The Soul Of Vegas: The Western Quadrant

[Lore Weaver]

It's cold.

So cold.

My denim jacket isn't thick enough to keep the cold from sneaking through the holes in my tee-shirt and brushing against my skin, a caress of ice that wanders wherever it wants chilling my veins with every breath I take. But the I'm used to being touched, being stroked by fingers and hands that roam without protest, without objection. When you are all you have to offer, you'll do anything, let anything be done to you ti survive.

If you want to judge me for that than go ahead, but it has gotten me through the past six..maybe, seven years out on the streets, on the highway, under bridges, in cheap hotel rooms..in the backseats of cars, the cabs of trucks. Rats have crawled on me while I've tried to sleep,. The stench of alcohol and urine filing up my nose, the clammy hands of men and women fumbling with my clothes, squeeze, pinching like they are picking fruit at a groscery. They pant and moan, tug my hair, do what they want, get what they need.. then shove some money in my hand or maybe just roll over and let me sleep next to them. Some buy me some food or toss some old clothes at me, when they've ripped mine to shreds.

And I lay there, or kneel there or whatever they want me to do.and I let them. Because it is all I'm good for. That must be the case, I'm sure my parents agree. Not that I have ever heard them say that. No, they just left me one day, just left me by the side of the road

I thought they would come back, i waited so long for them to come back.

They never came back, at least not before the man in the station wagon pulled over. Told me he'd take me to them, said he'd buy me a hot meal. Well, one ut of two isn't bad. And all I had to do while I sat there next to him in the booth at the restaurant was lie and say he was my dad.

Lie. eat my sandwich, drink my glass of milk and let his hands wander under the table and then take my hand and ,,well,, I think you know. . Oh and try not to cry, or puke.

No, I'm not crying now a bug just flew in my eyes. That was a long time ago and I've done and seen and heard so much worse.

I've watched men, women, kids, shudder and convulse after they shove a needle in their arm or snort powder up their nose. I've watched blood spurt out their mouths and noses. Watched them flail about in their own vomit. Watched some of them go completely still and stop breathing.

I've handed people those same drugs,or weapons they are not supposed to have. Just so I could have a warm bed or a hot meal without, at least for that night, having to squirm on someone's lap or underneath them as they gag me with their mouth and tongues.

And I've heard the bang and thud of shots fired by guns I put iin people's hands.

See my hair, It's as black as the void in my heart. Those streaks are as red as the blood on my hands.

And I'm ok with that, because I lived.

I've lived to watch people like you walk past me, pretend you don't notice. Like you're walking past me now, all of you drooling at that sea of neon around you, hear you laugh and joke about all the money you're going to win, the shows you're going to see. The woman and men you're going to screw.

That's okay, walk right past, I don't beg for anyone, I know if I wait long enough, someone will invite Cheri out of the cold..out of the alley...or they'll just grab me, take me, do what the want, get what they need.And toss me right back out into the cold and filth. It will be worth it, if they just give me a place to sleep, a but if food, maybe even some cash.

But maybe someone will offer me more, maybe someone will see me a s a way to make them money, or gain them some advantage. And 'I'll do whatever they ask., let them use me how and why they want.

Becasue this the City of Sin...and noebody sine like me.

 

[Lore Weaver]

Rain and wind whipped Cheri's face, a thousand little bees sting her with icy cold. She had run from the alley to a pawn shop across the street, hoping one of the scavengers would spend some of their plunder on a little fun in a warm bed, or at least the dry leather of a backseat of their car


Headlights glared through the rain as a mud-covered sports-car screeched to a stop in front of the shop, A woman in skirt cut high enough to reveal the tail of what ever was tattooed on her inner thigh and a jacket made out of fur as fake as the diamonds on her wedding ring emerged from the passenger side and slammd the door closed . She stomped right past Cheir , swung the door open so hard the pane of glass quivered in protest. The man tagging along behind her cradled something in a paper sack as wrinkled as his face. Dartung a look of pity at Cheri, he dug in the pocket of his slacks, jingling change around, but a sharp glare from the woman and a clearing of her throat coaxed him inside.

