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the friction of fiction, chpt. VIII


“the friction of fiction, chpt. VIII” by static bob
Warning: mature content

VIII
THE RED RIGHT HAND

Pike cleared an itch out of his suddenly very dry throat, and straitened himself out, before taking in a long deep alcohol divulged breath. His eyes wandered near aimlessly away from his cards, surveying the whole of the pub, as best he could from his seat. Quiet, he thought to himself. Aside from Beans, Remy, and he, the only other patrons familiarizing themselves with the innards of the Crate Steam pub appeared to be a pair of men, Pike had assumed by their husky build, to be off duty dock lumpers. Other then that, and the tenderus, currently engaged behind the bar in a vigilant effort of cleaning used pint glasses, with the aid of a dirty rage and his own spit, the rest of the pub seemed to be vacant. It was as near as he could figure, as good as it was going to get.
Doing his best to not show the strain he felt, Pike forced the smirkish demure of his former self back upon his face, before adding. “Never loses.”
“Never” Remy beamed.
“Well…That’s a damn shame.”
In one swift vigorous motion, Pike bolted to his feet, taking a firm hold of Remy’s right arm. Then swinging his arm over his head as hard as he could, Pike slammed his own hand down onto hers. Before Remy had even had a chance to respond, Pike had driven the inch and half long Phillips flat head dry wall screw through not only the whole of her right hand but nearly the whole of the table top as well. While Remy, who more then just slightly surprised to discover that she had just suddenly become stapled to the table top, remand frozen solid in shock, Pike seemingly unharmed with drew like a lightning bolt, having managed to save his own palm by way of placing the nickel he’d been harboring in between the hardened steel screw, and his own rather fragile palm.
Left hand pined to the table, Remy finally found her senses and let loose with an understandable wail of both surprise and pain. Equally understandable, Beans had been caught more then just slightly off guard by Pike’s rapid and rather violent retaliation. For a full split second, his brain toiled over the images his optical senses were feeding to his brain, piecing together the enigma of why his companions hand had quit suddenly become faceted to the table by way of a one and half inch long Phillips dry wall screw, that had only moments ago been part of a harmless visual buffoonery. A low camp that had now turned south, by a man that was now bolting over the table top, and aimed strait at him. While the explosion of out lashing had not been a complete surprise to Beans, he at the decisive moment, seemed unable to react. Whether it had been the boos or the rather jolting way in which Pike had expressed his genuine desire to keep his balls exactly as they had been since they’d dropped in his infancy, Beans was unclear of. He only knew he would have to react at some point, and each passing fraction of a second, was one more sickle like slash across his suddenly questionable life line.
Trying to grasp better understanding as to why Pike’s adrenaline flushed face was growing nearer to him in a near dry slow motion like fashion, the puzzle pieces began to fall into place, reveling something that could very well be determining the way in which the battle was going to end. With one eye absorbing the suddenly rabid like tooth pick of a man now hurtling towards him, and his other eye taking in the sight of Remy’s table slaved hand, now pooling the table top with a healthy portion of her blood, something else came into view. The Walther.
Beans leapt into action, reaching for the unloaded firearm, but he had already given Pike the split second he needed to place a firm grip on the muzzle of the piece.
Having leaped over the table in near a single bound, Pike had the Walther in his hand, before Beans had really even begun to unfold his knotted arms. While the firearm still boasted no “kill a man quick” bullets, it still severed a reasonable use to Pike in a “clubbing the crap out of Beans” sort of way, and that’s just what he did with it. Planting the butt of the grip against Beans temple, the buxom fellow crashed sideways onto the floor, allowing the magazine of 9mm cartridges for the Walther to break free of his grip, a moment before Pike lit on top of him.
Pike watched the full magazine spin wildly across the floor of the pub, until it settled with a dull thud against the front entrance door. Then he gave Beans another firm blow the side of his face, with the butt of the Walther, and lurched on hands and knees for the loaded magazine. Beans had been watching as well, or at least until Pike had pounded him with his own gun yet again, completely knocking his lower left second molar free of his jaw.
