Lowdown

This is the first story I wrote after I left school. I hadn't written anything but poetry for a few years, and I just sat down one day while waiting for the bus and wrote the whole thing out at once.

When you drink a fifth of rum and a couple of tallboys, things start to spin a little.  Add a joint or two, and everything begins to rotate on a fourth dimension.  It's a nice place to visit, but Rat practically lived there.  In the summer it wasn't too bad.  He could sleep in the parks, float the river.  But winter was coming. 

He rolled up his sleeping bag and lit a cigarette.  Rat hated the Rescue Mission, but he knew when it was going to rain.  The park had already cleared, but he stopped at the benches anyway, rummaging for anything useful.  Green bic, pair of gloves.  So maybe the day was looking up. 

By the time he reached the mission, rain was pouring from the sky.  But still, Rat waited.  Three Trunks was always behind schedule.  One by one, the people of thle streets filed in, but still no sign of him.  Rat looked at the clock through the window.  Four minutes until they locked the doors.  No more time.  Rat went in, headed to the worship room.  He hoped his friend had the good sense to find some cover somewhere.  Three Trunks was a drunk, but it wasn't like him to pass out before dinner.  He sat there, listened to the preacher lament on the lack of conformity amongst the lower class.  Rat had never realized quite how ignorant Mr. Blackwelder really was, had hardly even heard his words the last few years with Three Trunks phleghmy snores rattling the entire third row.  The service finished and again they were in a line, whisked into the dining room for stale bread and ramen noodle soup before heading into the dorm.  Most of the men ate in a hurry.  A hot shower was a luxury reserved for the first few to get there.  But Rat didn't care.  He wouldn't have even bothered if it wasn't a requirement for staying the night.  So he sat queitly in the corner, pretending to read the paper.  The three men at the table in front of him never ate fast.  They sat there swapping stories, and at times it seemed they knew everything.  It wasn't long before one of them brought up Three Trunks.

"Wasn't it nice being able to sleep through church without all that snoring?"  Scotty was covered in white power tatoos, but his hispanic blood was obvious.  He was the only person in his group who never had anything informative to say.  Fortunately Pete was a goldmine. 

"If that gets you off, you won't believe what me an Gopher saw.  We was in Jacksons gettin some Beast and Blackwelder showed up."

"S**t.  He hassle about the brew?"

"Naw,"  It was Gopher who took over, wagging his bread to emphasize each point.  "says we should come to his new 'covery program.  Tells Pete here he could be a lawyer if'n he put his mind to it."

"So I start laughin', right?  He looks me'n Gopher up and down and says 'It's doing your friend Arthur a world of good.'  Well, I tell him we don't know no Arthur, so he tells us that's Three Trunks."

"God be blessed.  We'll never have to see that n****r again."

"I don't know Scotty.  It all seemed kind of creepy."

"So do all the monkeys getting jobs in the government, but what?"  Scotty was starting one of his rants, so Rat picked up his tray and headed for the showers.  He got what he had wanted. 

The next morning Rat was still thinking about Pete's story.  Three Trunks had cut down lately, but he knew there was no way in Hell his freind would go to rehab.  He tried to picture him, six five with a permanent hangover and dreadlocks, chain-smoking and trading sob stories.  Maybe Blackwelder had him arrested.  That would explain why he'd lie to Gopher.  But Rat wouldn't figure anything else out here. 

An hour later, Rat was crouched low in the back of the library, taking sips off of a bottle of Jack Daniels.  None of the old men at the newspaper racks had seen Three Trunks.  Neither had the kid who always sat outside bumming smokes.  It looked like the only way he was going to get answers was to talk to Blackwelder himself.  But as he had this thought a wave of fear rolled up his spine.  It was irrational, unplaceable, but he knew something was terribly wrong.

By evening Rat was drunk enough to laugh at himself.  He had spent his day sulking in fear of an elderly preacher.  It wasn't until drumcircle, when Delilah arrived with a joint and a bottle of Mad Dog that he felt like himself again.  Now he was ten feet tall, floating towards the mission.  There was still no sign of Three Trunks, but the line of people waiting stretched half a block down.  Though he walked alone he could hear the buzz.  Steak.  He lit a cigarette, waited for the door to open.  In his five years on the street Rat had never had steak.

All through the crowd he could see the excitement.  The only people not caught up in the moment were Pete and Gopher.  They were standing back against the fence, talking and drinking their beer in plain view.  Rat considered striking up a conversation, but the door opened and he filed forward with everyone else.  It would have to wait. 

Despite the crowd, everyone was silent when Blackwelder entered the room.  The sooner he could start, the sooner they'd be eating.  Rat noticed another reason for the silence.  Ever since he started coming to the mission, Scotty was there, delivering one smart a*s remark after another.  But not tonight.  That feeling returned, over the pleasant warmth of the liqour, the skin crawling sensation that whatever was happening was even worse than you feared.  He spent the rest of the service with his eyes glued to the floor, oblivous to his surroundings.  All he knew was the discordant symphony of fear and drunkeness.  Then it ended, and the cheering crowd brought him back to reality.  It was time to eat.

The steak was tender and flavorful but Rat was distracted.  He had always sat alone or with Three Trunks, but tonight was different.  Pete and Gopher had joined him, along with a few others he didn't know.  It was strange enough it kept him from eating.  Pete was the same way, picking at his food, staring.  Only the newbies spoke, the animated conversation of people who didn't realize how lowdown they really were.  Let them sleep out in the snow a few times, let them w***e their blood at the plasma center and eat from a dumpster.  They'd break.  Rat had seen it hundreds of times.  Eventually they got the message.  You're not welcome here. 

