Degan Shore Part Two

Degan Shore: Part Two

                1

Beneath the soft orange glow of the street lamps objects seemed to almost crawl and shift shape on their own accord. The roar of the 1968 Mustang's ancient engine might as well have been a roar from a savage beast. For in Lucas's mind they were one. He slid his gaze onto Oz as he guided the car around a corner and onto an avenue plagued with crumbling establishments and unwashed bodies lying in bundles of rags and cardboard. A smile cracked across his lips.

Oz slouched behind the wheel, his yellow stained crooked teeth grazing his lower lip as he shot Lucas a cryptic glance. "This is the place I was talking about. What do you think?"

Lucas rolled his window down. The cool autumn chill changed his mind and he rolled it up again. He plucked the toothpick from his mouth and nodded. "This looks about right to dump some trash."

Oz pulled the car to a stop. He switched the headlights and engine off and sat still for a moment before whispering, "Are you sure no one will-"

Lucas held a hand out like a traffic cop and clicked his tongue. "This is a perfect place. We have the cover of darkness and most of these hobos are bombed out of their minds. No one will see or remember a thing even if they do see. Now shut up and help me."

 Together they opened their doors. Oz with car keys in hand, made haste toward the trunk where Lucas casually ambled with hands deep in his pockets. He fumbled and dropped them a few times before Lucas scoffed and snatched them from him.

"Which one is it?" He asked and Oz pointed to a long key with a black plastic top. "Stop acting so nervous." He turned the key over in the lock and the trunk lid popped open. He then looked at Oz whose face was sheen with sweat. "Well, do I have to do everything?"

Oz shook his head. "No, I got it." He pulled out a large purple suitcase with pink vinyl straps. He heaved and dragged it toward a large dumpster off to his left. "Sure is heavy.”

Lucas's smile returned as he said, "Well the b*****d did weigh four hundred pounds."

Oz cackled softly. He hunched over. "Can I just leave it here?"

Lucas sighed and joined him at the dumpster, his tone gentle. "No. We have to get it in the dumpster, moron."

Together the two men lifted the suitcase and toppled it over into the trash heaping container. Lucas rummaged through clusters of papers and torn boxes and used the largest fragments to lie over their deposit. When he was satisfied he then gestured Oz back to the trunk where two smaller suitcases wait.  After they too were tossed inside Oz, huffing and puffing, looked at his smiling friend and asked, "Can we go get that pizza now? I am starving."

Frosty air nipped at his nose as he fished in his pocket. Watching Oz hunt for whatever it was he needed before he started the car made him groan. After a minute of swearing and grunting he finally pulled out a wrapper and tossed it out the window.

Lucas furrowed his brows. "That was the thing you were looking for?"

Oz, his brown eyes shadowy marbles in the depths of darkness, stared and whispered, "I don't like junk in my pockets."

"I feel like a thousand eyes are watching us. Let's go already."

Oz gave the key a turn and the engine sputtered to life. He glanced in his rear mirror and reached over into the glove compartment. Inside were no gloves or even an owner's manual. Instead, crunched under a discarded chip bag, lay an opened pack of Camel cigarettes. He pulled one from the pack and stuck it in his mouth.

"You got a lighter?" He asked, balancing the cancer stick between his lips as he searched the cluttered dashboard.

Lucas rolled his eyes, his fingers curled against his palms. "Don't you have any control?"

Oz stopped a moment to respond. "Look who is talking."

 "Watch your mouth, Oz," Lucas shot hotly. He handed him a generic plastic lighter. "You don't know what you are talking about."

"I am sorry, Lucas," Oz said in a low tone, almost childlike in nature as he pressed the lever and orange flame sprung up. He puffed out clouds of smoke as he lit the end and then handed it back to Lucas who stuffed it deep inside his jacket pocket.

Oz shifted the Mustang into gear and pulled away from the large green dumpster. He ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair, glancing at Lucas occasionally. His attention faltered from time to time. It was difficult to concentrate when the air between them hung so thick.