For a moment things had broken up into a hazy dull gray, after the second impact to his face, and his entire body had fallen into a numb state of euphoria. While he’d felt Pike’s weight lift up off of him, as the little sod made his made dog run for the magazine, it had little baring and he’d found bemusement in the sudden weightlessness of his body. Through the haze, his senses settled on a single rafter on the ceiling of the pub, and the strangely distant cries of his companion, Remy. An unusual calm settled in over the entirety of his body, and for an instant, he would have almost gone as far as to admit, he’d found perfection. Then the rocketing molar that had been bashed out of his face less then a moment ago reached the back of his throat, and reality jolted through him in the form of surging pain, faceting the entirety of his face. The blast of face throbbing pain quickly forced him back into reality, and he rapidly folding to one side, aiming his eyes for Pike.
The blow had left Beans some what disoriented, and bleeding from the mouth like a fountain, but he could not help from saying aloud, “Yeah, right. I‘ve had worse“.
Training his eyes in the direction Pike had just gone, it had taken him a moment to calculate exactly which of the two Pike’s he saw was actually the one he was attempting to neutralize. Ignoring Remy, who was still quit firmly pinned to the table top, and her pleas for help, Beans jetted towards Pike instead, latching a firm grip onto his pant leg. Pike’s last obstacle had been Beans, but not even his two hundred and fifty plus pound frame, seemed to be enough mustered to yank Pike’s legs out from under him. Pike cleared the room in a heart beat, dragging a rather bewildered and bloody faced Beans along with him. Reaching the door, he could feel Beans other hand working to take a firm grip on the belt that held his pants up over the ass that did not exist, and then he felt something else. Teeth. A lot of teeth, burrowing into his calf. Unable to gain a quick hand full of Pike’s belt, Beans instead, had sunk his teeth into Pike’s calf, biting down hard.
Pike let loose with a shrieking howl of his own, but by then he had also managed to fetch up the magazine. Quickly feeding the Walther an eager dose of 9mm nutrients, all Pike had to do was release the action, and the first round was chambered. A quick flick of his thumb, and the action “clanked” shut, taking with it the top round off the magazine. The Walther had once again become a lethal firearm.
By the time Beans had fully collected a hand full of Pike‘s belt, it was fair to assume he’d probably been wishing the initial blow had knocked him out cold, as he was now suddenly staring strait down the barrel of his own gun.
“Get you’re dirty mouth off ma’ leg you some bitch!”
Over come by rage, Beans let lose, but it had little to do with the demand, and more the view down the barrel of his own gun.
“Still a stupid Piker Uh?” Pike barked. “Shit man, you could have a disease, or cut a tendon, or something. Honestly, who bits anymore? It‘s fucking barbaric.”
Beans was silent. He’d had a thought in the direction of retort. He’d never once in his encounter with Pike ever gone so far as to call him a Piker, and for some reason it bothered him, more then the bit insults. But given he was garnering a view of his own weapon, he’d never on the worst day ever wished to see, and the not so undersized fact that had he actually tried to say anything at all, it would have more then likely been garbled by the flood of hemocyte boiling freely from the fresh gape in his jowl, Beans chose to stay his tongue. Instead he responded with a spit of salivated blood onto the floor instead, and little else.
“Alright.” Pike snorted with a broad grin. “I think I just won this round on the grounds that all is fare in wager and war. What do you say? Call it, win by de-fucked.”
“You don’t have a clue who you’re dealing with, do you shaver?” Beans finally choked out, while fishing the broken molar free from the back of his mouth.
“You’re right.” Pike laughed. “I really don’t. And you know what? That is a fact that I suspect tonight as I’m lying down all comfortable and cozy in my bed, all not gelded like, may just cross my mind. Funny thing. I have a feeling tonight as I settle in for my days worth of slumber, and possibly runnin’ this unusual scenario of events back through my mind…I’m still not gonna give a fuck.”
“You might.” Remy wheezed through clenched teeth.
“Oh, and you.” Pike draw the Walther’s attention to Remy.
“You were so damn interested in the idea of getting my balls. You know what? You know. I think. I think I just, might, give them to you after all.”
Clambering back to his feet, Pike took a moment to inspect his bruised calm and the nasty bit on his calf, before storming back towards the table and Remy. Drawing a gaze in the direction of the two drunk dock lumpers, that had been watching the spectacle unfold, without so much as an uttered word, or flinched muscle, he offered a nod and broad grin. “You two interested in seeing a show?“
The lumpers responded with bemused silence.
