I MEET ASTRID at Uptown Coffee in South Lake Union. That place is gottverdammt cavernous for a coffee shop. I heard they're gonna knock it down for another high rise and I genuinely couldn't care. I just like it cus nobody is ever there after 4pm and it's an easy trip to Fremont from the cafe. Astrid shows up an hour late, as per usual. Luckily I accounted for this. She comes in huffing, covered in paint, and smelling like BO.
“Sorry it took me so long.” She hugs me and we start discussing the plan.
We go over every detail. Astrid seems to catch on pretty quick.
“I'm thinking you keep the motor going in the alley and wait for me to run out.” I wrap up our convo.
“And if things go all Andras on us?” Asks Astrid.
I was kinda hoping we would let that drop, Seattle style. Elephant in the room in all.
“Then dump my body on the light rail tracks with a note saying I'm a time traveler from the future and I failed my mission, so I had to take my own life.” I quip.
I've said this line before but I like to beat a dead-'one liner'-horse into slushy.
“Aahhhh, a plan 34.” Astrid coos.
“You know me too well.”
My phone gets a text. It's from someone called “Octavia.” It reads,
“Hey, Jer-Bear & Gregory say you're making a move on Elliot? I'll be at the house to help clean up. I did the cleanup job on Andrew and those hitmen, fyi. Family's flipping the bill in advance so work out payment with them.”
I grind my teeth at the idea that I'm paying for the bodies I drop. Fick dich. My life on the line and you want to charge me? My face turns red and Astrid notices.
“Something up?” Astrid inquires.
“Family is sending a fixer to help out. Claudy ain't happy.”
“Nope.” Astrid nods along solemnly.
I text Octavia back and tell her when we plan to be there, what we need, and what my initial plan was. I don't mention the Blue Lives Matter flag. After some back and forth, we come to a compromise. Octavia watches the front to make sure no one can get out if shit goes south. She'll magic up the doors tight and silence the house. No sounds coming out, no internet connection, complete isolation. Astrid is on guard duty and will blast music from her car to distract people if someone comes home early. This plan is so well thought out that I just know it's going to go shit end south, just to spite us.
*****
Me, Astrid, and Octavia meet at 15th and 80th for the rendezvous. It's a dull part of Maple Leaf, north of anything even remotely interesting. Just an endless series of two story houses. Like a flyover state, it's a lot of nothing. Grey skies overhead, drizzling rain outside the truck, and us up to no good. Octavia's car pulls up next to ours and Astrid immediately recognizes her. They run out, hug, and start chatting. I realize now I met Octavia once at a big movie night that Astrid organized a few years ago. She's dressed half way between a 60s mod version of Mary Poppins and an off duty mortician. Octavia's wearing a crimson vintage blazer, black suede pants, nice heels, and dark glasses in the face of cloudy, overcast Seattle weather. I can respect that. I can't remember the last time I went outside without sunglasses.
“Hello Mary, Claudia, which do you prefer?” says Octavia in an overly cheery, deeply insincere voice.
“When we're on the job and in hearing range of normies, we'll stick with Mary. Secrete identity and all that.” I ramble off.
“Good thinking! I like that. Don't want any of these chickens coming home to roost.” Octavia's voice is doused in insincerity.
It's like she's chewing the scenery at a play. Me and Octavia share inane, forgettable banter and then the awkward silence creeps in. The pleasantries die down, and the bullshitting along with it. With that all out of the way, we drive off the short distance to our target. It's go time.
Astrid slowly prowls her van into the alley. The place is silent, windows shut, curtains drawn. Old memories flood back. My breakup with Emily. Those fucking trust fund brats. The smell of that horrible compost bin. Why do collective houses always have the worst smelling compost bins?
I get out the van as quietly as I can and walk up to the door. You'd think after the fight with Andrew and those hitmen that I'd be able to handle this. Instead, I'm seething with rage. At being betrayed by my fellow queers; both back when they made me homeless years ago, and now that they tried to have me killed. Fellow queers? What a joke. It's everyone for themselves in this world. There are no communities, just scenes controlled by manipulators. None of this solidarity shit is real. Vengeance, however, is. Time for payback.
