Episode 43, “Red Like a Beet”

 

[image error]He was still carrying the metal post when they caught up to him. He felt his legs being taken from under him; felt his center of gravity shift; felt the sting of plastic and metal against his face and chest as he was pushed through the facade of a robot bodega. He and his enemy landed in a heap of shelves and broken merchandise, most of these cartons of dehydrated, preprinted food.

His hand found the post. He hefted it, standing. The robot proprietor beeped from behind its podium and Peyton turned to it. He hesitated for a moment. Perhaps this was–

Perry ripped the robot’s head off. Sparks flew. The one-eyed man threw the head at Peyton, who dodged it. He charged Perry, swinging the club, smashing merchandise from nearby shelves and shattering the shelves themselves.

“Go away,” said Peyton. “I don’t know you.”

“You don’t want to,” said Perry. He pointed to the bleeding, weeping mess that was his eye socket. “But I owe you now, Peyton. I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to take both your–”

Peyton hit him in the jaw with the metal post.

Teeth flew. Perry’s bloody face was knocked sideways. Something cracked. The big man howled, holding his head, trying to straighten his neck. Peyton had never seen that happen before, but then, he had never before fought someone roughly his own size.

Big Bill loomed in the entrance to the shop.

“Think you broke him,” he said. His voice was mockery and bass and nothing else.

“You’re puppets,” said Peyton. “Puppets of VanClef.”

“I’m nobody’s boy,” rumbled Stillwater. He seemed content to watch Perry floundering on the tiles of the Bodega’s floor, pushing at his neck, trying to turn his head. It was if Peyton’s strike had locked Perry’s neck off-center. “Never seen that before,” Stillwater said.

“I was just thinking that,” said Peyton. He let the metal post fall to the floor.

“Maybe he dies,” said Stillwater. “Maybe he lives. Don’t care. You’re a job.”

“I don’t have to be,” said Peyton. “You were in the Program. You had to be.”

“Just before you,” said Stillwater. “They put me in the freezer. Thawed me out and gave me a job. You.”

“You were in storage,” said Peyton. “Why? You look just like me. Why not use you?”

“Tried,” said Stillwater. “Sample rejected.” The red-haired man tapped his skull with one large finger. “Something loose up here, they said.” He smiled broadly beneath his handlebar mustache. “Could be true. Don’t care.”

“So you’re nobody’s boy,” said Peyton, “but you let them give you a ‘job.’ Let them tell you what to do.”

“Don’t care about them,” said Stillwater. “Don’t care about you. Care about me. Big Bill Stillwater is the biggest. Big Bill Stillwater is the strongest. Prove it. Kill you, then go. Free now. Out of the freezer. Done taking orders.”

“Does VanClef know you’re not under his control?” said Peyton. “Maybe he’ll send an army to kill you.”

“He’ll need to send two,” said Stillwater. “Maybe more.” Again the red-haired man grinned. “Kill Perry. Prove he’s weak.”

That got Perry’s attention. He squirmed around on the floor, looking up at Stillwater as best he could. There was pleading in his eyes.

“He’s not going to help you,” said Peyton. “He doesn’t have a kind heart.”

“What?” Stillwater asked.

“Nothing,” said Peyton. On the floor, Perry tried to say something. His words came out as a breathy moan. His face started to turn red.

“Dying,” said Stillwater. “You holed him up bad.”

“He could take a while to suffocate like that,” said Peyton. “Maybe half an hour. Maybe more. You should put him out of his misery.”

“Don’t care about him,” Stillwater repeated.

“Then I will,” said Peyton. He reached for Perry. When his fingertips brushed the man’s arms, Perry exploded, throwing furious punches, snarling and drooling with his head cocked to one side. His fists crashed against Peyton, incredibly strong, fueled by adrenaline and desperation. Peyton used his thick forearms to ward off most of the blows. Perry, still on the floor, tried to kick him off. The strikes against Peyton’s shins were painful and, if he was not careful, Perry would break his leg or his ankle.

Stillwater chuckled from his spot in the doorway. “Doesn’t want to go. Look at him. Red like a beet.”

Perry was indeed turning a violent shade of red. Whatever damage had been done to him, he was not getting air, and the exertion was killing him as surely as if Peyton were choking him from behind.

Peyton fought past Perry’s desperate guard and pinned the man. He was very aware of Big Bill standing there, and of the vulnerable position he would be in if Bill jumped in while Peyton was dealing with the wounded man. But Bill simply leaned against the wall. Annika had used a word the other day, a word to describe a television character she found arrogant and dismissive. Watching Big Bill, he thought of that word.

“Insolent,” said Peyton.

“What?” said Bill.

“Nothing,” Peyton said again. He managed to work his way around behind Perry, wrapping his arm under and against the man’s damaged jaw. With his other arm, he braced the head. Perry moaned something Peyton could not understand. He was starting to move sluggishly now. There was no telling how long it would take him to die, lying on the floor of the bodega, but Peyton thought it would be a long time.

The loud snap! of Perry’s neck signaled the end of his problems. Peyton threw the body off and stood.

Big Bill was gone.

Peyton stepped out of the bodega. He looked up and down the street. Where had his enemy gone? Had Bill given up? Gone to live whatever life he could, now that he was free of VanClef?

Standing on the street, Peyton swore.

No. That wasn’t it at all.

Peyton looked up.

Big Bill was clinging to the roof of the bodega.

“Kill you now,” he said.

He dropped.