“Well pay attention fella’s. This is what happens when you fuck with the Pike.”
Training the sights of the Walther back on Beans, who was still sitting idle on the floor, in a small pool of his own blood, Pike leaned over Remy‘s shoulder, and whispered into her ear. “Yeah, you want my balls. You’ve been wanting them all damn day. Why don’t I just let you have them.”
“Fuck off.” Remy answered through clinched teeth. “You come any closer, and I’ll take them off with my bare hands.”
“Funny you should mention that, cuz it looks to me like your hands are kind a busy right now being nailed to a table.”
“Not both of them.” Remy responded, and before Pike could even flinch, she planted her free hand across his face, digging her nails in deep. Pike let loose with a yelp, and jumped back as quickly as he could, but the damage was done. He could feel the warm rush of blood rising to the surface of his face in a blushing fashion, that then continued on, running out of the fresh wounds.
Mad as hell, and hurting, Pike raked his thoughts back together, being sure Beans had not moved while he was distracted. No. Beans was busy with his own mess of a bloody face, or at least he appeared to be taking little notice. Then giving his head a quick shake, he glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of the two lumpers, to insure neither of the stalky men had at some point developed a conscious, or decided to simply join in for fun. Neither of the men had so much as lifted a finger, though they did seem rather enveloped by the spectacle. Satisfied with his flank, he turned his attention back to Remy, her ass, and her free hand.
“Biting, clawing, what the fuck is going on around here?”
“Not a good idea, shaver.” Beans warned. “Remy, ain’t exactly the sort that gives all willing like.”
Clearly agitated, Pike took a step back, fumbling with his words, in a display of agitation and broken concentration. “What, what, what is it with you and that mouth of yours continually opening and closing? Talk, talk, talk, talk, it’s always going. It’s like a black hole that has broken down and begun to run backwards. Is it a defect of your mother neglecting you as a child or something? I mean, Christ, I knocked your tooth out, ain’t that enough to at least stay a few words for a minute or two? Why can’t you just shut up? The lady wants my balls. I’m just trying to facilitate in the most convenient to Pike way possible. Alright?”
Drawing his attention back to Remy, Pike began to wrestle his belt buckle loose with his free hand, taking care to suck in a deep breath. His saggy pants dropped to his ankles, and he took a moment to try and figure out how he was going to approach again. Clearly anything within two or three feet of Remy, regardless of the approach would be inviting another one of what he now understood to be Remy’s very pain delivering finger nails, but Pike was quit certain he would not be able to accomplish this already botched rape outside of those particular perimeters. A moment to ponder the situation, while wiping away some of the coagulating blood on his face, and Pike had drawn to the only safe conclusion he could find.
“You know. I really think I’m just gonna have to put a bullet in your brain.“
That as if cued, seemed to be the moment Pike’s fun came to rather abrupt and decisive end. An end that came in the from of cold steel being pressed against the back of his own skull.
“That would not be a wise decision Mr. Nero.” Came a calm collective voice from behind. “Think that’s quit enough of this spectacle, wouldn‘t you say? Now if you don’t mind to terribly much, please place the firearm on the table top, and step away from the clearly distressed female.”

*****

Obeying the order to relinquish his weapon, Pike calmly placed the Walther on the table top next to Remy, ensuring he promoted the well practiced “hands where I can see them” routine all the while. Gun on the deck, and Pike scuttered back as best one with his pants nagging at his ankles could. A few paces back, and he could no longer feel the cold steel to the back of his head. Slowly raising his hands, Pike turned to face his new opposition. An opposition that came as something of a surprise to him. As near as he could figure he’d apparently just been stealth fully bested, buy a slender, well dressed man, adorned with a pencil thin mustache, and teeth as white as a fresh shed of snow.
“Not exactly the way I was expecting to meeting all of you.” The slender man said.
“You?” Pike questioned. “As in, You who?”
The slender man grinned inquisitively, and let rest the hammer of the Ruger he had trained on Pike. “I gather you’ve not taken the time to introduce yourselves.”
“Not exactly.” Beans stammered, still trying to find his bearings.
