Tastes Like Fuel (Open)

[Cassie Lindstrom]

In the darkness of the club, Cassie was almost invisible. She leaned against the bar, not in the middle where people clustered to get drinks, but further along, near the back, against the wall. Here, it was quiet, shady, and almost peaceful if you wanted to concentrate past the deafening music and the irregular strips of light that rippled across the rapidly shifting crowd.

Cassie looked down to the murky glass between her fingers. She didn't know what it was. It looked like cider to her, but it was deceptive, because it smelled, and tasted, like fuel. Cassie could almost imagine walking by one of those old petrol stations, glancing to the side to read the faded, peeling words of the three petrol pumps. In her imagination they were labelled 'diesel', 'unleaded petrol', and 'whatever's in Cassie's glass'. Either that or it was something you'd use to clean your bathtub and toilet with, and unblock some clogged plugholes.

Cassie motioned to the bartender, who walked all the way down to the end of the bar towards her. She leaned over and screamed in his ear above the music, "What is this shit?"
The bartender yelled something back, but it was only by reading his lips that cassie was able to make out the words, 'Fino sherry'. Fino sherry, she mused. Must be some sort of acquired taste. The name sounded acceptable, so she put the stuff to her lips and took another sip. She rolled the liquid around in her mouth, decided that she still didn't like it, and backwashed it back into the glass, leaving only a nasty aftertaste which she spat into the glass of crap she'd been served before slipping from the barstool and walking away.

The bartender, who’d been watching her, looked affronted.

[Svothe Jackson]

Stepping Inside I slowly push the door open my large form filling the entire door frame as I climb inside. The room is bustling with life and noise; I decided to cut the crap and head straight towards the bar. The barman was serving some other wench further down the bar so I grabbed a stool and sat down. Reaching into my belt and pull out the dark metal baton that had been resting in it placing it down noisily on the counter. Glancing over at the barman still lingering over near the girl towards the end of the bar I call down to him over the music "Can't a man get a drink around here?" as I watched him stagger nervously over towards me.

He lent over towards me bringing his head close to my ear and screaming "What're you drinking good sir?" as I turn and look at him with a half confused half disgusted look on my face "what the bloody hell do you think I am, Physic? What are you selling old man?" as I let him go back to the bar and he pulls out a old piece of paper or card nailed to some wood. Watching interested as he slides the nobbly piece of wood over the bar towards me. Looking for the cheapest drink I spin the board around tapping my finger on the desired drink and throwing a few loose coins over the counter in his direction.

With the barman scurrying around on the floor for the change, I take my time to turn and glance; looking over the crowd for my target as I sub-consciously pick my drink off the bar and lift it to my lips taking a big drink from it before spitting it back out into the glass staring down into the bottom of the glass at the foul tasting liquid. 'What the hell is this?' I think to myself resting the drink back on the bar and resuming my scanning of the crowd.

For a few moments longer I continue looking but to no avail until I notice his signature top hat bouncing above the crowd as he makes his way to a table in the far corner. Turning and sliding my drink back across the bar I drag myself to my feet pulling my baton off the counter and grasping it with both hands as I slowly pace over to the target, pushing my way easily through the horde of people and over to the hit.

Resting one hand on the table I lift the other above my head and quickly 'itch' my back with the baton before bringing it swiftly down on the targets head hearing the loud crunch as the baton smashes down onto his skull; grasping his throat with my free hand I lift him out of his seat and pin him easily against the wall not noticing the halting of music and dancing as the majority of the bar turn and stare at myself pulverizing the mans skull.

Listening to the choking and dieing breaths of the pinned man I turn noticing the lack of sound as quiet shocked gasps come from the crowd. Smiling a little as I look at the both shocked and scared crowd I simply call out "what the f&%k are you guys looking at?" before resuming pressing the mans throat powerfully against the wall as he wriggles and finally goes limp, letting him drop, slouched onto the ground.

