The Bloody Scarab's Wrath

Winner of the 2nd UEMB writing competition

Streetlamps were scarce in this part of town, seedier than your average adult entertainment

district and almost as crowded infrastructurally as the Kowloon Walled City. But when they were

present, they were towering; two to three stories high and built into the concrete structures that

passed for buildings in this rathole within a larger rathole. And though the glowing yellow lights

were dwarfed by the cyan and magenta luminescence of ubiquitous neon signage �" much of

which flickered in the rainier seasons �" they provided just enough light in their scattered

solitudes for shady characters of many sorts to do the least blatant kind of business they

specialized in.

Ash Ryan leaned against one of the two walls on either side of the mouth of what was dubbed

the “Buyer’s Alley”, waiting for his dealer to arrive. A menthol was clenched between his dry lips

as he tried to spark a light off his almost-empty Zippo, too focused on that tiresome task to care

what wall dust and seeping fluids stained his brown leather duster. It took him nineteen tries

before he got a decent flame; the sight of it lasting longer than a second automatically prompted

him to lean his head forward. The end of his cig poked into the fire, and with it came the

smoldering ash of success. With a grin, he pocketed his lighter and inhaled, letting the smoke

flow out as the wait came to its conclusion.

“Cigarettes? Really?” A rough but not quite gravelly voice came forth through the buzz of the

flickering neon framing the entrance to Buyer’s Alley, spelled out in gratuitous kanji, sans serif.

“I’d have thought ye’d left that kiddie s**t behind by now.”

That condescending voice, that smart-assed tone, that hint of a Scottish brogue… Ash was

already certain, but a simple turn of the head fully confirmed his conclusion. His dealer was

here.

Ian Hennessy. He was far from the most prolific dealer in Buyer’s Alley, let alone the blocks

surrounding, but he had access to some of the most obscure substances known to druggie-kind,

some of which not even the kingpins could get their hands on. Rumor was enough to cause a

commotion, but when those rare narcotics hit the market, all bets were off. People went crazy,

with damage of life and property alike left in the wake. Those effects whenever he made a

move, coupled with his full head of prematurely white hair, gave Ian an eternal nickname: the

Scotch Storm.

The dealer’s smirking visage failed to impress Ash, moreso than his playful jab of a greeting. He

just sighed, pulling the cig away from his mouth and tapping off the extinguished embers as he

stepped forward.

“Enough with the small talk, Storm,” Ash replied in the throaty drawl he developed from years of

smokeables. “You got the stuff?”

Ian snickered in a single syllable of amusement. “Sure do. What kind of dealer would I be if I

didn’t?” He rummaged around in his black jacket pocket, ultimately pulling out a single vial, the

size of a flash drive and glowing red. “Here y’are.”

With a brief grunt and a nod of confirmation, Ash held out his hand. The vial gently dropped into

his palm from Ian’s thumb and index, settling after a slight tip and a brief roll. He pulled back,

shifting the vial up so it was between his own thumb and index, and then holding it to eye level

at the contents.

“So this is your newest product, then. The bloody scarab…”

Behind the cylindrical glass walls of its prison, a rhinoceros beetle with a pointed horn and an

extremely luminescent crimson shell tapped its front legs against the surface, futilely trying to

find a way out.

“It might not look like much outside a’ that beauty o’ a glow, but that lil’ bugger’s no joke once ya

smoke it.”

“I bet. I just gotta crush this sucker and roll it up like a joint, right?”

“That’s right. It’s best if smoked right after it’s dead. Do that, and the high you’ll get will be unlike

all else.” Ian raised his right hand, fingers spread, and moved it across the air in the subtlest

emphasis.

“Yeah, it better be,” Ash casually retorted, closing his hand around the vial and looking Ian

straight in the face. “Now then, about the cost…”

“Normally, a bug that rare costs upward a’ hundred thousand pounds, and y’re no exception to

that rule, I’m afraid.”

“You got me there, I’m way too strapped for cash to pay the normal way. Which is why…” A

smirk came across his face as he opened his eyes, the red orbs on the verge of shining like the

bug the Storm brought to him. “…I have an alternate payment for you.”

“‘Alternate’, eh?” Ian’s smirk widened. “And what do you have on hand that’s worth a hundred

thou?”

Ash returned his cigarette to his mouth and closed most of his hand into a fist, leaving just the

index finger raised. “One night with my lady. Anything you want, for as long as you want ‘til the

sun rises. Just nothing that’ll kill her, though.”

Ian blinked once in surprise at Ash’s offer, then chuckled in amusement at his boldness. “That

so? Whorin’ out yer wife for a drug bug… Y’ve got more guts than I thought, Ashy.”

“Hey, anything for your product, Storm, even when I’m flatter than flat broke.”

“Very well, you’ve got yerself a deal,” Ian proclaimed as he held out his hand for a shake.

Ash nodded again, extending his hand and gripping Ian’s. With that, both men brought their

hands down at once, and the deal was set.

“So,” Ian continued, “where can I find the missus?”

“The Marapolis Motel on the southwest side. She and the other guy are waiting for you in room

34.”

And just like that, all the color and enthusiasm drained from Ian’s face in a single, gradual

instant.