Finally Lucas replied, "It is all right, Oz. But just don't do it again. Too many people say the wrong things and think they can just get away with, but they can't. It is time someone puts them in their place. It is time someone shows them they cannot treat people they way they do and expect everything is going to be okay."

Oz cracked a smile. It was a sort of smile sheepish and yet cocky; one you might see when someone fibs and tries to cover it; however no lies had been spoken. Everything Lucas said made sense. It was as though he was taking the thoughts directly from his mind and making them his own.

"Stupid people inherit everything," Lucas continued, his eyes set straight ahead and staring into empty space. "And innocent people suffer from their mistakes. Do you think I would be where I am today if it hadn't been for that heap of s**t I use to call 'Dad'? He didn't marry my Mom out of love." He stiffened as silence gripped him, choked him and forced color to flush his face. When he spoke again his words where strangled. "That w***e didn't care who she hurt. It never mattered what he did to me as long as she was taken care of and had his attention that was all that mattered."

Oz's smile vanished. Suddenly the cab of the car became a very hot compartment. He veered a corner. It followed through to a populated avenue of flashing neon lights and painted women prancing in gaudy outfits up and down sidewalks. Here there was little place to hide from the eyes of snitches and the society who helped to create them. Judging by Lucas' glowering expression he didn't care for it one bit.

"We'll go get that pizza and beer and be on our way," he said as cigarette smoke filmed across their field of vision.

Lucas lowered his head, but not his stare. As the veins in his temples throbbed so did the urge. He chewed his cheek, sank back against his seat and watched streetlamp after streetlamp whip past.

"Let's make a stop before," he said in his usual soft spoken rasp.

Oz shot him a wide eye look. "Judan is going to be suspicious if we don't get back soon. Are you sure you want to?”

"Yes," Lucas barked. "It will help us both relax."

2

Thick heels clicked against the marble floor as a pair of feet turned right into a corridor shadow littered. The fragrance of prior customers still hung thick and she coughed on their mingled scents, using a beige folder to fan her face. She paused. Out the corner of her eye a window yawned and inward burst a chilly breeze.

Raising a stenciled brow, she frowned and crossed two aisles of neatly stacked books. She pushed it closed and secured the latch. As she turned to resume her walk, she again paused and stared beyond the first aisle. She cocked her head, tried to see around it, but lingered not a moment longer. With the folder firmly clutched in her hands she continued.

She gazed at the lettering on the tab corner and smiled to herself. Profits were good this time of year. It surely didn't hurt to raise prices a few cents for an extra boost. The bumbling baboons never realized it and she considered whether they at all paid much heed while eager to get that special loved one that one special gift. That is what always kept a smile on her face; stupidity.

Another pair of footsteps sounded behind her and she froze. They were heavy and close and then as she turned a thick hand clamped across her mouth. With round eyes she stared into the face of her attacker and cowered as yet another set of steps rose from somewhere, but she could not take her focus away from the dark pits burning into her. Then as he cracked a smile, his crooked unkempt teeth brought a foul odor to her flaring nostrils and she gagged.

"Hold her," she heard a raspy voice call from behind the first man.

"It is time to play," laughed the beast holding her against him as though a lover might and ran one beefy hand up and down her back.

A shorter, calmer figure came into view and she jerked to see in his hand a gleaming knife. His eyes were empty, yet she sensed rage, sensed murder in them and she struggled, the beige folder with all her ticket sales scattering at her feet.

Her muffled screams reached a new note as she watched the second man press the teeth of the blade against her throat.

"No," said the first man whose greasy hair glistened under the beaming overhead lights.

"What?"

"We won't have time to wash the blood off and clean up."

"Okay then." He buckled the blade into the handle and it was then she realized it was a switchblade, but that all became a dark memory as he clicked his tongue and she felt the first man violently jerked her neck.

All she heard before darkness enveloped her was a loud pop and her body went limp; images fleeted her rapidly while sounds washed out by blissful silence.

3

"That was a disappointment, but I feel better," Lucas said back in the old Mustang. As they pulled into a narrow driveway and slowed, he noticed a face peeking out from behind the second floor window. "She waited up for us."

