Lower CoSMOS-Life Of Lance Vier #7

“One less demon to deal with.”

Pibb put his hands up, “Quan. Everything I have, I will drop. I am loaded, but it’s not much if you need it.”

            “We didn’t save your ass for your trinkets, or pawn nibbles. You can get the hell out of here, the kid stays.”

            Pibb went silent. His eyes were on Quan. Quan turned his head to Pibb.

            “Still here?” he said.

            “Good enough, Quan. Good enough,” Pibb put his hands out at either side. Quan chose to point the shotgun at him.

            “What the, no! What is it? What? Tell me. I am right here. I will do whatever the hell you want,” I said.

            “What did you say?” Quan said.

            Shell moved in front of Quan, mouthing words close to his face, she then stared at me.

            “You need to talk slowly.”

            “Fine,” I said. I was tired, agitated, and starting to get sick of not knowing what was going on.

            “You tell him everything, Francis Pibb, and then get the hell out of my home before he starts calling you Daddy. I don’t want any attachments or crying when you’re gone,” Quan said. I lunged at Quan but a sword came up to my neck, the blade pressed to my skin.

            I glared at the woman they called Shell, “He needs to hear it, Frank.”

            “There is a bounty on you, Lance,” Pibb said.

            Pibb lowered his head, consistent in his shortcomings.

            “And?” Quan said.

            “Halfway I changed my mind about collecting,” Pibb said. I turned away from them all, gazing at their white deteriorating cabinets in the kitchen, paint chipping off at the edges. Shell put her sword away.

            “Sincerely,” Pibb said.

            Quan chuckled. Pibb started his feet but stopped. His head went up to Quan. By that time, Quan lowered his shotgun.

            “That explains why you want him too,” he said to Quan.

            “No one is special here, Pibby. We get checks just like you and everyone else. Paid to sit on our asses. Shell’s side gig is selling flan. Real flan.”

            Shell bowed in pride.

            “That’s illegal,” Pibb said.

            “No shit,” said Quan, “You go mouthing off and Shell will drag your ass back here.”

            “Understood,” Pibb said.

            “How much am I?” I said, directing it toward Pibb.

            He began walking to the front door of Quan’s apartment. My mouth became dry and a pit in my stomach formed. I rubbed my eyes of the tears. But in wiping them, the liquid was thicker and did not disperse as quick as water.

            “No. No. Now, none of that, Junior Bastard,” Quan said.

            I brought my hands up to my eyes, finding a little brown fluid on my hands. Its been normal all my life and no one has questioned me about it. No Doctors said anything. As the saying going, “What’s normal anymore.”

            Shell moved to Quan again, mouthing some words.

            “Yeah. Yeah,” Quan said and followed behind Pibb. He pulled his shotgun toward him; I believed intending to blast him in the back.

            “No!”

            Quan turned to the table, and Pibb grabbed the door handle.

            “What’s that?” said Quan and then he allowed Pibb to leave. Shell turned to me, and Quan left the apartment with Pibb.

            “The master means well, Lance Vier. Our lives are not easily explained by our interactions here but if anyone is deserving of answers it is you and the poor children from the wombs of your mothers. None of us had the choice of the lifespring and to drink from its well,” said Shell. “Despite his intention to sell you on the open market, you still did not want to see him hurt. You have a lot to learn even at your age.”

“We do have choices,” I said as I moved away from the table and started my way toward the door. The walk was going to be difficult, but at this point, I wanted to hear my wife yelling at me for doing something I didn’t do and then having the gratuitous makeup session afterward.

            “You leave at your peril. I will not take pleasure in ending your life, Lance Vier. Not because you are valuable, but because you are a life deserving of it. We all do if allowed to truly live,” she said. I stopped but still, the lack of any information gave me a second thought about living.

