Nemesis - 2. Chapter 2: Retribution is Job One

Retribution is Job One

Nemesis

It didn’t take long to figure out what I was supposed to do. I hadn’t taken ten steps from the motel when I got my first job.

The motel was next to an abandoned shopping center. It was one of those places where Sprawl-Mart had built a store, attracted tenants in out-parcels, milked the place, and then shut down. A storefront church that preached prosperity theology—you know, “God wants you to be rich”—had given it a go. Their signs were still in the windows, covered with dust and fly shit. Trash, liquor bottles, beer cans, and used condoms littered the parking lot.

The only storefront still occupied was a bottom-feeder: a payday loan place. There was one car parked in front of it. I watched a car turn off the street and drive behind the strip of stores. Somebody’s gonna get a blow job, I thought. It was something I had seen often enough from the motel window. There was only one person visible in this car … already getting it, I thought. I was about to turn away when I felt pain and fear, and realized it was coming from the car.

I felt the pain and fear, and understood that meant I had a job to do, and it had something to do with that car. I started running. The chiton flapped in the breeze. The sword banged against my leg. I grabbed the sword with one hand, and tried to hold the chiton down with the other. The damn thing didn’t go more than an inch below my butt. Holding on with both hands slowed me, so I turned loose of the chiton. Screw it; I don’t care of someone sees my bare butt. Actually, I’d caught a look at it in the mirror while I was cleaning up the motel room. Okay, I had stared at it. It was a cute butt.

I had barely finished this thought when I rounded the corner and saw the car parked in the dubious privacy of a loading dock. The fear and pain were stronger. I saw the driver, and watched his hand rise and then fall swiftly. There was a burst of pain. He’s just hit someone. I complimented myself on my brilliance, and jerked the handle of the driver’s-side door. The door was locked; the handle came off in my hand.

Wow! Cool, I thought. Super-strength. While I was admiring my newly found ability, the driver, alerted by the sound of the door handle being ripped off, turned, saw me, and reached for the ignition switch. Without thinking, I pushed my hands through the glass of the window, grabbed his head, and pulled. I felt the bones of his neck break. I heard his last gasp. I felt his death.

I turned loose of the man, and looked farther into the car. Crouched on the floor was a boy, about my age. I mean, about the same as my new age. My new body, that is. His nose was bloody; his eyes were wide. He stared at me, and then fainted.

I heard a car door close. I hadn’t heard the second car. It was one of those boxy land-cruiser-jeep things. I ignored it.

I pressed the “unlock” button on the driver’s armrest, and then ran around the car and opened the passenger door. The boy nearly fell out, head first, but I grabbed him before he smashed onto the pavement. You’re still a fuck up! I thought as I laid the unconscious boy on the ground. By this time, the guy from the boxy car was right behind me.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

I looked at the guy, and then at the kid. His face and shirt were covered with blood. “No shit,” I said. “He’s been beaten; he’s got a nosebleed.”

“Not him … his nose has stopped bleeding. You. Your arms are cut … ”

I looked, and realized I’d sliced open my hands and arms, up to the elbows, on the car window. Now that I knew it, it hurt! Another car door closed. I looked.

It was a black Mustang with heavy tint on all the windows. A real badass car. I knew instantly who it was. Even if I hadn’t read Anthony’s book, I would have known. It was Death. Come for the dead man’s soul.

The man from the Mustang walked up to me. “You know better than to kill indiscriminately …” he said, and then looked hard at me. “You’re not … you must be new. When?”

“Uh, about two hours ago, sir. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted. “The Nemeses are the only ones who wear chitons and carry that particular sword. Two hours? And you’ve already killed someone?”

I got a little defensive. “There was a boy in the car, sir. He was being beaten. I … I felt him.” I don’t know why I kept calling him, sir. It seemed like a good idea, though.

I stepped aside as Death approached. He reached through the broken window and into the dead man’s chest … and pulled out his soul. It was solid, and it was black. Death looked at the soul, and then looked at me. “Okay, you messed up, but not too badly.”

He stuffed the soul into a satchel. He took a baggie of white powder out of the satchel, and threw it on the dead man’s lap. “Take care of the boy. And get some instruction!”

“You,” he said to the guy from the boxy car. “Help him.”

He went back to the Mustang and drove away.

Gary

I figured the man from the Mustang was a drug dealer. I watched him reach through the broken window, and into the man’s shirt and pull out something. He spoke to the boy, and then threw a baggie of what looked like cocaine into the car. I was sure, then, he was a cop, setting up the scene for an arrest. Mine, to be specific. Then he told me—ordered me—to help this kid, and drove off.

I was confused, but the boy in the toga was bleeding on me. He’d grabbed me to keep from falling, and was bleeding on my clothes. I was trying to keep him upright when he fainted. Taking care of him, and the boy he’d pulled from the car—that was my first priority. I’d worry about the guy from the Mustang, later.

I picked up the kid and put him in the back seat of my car; then did the same with the other boy.

I didn’t see the man from the payday loan place staring at my car as I drove away.

Nemesis

When I woke up, I was in the back seat of some guy’s car, leaning against the door. The boy I had rescued was leaning against me. We were driving through Chicago traffic. My arms hurt like Hell. Well, not quite that bad. I knew—I’d been there, remember? The guy saw me in his mirror.

“I’m guessing you two don’t want to go to a hospital, but you’ve got to be taken care of. I’m going to take you to my house. Hang in there … just a few more minutes.”

We reached a suburban neighborhood. He pulled into a driveway and punched a remote. The garage door opened.

“Can you walk?” he asked. When I nodded, he picked up the boy. “Come on … follow me.” I did.