Oz turned into a parking stall and turned off the engine. "She is probably going to be pissed."

Lucas looked at him. "I got it covered. Just follow my lead and don't argue."

Oz quickly replied, "What are you going to do?"

He smiled. "Trust me."

Oz looked up at the window and saw the curtain close. The slender silhouette behind it pulled back and faded from sight. "I trust you, but are you going to-"

Lucas shot him a heated stare. "No, now grab the pizza and beer and come on!"

He had not anticipated the kill to be so quick and easy. It left him with little resolve but nonetheless satisfied the urge for just a day longer until it then reared its ugly head and swelled in him like a cancer. But Lucas neither expected Oz to fully understand that or be a complete nor total follower of the cause.

There seemed little effort in the art form known as murder. People so rarely cherished the lives they had been given. They squander them, abuse them and wonder why on Earth things then happen. They blame God, blame society and even blame total and complete strangers when in all truth they have no one to blame but themselves for their poverty and shame.

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment units Oz whispered, "That b***h didn't even lock the door!"

Lucas hissed, "Shut up! Do not say another word!"

Instantly the smile and cheer left Oz's sagging and hardening features. He rolled his eyes and said in a mocking tone, "Yes, Sir!"

4

Two figures slunk toward a four door Chevrolet. They had examined the street in a calm and collective manner; one used hundreds of times before. When not even the slightest form stirred Lucas fished inside his jacket and pulled out a thin strip of metal. In his hands it was more than a polished instrument of abuse; it was his savior and sometimes only weapon of choice. He slid it between the snug rubber and pane of glass and after a moment of jerks and grunts the lock popped up.

Oz stood at the passenger's side, watched in blissful ignorance as Lucas worked. His yellow teeth hung over his lower lip, his eyes glazed and then once he heard that click his heart swelled, did a whoop for joy. Casually he opened his door after Lucas hopped inside to unlock it and sat next to him in awe.

"How many times have you done that?"

Lucas peered at him. He said nothing and reached under the steering column. He touched two wires together, a spark sparkling from their frayed ends. The engine chugged and then after a moment sputtered to a steady purr.

He shifted the control shaft into drive and sped away from the curb. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes cold black marbles fixed in hooded sockets. There was still need for caution. In no way, shape or form was the coast clear. Darkness stared back at him, but darkness was a friend, a lover and most of all the best way to operate in.

It had been all but easy for Oz to lead him to the so called "gang" suspected of thieving the Mustang and knocking a few yellow teeth out of his head. Many stops were made; some to get a drink while others were desperate attempts to rack his brain and retrace his steps to the precise area the assault took place. He never could remember much of anything and that was perhaps why each street appeared to be like the last in his eyes. Signs and common mile markers were foreign scribbles.

It had been two hours; two long hours before Oz managed half a wit and stumbled upon the hideout. Once a quick peek inside confirmed the slumlords dealt their usual tricks within, Lucas reached into his jacket to pull out a shiny surprise that came with six quick friends. He slipped inside and spent all of them. Each body that had occupied the one story shack danced for a moment as hot lead pierced their flesh and then like dolls they fell in dirty, crumbled piles.

The smell of copper and gun smoke always brought a smile to his face, but now as they stow away in a rust bucket on four wheels that might as well have been a fantasy devised solely in his mind.

"You have the gun right?" He asked under a shade of violent as between building the approaching sun crept over the horizon.

Oz grinned, his crooked, stained teeth poking out like thin needles. "Of course," he said, pulling it from his stretched waistband.

"Keep it out of your pants."

"It wasn't all the way in. I put it only half way like they do in the movies."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "You must be retarded."

Oz's face streaked pink as he shot back hotly, "I am not a retard! I am just slow!"

"You just slow?" Lucas exclaimed.

Oz examined the weapon. Power was in his hands. He knew how easy it could be to kill Lucas right there, but something in him hesitated.

"Face it, Oz," Lucas continued, "you were born a loser."

"Fine," Oz blasted. His face sweltered pink as blood rushed through his veins. "Now can we please talk about something else?"

