn’t receive anything as close as that first man had. The German man swung at her, but she was a lot quicker. Marty beat him to the ground. The German man gurgled as she beat him unconscious. We dragged him into the back room, and Marty took his wallet. He had quite a bit of cash on him.
Marty asked me where we should go. I suggested my friend Johnny’s place. Johnny was a good man after all. We stepped outside and threw the wallet emptied of cash at the homeless man. He yelled at me in French. In this beautiful city the homeless all knew French. We stopped a cab and headed for Johnny’s.
I told Marty all about my friend Johnny. He was the best guy anyone could ever know. Growing up I had never known how we became such good friends. One time I had got into some trouble with the wrestling team. The team had just one a dozen matches and the school was celebrating. The problem was I had made a few comments about the entire team engaging in a gay orgy after the game. So, there I was surrounded by some of the biggest guys in the school. So Johnny steps in and tells them that if they wanted to kick my ass they would have to kick his too. Needless to say Johnny and I both were beaten senseless, but the thought was what really counted.
The police were all parked around his mother’s crappy apartment on the East side. We walked past the cops into his mother’s place. She was crying. Marty put on her best sympathetic act. She asked Johnny’s money what had happened. Apparently poor Johnny was shot on his way to work this morning. Marty reached into the pocket where she had the money from her former boss. She gave it to Johnny’s mother.
Of course Johnny had probably been the only man left in the community with a decent heart. He would volunteer at the homeless shelter. He donated half his paycheck to orphans. Johnny was basically the closest thing this town had seen to a decent human being in years.
We left Johnny’s I mentioned to Marty I had known the kid since he was eight we used to spit on the little Jewish boy Max. Marty asked if Max live near here. So we went to go see Max. He was a butcher. We arrived at Max’s shop. Max may have been the richest butcher in the world. Marty asked how a butcher could afford such a nice shop. I politely told her that she should not eat the meat from his shop. Max’s smile was fantastic, he had three teeth missing. Marty asked Max what was in the meat. Max explained politely that the town’s local crime syndicate brought him people who used to owe them money, and Max ground them into meat. Marty kissed me and asked if Max would show her how it was done. He smiled and we went to the back room. Three Russian guys were working over some debtor.
The man was coughing up blood on the floor. Marty smiled, and we saw the victim squirming. The Russians stopped as the guy gurgled. Max said to us that the man had about twenty-five minuets left to live. He observed that since the man had been gurgling in this particular fashion it meant he was choking to death on his blood. This unique type of death was most common with Russian mob victims. Italian victims were always cut across the throat. This city had a very organized system.
Max and me picked up the corpse and placed it on the chopping table. Marty giggled like a school girl as max prepared to make the body into the best cuts of meat for the twisted townspeople of this fair city. The reason so many people bought from Max was because he was a kosher butcher and most of the Russian and other Slavic immigrants were some strange variety of Jew. Max finished his work and gave the keys to the store to his brother John. Max and John were the names they were given when they emigrated to the U.S. I never asked if they had other names. I invited Max back to my place. We got in his car, and a driver took us to a liquor store. Marty and me went in, I talked to the clerk while Marty stole more than she could carry. I smiled and slipped him a ten. The clerk was Van another friend of ours. He said he would be by later to join the party.
Back at my delightful apartment Céline eyed Max as he walked by. She followed us into my apartment. We opened up the whiskey and began to drink. When Max and Céline were drunk enough, they went back to her apartment. The thought of them together made me smile. I really think they were perfect for each other. They both were used to chopping up human flesh and feeding the town with it. The widow just fed cats, but Max fed the rich. I think the poor may have been the only people who weren’t eating human flesh.
In fact an organization that poor deceased Johnny had started actually supplied fresh vegetables to the impoverished. Johnny had dreams that one day the people who spent the money they received from exploiting the poor on yachts would understand their folly and come back. Johnny thought that if enough people worked hard enough nobody would go hungry, and no one would have to be poor. He used to tell me the world could be a real paradise if we all cleaned up our acts worked together. I explained to the poor boy that I saw paradise in a much different way, and that since we couldn’t reconcile paradise among good friends we probably could hope for even less success with the rest of the world. Still Johnny spent all of his free time trying to change the world, trying to lessen its suffering. Now Johnny was dead, and the world is no better off.
