Spade’s head beat like a drum as he staggered out of Silas’s truck. The pain was familiar, a hum in the background. The headaches rarely ceased, but the anger remained, and that was all he needed. Even as his feet dragged, the anger drove him forward, an engine igniting his steps.
That fuck hit us. And then he walked off.
Spade remembered Toby’s back as he strolled to his big truck, practically unmarred by the crash. Spade hadn’t been so fortunate, of course. He never was. The aching twinge in Spade’s shoulder was a reminder of the impact of his body against the truck’s door. He hadn’t been able to walk away with such nonchalance.
Louis’s BBQ was across the street from where Silas parked the truck. Made of plywood walls and splintering timber columns, the building was fragile. A stiff breeze could carry it away. Some effort of masonry had been made on the side in a loose pile of bricks meant to replace the flimsy structure, but it had yet to see permanence. Spade wondered how the business had survived so many storms. But like so many things in the Gate, it was tougher than it looked.
Sludgy run-off overflowed from the storm drains. The streets were as greasy as the food Louis served inside. Grizzled old bastards like Toby were obsessed with this place. But why? There were countless joints just like it, all serving the same slop. Nothing special about it, except that it was now of interest to the Lenores.
A recent drizzle of rain had cooled the normally sweltering air. Silas straightened his thin jacket as he drifted behind Spade. “How you doing, trooper?”
“Fine,” Spade replied curtly, readjusting the t-shirt on his head to keep the wounds at bay. Silas’s faux concern was the last thing he needed. He and Silas had the shared goal of taking out Toby and collecting the debt from Louis. No reason to get mushy about it. Spade knew what he was to most people–a means to end.
His boots beat the cobblestone as he started to cross the road. Silence stretched, interrupted only by the echo of the men's footsteps. Louis’s BBQ didn’t contain the same boisterous crowd as usual. The empty road filled Spade with unease.
It wasn't the typical desertion that came after hours. This was the emptiness that came before a storm. The kind of emptiness that presaged trouble. Living in the Gate sharpened one’s sense of danger, and people knew to scram at the sight of trouble-makers. He used to be one of those trouble-makers, and wherever they showed up, people ran.
Spade’s muscles tensed as he clenched his fists. He didn’t know what he prepared for–a fight or a beating. Violence was quickly becoming an instinct, as routine as eating or sleeping. Deeper than the surface of pain and bruises, violence was now a part of him.
Only a violent man would dare stand their ground.
Figures darted in the corner of Spade’s vision. Spade turned his head sharply to catch a glimpse of Silas, rushing for the truck.
“Coward!” Spade snarled.
With a steady hand, Spade flicked open a switchblade. The blade shot out with a ting. He faced the figures and recognized them. All members of the Youths.
A tall man approached Spade. It was that slack-jawed fucker with spindly limbs and a wide mouth. These features had earned him his nickname from Dral: Snake. Dral had a way with words for people he disliked.
He must have been the new leader since Dral’s demise, which made sense. Snake was the oldest of the Youths, the kind of aimless wretch who never ascended to higher orders of criminality. By pure luck, Snake lived when so many had expired.
The others stood back, waiting for Snake to make his move. They carried weapons–brass knuckles, bats, knives, and anything they could find with a sharp edge.
As the Youths drew near, Spade made out the bright green of Snake’s eyes. They were a mesmerizing color, the kind that was hard to look away from. Spade struggled to remain aware of the other Youths as they circled him.
Nowhere to run. But that wasn’t Spade’s plan, anyway. He would have turned tail with Silas if he wanted to get away. No, this was exactly what he hoped for. Spade reared for a fight.
“What, are you scared?” Snake said. “You don’t have to be. I wanna thank you.”
Spade maintained a stony glare. This was bait. Spade brandished the knife, keeping the blade between his body and Snake.
“Thanks for taking out Dral. Never thought you would do it.” Snake’s words probed Spade, searching for an opening, trying to garner a reaction. “You’re an inspiration for little guys everywhere.”
“Shut up and fight.”
"We're not looking to fight," Snake said. "Yet. We want recruitment. You've proven yourself, had your little stunt, so come back now and I might give you a promotion."
"Not interested. I'm with X now."
"And you think that shit's gonna last?" Snake laughed in his face. "You're not X material."
The remark hit him hard. Spade fought against the temper raging inside of him, the slew of doubts he carried since Dral's death. Snake didn't get to tell him where he belonged. No one did.
Snake placed a hand on Spade's shoulder, firm and commanding. "You did us all a favor. Let's make it even."
Spade eyed the boys that caged him. Their weapons. Snake's bony fingers digging into his shoulder. The message was loud and clear: rejoin the Youths, or die.
He'd be damned before he did either.
Spade spat in Snake’s face. Snake stepped back in surprise, wiping the spit from his chin.
Spade lunged, the blade diving for Snake’s stomach. The tip pierced soft flesh, submerging deep beneath the skin, straight into Snake’s guts. Spade twisted the blade, swirling Snake’s insides. Snake gurgled as he hugged his belly, the bright green of his eyes fading.
Relentlessly Spade slashed Snake’s body, leaving marks on Snake’s chest and arms as Snake failed to protect his face from the onslaught. Snake dropped to his knees, no longer as tall. The others watched the scene in awe and horror, feasting upon their new leader's death with sinister relish.
A curtain of blood poured from Snake’s mouth. It would be over soon. Snake managed to speak, “Dral went easy on you. You’re pathet–” Snake’s words turned to blood.
“I didn’t kill Dral,” Spade said with a cackle. “A girl did.”
The Youths descended on Spade. Spade slashed and jabbed wildly in every direction as blunt forces of bats and fists knocked him about. Brass knuckles smashed into his shoulder, his left arm hanging limply. It was fine. Spade still had his dominant hand, clutching the knife.