“Well sure.” Pike cut in. “That leather faced jabber jaw, all sprawled out over there on the floor is Captain Pedophile, and this bitch of a holy wonder bra, is his side kick, hand jobs McGee. I’m still a little sketchy as to what that has to do with you, and all your fun spoiling though. Mind filling in just a few blanks, and telling us, or at least me, cuz it seems all you hapless mother fuckers have all already met, as to who you are?”
As much as he’d found Pike’s comments amusing, the slender gentleman held his face strait, while further digesting the scene he’d just walked into.
“Certainly, how rude of me.” The slender man started in “My name is Rufus. Rufus Schorzburg.”
“Schorzburg?” Beans stammered again. “As in Rufus “The red right hand” Schorzburg.”
Rufus beamed a slim smile, before offering a lean yet firm bow. “One in the same. I see my reputation proceeds me.”
“Well whoopty fucking do.” Pike smirked.
“Mind that tongue if you would.” Rufus scolded. “I do believe I’ve just introduced myself. You’ve also just introduced me to the associates of or our mutual employer, Mr. Flanigan. Or had you not known that until just this very moment?
Pike chewed his lip a moment, struggling aimlessly to gain recall on as to why it was he’d found himself in the Crate Steam pub in the first place. He remembered something about a card game that had gone south quicker then one could say "Well I’ll be damned", but there was little else. He dug deep, and still there was nothing. Then he remembered Art, still waiting idle back at his nephews home. The name resounded with something. Something important, though it seemed at the moment he was unable to find any recourse as to what it was. The look of rattled despondency seemed to be more then enough for Rufus to continue.
"Ah, I see the cogs falling into place now my keen eyed stripling. Yes, we are the very souls your employer Mr. Flanigan had squired you to collect.”
“K. I don’t know what you just said, but I’m pretty sure it was an insult.”
“Would someone please get me the fuck off this table!” Remy suddenly boomed.
Having near completely forgotten about his forlorned companion, Beans let loose with a hasty “Fuck.“ while quickly bolting in the direction of the table. Hovering over Remy, he leaned in close to better investigate the screw that had her hand pinned to the table.
“Just stay cool, sugar. It ain’t that bad.”
“AIN”T BAD!” Remy blasted. “My hand is fucking nailed to a table. How is that NOT bad!”
“Indeed” Added Rufus.
Then as if nothing had ever happened at all, Rufus parked his Ruger, in it’s holster, and bee lined towards the table in a fashion as though it was the sort of thing he dealt with daily. Pike could not help but consider that perhaps it was. Taking a quick survey of Remy’s hand, Rufus placed a wan hand on her shoulder, patting motherly.
“There, there, now. Take in a deep breath loves. This will sting a bit.”
Rufus tightened his grip on Remy’s shoulder, and then like a bolt of lightning, he grabbed hold of the screws exposed head, and ripped it clean of both the table and her hand, before she or anyone else had even had the opportunity to object. Remy let loose with a shrieking bellow and dropped to the floor like a rock, clutching at her injury feverishly. Beans responded by dropped to her side, cradling her as best he could. Rufus responded with a light hearted “Hmm.”, and then turned his attention back to Pike. Placing the bloody screw into the palm of his hand, retaining a demure of calm, the likes of which Pike had never seen before. Then quit lightly, Rufus leaned in close, wrapping his arm around his shoulder.
“It would be wise in the future, young sprout, to find your thought process aimed in more a calm clear direction from now on.”
Rufus paused, and Pike suddenly found his entire body had suddenly become engulf in pain, the likes of which he’d never experienced before. Still cupping Pike’s shoulder firmly, Rufus’ fingers burrowed into the pressure points on the back of his neck and shoulder like chisels, delivering a mind numbing pain through the whole of his body.
“Other wise,” Rufus continued. “we are both going to be faced with an irreparably unpleasant situation. Oh yes, and if I may. It would be wise on your part, never to allow me to catch you with your pants down again. Literal or proverbial.”
Though Pike would have never confessed that he’d begun to lose control of his bladder, brought on by the pain Rufus was forcing into his body, he’d some how managed to lodge the slender man’s alarming words into a section of his brain that would remain on the surface for the remainder of his life. Apparently seeing that Pike had not only understood, but fully memorized his warning, Rufus let loose his grip, patted Pike lightly on the shoulder before move on to the bar as though nothing eventful had really happened at all.