            At the front of the home, several chairs were arranged, a larger inviting one, and three others around it. In the center, a table with cards out in a solitaire arrangement. The television was wrapped with duct tape and over the fireplace rested pictures of indiscernible people. One I imagined one was Quan at a younger age.

            “Sit,” Shell said.

            She joined me at one of the smaller chairs. Shell pressed herself down with easy poise.

            “I am older. The pain is managed, Lance. And for that, this means your awareness should heighten away from the life you once had,” said Shell, “My master…”

            She said that Quan was once an owner of a curiosity shop called ‘Duckling’s Cove;’ living on an inheritance from his Uncle. He saved each penny, investing some, and using some to live the life he wanted. He spent time collecting valuable items, anything he found on his travels, speaking with people, and staying a part of his community in a small town in California.

            “He was married?” I said.

            “Yes, but that is all that should be said. He had children, three of them.” Shell continued.

“In some of us, you either live your life after the tragedy he faced and learn to savor its brevity, or you allow it to rot you away. He is in between,” she said.

            But in his life, the happiness of community gatherings and social events allowed him to have sanity and push people away who came too close to him. Shell was twelve when she entered his shop, searching for rare comic books. When conversation sprang up with one another, Quan learned of Shell’s life; an orphan, living down the street at a place where she was constantly passed up for adoption. Both of them developed a love for early afternoon into the evening martial arts movies at his shop. Patrons in the town began to whisper that Quan’s relationship was unnatural and that there must have been something else that allowed for the bonds they began to share.

            “It is easy to develop a hatred for people when their minds are entrapped by the presuppositions that they know better, Lance,” said Shell.

            In that time, men, any man were shamed for showing strength, will, and the wherewithal to make society a better place. They were accused of anything based on living or being in the proximity of another person, particularly anyone female. As you aged, it was worse. For some reason, age compounded the accusations of perversity. No one in town knew that Quan ever had children. Shell developed a love for Asian culture. Quan contacted local teachers, sifus, and masters in the area of the growing town, paying for her studies without question, but some did. A few entered his shop, surmising the surroundings, searching for clues or reasons why he and Shell, who by now I assumed was short for Shelly, remained a close pair. The teachers found nothing on Quan. One of them, Grandmaster Elgin lived a dishonorable second life in the eyes of Shell.

            “I still use his teachings because they were someone else’s before his,” she added.

            Elgin laundered money, embezzled funds from local and international investors, and used his studio as a front for a lucrative side business. His dealings attracted others to his presence at Quan’s shop. She paused and gathered a deep breath.

            “You don’t have to tell me,” I said, but in speaking, a familiar odor entered my nostrils.

            “She’s here,” I said.

            Shell stood up and her swords popped out. Gothia stood in front of us, Shell swung at her. I bolted up. The lights went out. And the front door slammed open.

            “Where’s the demon?” Quan said.

            “There is no such things, dumbass,” Gothia said.

            “Allow me to give you the permission to ask Jesus,” Quan said firing and firing round after round at what I was hoping what was left of Gothia. The smell permeated the room. Like the smell of plants burning.

            “Reloading, little Bitch,” Quan said.

            The lights came on, and Shell had her hand top of the barrel of Quan’s shotgun and pressed on it to motion for him to lower his weapon.

            Gothia was back in the kitchen, full of holes and bleeding all over the floor. The gurgling of her breath gave Quan the urgency to walk over to her dying body.

            “Some more, sweet cheeks?” He reloaded his weapon. I wanted to stop him but under the circumstances, the threat eliminated may be a good idea.

            “We have a day of peace, maybe less,” Shell said.

            Quan gave a final blast to Gothia. He turned to Shell and waited for her to say something.

            “It will buy some time, Master,” she said.

            He stared and the ground and lowered his weapon.

            “No. There has to be a way to end this. The last time we saw that little trollop she was nineteen years old. She’s still nineteen, boy. It’s not natural.”

            He began his walk toward Shell.

            “She got to Pibb, who knows where he put him,” he said.