I check for the fake rock that I remember the spare key being hidden in. Sure enough, there it is. Just sitting in a pile of leaves. Discarded and rusted, the key still fits and I carefully jostle it to open the door. The smell of that fucking compost bin hits me. It's almost as bad as the burnt vegan cheese on the cast iron skillet. They forgot to turn off the gottverdammt stove. Typical. The trusty skillet, our handy weapon of choice. If all goes south, I know you'll always be there for me, Cast Iron Skillet. The Skillet shall not forsake me.
I turn the knob on the stove to low. Enough to keep a fire from breaking out, without tipping anyone off that someone was in the kitchen. I carefully go into the basement and something is bad. Very bad. I open the door to Elliot's room and the lights are on. He's not there but he's in the house for sure. I very much doubt he forgot to shut them off on the way to work. I put on my gloves, grab the package of poison, dump it everywhere in his room indiscriminately, and hide behind a wall. I figure he's probably gone to the bathroom. I wait and listen.
I use that witch-sight spell I was taught; the one that almost never comes in handy. Peek around the bend before I reach it. See around corners and that bullshit. Empty space. What the fuck is even happening here? Did I miss my chance to bail? I think I hear two of the college kids are in their rooms, but I doubt it will be an issue. I quickly and quietly move up the stairs. I should have either waited or bolted early. This was dumb. Very dumb.
That's when it happens. I hear loud, obnoxious according music blasting from Astrid's car. A high pitched, sardonic voice bleats out, 'I'm crucifying Jesus! Banging in the nails! And I am so happy, cus old Jesus failed!' Elliot is at the backdoor, shouting at Astrid's car. I duck down, walking as quietly as I can through the door nexus, and head towards the bathroom window. It's across the hall. Just ten feet and I'm...
“HEY!!!” I hear Elliot scream as he bursts into the door nexus. The lizard brain takes over. Less than a nanosecond and I have two choices. Run out the front door and make my escape, or kill the fucker in cold blood. Before he can tackle me, I make it into the kitchen. I race to the caste iron skillet. I feel a rush of wind just as he reaches me. Before he makes contact, I slam the skillet into his head. He hunches over, wailing, blood covering his face, his smarmy, beady little eyes closed tight. He looks fucking pathetic. The accordion music is fucking with me. I bash his head again and he screams. His face is seared from the burning metal. I hit him a third time and he's down and out. For good.
I hear someone rushing towards me through the hall, and I actually remember to use the witch-sight. I peer around the door vortex so I can prep for whoever the fuck it is. Blonde hair, beard, flannel; it's Nolan. Fucker! He's got his C Wrench on him, and is about to burst into the kitchen. Just as he comes in I crack his face open with the skillet. He doesn't go down. He kicks my knees, the arschloch!
I elbow him in the face, he drops the wrench, and we crash into the kitchen counter. His hands are on my throat. My hand flies to the first object I can grasp. The coffee grinder. I slam it into the side of his head and he staggers back a bit. I hit him again and again. He falls a little and I start kicking him. Finally, as he's crouching on the floor covering his head. I grab the compost bin. I pop the top and dump it on him. He gags and falls on his back. I shove the thing into his face. I press the edge of the bucket into his throat with all my weight, and then I start kneeing him in the solar plexus. He's gasping and I knee him in the balls a few times. As he lays on the ground, barely able to breathe, I grab a kitchen knife and jam it in his throat.
“TOT UMFALLEN!” I scream at his body and kick him again in the nuts for good measure.
I think Nolan's dead so I stagger up. Out of nowhere my thigh is suddenly blinding me with pain. There's a gottverdammt knife in it! Fucking Zeppy is there. They whip out their mace and try to blind me with it. Luckily the mace spray lost all the pressure from years of neglect and expired. It just dribbles down their hand. They go to run to the front door and I grab them. I drag them to the bathroom, and slam their head into the toilet bowl. They cower on the floor and I take the lid off the water tank. I bring it down in their head a few times. Blood pools on the ground. This makes three kills in under a few minutes.
I hear a gunshot ring out and my blood splatters against the wall. The bullet spell is doing it's best but gottverdammt, holy shit it hurts! I turn around and get another bullet in my gut. I feel like I'm gonna double over from the pain. I try with all my might to keep standing and face the gunman. I barely recognize the fucker. Fidel, Nolan's boyfriend. He's just standing there with a blank expression. Pretending I'm not even in the room. It's like that passive aggressive, childish bullshit cranked up to 11. The Seattle desire to avoid conflict even when you're murdering someone. I hate this city so fucking much.