Marty and me were alone. I was excited. She smiled and asked if we could go to my room, and if she could put cigarettes out on my arms and legs. I agreed, and after she was done burning me I had her. It was everything I had dreamed of. Her disturbed childhood was revealed by every twist of her body. She screamed things that even creeped me out a little bit.
Afterwards we finished we walked back out to the living room. Van was there with a few other people. Sometimes Van would bring strange drunks that he met on the street. Tonight he brought some Hungarians who sold drugs to children. One of them offered me some strange liquid in a tube. I took it and brought it into my room. I had a hiding place for all the drugs I would never do. I was saving up a suicide cocktail, I think.
The Hungarians and Van finished the alcohol, and then left. I hadn’t noticed but Marty was asleep in my bed. I joined her cautiously, I knew there was a knife hidden under the mattress just in case she made good on her sweet promise to strangle me in my sleep.
The next day I woke up with a headache. I didn’t usually get hangovers, so I was disoriented. Marty was making coffee in the kitchen. I stumbled into the bathroom. A Hungarian who had overdosed and died during the night was on my floor. He was rather fat; Max would pay me six hundred for him. I rolled him out of the shower and got cleaned up. When I got dressed Marty was gone and my door was open. I wandered across the hall into Céline’s apartment.
Marty, Max and Céline were having coffee. I told Max about the Hungarian and we went back into the apartment. We brought the body to a limo and Max gave me the money and told me he would see me later. I walked past Céline’s and saw her and Marty going at it. I didn’t even know Marty was bi, but I figured her so depraved that she probably would fall I love with Céline.
Down the hall out the door and richer I hail a cab and go to see an old friend. He was Irish his name was Pat. Pat sold illegal guns. I wanted a pistol. I thought maybe it would make my life more exciting. My headache hadn’t gone away. Pat set me up with a good gun closed the store up and we went out for drinks.
Pat’s favorite place was a freak show bar on my favorite street. The bar used to be a strip club. It had cages that used to be there to protect the dancers. Now each cage had a different freak in it. The owner was real inventive; he called the place Freak Show. You paid to get in, and drank until the sight of the freaks made you vomit.
In one cage there were Siamese Japanese girls dancing in a bikini. I liked them so I sat there drinking and watching the strange dance they were engaging in. One was name Lucy and the other Shu. They only spoke Russian so I couldn’t communicate with them. Six beers and my head began to pound. I looked around the club. A waitress came over. She had a forked tongue and piercings all over her. She asked me if I would like to go back to her place. I declined on the grounds that I was terrified.
I found Pat and he told me that he was going home with the bearded lady. I was confused but too drunk to care. I walked out onto the street. A thug walked over to me. He shoved me and I smiled. I sized him up and told him he wouldn’t even get me four hundred dollars. He pulled a knife out, and I shot him in the face. A limo appeared and Max stepped out. His driver loaded the body.
Max laughed telling me he was on the way back to my place. He only gave me a hundred for the thug, but Max had brought women and plenty of whiskey. We got back to my apartment. A pretty red head had her eyes on me all night. Max told me she was his cousin, and that if I hurt her he would cut me up and make me into sausage. I spit in his face, and took his cousin into my room. I have a special space in my heart for red heads. Her name was Stacy.
The next day she was still at my place. She told me she had decided to move in with me. I told her that would be fine. I got cleaned up and went out. The only restaurant in town that actually served clean food was called Celeste’s. I liked Celeste. He never spoke to most of the other customers. I ordered my food. I was a vegetarian since the only meat in town was human. Celeste understood even though he swore he could tell the difference, and if he ever caught a finger in his food he was going to kick that rotten Jew Max’s ass.
I ate well and headed back to the apartment, Stacy was gone. I didn’t really miss her. Marty waved me into Céline’s apartment. I wandered in; Stacey was living there now. She told me she loved the old woman. I smiled and decided to stay with the three of them tonight. The night was incredible.