As soon as they left, Rat slid across from Pete and looked around, making sure no one was listening.

"What do you want?"

"Same as you.  We want to know what was going on.  Scotty was supposed to meet us here.  Now we hear he's in rehab, just like your friend."  Gopher interupted, as he often did, to see if they were going to finish their food.  They slid him their trays, and Pete continued.  "Thing is, Scotty would never go to rehab."

"My same feeling about Three Trunks.  Blackwelder's up to something."

"But what?"  He never got time to finish the thought.  The night watchman turned off the lights.

"It's time for bed, so you better hustle to the showers unless you want to sleep outside."  That was the end of that.  Pete was worried for his friend, but he wasn't going to buck the system.  That settled it.  First thing in the morning, Rat was going to talk to Blackwelder. 

He caught up with the preacher after breakfast.  Blackwelder's office was off limits to residents, but Rat didn't care.  He entered without knocking and made himself comfortable.

"What can I do for you?"  He had expected Blackwelder to be livid.  In the past he would have yelled at such an intrusion.

"What have you done with Three Trunks?"

"Nothing my boy.  As I'm sure you've heard he decided to take a break.  And far be it from me to claim credit for the workings of God."

"So God cleaned up Scotty too?  A drunk a day?"  He said it with force, but Blackwelder's composure didn't crack. 

"No, Scotty's been a project of mine for awhile.  When Three Trunks left he realized it was time."  It was an obvious lie.  Had Blackwelder really never seen the Swashtika on Scotty's shoulder, or the Iron Cross running the length of his forearm?  Rat could have called him on it, but he was more interested in finding out why he was lying.

"I want to see my friend."

"Why?"  Rat could do this.  He was in drama before he dropped out of school.  "To lure him back to the booze and the streets?"

"I just want to know why he didn't say goodbye.  We've been like brothers."  Action.  A tear rolled down Rat's cheek.  Bonus points for acting ashamed to be seen crying. 

"It's alright son.  I know Satan's taken your life away.  Come see your friend and stay.  Throw away the bottle hidden in your coat and make the choice.  For Three Trunks.  For Jesus.  For yourself."  Rat had no interest in his rhetoric, but he had to see his friend.  He tossed the last of his Jack in the trash and stood.

"Let's go then.  For me."

They drove in silence.  It was all Rat could do to keep himself awake.  He was surprised when they pulled in next to an abandoned warehouse.  He got out to smoke and survey the area.  There were boards on the windows and the gutters were filled with refuse. 

"This isn't rehab."  Blackwelder laughed.  Rat turned back around to see a gun aimed at his head.  "Holy f**k, man!  What is this?"

"This is my masterpiece.  This is Project Christ."  Rat took another look at the building.  This s**t couldn't be happening.  "Step inside."  The inside of the building was enormous, but what bothered Rat the most was the smell.  He knew it, from living in the lowdown, where the sun rarely shined.  It was the smell of death.  He thought back, barely ten years old, his mother on the kitchen floor when he came home from school.

"Hurry!"  Having a gun pressed up against you can be very motivational, so he didn't waste time.  "Look around you and marvel!"

"What the hell?"  The warehouse contained everything you'd need to open a butchershop.  Which is precisely what it was.  Blood coated nearly everything, and a swarm of flies massed in the corner.  Underneath their bodies, the toss pile, bones, bladders, brains.  Rat fought the urge to vomit.  The odor had intensified, and seemed to permeate his being.

"Of all the greatest men before me, only I have figured out the riddle of the homeless.  As long as there have been cities, you and your kind have plauged the world like gnats.  But not anymore.  Never again!"  Rat winced.  More memories  now.  Danny, his mentor on the streets.  He should've just given them the knife.  "Project Christ to feed the masses.  Project Christ to cleanse the streets."

"No, not like this, dear God not like this!"  Rat ran towards the door.

Two days had passed.  Gopher sat alone in the corner.  Three Trunks, Rat, Scotty, Pete, all gone.  There was talk the preacher was sent directly from God.  But Gopher wasn't about to go straight now.  The way he saw it, the Mission had hit it's stride.  Meat everynight, plenty of beds, and on top of it Blackwelder was being practically saintly.  It was going to be a good year.

Reviews

[Inda Lauryn]

I must say, Ailyn nailed it with the Jonathan Swift reference. Thing is, even though these characters are the dregs of society, you still have to feel sorry for them because their fate, in both life and death, is inhumane. I thought I had words to describe how this hit me, but I'm almost at a loss since I completely did not see the end coming. I'm a fan of films like THE USUAL SUSPECTS and BROTHER, so I only wish I could make these type of anti-hero characters. You've definitely something on par with those types of works.

[Hawksmoor]

HOLY S**T!!!

Why I haven't read your work before now, I'll never know, but wow, man.

This...this should ef be published somewhere. I fel tlike I was reading something righ tout of a Jack Ketchum or Bentley Little short story collection.

Other than the spacing, it's VERY good. S**t, it's great.

I won't go into too much detail, since there are many folks far better suited to honest-to-God reviews than me.

I'll just say that I enjoyed reading this very much.

Yer extremely talented, man.

Hawksmoor...From The Bleed.

[Ailyn]

Nice! Very Jonathan Swift for the modern era! Love the ending. Inventive names. suspense. An impressive piece of short fiction.

[Poeticpiers]

I enjoyed the read it brought back memories of my years as a socal worker and the down and outs I met along the way. It came across as stark reality until the unexpected twist at the end. Then thinking about I could see that such a scenario might just happen one day if it has not already happened somewhere.
Not all ministers are holy men