Cheri had nothing to pawn, or enough money to buy anything, so there was no point in seeking shelter inside. If Lou, the owner, knew she was out here, he would chase her off. In addition to the shotgun behind his counter he swung a baseball bat pretty well. Fortunately, the clients kept him busy and the green and white awning above the doorway shielded her somewhat from the downpour and the frenzy of the wind.

The door slammed open and out stormed a man in a raincoat anda hat that did nothing to conceal the wisps of grey hair fluttering against his temple or the gnarl of bristles curling from his ears. She shifted one hip against the window of the shop, armed he lips with her sweetest, most innocent yet suggestive smile and tilted her head up at him.
He walked right by her, fumbling with his umbrella and muttering about the worth of his father's medals. The door of the beaten-up relic of a car he got into creaked when he opened it and the smell of Vaseline, aloe and whiskey smacked he in the face. With a shrug of her shoulders, she leaned against the doorway again, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach.

The couple sashayed back out, the woman fanning out a few hundred dollar builds and smiling wide enough to shame a shark She held the door open with her hip, and wagged her head at the man trailing her.

"Come on Irvin, we don't have much time to meet the others, so stop your whining. You cam buy more porn."

Irwin shuffled outward, face and cheeks red and a bit of snot clinging to his nostrils.

"It wasn't porn, Maggie, those were my vintage Playboy and Penthouse magazines. They were worth much more than you got."

Maggie snorted, "Maybe if so many of the pages stuck together, they would have been. But we have enough to pay for the party favors the others are bringing."

Cheri's eyes lit up at the cash the woman waved about in one hand, but she snapped her gaze down when both look her way. A pair of false nails scraped under her chin and drew her head back up. Maggie smirked at her, sliding the pad of a thumb up against her jaw and tilting Cherie's head back and forth while crinkling the bills.

"Poor thing, stranded out alone in the rain, I bet you could use some of this money couldn't you?"

Cheri nodded, smiling against the roughness if the woman's touch and the eagerness and pity that splayed across Irvin's gaze. Maggie's eyes darkened and hardened just a bit But he tone sweetened to the point that bile rose up in Cheri's stomach.

"Well we are on our way to meet some friends for a party, perhaps you could come along and provide some..entertainment. It will be worth your while."

Cheri's heart lurched against her chest, a warning chiming in her head. But she had never refused money before, there was no reason to start now. She ran the tip of her tongue against her upper lip.

" I'll do whatever you want, just give me enough money to pay for a hotel for the night. Or at least something to eat."

Irvin cleared his throat. and looked about , sweat filming along the bald spot on his forehead.

"I think we can manage that. but we should hurry, we don't want to be late and I though I heard a cop car."

Maggie chortled, then gripped Cheri by the ear , just above the silver cherries dangling from the lobe.

"Don't be paranoid, I swear sometimes I wonder why I married you. The warehouse isupposed to be across the street from a building some creepy guy owns. Not even cops will bother us."

Cheri stumbled,w icing but biting back a whine as Maggie marched her through the rain to a sports car and shoved her in the backseat. She had heard about the new guy in town, you couldn't walk the streets or slum the bars of the Western qudrant without heairng whipsers and gossip about the new scrapyard and what secrets the owner hid inside. Her heart quaked at the thought of being anywhere near the place, but they were apparently not going inside so maybe the creepy owner and si secrets would leave them alone.

It took far too little time to arrive at the warehouse. She barely got a glimpse of the scrapyard and the ominous silhouette it cast against the grey sky through the rain.before Maggie tugged her by the ear inside the warehouse. Ten other heads turned, mostly make and shouted out their welcome. Tables in the center of the room were set liek an elegant banquet with baggies of white powder and the accompanying implements.

"Thank you everyone, I am glad you didn't start without us, we brought a special surprise. What should I do with her, Dylan?."

A short, sandy0haired ma, the flab of his gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans ambled over, a grin on his face as he withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his jacket.

"I can always count on you to bring something extra to the party, Maggie," he said as he walked around Cheri. "And this is a sweet little surprise, I think we can all have some fun with her."