The shirt he had wrapped around his head fell off in the scuffle. The wound reopened, matting his hair, rivulets trailing down his temples.
Spade felt no pain. It was as if his soul had left his body, leaving behind a slush of adrenaline and anger. He was more callus than human. There was nothing they could do to him anymore.
“Do it! Kill me!” Spade laughed. “Try it!”
A machete flashed in the light with a blade much bigger than Spade’s own. Spade slipped between two Youths, only to be pulled back into their arms. They forced him back into the path of the machete, holding him in place.
This was death. At least Spade took some of the bastards with him. That was all he could ask for.
The air snapped with the clap of a shotgun. Spade’s ears rang. The machete dropped, the boy who had been holding it scampering in the other direction. Another clap of a shotgun shell. The Youths let go of Spade, and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
The pain Spade had been putting off crushed him. He breathed raggedly, shocked that he was alive. The Youths opened their mouths, screaming but making no sound that Spade could hear. The road cleared as they scurried away.
Toby tread toward Spade, wielding a heavy iron shotgun at his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. He cocked it back, letting a large shell fall at his feet. With the shotgun relaxed against his shoulder, barrel pointed at the sky, Toby took out small orange earplugs.
Spade’s hearing gradually returned. He faintly made out the sound of the tread of Toby’s boots approaching. Toby waited while Spade slowly regained his hearing.
Head spinning, Spade clambered to his feet and swayed. He wasn’t about to meet Toby while lying on his back like a helpless turtle.
“What are you doing?” Toby said.
“Did you see it? What I did to them?” Spade caught himself smiling. Corpses lay around them, including the slashed-up body of Snake, soon to be dragged off to a corpse cart. Streams of blood flowed between the cobblestones, mixing with the run-off. Bloody footsteps peppered the road, clustering around Spade, evidence of the fray.
“Get a gun,” Toby said bluntly. “What are you trying to do fist-fighting them?”
“The point isn’t to shoot them.” Spade pawed the ground for his switchblade. “I’m trying to beat them. I have a knife.”
Toby surveyed the battlefield with disbelief. “You have a death wish. You’re losing blood.”
“Imagine what I can do to you, if this is what I did to all of them. Imagine…” Spade’s voice trailed off as he rerouted all energy to his feet. Spade held out the blade, his grasp weakening with each step he took toward Toby.
Toby sidestepped him easily, a look of concern drawn on his face. “Kid, I’m serious. Go lie down. You’re in bad shape.”
“Fuck you. You’re going to die,” Spade said, his consciousness blinking like a dying bulb. “Lenore scum.”
Toby held up his free hand, a conciliatory gesture. “Hey, step over here so I can catch you. You’re gonna fall.”
“... protecting Louis… cheating us out of… the debt …” Spade rasped, waving the knife in Toby’s direction. “You won’t beat me.”
“Put that thing down so I can help you, you idiot,” Toby said.
Coughs wracked Spade’s body, causing him to bend over with his hands on his knees. Toby made a move toward Spade.
“Don’t touch me,” Spade snapped.
Toby grinned and shook his head. “I tell ya. You’re tough. And stubborn. It’s almost impressive.”
The door of Silas’s truck opened, revealing Silas’s hiding spot during the fight. He brushed himself off as he walked over to Spade. “We’ll get him another day,” Silas said. “C’mon, time to go home.”
Spade’s hands shook. He couldn’t just walk away. He couldn’t let this go. He had to take Toby out fair-and-square.
“You should listen to him,” Toby said, voice calm.
Spade spat blood at Silas’s feet. “You did nothing! You sat in your fucking truck and–”
“Calm down, you’re gonna pop something,” Silas said. “You did pretty good on your own. Never seen someone take a hit like you do.”
The switchblade clattered to the ground. Spade’s legs gave out. He stumbled only to have Silas grasp his shoulder, supporting him. “You did good today,” Silas said. “You don’t have anything to prove. Another day, partner.”
Toby nodded brusquely. “Take care.” He ambled toward Louis’s BBQ, disappearing behind the door.
Spade allowed Silas to support him on the way to the truck. The truck was in the same condition as Spade–barely running and spurting fluids. Spade fell back into the seat, trying to catch his breath.
Silas started the truck and took off down the road, past the corpses. “Ah, we fucked up,” Silas said. “We got ahead of ourselves. We shouldn’t have gone after Toby like that. Not that we could'a predicted the Youths, but y'know, they're pretty small fry compared to–”
“He still won’t fight me,” Spade grumbled.
“Toby isn’t your problem right now. You got in a fight with at least twenty guys.” Silas whistled. “It was incredible. I don’t know what you’ve got, but it’s special. It’s like you don’t give a shit. You were a monster. You scared those fuckers.”
This perked Spade up. He smirked. “Yeah, I know. What’s your problem? You always run.”
“Look, I thought about running them over, but this truck is fucked. We would have both been sitting ducks and without a get-away vehicle. You gotta think things through. Can’t just think short-term.”
“Whatever,” Spade said. “You’re a useless partner. What would Rath want with you?”
Silas shrugged. “Maybe he thought I was funny.”
“But you’re not funny.”
“I know I’m not much,” Silas said, sounding more serious than usual. “But I’ve been around for a long time. I know how things work. We won’t fuck up like that again.”
Spade responded by clenching his teeth. He couldn’t be bothered to talk. His body thrummed with pain.
“I’m sorry,” Silas said. “I’ll make this right, okay? I’ll get you home.”
Spade was unable to fight anymore, as he submitted to the weight of unconsciousness. He drifted, the bumpy ride carrying him home.
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