“Her hand will need the attention of a schooled medical professional, I suspect.”
“What for?” Pike chuckled. “She ain’t nothing but a two bit hooker.”
“Oh, I think you’re going to be needing a lot more then that, shaver.” Beans snapped.
Bolting to his feet, Beans had his Walther back where it belonged, in his own hand, and trained on Pike. It wasn’t the sort of thing Pike had been expecting, but considering the day he’d had, and the fact that he was currently standing in the middle of an acrid smelling, back water, Mars mining pub, with his pants busting around his ankles, he wasn’t really all that surprised.
“As I understand it, you, like myself, and the two bit hooker here, are all under Mr. Flanigan’s employment, check?” Beans groaned.
Pike answered with a blank faced nod.
“Good. Glad were all on the same page. See here’s the problem shaver. I have to assume that you like myself entered into this little contract on the understanding that each and every one of us was, were, and are expendable. I’m not suggesting that it was a clearly defined cloze within the said contract, because, well, again, lets be agonizingly realistic here. There never really was a contract to begin with. But metaphors aside, the fact is, Remy n’ I been bouncing monopoly divinities for a good long spell now, and we’ve gotten pretty comfortable with the fact that, should one of us ever meet the business end of deaths bait chopper, there will most certainly be another at the ready to take our place…One like myself has to figure a smug like you probably falls into this pretense of that unwritten shit as well.”
Helping himself to a cigarette, Rufus leaned back on the counter top, and took a moment to digest Beans threat, while mulling the unlit cig around in mouth.
“My I inquire what it is you are intending to do with that equalizer, sir?" Rufus finally asked.
“Sure. Inquire yourself all they way back to pretentious land for all I care. I‘m gonna blunt this punk right here n‘ now.”
Rufus took in a deep sigh, hating the fact that as appealing as it would have been to see Pike laying dead and twitching lifelessly on the floor, with a bullet in his brain, he would for at least the moment have to protect the miserly little nymph.
“Might I suggest something slightly less lethal?” Inquired Rufus.
“Not unless you’ve found an eleventh commandment somewhere’s that says, thou shalt not end Pike’s.”
“In a fashion.”
“That a fact?”
“Afraid so. You see, while Mr. Nero harbors few abilities outside of being possibly the most unpleasant human being on the face of Mars, or any other planet within the rim for that matter, he does boast one quality that I hate to admit, raises him up a notch or two on the important ladder. Killing him would more then just slightly jeopardize our operation.”
Beans smirked before adding. “Knew you were going to say that.”
“It would be in all of our best interests to leave Mr. Nero in an alive like state for at least the time being.”
With Beans’ Walther still trained on him, Pike waited for what seemed a full minutes, while Beans socked up what Rufus had just explained. It had been a fact that even he himself had over the course of the afternoon forgotten. He knew full well, that he, and he alone was the only one within the small clan that would be capable of performing certain essential duties within the operation. Duties that left undone would spell doom for everyone of them.
Moments passed, and neither, Pike nor Beans, nor Rufus, for that matter budged a muscle. Then Rufus calmly spoke again.
“An error in your judgment right now, will most assuredly be met with fatal retribution, Beans.”
Pike noticed the flinch from Beans cheek, upon hearing Rufus’ threat. He recalled Beans referring to Rufus as “The red right hand”, and while Pike himself had neither any idea or concern as to what that meant, Beans seemed to understand the title down to it’s essential finite. Soaking in Rufus’ threat, Beans finally lowered his lead slugger, and parked it back under his shoulder.
“Fine. For now. But get one thing strait shaver. Soon as this job is done. You’re dead.” And with that, Beans turned his back to the both of them, and his attention back to Remy, and her devastated hand.
Feeling more then just a little relieved Pike turned his attention as well, first pulling up his pants, he aimed an eye towards the petrified tenderus at the far end of the bar, and then to Rufus and the unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. Fumbling around in the pocket a moment, he recalled that he’d already lost his 21st. Century replica Zippo to Beans in the poker game, Pike quickly jabbed a waving finger in the Tenderus’ direction.