Cheri's skin had never crawled so much or so fast than it did as he loc cuffed her wrisst behind her back and dug his hand in to her hair. His breath wafted a perfume of vodka and cigarettes against her face, wrinkling he nose. The rest of the party-goers snickered and leered when he pulled her jacket down until the cuffs trapped it againstt the small of her back and elbows. Damp, her tee-shirt clung to her breasts and upper mid-riff and more than a few observes whistled lewdly. Dylan hauled her onto the. table pushing her onto her back in the center and grinned at her, them slid alid a knife a switchblade out from his pants pocket. Cheri's eyes widened, and instinct drove her to squirm away but another pair of hands pinned by the shoulders. Slowly, grinning wider, Dylan leaned in and dragged the tip of the knife against her shirt, slicing it clean down the middle.

"Someone turn on the music, it's time to have some bllod with our snow."

That's when Cheri found the breath to scream.

 

[SedentaryCobra]

There was a deafening cacophony of noise inside the shed as Sult read his book. A generator loudly guzzled diesel in the corner, the rain beat on the corrugated steel roof like a drum, and three separate radios played three separate stations simultaneously, with a fourth buzzing mostly white noise upon the already ear splitting combination. Tim, of course, was quite comfortable, reclining on a moth eaten sofa he found on the side of the road, scanning the pages of compiled 18th century economic treatises. Occasionally, his mind would drift, tuning in and out to each sound, listening for a few minutes before switching his focus to another source of noise.

Even through the din of the shed, where the raindrops rang like gunshots, Sult still managed to pick up a scream in the distance. Immediately, his contented expression and peace of mind immediately soured. Ordinarily, he wouldn't bother with some scream off in the distance, or even literally on his doorstep, but if such an intolerable noise was going to continue in his neighborhood, and continue to interrupt his leisure, there was going to be hell to pay.

Tossing his book to the floor, Sult quickly left the crude, rusting shed, stepping out into the Nevada rain. Despite the weather, he was half naked, practically oblivious to the rain. His floral Hawaiian top was unbuttoned, and hung limply as it soaked. Making his way across the yard to his office at the entrance, his bare feet sank into the mud, splattering the hems of his cargo pants as he weaved through piles of debris.

A trail of muddy footprints followed him inside the flat cinder block building. Striding into his kitchen, a room that consisted primarily of a chemical stained stove, battered shelves and a decades old refrigerator, Sult reached between the fridge and cabinets to retrieve a barely hidden shotgun. The unpolished dark steel gleamed in the dirty yellow light, and Sult held the weapon with one hand as he retrieved a pile of loose shotgun shells from a pull out drawer of wooden cooking spoons. Cramming a fistful of them into the pocket of his pants, Tim walked out of the romm, trailing mud to his front door.

After a half dozen latches and locks and a short trip across the street to the source of the noise, Sult found himself at the side door of a warehouse. Buttoning his shirt to the top, and holding his fun flat against his belly, Sult pounded at the door with his fist. A tall man in a fur lined denim jacket answered, opening the door with a plume of cigarette smoke and a cruel smile on his face as he looked back to the torture inside. The expression turned more serious as he looked towards Sult, addressing him before the door was even open.

"Fuck off. This is a private party." He paled for a moment as he saw the shotgun in the man's hand, but held steady, blocking the doorway.

Sult looked up at man, and put on the best, most convincing smile he could to smooth things over. Over sincere, and combined with Sult's wide, analyzing eyes, it was more disturbing than anything else. "Hi. It's me. Your neighbor. I'm here to talk about a noise complaint. The weather is just terribly today. Do you mind if we discuss this inside?" Sult's voice was just loud enough to be heard over the rain, and he was largely positive as he spoke, something that stood in stark dichotomy with the weapon in his hands and the disturbing, probing eyes that never broke contact with the man who stood more than a head over Sult.

There was some sense of basic situational awareness and social conduct that couldn't be acted that was completely absent from the newcomer with the shotgun. Almost immediately, the man at the door realized that this was the unhinged maniac that lived across the way that was discussed just prior to the party. He swallowed, and debated whether he could reach the knife in his jacket before Sult could notice, aim, and fire.

"Mark? Who is it? What's going on?" A voice called from inside. Mark responded by taking a nervous drag of the cigarette that had been idle between his lips, nodding his head several times, and stepping out of Sult's way. Nearly a dozen heads stared blankly at Sult, who stared blankly back.