Lucas grinned. Oz was an oaf, but even an oaf when angry and holding a gun was capable of murder. Lucas did not fear being shot. Oz didn't have the guts to shoot a woodchuck, but all the same, the gun could accidentally go off from his clumsy fingers playing with the trigger. "Yeah, give the gun to me."

Oz handed it over and watched him slid it under the seat. Then it dawned on him. "I forgot the bullets!"

Lucas glanced at him. "Don't joke with me."

"It's no joke."

"Shut up," barked Lucas. "I don't want to hear your f*****g excuses. Just shut the f**k up so I can think."

Oz felt a lump inside his jacket and sheepishly pulled out a box of bullets. "Oh, here they are."

Lucas met his gaze and his eyes bulged. He clenched his teeth and his hands were fleshy hooks gripping the steering wheel as he imagined choking him.

"Just give me the damn box." Lucas snatched the box out of Oz's hands and placed it under the seat with the gun. He did not see the car making a left turn ahead as he sped through a stop sign.

"Watch out!" Oz screamed and pointed.

Lucas jerked his head and braked, but the ice slick road continued to carry the car. They Chevy smacked into the passenger's side of a late model Plymouth, shattered its window and both engines stalled. Oz hung onto the seat, but was still thrown against the dashboard. He braced himself by throwing his arms out in front of him.

Though the steering wheel kept him in his seat, Lucas felt as though he had been hit by a freight train. His neck was wrung as tight as a sheet hung out to dry and then through blurred vision he realized hands hooked around his throat and were pulling him out onto his feet.

"What in the hell is your problem?" The voice was thick and deep, almost inhuman as Lucas fought the stranger off, his vision clearing to behold a man with thinning gray hair and hollow gray eyes looming over him like a savage.

Lucas staggered back against the wrecked Chevy and spat, "Get your hands off me!"

"The police, Lucas, will be here any minute!"

"There aren't any police anymore," the man said.

He heard Oz, but it was a muffled statement. He didn't dare to take his eyes off the stranger and knew what needed to be done. There could be no witnesses. No one could know who they were or where they were going. Strangely even Lucas did not know where that was yet, but he was quick when on the trail and nothing was going to prevent him from coasting into freedom though wanted and rightfully so.

He hunched down, his back to the interior of the crumbled Chevy, his eyes wide and staring violence, as he reached under the seat, retrieved the gun and bullets and whipped box around to show him who was in charge and who held the power.

"Now, as I see it you have two options," Lucas hissed. "You can die here or die later. Either way you won't breathe a word of this to anyone."

An odd smile tugged at the stranger's lips and Lucas blinked in disbelief. It was as if maybe a gun in his face did nothing other than amuse him.

"You think I am joking?" Lucas asked.

"Call me, Degan," he responded, the smile slowly fading and Lucas felt his body quake.

"I don't give a s**t about your name!"

"Lucas," Oz stumbled from the passenger side. "We have to get out of here!"

To say Oz was in poor shape would be an understatement. The man surely had seen better days and as he emerged torn and battered he hardly resembled the idiot Lucas had talked to seconds before. His face played like a mask of slashes and gore as his expression lifted and fell with each step he took toward him.

"We have to find another car," Lucas decided and then shifted his focus on the stranger. "Have you made your choice?"

Degan shrugged, rather calm for a man about to be taken hostage, Lucas thought, but as the air filled with sirens he had little time to consider it.

"Then get moving, Degan."

Degan nodded. "So, your name is Lucas? What is his name?" He gestured with another nod in Oz's direction.

"Oz is his name. Now get moving."

Lucas flinched. As the stranger turned a sparkle caught his eye. At first he thought it nothing more than a trick of his imagination, but as he shoved him forward his hand came back tingling and hot, as though he had touched a sheet of searing metal.

"Where should I start moving to?" He asked.

Lucas froze. Words seeped into his mind that he could not possibly know or decipher.

He shook his head. The voice scrambled at once and as he looked up the stranger was glaring at him with eyes that pierced his soul.