I woke up early sweating. I ran across the hall and threw up in my bathroom. My headache was raging like a fever. I felt disoriented and sick. I cut my hand on some glass and bled all over my bed. I wrapped it in an old t-shirt and passed out. I woke up in a cold sweat. I was shaking uncontrollably. This must be what a hangover must feel like. I didn’t even remember drinking last night.
I felt worse by the minuet. My only option seemed to find so alcohol. I knew that was supposed to cure hangovers. I ran out the door. The walls trembled with each footstep. I felt like I was in some terrible psychedelic dream. I began to have vivid hallucinations. I opened a door and saw a man dressed as a cat. He looked at me and barked. My eyes felt like they could explode at anytime. I thought the pounding in my head would never go away. I ran out the door. I thought fresh air could cure this. My smog, and my city wouldn’t let me down.
My only thoughts were escape. I ran faster and faster down the terrible dreamscape. Some people laughed some yelled. I had no clue what their words meant. They seemed to be speaking in tongues. Finally I made it to the liquor store. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and threw the money at the clerk. I said something involving the lizards and polar bears that lived inside my cellar now are on the loose, and watch out for alligators too. I was surprised he didn’t kick my ass, but I cracked the bottle right outside the store.
Every sip seemed to draw the terror from the scene around me. Each gulp of whiskey ended another hallucination. What had just happened to me? I know that wasn’t a hangover. It was some creepy fever. All I knew was it had broke, and as I finished the bottle I suddenly felt tired. I felt exhausted, and so much so that I collapsed onto the ground. Things got very dark.
I woke up in Max’s car the only thing I could think of saying was “hold on a minuet buddy, I’m not dead.” Max laughed; he told me he knew I wasn’t dead. I was relieved. We headed together back to my place, and Max helped me up to my apartment. He sent for the three girls and they came into my apartment. They agreed to look after me in shifts until I was better.
The first shift went to Stacey. She was so kind, so perfect, and so beautiful. I wished I felt better. I wanted to corrupt her. I wanted to see if something that good could really stand up to something like me. Stacey was probably incorruptible. That bothered me somewhat, but I felt I could work on that. She went into the other room and changed into a Halloween nurse costume. I felt very lucky. Her legs were fantastic. She brought me water and soup. I actually think I was falling for her. And every second I was with her I felt my strength coming back to me. She told me jokes, and her beautiful tits bounced every time she laughed. I wanted to tear her up. I wanted her laughs to turn into painful moans. I wanted to hear nothing but discomfort and lust. As her shift went on I began to hate her. She was too beautiful. She was too perfect. I kept wishing she would slip on the floor and crack her head open. Then I could really find out how pretty she was on the inside. When her shift ended I felt a cool hatred for her. Those perfect cheeks, and the lips that parted just right.
Marty had the second shift. I was pleased. She could never be perfect, so my dear Marty could never annoy me. She had changed into Stacey’s nurse costume, but Marty was a lot skinnier, and her breasts were smaller, the costume hung on her like the clothes of the women at Auschwitz. She actually looked sicker than I felt. This really turned me on. When she got close enough I put my hand on her ass and smiled. This was a big mistake. Marty walked into the kitchen and brought in a box of sewing needles. She began telling me that she always thought it was unfair that kids were the only ones who got to play doctor. I felt a calm terror grip me, as I understood the story. Her smile was the smile of a corpse staring right into my soul. Marty then began to stick the needles in me. Play acting acupuncture. She kept telling me the demons would soon be gone, and I would be well again. After she finished placing the needles where she wanted them she undressed. She climbed on top of me pushing the needles in with her body. I had never fucked a girl with pins all over my body before. I can’t say its something I care to do again. After we finished she pulled each needle out. Next the twisted little angel brought in a candle and sealed each little pinhole with candle wax.