Sult surveyed the room, from the drugs arrayed on folding tables, to the cheap booze, to Maggie, to Cheri, to Dylan, to Mark and the others before flashing another unsettling smile. "Hi. It's me. Your neighbor. I'm here to talk about a noise complaint. It's been a long day, and I was just settling in with a good book when i was interrupted by the screams of violent rape. It's extremely difficult to focus on my book with such noise going on, so I would appreciate it if you could keep the violent rape, or at least the screams of the violent rape, to a bare minimum. Thank you for your understanding." The lines were delivered with a practiced intonation, as if the words had been rehearsed hundred of times beforehand just for this moment. The smile on his face continued as he looked from person to person, waiting for a response.

 

[Lore Weaver]

Through a haze of pain and fear, a thread of hope wove its way to Cheri's ears. Her throat raw with screams that drawn only laughter and taunts from the party-goers, she strained to force a plea for help from he r lips, but only a whimper limped through. Dylan paused, the blade of the knife brushing against the buttons that clasped her jens together. Scratches on her bared abdomen testified to the slow journey the knife had taken after slicing her shirt open. Though his head was was turned away from her, she caught the way his corner s of his mouth twitched out of the casual smirk into a brief frown. They flattened out quickly when the party-crasher posed the question, The rest of the throng edged away from the table, some casting furtive glances btween the newcomer and Dylan. Irvin shrank back until he was halfway under one of the other tables, drawing an irritated glare from his wife, A smile smoothed over Dylan's face as he walked around to satnd above Cher's head, the switchblade hovering over her throat.

"Ah, you must be the new arrival to the neghborhood there has been so much gossip about. You certainly don't arrive at a party empty-handed. Probbabbly a wise move
in this city, especially when you are uninvited. I am sorry for the inconvenience our little gathering has caussed you, but unfortunately the screaming is a vital part of the ambience. I can assure you it will not last too much longer. "

He gestured over to a radio in the back corner, from which at the moment a male voice rambled about a sale at a car lot, promising the prices were so low they were insane..

"Perhaps we could find something more soothing accompaniment however. Do you like classical music? It would be a bit unorthodox, but it may add a unique atmosphere to the proceedings. In the meantime, stay a while, enjoy some of the refreshments. In fact, if you wish, you may have first go with her. It's only polite to offer such an honor to a new neighbor."

Free of the grip on her shoulders, Cheri bolted up to sit on the desk.

'No, please..help me..call the po--ahhh!"

The hard tug of Dylan's hand in her hair slammed he back down on the table in a burt of pain and flash of light. The point of the switchblade tightened her throat into silence as her eyes cshut tight over the tears brimming in her eyes.

 

[SedentaryCobra]

Head tilted to one side with an amicable expression and dead eyes, Sult listened to Dylan's offer. He looked down to Cheri appraisingly, no hint of empathy in his eyes, once more to the table, the radio, and back to Dylan again. Even as Cheri rose from the table, Sult simply stood, dripping into the puddle on the floor beneath him. The moment Cheri was slammed back onto the table with a scream, however, Sult hoisted the weapon to his shoulder and fired in one practiced motion.

The bag was deafening inside the warehouses confines, and the slug tore through the shoulder of Dylan's knife arm, plowed through the radio table and out through the warehouse walls with a shower of sparks. The sudden, warrant-less shot left most partygoers reeling in shock , trying to process what just happened. "Armor piercing incendiary. Quite a fun load." The same painfully genuine smile remained plastered to Sult's face, though his eyes took on an almost sadistic glee. "Truth be told, I had no idea what was loaded, or what is next. Could have killed you both with dragon's breath."

"But, since you didn't hear, I'll repeat myself. Please keep the screams of violent rape to a minimum, or I'll take matters into my own hands." Sult pumped the shotgun as he spoke. The hot brass clattered and sizzled into the puddle at his feet. "I'd like to keep the violence to a minimum today, so I'd ask you listen this time." He looked over the crowd around him, as if asking for dissent.

 

[Lore Weaver]

The blast freed her from Dylan's grip with a jolt that knocked her off the table and onto the floor, Screams and swearing erupted from the witnesses and a the door slammed behind a fleeing Mark, Maggie joined Irivin in a sobbing heap under the table. A few others followed Mark out of the door, tripping over each other in their panic.

"You fucking shot me, you crazy fucker! Over some fucking whore!"