“What ‘other guy’?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? It’ll be a threesome. You, her, and another guy.”

“I get that. But…” Ian’s mouth curled into a puzzled frown as he continued to process Ash’s

statement. “Why another guy? Couldn’t you have gotten another girl instead?”

“I would’ve, if it were on your terms. But Sian’s calling the shots here, I’m afraid. And she wants

a devil’s threesome. You, her, and her bull.”

“Her bull!?” That one word sent Ian’s quizzical shock barreling to downright disbelief. “What’re

you tryin’ ta tell me, Ashy, that yer some kinda cuck?”

“In a technical phrasing, yes, you can say that.” Ash shifted his eyes around, slowly growing

uncomfortable with Ian’s pressing. “But I’m fine with it.”

“How in the bloody hell can you be fine with that!? It’s your wife, man, and yer lettin’ another

man have ‘is way with ‘er!”

“Heh,” Ash wryly smirked. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who agreed to do her.”

“That was before you told me she was already f****n’ someone else!” Ian took a quick, deep

breath, then continued. “Listen, Ashy. Yer a decent bloke, at least for a junkie. I can guarantee

you on that. I wouldn’t have a problem f****n’ yer wife if lettin’ her cheat was a one-time thing.

But to let ‘er cheat for… how long exactly?”

“Three years.”

“Three years!? To let ‘er cheat for that long and give ya nothin’ in return, that’s just pathetic is

what that is!”

“Really? You think that’s pathetic?” Ash lowered his head, glancing up at Ian like a slasher

hidden in plain sight. “I’ll tell you what’s pathetic, Storm. Tryin’ to balance your below minimum

wage day job, your spiraling drug addiction, and the woman you married on a whim after one

too many drinks at the same time, only for her to spend the money from your job that you were

saving for your drugs on all sorts of useless bullshit, only to get no compensation in return, not

even a quick f**k. You can’t divorce her ‘cause you know she’ll throw a fit, so you’re just stuck

living with her in the hopes that she’ll just wean off you eventually. And when she does, getting

a new man who can satisfy her in ways you aren’t sure you ever could, only to still stick with you

for some godforsaken reason… you’re too defeated to really care at that point. I wanna let her

go, really, but I still love her too much to force her into doing so. If anyone should convince her

to ditch me outright like she could’ve three years ago, it’s you, Storm.”

Ian just looked at Ash, his face having calmed from his earlier rage. He understood Ash’s

reasoning completely, and was almost touched by the alternate intention of the hook-up he

proposed. However…

“I still ain’t gonna f**k ‘er if there’s another dude involved.”

With that, Ash’s last remaining bits of patience snapped in two.

“Well f**k off then, you damn homophobe!”

“I’m not a�"”

“I’ve heard enough!” Ash shouted, loud enough to echo throughout Buyer’s Alley as he

uncapped the bloody scarab’s vial. “If you won’t agree to those terms, then I guess this deal’s

off!”

“Guess so,” Ian relented as he pointed at Ash. “That means ya have to give back the scarab,

y’know.”

“It’s a little late for that, buddy!”

In that moment of sarcastic conclusion, Ash dumped the scarab into the palm of his empty

hand, spat out his cigarette and tossed the bug inside. Then he closed his maw up, smashing

his teeth together. Again, and again, and the beetle along with it. And to finish it off, a single

swallow.

To say Ian was caught off-guard would have understated the shock and awe plastered across

his face in absolution.

“Wow, did you really just do that?”

“You mean use up your product in one fell swoop? You better f****n’ believe I did!” He clenched

his hand into a fist, breaking the vial without a second and thought. “And now that I did, I get

what you mean when you said it was no joke! I can feel it…” His fist twitched the harder he

clenched it, and not because of the wounds sourcing the blood pouring down his hand and

dripping off his knuckles. “I… feel… invincible!!!”

Ash raised his head and threw it back, his eyes wide and bulging, so bloodshot his sclera

looked an almost contiguous red. A prominent effect of using the bloody scarab.

And in Ash’s case, the telltale sign of his personal end.

Before he could even belt out the first syllable of a maniacal laugh, his heart stopped, followed

by his brain shutting down all function. His bloodied eyes rolled into the back of his head, then

his fist unclenched, dropping the remnants of the vial to the ground, and finally, he slumped

over. Ian didn’t even need to check his pulse to know Ash was dead.

“I told ya, man, the bloody scarab’s to be smoked, not ingested. You so desperate to use it, you

forgot that basic fact?” After a beat, Ian closed his eyes, then sighed. “Ah, no matter. At least

now, ya got what ya really wanted, eh mate?” He crouched down, placing his indexes on Ash’s

eyelids and slowly guiding them down, leaving the slight trickles from the corners of his eyes as

their only visible bleeding. “I’ll let Sian know of yer passing. It’s the least I can do.”

Ian gave Ash’s corpse one last look of sympathy, pity, and sorrow, mixed into a cocktail of

indeterminate emotion, then turned back, heading to the southwest across the cracked and

desolate asphalt beside Buyer’s Alley. Witnessing the deaths of his purchasers at the hands of

his products, be they decent or pathetic or both like Ash, was something he learned to live with

as part of his job. As part of his reputation as the Scotch Storm.

THE END