When Céline’s shift started I was still devoted to Marty. The pain was a real bonding experience, and the fact she never redressed after was a bonus. The widow walked in wearing all black. I felt like we were at a funeral, and for the first hour she didn’t speak. Then she smiled at me and said, “Did I ever tell you about my affair with the mayor?” Although I had heard it before I played it off, as I hadn’t. She explained to me that at nineteen while she was working the streets and a wealthy man picked her up one night. He was so pleased with her skills that he paid her twice as much as a normal John. The John came back every night for a month. Then he stopped coming. She didn’t mind but she missed the extra money. One night she was sleeping under a newspaper and saw his face on the front page. The story read “Mayor of city impeached over spending tax money on hookers.” When she got to that line she laughed. Céline had a very nice laugh it was full of hate. We talked until I fell asleep, and then she kept talking. When I woke up she ha a cup of coffee in her hand and was asking the chair whether it had voted in the last election, because she herself could never remember to vote. I smiled and told her I felt well enough to walk.
I stood up and fully confident the fever was over I took a few steps. I fell to the floor. The widow picked me up and carried me back to my bed. She smiled and informed she had sent Stacey down twenty-eighth to go get some food. We both said simultaneously that we hoped she could fight. When Stacey entered Céline and I both frowned. Stacey stood there full of victory and youth. She didn’t even have a scratch on her. At that moment Marty stumbled in drunk with Max. They both sat on my bed while the widow and Stacey went to prepare some food.
Max informed me that there had been a weird flu going around, and that it had nearly tripled his business. He had to open three more locations to keep up with demand for Max’s Kosher Meats. He was now the sole purveyor of kosher meat for the entire town. Marty told me that Max had given her a position at one of the new stores, and she loved it. I asked them both which position it was that Marty preferred? After thinking for a second Marty bit me. I smiled.
Céline returned with the food and Stacey soon followed. The two women placed the meal down in front of me. It looked like everything else in my life. The soup was cold and the toast was burnt. Burnt and cold were two feeling I had grown far too accustomed to. I ate the food quickly. The faster you eat terrible food the lesser the chance of offending the cooks who for all their strange quirks were taking care of me.
The next night the girls took off because Van had promised to look after me. The thought of this worried me a little, but I was ready for anything. Van arrived with his usual entourage of freaks. The one difference is he had convinced them all this was a medical themed party. Each person was dressed as either a victim or a doctor, and he even brought a medical bed and one of those strange paper smocks for me to wear. It was a lot of fun. With all the drinking and smoking I even forgot for a minuet that I had been sick. A girl climbed onto the medical bed with me. She was dressed as a zombie nurse. I didn’t understand why she had decided the zombie twist was necessary, but I didn’t bother questioning it. Van saw her getting all cozy and wheeled us back into my room. I felt like a paraplegic Casanova. The young girl began to kiss me, and I writhed. I pulled away for a second to cough and she giggled telling me I didn’t have to keep acting. So I did my best to hold myself together while the strange zombie nurse took advantage of the sick man pretending to be sick. Afterwards she left me their and I fell asleep.
Van woke me up telling me that he had a blast and I put on the best medical parties he had ever seen. I scratched my head. He patted me on the back and headed out. I saw a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen out of the corner of my eye. I got up to get it and hit the floor. I crawled to the table and grabbed the bottle. I drank the bottle on the floor. There, curled up in a fetal position laying in filth and glass I felt like I was a child again.
I remembered school. The warm taste of blood as the thugs would be kicking my face into the concrete. What happened was one boy had caught me with his girl behind the bleachers. This guy had happened to be captain of the football team. He wasn’t necessarily the best person to piss off. After school six big guys walk up to me. They tell me that the captain told them it was part of practice for them to kick the shit out of me. I threw a left hook as the first one came at me. One got a hold of me and I just punched at his kidneys. One time a homeless guy told me if you punch a man hard enough in the kidney you can make him piss blood. After they had finished working me over, I laid there in my blood and the trash on the floor. I felt the pain all over. I closed my eyes accepted torment. I even grew to like the pain. I always like pain. I remember this. This might be the reason that didn’t feel so bad when I got sick. How long had I been sick?
I awoke in my bed with that question on my mind. I felt a bandage on my head. I wondered why. My eyes were beginning to focus. I wanted coffee. I smelt it. Célene hands me a cup as my eyes open. The coffee tastes rusty. Coffee should always taste of rust, otherwise how can people know if they are alive. She tells me that I have been out for days, but since Stacey actually used to be a nurse she had wired up a makeshift I.V. to keep me going. Stupid Stacey, she couldn’t just let me waste away. Every cheap pain doesn’t work anymore. I used to feel pain and love it. Each new pain told me a little more about myself, but now I felt nothing. I needed a new pain. Death could have been that new pain, or maybe I wouldn’t of felt it.
