waiting for the beast

Waiting For The Beast


By


Midnite Po8



Waiting for the beast.  The vampires hung out on street corners, fangs bared.  The solids drove by in their Fords and Buicks, hollow eyes staring straight ahead, sweat beading on their foreheads.  The air rolled in on bony shoulders, smelling of rot and dead fish.  Boats in the nearby river sounded throaty whistles.  People rolled down ice-slickened sidewalks, stepping carefully over the street guys wrapped in blankets.  Shamu could see his breath.  It meant he was alive.
Shamu was nervous.  It was to be his first time.  He was named for the killer whale because of his size – six-foot-seven and a solid four hundred pounds of fat and muscle.  He cradled the silver plated .44 magnum pistol as if it were a small child.  His hard belly hung heavy over a pair of red and navy blue jogging pants.  A matching tee-shirt barely kept out the chill.
Some initiation, Shamu thought – to take out the most dangerous man on the street.  It started to snow, and he felt the flakes melt and run down his nose.  Despite the cold, sweat poured down his back and legs.  It wasn’t that he minded taking out the beast – he hated the dude.  He hated the Beast more than anything else in the world because he had killed his mama.  He would never forget how he last saw her - sprawled over the kitchen floor, skull bashed in and blood like a small lake surrounding her body.
Shamu shed a tear.  He wiped it with his sleeve.  He couldn’t let his mates see him cry.  They would just laugh.  He looked at the back of his hand and rubbed the skull-head tattoo with his fingers.  The gang banger insignia had long, sharp teeth that protruded from the bony jaw.
The crowd began to clear, and he knew it was close to time.  He knew he could do it, but he also remembered the last time someone crossed the Beast.  The man was found cut to pieces in a back alley, right behind the police station.  The Beast wasn’t afraid to make a point.  Shamu shivered.
Then he saw him.  The Vampires had already disappeared, probably frightened themselves, although they’d never admit it.  They just wanted the Beast’s stash.  Everybody on the street knew where it was – the special hideaway under the pier where he made his deals and paid off cops.  The place where a million bucks worth of drugs was hidden.  Yet nobody bothered it.  They knew better.  Shamu knew better too, and wondered to himself how things would be with the Beast taken down.
Yet Shamu didn’t know if he had the courage to pull the trigger.  Others had tried – all they got for their troubles was a hole in the ground.  He peered around the corner of the alley where he was hidden and watched the Beast walk toward him.  He was a big man, like Shamu, although not as tall, and swayed as he walked like he was on the deck of a ship.  Shamu smelled his own fear as the beast came closer and closer.  He smelled the trash in the alley, rotting fruit and places where dudes had pissed on the faded brick walls.  A hard wind rose, and rain drops like icicles mixed with the snow.
The Beast was a half-block away.  Shamu checked his gun.  He had insisted on a revolver – he couldn’t take the chance on an automatic jamming.  The ammunition was in place.  Shamu clicked back the hammer, muffling the sound by doing it under his coat.  The beast was almost on him.  Decision time.  Shamu thought again of his mother and exited the alley, drawing his pistol from his coat and pulling at the trigger at the same time.  A knife flashed into the hand of the Beast. 
A gust of wind caught the hammer in Shamu’s coat.  Panicking, Shamu tried to disengage the weapon.  Too late, he felt the Beast’s knife thrust plunge into his hard belly.  He grabbed at his attacker’s arm as he fell back against the side of the building.  He saw the Beast’s grim smile as he plunged the knife again and again before Shamu got off the first shot.  The blast rang in his ears as he fired again and he dropped the gun and grabbed the Beast by the throat.
Shamu felt hot and cold at the same time and the pain in his guts weakened his body but not his resolve.  The two men locked in a deadly embrace as they fell to the cold concrete.  The knife made one more plunge and Shamu was not even sure his pistol had hit his man.  The Beast fought as if there was not a mark on him.  Neither man spoke, but when Shamu bit his opponent’s ear the Beast made a low, growling sound.  The sound came from deep in his chest and Shamu felt as if he were really fighting an animal.
Shamu got a hold of the man’s wrist and twisted with all of his strength.  He heard a crack and the knife fell to the pavement.  They rolled over it, each man choking the other, each trying to end the other’s life.  The rain came down harder and Shamu’s hand slapped the icy ground as he scrambled for the Beast’s knife.  He found it.  With all the anger he could muster he plunged the instrument into the neck of the Beast.  He heard a gurgle as he thrust again but he heard a noise that would wake the dead from their pine coffins and he felt hot blood gush from his own side.  The Beast had found the gun.  Shamu knew he only had seconds so he shoved the knife in again and again.  One more shot slammed into his cheek before the beast was finally silent.
Blood spurted from Shamu’s neck and mixed with the blood of the Beast.  He had trouble breathing without choking.  Down on one knee he put a gentle hand on the throat of his enemy and felt the death rattle.  Shamu felt dizzy, and vomit rose in his chest as he fell to the ground beside the Beast.  As life ebbed from his giant frame he gently put his hand around the hand of the Beast and said one word.
“Papa.”