Dylan stumbled to his fee, blood gushing between his fingers as they gripped the whole in his shoulder. Two of the men went to help him out the door,

"Get the drugs, and the needles..and,..owww.. watch the shoulder ah fuck!"

Drugs and implements in tow, and Irvin and Maggie trailing behind, Dylan's entourage ushered him out of the warehouse. Cheri labored against the shock crushing her chest handcuffs locked around her wrists to rise to her knees, The ripped shirt draped her shoulders, revealing the chest heaving against her simple bra and the cuts on her stomach.. Fear drummed its rhythm in her chest, accompanied by the ache throbbing through her head and hips, It was with great effort that she tilted her head up and got her first real, clear look at the man who had rescued her., whether he had meant to or not.

And she froze, a deer mesmerized by the headlights of true insanity Silence stretched through an eternity before she mumbled.

They didn't leave the key or any money behind did they?"

 

[SedentaryCobra]

Sult continued to watch impassively as the crowd fled out the door. Internally, he felt quite wronged. He had asked politely, not once, but twice, but they still seemed to blame him for firing the shot. He was just a man trying to read his book in peace. Why did they make him out to be the bad person? He frowned lightly, sighing as he watched the rain outside the door come down.

It wasn't until Cheri actually spoke that Sult looked to her. He looked down at her vulnerable form, brow furrowed. Surely, such a ruckus as before would continue if the same revelers found the girl again, or any other group of morally questionable thrill seekers, for that matter. A little trouble now to save some more later. Setting the weapon down on the now empty table, Sult crouched down to Cheri's level. Head cocked, he examined her face for a moment, then looked down at the silver cuffs. Wordlessly, Sult grabbed a bobby pin from her jet black hair. Grabbing the cuffs by the chain, he bent the pin and slowly began working it into the lock with practiced expertise. In less than a minute, the second lock was defeated with a metallic click, and the maniac let the cuffs clatter to the floor.

Rising back to full height, Sult retrieved his gun, and made his way to the door.

 

[Lore Weaver]

It was the aggression in his indifference , that shivered her spine and knotted every inch of her stomach. She had never seen a shark in person, but when he knelt down beside her, goosebumps prickled her skin, The brush of his hand against the tangled web of her hair, icicles freezing her scalp. She shut her eyes but stilled, a puppy that had bee kicked enough times to anticipate and accept the violence. But when the handcuffs dropped to the floor and the cold retreated, her eyes flew open. Rubbing her wrists woke her to reality. He was leaving her, without asking, demanding, taking or offering anything. It spat in the face of all of her interactions with others since her her parents abandoned her.

Reeling more from that shock to her system more than even the ordeal he had plucked her from, she wove up to her feet. He was bluffing, he had to be. She owed him more than anyone she had ever met and he was going to collect. He was lulling her into a false sense of security, a cat toying with a mouse. Wobbling on her ffeet, she staggered after him. not saying a word. Waiting for him to turn and exact whatever payment hr desired.

\

 

[SedentaryCobra]

What did she want from him? She was free to do what she pleased, so why was she following him? Did she not have anything better to do than chase down the respectable owner of a local business? Why? Could she be some kind of government spy or assassin sent to find out what he knows and silence him before he becomes a threat to the world order? No, the CIA wouldn't place one of their own agents in that kind of danger, but a special deep state task force might, even more so if the entire event was orchestrated. But they would already know that such an even would never draw him out...

Sult's mind continued to jump from one possibility to the next, trying to discern Cheri's purpose. It was only as he unlocked the door to his dilapidated house that he finally decided to let the girl follow him inside. If she got abducted again, it would only be another interruption, another headache. As long as she wasn't around for too long, and didn't probe too far, things should be okay. No need for worry.

The madman's house was about as one would expect. Mismatched furniture on the verge of collapse, decades old linoleum and carpeting, water stains in the ceiling and wallpaper all pointed to someone who cared very little for aesthetic pleasures. Every table and shelf was overburdened with papers, books, or reels of tape and stacks cassettes. Still, aside from the dust, age, and clutter, the space was relatively clean. The house smelled of age, and nothing else.