I asked Céline to help me into the shower. We walked with my arm around her into the bathroom. She undressed me. I climbed into the shower and sat down. The terrible water felt good on my weak body. I absorbed it. It regenerated me. The soap and heat washed away the week’s worth of filth. The city was waiting for me. Céline turned the water scalding hot, and left the room for me to work things out. The heat felt really good. So, I stepped out of the wash. There was a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. I used these to dry off whilst I thought of what I could wear for my first day back out on the town. The nurse costume from the other night was sitting there on the floor. It looked too perfect to say no. I put on the costume and found a bright orange wig. I felt pretty.
Down the hall out the door and onto my street. I had plans to visit Miss Marty. I got some looks from some of the local thugs. It was a little creepy, but after all I was the one dressed as a nurse and who was I to judge. When I stepped into her store I could here the sounds of chopping coming from the back. I walked right in to see Marty preparing a Russian to become some hamburger for the local fast food chain. She stopped drenched in blood to look me up and down. Her vicious smile told me that she did in fact think I looked prettier in the nurse costume. Marty told me if I had ran out of clean clothes I could of told her. With her new business she has crates full of designer clothes in the back. She told me to go find a suit and that we were going out on the town tonight.
Past a dozen bins of strange ethnic clothes my eyes met with the collection of fine Italian suits. Really they had the best taste when it came to this. I looked through the suits and found a nice pinstripe one that fit just right. I discarded my nurse costume and came out looking like a don. Marty looked me up and down and approved. She ha finished the hamburger so she undressed. She told me I should put the suit on the front desk and come back. I did what she said. I always did what Marty said. She led me to a hose, and soaked us both down with cold water. It felt good and next thing I new it we had finished that game and were dressed like a young Italian couple. Arm and arm we walked down the street toward the Italian section. There was a nice restaurant that would sometimes use clean food, and sometimes was better than never.
The Waiter recognized Marty and gave us the best seats in the house. She smiled and tipped him well. Then he asked us if Max would be joining us. She frowned and explained that he was away on business, and that he wouldn’t be back for a couple days. We ordered our food and the strange waiter left. Marty explained to me that the waiter had been a low level Italian lackey, but he was so bumbling that they brought him to Max to kill. The funny thing was Max thought the kid was a real laugh so he told the Italians that if they hurt the kid, then Max could no longer do business with them. This city was perfect, the Kosher Mass Murderer Butcher offering protection to Italian Immigrant Waiters with Lisps.
The dinner was all right, and Marty tipped too much, but she told me we should pick up some rum and go back to my place. We went into Van’s and helped ourselves to a variety of rums. Van smiled and told me that he had plans in the work for a party that involved fake eyelashes bowlers and cups. I didn’t understand so we left.
Back at my place we opened the rum. As we drank Marty began to tell me about her dream. I barely thought she was human let alone able to dream, but who was I to judge. She told me that she ha wanted out of this town since she was eight. In a big crowd of people she wandered off from her mother. She kept wandering until she had found the city limits, but her mother was waiting there for her. She took her home and they had a talk how the world was too scary out there.
From that day on she wanted to leave that terrible town. The point of this story, Marty told me was that we were going on a trip. She had always wanted to go somewhere so she had bought us two train tickets. She asked if I would escort her around. I agreed, since it was hard to remember when if ever I had left this town. So, the plan was made. She told me not to pack since she would pack a suitcase for me. I told her that was rather nice of her. We would leave in two days. She spent the night with me and we had an amazing time. Marty’s beautiful body, she had the body of a prisoner, starving to death. She seemed like she had not ate in weeks. When she finally collapsed onto me I was reminded of one of my first girl friends.