“Tenderus.”
The mere mention had the heavy set man gasping, and searching for some form of escape. None found, he finally responded with a shivering nod.
“Ah, good, you do got ears. I need a lit.” Pike mocked.
With trembling, adrenaline over dosed hands, the tenderus fumble through his pockets, until he happened across a book of matches, which he delicately placed onto the counter top, doing his best to slide them to Pike. Stopping a good three feet out, Pike rolled his eyes, and reached the length with a groan. Then he settled back in next to Rufus, with a smug grin.
“Thanks. You put a gun to my head, numbed my body for a good half hour I’m guessing, and about made me piss myself, and then saved my life. Figure I owe you something for all of that.”
“You owe me nothing Mr. Nero, thank you.” Rufus’ responded. “lest you’d do me the honor of standing a few meters further away from my person.”
“Alright, alright. The red right hand. That’s what the old guy, Beans, called you. What’s that suppose to mean?”
“It is, dubious. Call it a cliché.”
“Whatever that means.”
“Was there something else Mr. Nero? I could not help noticing that you’d not removed yourself from my sight.”
“Well shit dude, you know the score. Without me, this entire parlay is down the can. I’m not sure what your role in this is yet, but I figure you’d probably appreciate the company, being as there isn’t much else sept a slow gun for hire n’ a two bit hooker, with a gimpy hand to choose from.”
“About the two bit hooker Mr. Nero.“ Rufus cut in with a hushed, but yet clearly agitated voice. “I have to confess that your little angst has in a fashion already jeopardized this entire operation as a whole, something I dare wager you‘ve not for a moment bothered to consider.“
“What?” Pike smirked arrogantly. “She like the key to the treasure chest or something? Art can’t fly without a rump ride?”
“Seems you’ve missed the point entirely Mr. Nero. Not a single one of us is an expendable resource within Mr. Flanigan’s operation. If but one of us fail to achieve, we fall as a whole.”
“What? She’s a god damn whore.”
“She is also dare I say it, possibly the finest star pilots outside of Titan or the military channels as a whole for that matter. Or at least she was, before someone had suddenly felt unreasonably compelled to crucify her to a dirty table.”
“Ah” Pike hesitated, taking care to draw the aim of his now not so flamboyant eyes to the counter top.
“You see, while you, or they, or I for that matter may find it some what difficult working with or even taking in the same air for that matter, we are “all”, essential to this plan.”
Pike laughed, and then leaned in patting Rufus on the shoulder. Responding like a rock, and Pike finally made his closer.
“Alright, fine, you don’t like me. Nobody likes me, why should you be an exception.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
“Point is, you saved my life back there. I just wanna show some neighborly appreciation. Can’t I do that? Can I at least light your cigarette, alright.”
Rufus hesitated a moment. Then he frugally removed the unlit cigarette from his mouth, and mashed it lightly into an ash tray on the bar.
“I’m sorry Mr. Nero, perhaps I did not convey my opinion of you forth rightly enough. I did not save your life out of selfless regard or concern, other then my own gain. And I don’t smoke.”
Still nursing Remy’s savaged hand, Beans had been listening in on Pike and Rufus’ conversation. He’d had a mountain of questions building the entire time, and had equally found more then just a few reasons to keep them to himself for the moment. But there was still one question, that despite the fact that sharing a room, or a planet at all, with the man so many like himself had grown to know as “The red right hand”, he simply could not shake.
“Wait. There is suppose to be seven of us. Where are the other three?”
Accepting Beans question like a breath of fresh air, Rufus turned on his heel, and aimed a distinguished arm towards the two supposed lumpers who had been an audience the entire time.
“Gentlemen.” Rufus nodded.
Responding to Rufus, the two until now, largely unnoticed men seated quietly by themselves, both raised a hand as they called out their names.
“Hoss.”
“Fish.”
“Henchmen?” Pike inquired.
“Indeed.” Answered Rufus.
“So now wait. I can’t-”
“Then don’t”
Then Beans spoke up again. “So where is lucky number seven?”
“Felix? Inbound.”
“Meaning.”
Turning to the tenderus, Rufus order himself up “A respectable slice of sweetened rye.” and said no more.


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