45TH STREET IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT is a cold, silent place. It's the surface of the moon sometimes. I journey East, passing by a million familiar places. I walk all the way to the U District and then call a cab home as I can afford it now. Best not to use an app so I can't be pinned to the scene of the crime. That little shit absolutely called the cops. He's a Seattle punk anarchist which means he doesn't believe in any of the crap he preaches.
As we drive down through the city I recall when I first moved to Seattle in 2012. The first thing me and my best friend Shayla did when we touched ground was job hunt. I used to work at this shitty sex store, The Dungeon. I hated my miserable, bastard coworkers. The assistant manager was like every character in Portlandia combined into one. The manager was a drunken, bigoted shit stain. Shay got a job at Sureshot cafe, a crust punk spot open till 12am. She worked there till she died. Someone sold her fentanyl laced heroin. She used to chastise me about quitting jobs so my resume wouldn't look like shit. I got sweet hearted on everything at the cafe, never paid more than two bucks for a latte. I couldn't set foot in there after her passing. It was just too painful. I wish I could say her death was the wakeup call that got me clean but it wasn't. I never stay clean for long anyway.
When I got off work, my friend Jeff “William” Farrel would buy me a beer and we'd talk shit about the day. Never trust anyone who goes by their middle name. I lived in a studio on Pike and Summit. Its walking distance to my job. I only paid 700 including utilities. It wasn't simpler back then but I was more naive. And of course, there's Emily.
We first met at the art store she worked at. We first hung out at Cal Anderson and our hands touched as we sat by the fountain. I went to her birthday at The Comet. I didn't have any money for a present so I stole a rose from a front yard and gave it to her. It was such a different city back then. Filled with artists, hipsters, and it was smaller. Quieter. More innocent. Yet all this darkness was there in the background but I never once thought to look for it.
Before I can get my head on right, the bus arrives at 4th and Lucile. I meander from my seat in a daze. Some animal instinct, that lizard part of my brain, tells me everything is wrong. You don't need magical powers for something to trigger your fight or flight response. Your body and subconscious just start yelling at you. The air is wrong. The cars are wrong. My nerves are screaming at me to run. As I look around, soaking in the night, there is a noticeable difference. There are too many cars on the street. As in any cars at all. There shouldn't be any at this time of night. Nobody lives here. This is a commercial zone. The houses don't start for another few blocks. Why the hell would anyone be parked here?
A while go I learned how to teleport short distances, as you recall. I barely did but when you're backed into a corner, you grasp at straws. Nothing impressive but still useful and I use that teleport trick to bounce down a bit. Hopefully I bounced out of the way fast enough for no one to notice where I went. I look back as a car immediately flips its headlights on and pulls into the street. It's searching for me. I teleport down a bit more to 3R Tech, that shitty old used computer warehouse. 3R Tech are rivals with that electronic recycling center I used to work at.
The car guns it to close the distance I put between us. I've got a plan but it's pretty desperate. 3R is closed now but that works in my favor. Remember that guy who gave me the sparky spell to jump start his car? Use that enough on an electronic lock and eventually it opens. That and I kept side-checking the door till it busted open. I break into their warehouse and find my way to where the massive hauls of gadgets are stored. Towers and towers of electronic garbage, ready to be sent to the third world so little kids can rip the circuits apart, looking for precious metals. I start climbing the giant stacks of used computers that are ready to be shipped out to small businesses.
I only made it inside by the skin of my teeth. I hear foot traffic right behind me. Large people, angry, storming into the dark warehouse. Three goons worth of stomping me and searching about. Now is the time to put every gottverdammt trick I have to use. What I got that's useful is jack diddly shit. I have that impotent lightning spell, low volt low amp, as my only offensive weapon. It works much better if you can piggyback it off of an electrical grid. I can teleport a bit to get up into the stacks without making too much noise. I do that to buy myself some time. That mind control spell doesn't work on witches. If any of them are witches then revealing myself to give an order will get me killed. I can't risk blowing my cover. All it would take was one of them to be immune and I'd be dead. Lest we forget the alleged bullet sponge spell. I don't want to test it out like this. I have no idea how it works and damned if I have any faith in it. Lightning and teleporting. Schieße!
I peek around the bend and see they're getting closer. Just a few seconds from looking up and spotting me. I recognize one of them. That fucker I sold the guns too! Cody, you rat! And their guns? All the ones I sold the dirty rat bastard. Gottverdammt! That old Pennsylvania Dutch always comes spewing out of me when I'm pissed. My Deutsche ain't so good but it's the only solid lineage I'm sure of.
There are breakers and massive power conduits everywhere for the machinery in this warehouse. I patiently, against my instinct, wait for them to get close to one. I charge up, sneak up to the edge, and fry the fuckers. There's a nanosecond of action. A flash, the bang, and crispy thugs smoldering on the ground. Stiff as boards, no light in their eyes, like rag dolls left on the floor. It's over in a blink of an eye. I hop down and go to snag a gun.