Her name was Claire. She had shorter blonde hair that she sometimes died red. I think she had fangs. She swore her teeth had just come in that way, but they looked professionally done. We met working at some terrible video store. She wore skirts to work everyday. Her legs were perfect and usually in fishnets. One day we were unloading boxes in the back and she was placing the videos on the top shelf. She caught me looking up her skirt and smiled. Instead of being angry with me she just hiked it up a little more. The usual response I would have had was speechlessness at being around such a beautiful girl. Instead I put my hand on her ass. It was perfect. In fact her entire body was perfect. Our lips met in the back room. Claire was great. Every night I had her and every night I was satisfied. I could never ask for more. Every time she would fall onto me and ask me if she had kept me well. Then one night my sweet Claire didn’t answer my calls. She stopped showing up for work, and I never saw her again. I had hoped that she was dead in an alley. I thought she might have been raped and left for dead. Until one night she came into the video store as beautiful as ever. She walked over to me and she told me that she had just lost interest in me. I quit the job at the video store and never saw her again. Claire was the reason I hated a lot of things.
The next day Marty left my apartment to prepare all of our arrangements for our trip. I figured I would call Pat and we would go out on the town. Pat showed up at my house with a bunch of Irish hooligans. We went to this bar called Harp. The waitress’s all had red hair, and all of the people inside were drunk. We ordered as much beer as we could, and began to drink. The wild hooligans were fun. Eventually we were too loud, and we were thrown out. There I was drunk with five drunken Irish hooligans wandering the streets.
At four in the morning e made it back to my place I pointed to the widow’s place and the Irish went into her apartment. I went to sleep. When I awoke Céline had brought me coffee to thank me for the boys last night. The coffee was very good. The taste of decay made me feel complete. She wished me luck on my trip with Marty. She could not remember her last escape from this awful town either. I loved this awful town though, and was scared to leave it. I asked her if she had heard from Max. She hadn’t since he went on his trip. I wondered if Marty and me would run into him on our trip.
Out the door into the cab onto the train. We waved goodbye to our city. We would come back relaxed and ready to breathe in her beautiful decay again. The wonderful city of my youth, of my life. The train zipped away from it so fast. The first time I had felt weak since that fever. I passed out with my head on Marty’s lap. She was a soft as a skeleton, but I slipped out of reality anyway.
The train shook when it reached its destination. A coastline of filth spread across as far as anyone could see. Green water with waves carrying filth. I assumed this was our destination. Marty and Me departed form the train to explore our two-week home. It was a vacation from the city, from our city. First we had to set out and find our hotel. Marty had set this entire trip up and her organization really impressed me. The trip seemed so out of the blue, but every detail seemed organized down to the very second.
The hotel was old. It smelt of old money. I really detested the smell of old money. Once when I was sixteen I remember accidentally walking into a bank. Apparently I was not the kind of customer they preferred because the bank manager and some thugs grabbed me and brought me out back. I didn’t know it was a crime for the poor to enter the rich people’s places. They beat me until I understood my place in a subservient class.
We ordered the best rum the hotel had and the fun began. The bottles emptied fast, and the night carried on. Marty my beautiful skeleton danced in front of me as we slowly lost track of ourselves. The floor got closer and closer until I felt my body crash onto it. Marty would not have me throwing in the towel so soon. She pulled me up onto the bed.
I awoke covered with bites and sore from top to bottom. Marty was one vicious woman. I saw the coffee cup sitting on the counter and grabbed it. I missed my rust tasting coffee. The coffee back in our city, but I drank it down anyway. Just as the cup was emptied she returned in a one-piece bathing suit. I laughed and asked her which dead person she had got that off of. Marty couldn’t recall, but she handed me a pair of swim trunks. We headed for he green water. The beach was filthy. Needles and used condoms in the sand. It was a really pretty place. We jumped in the cold ocean, and swam out as far as we could. The entire day was full of fun and cold green dirty water. When the sun began to set we were both so tired we almost didn’t make it back to the hotel.
We both collapsed together in bed.
The next day Marty and me went shopping; I had promised her I would buy some nice clothes so we could look pretty for a night on the town. She picked out some strange clothing, but apparently it was all the rage in the city. It was some sort of shiny vest like thing and pants that were too tight. If anyone in our city ever dressed so tight and sparkly they would have been shot. Marty told me to meet her at the nice little café called Chez Thomas. I arrived early and got some coffee. The owner Mr. Thomas himself sat down with me.