“I'm going to gut you like a fucking fish, feiger Hund!”
I teleport behind him and stab him in the neck with Zeppy's knife, which was still stuck in me. You're not supposed to pull a knife out of a wound but I don't care. I yank the knife out of his neck and jab upwards through his gut. I keep my promise. He's gagging and his high pitched screams are swallowed up by gurgles of blood. Finally he dies. I look at his lifeless body, in a pool of his own blood, look of horror etched into his face. It's the most genuine emotion I've ever seen him show. I kick his face just for good measure. Enjoy hell, manlet.
The door opens and Octavia comes in like she's giving a tour. She prances about and eyes the place, and then gives me a grin.
“You wouldn't happen to have a spell that blocks cellphone reception? Cus I'm hundred percent sure the two college kids who also live here called the cops.”
“Ah!” She gives a sarcastic look of shock. “Way ahead of ya. Everything in the bubble stays here.”
“Should we kill them?” I ask. I think I'm all murdered out for the night but we can't risk any witnesses.
“Not even an issue. I'll wipe their tiny, normie minds so clean that soap bubbles come out their mouths when they speak.” Octavia gives a 50s commercial style pose.
“And how much am I paying for this?” I ask the dreaded question.
“Oh, you don't panic about the cost. Witch Bodies are a form of payment. That's how we keep our meals going. Can't cannibalize the dead without the dead. OK, lemme think. Well, we got to get rid of the person with the gun. If we want this to look like a home invasion, there can't be any real means of self defense or it puts a hole in the narrative. It won't be enough to clean their hands because it's registered in their name. Homicide will want to know why someone with a gun didn't use their gun. Hint hint.”
The backdoor opens and Astrid comes in with the Blues Lives Matter flag wrapped up in her arm. Octavia takes one look and flips a shit.
“What the hell is that?! We can't make it look like a hate crime! Imagine how traumatized the queer community will be. This is really triggering. This is not cool. Think of how this is going to affect the community! People need to feel safe.”
I just fucking explode. Not at her specifically, but at all the privileged, childish, entitled brats of Seattle. Every rich college kid who pretended to be part of the struggle. Every queer that ever fucked me over. All my queer ex's, all my friends who abandoned me, every last Seattleite. I hate them and it flies out of me.
“We should rile people up! Get people in the streets and fighting! I'm sick of tender queers! I'm sick of slactivists! I'm sick of college kids playing revolution, and leaving us to rot in jail! I'm sick of it! Sick of the trust fund kids! Sick of the people make 'queer' a scene! Geh zum Teufel! Fucking wake up and deal with the shit!”
Before Octavia can respond, Astrid butts in to calm us down.
“HEY! We're all on the same side. Good vibes, OK! Just calm and clarity. No hostility, only love.” She gives us a bone crushing group hug, and we kinda calm down a little bit.
“OK, I have a compromise.” says Astrid. “How about we grab Fidel's body, dump it in Tacoma with the Blue Lives flag, and that way we frame some Hammerskins. The Seattle queer community won't feel like they're being targeted in their own backyard. That sound fair? Everyone wins.”
In a place known for breeding serial killers, a home invasion / murder spree isn't out of the ordinary. I don't know how Octavia plans to flip this and I don't want to know. That's her problem, not mine. Octavia gives it a think and concedes.
We wrap Fidel's body up in the Blue Lives Matter flag and then in a carpet. Octavia assures us she'll be magicking the scene of the crime something fierce. Me and Astrid grab each end of the carpet and haul it into the alley. She opens up the trunk and there's a huge problem. The body won't fit in the back of Astrid's car. We. Are. Fucked.
“Octavia!!! We could use some help here.”
Octavia takes one look, smirks, and says she has an idea. She's been doing this awhile and has a fix for everything. The three of us haul the carpet on top of the truck. We tie it up extra tight, stuff some small pillows on either end, and she enchants the thing to be unnoticeable to mundanes. The gottverdammt body is tied to the roof of the fucking truck! We are fucked!
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