"I'll drive you somewhere in the morning." Sult said, without turning to Cheri. He leaned the weapon against the wall of the entryway, and proceeded into he cluttered living room. He snatched a rough green blanket folded over the back of a chair, and tossed it to Cheri. "I would give you money for a taxi, but I've been a bit stretched on funds ever since the FUCKING CIA HOBGOBLINS ROBBED ME BLIND!" Sult's jaw clenched, and he curled his fists as he remembered the incident. "Put my faith in a bank one fucking time, and look where it gets me... I'm going to kill that fucking bastard when I find him and where he put my fucking gold." He seethed to himself. He looked through a pile of VHS tapes next to a TV, attempting to decipher the nigh unintelligible labels written in his handwriting. He finally pulled one from the pile, inserted it into the player, and turned on the TV.

The TV sprang to life with a buzz, displaying grainy color video of bank robbery from the perspective of a security camera, the feed completely lacking sound. Two men with rifles stood inside the bank. One was masked, and holding down hostages. He looked calm and confident, working with practiced expertise. The other was unmasked. Even with the poor quality of the footage, it was easy to make out his proud, arrogant looks, and shock of bright, sun yellow hair. The unmasked man strode into the back of the bank, into the open vault. Almost effortlessly, the man began to tear the boxes from the wall with his bare hands, dumping the contents of the boxes into a cloth sack. He strode down the line, emptying box after box, including one filled with several bars of gold and a stack of banknotes from various countries. Sult practically shivered with anger as he watched.

"The masked bastard is Walter Fisher. CIA undercover operative. He's been working for the families on and off for years, looking to get dirt on the mob bosses. The man waiting in the car outside, not in the film, is Matthew Giovani. Lives on the corner of 4th and western, trusted man for these kind of jobs. They both work for Alvaro De Mattia, crime boss of the south side. But that third fucking man...." Sult pointed angrily at the man on the screen with the bright yellow hair, leaving a wet spot from his finger on the screen when he finally pulled back. "He doesn't exist. No government records, neither of the other two robbers knew who he was, no history of him in the city. He's like a fucking alien dropped on from another fucking planet. Might even fucking be, the bastard..."

It took Sult a moment to realize Cheri still existed in his living room. Biting his tongue and trying not to go off again, he took a deep breath before continuing in a far less agitated, forcibly restrained tone. "Anywhere you want to go, I will take you tomorrow. You can sleep on the sofa. There is food in the refrigerator, take whatever you would like. The yellow bottles in there are filled with liquid methamphetamine, do not drink them. The bathroom is down the hall on the right. Avoid my office and bedroom. I am going to try to finish my book before I sleep. Any questions?" He asked, putting on an ugly, forced smile in an attempt to be more hospitable.

 

[Lore Weaver]

The whole time she had followed him, she had been waiting for him to tell her what it was that he wanted from her, or simply to dismiss her. Instead she had walked into a tornado of crazy and he was at the center. Or maybe he was the center, she wasn't sure she could tell the difference. She had remained by the door every since she had followed him in, hoping he would send her back out into the rain, even without food, money or even a dry shirt. The place was far from the worst she had ever took refuge in. There were no bodily fluids stuck to the floors or,coating the walls, nothing crawling about or chitttering and the place looked like it could withstand a sneeze without collapsing. The heaps of books, papers and whatever else he collected was unique, she had never seen so many books outside of the library she had broken into one night. She had never seen the need to read one book, let alone hoard enough of them to choke a stable of horses.

No it wasn't the residence or the decor that unsettled her, it was the man occupying it. By the time h was done ranting about hobgoblins and banks, she had edged her back against the door. Certain she could have left at any time, only her sense of obligation restrained her from fleeing this clearly unpredictable and unstable man. But when the image of the man with the golden hair surged on to the television, she straightened, prickles tingled on the back of her neck. Most faces of those she serviced, even in the most intimate of ways, faded into a murk within her memory. but the few that stood out were vivid and detailed. As the events on the tape unfolded and her rescuer meandered along in his diatribe, she pushed away from the door and approached the television. By the time Sult noticed her and held out the blanket, she was halfway between the screen and the door,a memory clear and vibrant in her head. Taking the blanket, she lifted her gaze, though averting her gaze from the depths of insanity in his features. Whens he spoke, her tone was flat, casual without the spark of emotion that ignited his.

"He fucked me once and took all the money I had."