Thomas was a German Communist. He had come to the states looking for something. Thomas wasn’t exactly sure what it was. At first it was this beautiful young student who he had fallen in love with back in the states. When he arrived he found out she wasn’t as great as he remembered. All the same they married and opened up this café. On Wednesday nights they had a meeting of all the Communists of the city. Apparently this town was full of them. Thomas got up and wished me well as Marty came in. She looked quite lovely; she had on a blonde wig and a white dress. Sort of a Faux-Marilyn Monroe thing.
Marty and I headed down the street to a French restaurant. She told me it had always been her dream to go to this exact one. She had read about it in a book, and wanted to see if it was true. Apparently it employed the rudest waiters in the Country, to give you a real Parisian feel. The moment I sat down the waiter told me I was fat, and the man I was with could hardly pass for a woman. Marty smiled. So far the restaurant lived up to its reputation. We tried to order drinks but instead of rum he brought us back cheap red wine. When I complained he slapped me. The man truly lived up to his title. We finally got out food. He put everything I requested not to in my food, so I just ate around the terrible smelling onions, meat, and cheese. Marty’s food was perfect she was a little disappointed. Since her food had been prepared so well we decided not to tip. As we headed for the door, our waiter came to us and gave Marty his number, and slapped me again. He suggested a threesome.
When he left our hotel room he told both of us we should get tested. I laughed and so did Miss Marty. The rest of the night we would spend in each other’s embrace, warm and happy. I think I was beginning to forget about my town, my city, and my despoiled paradise.
We awoke very early the next day, and met up with Thomas and the mean French waiter for coffee. It was a blast. We drank espresso and yelled our newly learned German and French obscenities at the customers. They were not pleased, but the hip bohemian scene that Thomas and his wife had created tolerated every degree of insanity.
Eventually we all ended up in the street. It was nine at night and Thomas had convinced us we were going to put up a wooden barricade on one of the side streets. It was the mundane sort of revolutionary activity his friends and him engaged in. I could hardly say no. So, there we were, preparing to block off the rode just to piss off the morning commuters. Thomas told me that citizens used to put up barricades to keep the government in check. I told him I didn’t really care, and asked if he brought vodka. He had. We had finished the barricade by ten, and then we dumped red paint all over it, and danced in the street. When the vodka emptied we parted ways and me and Marty headed home. What I mean is we headed to the hotel. Marty made me promise we would get up early enough to see the news, maybe our little barricade would be on there.
That morning I got up, and made us some coffee, we sipped it as the news started. There was simply no mention of our barricade, instead a very urgent story from my city. Apparently a unique strain of flu had been spiraling out of control. The government had determined that it was becoming a pandemic. Steps were being taken to quarantine the city, and its inhabitants. The experts said it might be closed off from the rest of the country for a minimum of fourteen days. No one would be permitted to enter or exit under any circumstance. A group of national guardsman lead by some man named McMahon would be in charge of the quarantine.
My city was closed off for a minimum of fourteen days. Miss Marty and me would be stuck here. The idea actually sounded nice; maybe this place was a fresh start. It could be a new corruption, a new home. This talk was pointless though, because I could never really leave my old home. I knew after the quarantine I would be going home, to my old life, my old absurdity. I was a decaying corpse myself, how can I spend too much time from my lovely city of decay. I couldn’t.
Just then I began to wonder. Had Marty known the city would be quarantined? Was there something more to this vacation than just a random escape? I had a very suspicious feeling, and all of my misgivings pointed towards Max. I knew he somehow was involved with all of this. That damned Kosher Butcher.
Part 2- Vive le Roi, Vive Max
The official account of the fourteen-day quarantine and the subsequent events are as follows. On the first day of the quarantine a young butcher came to the commander governor of the security force and offered his quarters to him as a safe place to conduct the administration of the occupied city.
The Commander Governor began the occupation by setting up various check points throughout the city. Each checkpoint had a garrison of guards. Next, there were checkpoints along all exits out of the city. At each exit the police were particularly heavy. No one was aloud to enter or exit the city under any pretext. An old gym was gutted and turned into a makeshift prison. The governor had expected a fair amount of dissent in the situation. A few witnesses of the construction had seen the butcher inspecting the prison after its construction, and then questioning the governor. A curfew was put in place. Anyone caught violating it would be punished. Most people expected these restrictions to lighten up over time. Some people thought they may have just been protocol, but the first night changed that.