I think it over, about how this is gonna look when the police show up. Wondering if there is anything connecting me to the scene of the crime. I can't remember if there are cameras in the warehouse but I doubt these cheap bastards would spend the money on them. If there isn't a firefight, if there isn't another suspect, then they just died breaking in to steal shit, right? Open and shut case? They came to rob the place and fried themselves fucking with the electrical system. If I leave the guns that have Goth Cowboy's finger prints, supposing they haven't been cleaned, then the guns get traced back to him. This will tie things up nicely.
It's time to plan my escape. I out the window of their retail store and see two of them leaning against their car, waiting for their buddies. I check my phone and another bus is heading my way. An idea pops into my head. I go to the other end of the warehouse and find a door. I bolt out the back and start teleport hopping towards the bus. They hear me running, and in turn I hear them hit the pavement, chasing after me at top speeds. You idiots have a car! Seattleites are dumb as hell.
I race to the bus hoping to get there before it leaves. They shoot at me. A bullet passes through abdomen. My organs are screaming at me and it feels awful. Like someone shoved a red hot poker through me while I got punch at the same time. Everything is pain but I imagine that without the bullet spell it'd feel a hell of a lot worse. I see my salvation! A big, blue bus! Its lights paint the dark street in a fluorescent glow. Then that fucker of a bus driver hits the gas as just I race to catch the up! Gottverdammt King County Metro to hell! I'm not taking 'no' for an answer. You're not abandoning me that easy!
I teleport on top of the bus. Sure, I could just ride to safety then the idea hits me. Two paybacks for the price of one. I put my hands on the roof of the bus. I've teleported packages, so how hard can teleporting something much larger be? I give it my all and teleport the whole fucking bus to face the two gunmen running at me. I don't get to see the looks on their faces but I imagine they would be priceless. I feel the two bumps as they get flattened under the tires. They splatter and I laugh. I'm a very dizzy from all this magic use. I've used way too much for one go and it's getting to me. I teleport off the bus which makes me more dizzy. I try walking and almost fall down. They don't say shit about what the weight limit on that teleport spell is. I think it's now self explanatory.
I examine my wound from the gunshot. It's healing, the skin is already back if extremely raw, but clearly this spell is a last resort. Not something to rely on, just enough to survive and no more. I grab my phone to call Jer-Bear and already I have a text.
“Don't head to Georgetown! Someone put a hit out on you. Meet me at Machine Shop.”
Gottverdammt! Firstly, I don't want to go there. Second, I'm already within walking distance of home. Third, I already killed the hitmen. Fourth, Emily goes there and I don't want to run into her. Fifth, I am not riding a gottverdammt hour on the 60 because of a late warning just to come back.
I text Jer-Bear, “I took care of them.”
I start walking to the 132 North bus stop so I don't pass near my place, lest more be waiting. A few minutes pass.
“wow, thats tight. nm. Greg will debrief you, agent 666. imma party 4 now and dig up what else I can ;)”
Gotta love my bosses. Nothing phases them.
*****
It's amazing how much shit we just shrug off in our day to do. I get shot, kill a whole bunch of fuckers and now I just wipe off the dust and head home. I drag myself through the door and Gregory is waiting for me with a cup of tea in the living room. He hands me a mug and it's this weird Chai brand I've never heard of. I sit down in the kitchen and let the adrenaline pass through and out of me. I realize I need to hide the bullet entry & exit points so he doesn't catch on. Loose lips sink ships and all that. So I take my coat off and hold it in my lap.
“Well, Jer-Bear is poking around but I got good news and bad news. Good news is you'll be safe here for the moment. Bad news is you ain't going anywhere until the dust settles. Congrats, kid, you're once again on permanent cleaning chore duty.”
“Oh joy of joys.” I groan.
“We'll let ya know what's up. But, are you OK? I mean, I know you can handle yourself.” Gregory seems genuinely concerned but I won't be fooled. No, it would be an idiot move to invest myself emotionally in my bosses.
“I'm cool as a cucumber and twice as... ugh... whatever it is cucumbers do. ” I really thought I had something there.
Gregory sighs and gives me a worried look. “I don't know, kid. I have no idea how you live like this. But I guess we all do, so we're in it together.”
Are we? I'm not the one who benefits from this war. I got shot and killed people for what? I'm less than a foot soldier in this war. I'm the pawn, a go-for, a production assistant. It's the same no matter what when you're poor and queer. You become an unnecessary human. Everyone views you as a bother and a beast of burden. Nobody cares about you. The whole system is designed to chew people like you up. People like me get used and thrown away by everyone. I'm a born and bred nobody. To make matters worse people in Seattle will smile to your face while they stab you in the back. Blood shed, chores done, all the work, sweat, pain and bullets don't add up to shit. People will fuck you over the second they get the chance.
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