On the first night few people had obeyed the restrictions McMahon had placed, but his resolve was strong. He ordered five random people who were violating curfew to be rounded up and shot. At first his police had thought he was joking, but they picked five people out of the crowd. Next he sent out word to all the checkpoints to control the crowds of people who were in violation of the curfew. Each checkpoint read the announcement that five people had been rounded up from the groups of people in violation of the quarantine and the subsequent rules. The officers read the list of five names, and then told the crowd that these five people would be executed tonight, and for the rest of the quarantine anyone found violation any of the regulations put in place by the governor general would be shot. The people went home. When McMahon came to the Gym-prison to expect the five criminals it was said he was smiling. He had them line up on the edge of the empty concrete pool. He read them the official decree stating his position, and the severity of anyone caught in violation of any rule that is put in place by the quarantine. Then the five people were shot. They fell into the concrete grave, and McMahon left.
The second night was relatively peaceful. The five executions had been enough to quiet the people of the city. Most people had understood the severity of breaking the governor’s rules all to clearly. During the day however, there was plenty of talk of dissent in the city. McMahon, after hearing one particular insulting bit of information had a man beat in front of him. The people quieted down as the curfew began. Some people were seen leaving a bar right after curfew. The police were unable to track them as they snuck down alleys. Then, A group of Irish hooligans were caught harassing the police, but as the police opened fire on them they escaped. The police were furious. One hooligan even threw some beer on one of the officers. The police began a sweep of the entire city. McMahon had made it clear that the hooligans would be found and punished. The officers swept every street, and every dark alley, but instead of finding the hooligans three officers went missing. The governor had been seen swearing loudly at the unit that was missing officers, but just as the search was ramping up the butcher was seen instructing McMahon to call off the search, which he reluctantly did.
On the third night tensions were very high. The police had been given orders to open fire immediately on any person caught walking on the streets past curfew. With all the violence it might be hard to think of what the quarantine/occupation was actually doing for the sick. The hospitals were particularly disturbing. Inside the biggest hospital in town almost four hundred and fifty people with the worst strain of this flu were laying dieing. The occupation had greatly slowed the flow of supplies, and the best of the medical professionals had fled a few days before the occupation as the flu began to spread wildly. One of the best doctors, Dr. James Vander was victim three of the initial five executed by McMahon. The governor had not realized this until the smaller east side hospital informed him that he had not shown up for work that morning. Two officers on patrol were surprised to find one of the three missing officers dead and naked in an alley. They returned right away to McMahon abandoning their post to report the information. While they were away the ammunition depot supplying the east side was raided. McMahon flew into an uncontrollable rage as the men reported both the information of the dead officer, and now their own failure to prevent the raid of the depot.
The two officers were shot on sight, and placed in the concrete pool. McMahon issued a new order to inform the city that the curfew was now earlier, and the police would be investigating the raid. That afternoon, McMahon was seen enjoying fine wine, and wearing a very expensive suit. The people on the street remarked with wonder how many people had to die for him to have a new car. When night fell six people were executed. Shortly after the execution all the guards’ reserves were called up to the center of town. A riot had been started in the west end. The guards were ambushed on the way to the west end. The rioters had encircled them, and with stolen weapons the mob was able to disarm at least sixteen officers. The sixteen officers were then lynched in the street. After the lynching the mob broke up and the street was quiet. McMahon was speechless, sixteen dead officers, and no progress, no order in the city.
The next day, the people wandered during the day around the city. McMahon had issued orders for anyone caught talking about the riot to be arrested and questioned. Thirty-six citizens were arrested, but instead of questioning the guards just executed them. The governor was beginning to realize this city was not an easy target to impress order on. He would try to use this night as an example. The fifth night McMahon locked himself away in his quarters. He read while drinking wine in the safety of his quarters. Outside the sounds of guns and screams. He knew he was failing, and had none of the charisma to stop it.