[Cassie Lindstrom]

Cassie didn’t make her way into the crowd just yet. She looped around the back, keeping to the walls where there were fewer people and the light didn’t shine so bright. There, skulking about the edge of the room, Cassie remained unseen. She headed to the bathrooms, or to whatever was considered a bathroom these days, which anything with a piss spot could count as. There were cubicles without doors, cubicles with makeshift doors, mismatched toilets with bits of string as flushers, all of which showed the marks of fifty years worth of neglect and misuse. There was a nasty smell here, as well, coming from the end cubicle. Cassie didn’t even want to think about what it could be. Vomit? Possibly. Crap? Most likely. Combination of the two? Oh yeah.

Cassie stayed as close to the door as possible and leaned her face over the cracked, pockmarked sink. She turned on the tap, and all that came out was brown water that ran straight through the plughole and splashed on the floor by her feet. Cassie jumped back and leaned down, seeing that someone had made off with the pipe, so that the water was just disposed of on the floor. That explained the mould, then.

She waited until the water ran clear, then cupped her hands underneath it. She lifted the water to her nose and sniffed. Smelt okay. She shuffled a bit closer to the sink, avoiding the water underneath, and leaned over the sink. In the dim light offered by a window set into the roof above instead of electric lighting, her dark skin almost glowed. She filled her cupped hands with water, drank it, and scrubbed around her teeth and gums with a finger to try and get the crappy taste of sherry out of her mouth. She turned the tap off, wiped her wet hands on the thighs of her pants, went back to the club.

The room had gone quiet, and people had stopped moving. Following the gazes of the masses to whatever they were looking at, Cassie saw a man with a baton holding a man up against the wall. In the moonlight, the second man’s head glistened wetly with blood, and his skull looked misshapen, as though crushed. Cassie edged her way through the crowds, getting closer to the scene.

The man seemed to notice the silence around him. He turned, had the audacity to smile at them all, and said, What the fuck are you guys looking at? He went back to his victim, who struggled with lack of oxygen, then with a few dying twitches, fell limp. He got dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

Cassie was at the front of the crowd and still coming closer, hatred on her face. “What the fuck is your problem?” Cassie yelled as she cleared the front few people, her dark eyes livid with anger.

[Svothe Jackson]

“What the fuck is your problem?”
Turning to the sound of some angered voice coming from the crowd staring straight at the perpetrator; A young, attractive looking girl I called out, rather sarcastically "My Problem? My problem is this daft fool mugging my 'client' thank you very much. what business is it of yours any who?" still with my blood pumped full of adrenaline I had little thoughts in my mind other than violence and combat, my baton still clenched tightly in my hand and poised ready to be bought down on another unsuspecting skull if need be.

My eyes wander for a moment the worried and intimidated look spread across the crowds faces made me laugh inside. 'What were they expecting? This ain't no modern world this place is filled with violence and death. Just because your drinking some of that foul slurry they serve at the bar doesn't suddenly make you invincible and to be honest I think the crowd had for the first time realized there own mortality. Sadly they had decided to realize it while confronted with a large hulking man wielding a baton. None the less, they still appeared rather horrified at the whole situation and what had happened.

For a few moments longer the crowd stared on but after a short while they seemed to come to the conclusion that I wasn't going after them and it seemed that all but one returned to there regular boozing and dancing paying little attention to the dead man in the corner or his barbaric murderer and even less to the young colored girl seemingly searching for a fight.

[Cassie Lindstrom]

"No, your problem," Cassie snapped, stepping closer and jabbing the man in the middle of the chest with her index finger, "is that you decide to kill someone in the middle of a club. People are trying to relax here, and you just have to go be a dick and start a massacre. If you have issues with someone, take it outside, don’t made a goddamn scene in a public place. It’s just uncalled for."

The man before her was hulking behemoth of a giant, but Cassie had a bitchy attitude at the best of times and she didn’t care if he was brandishing a baton. Little old her was armed with an axe and a ball bearing gun amongst other things, not to mention a really snarky manner and bad language once she got started.

"And someone has to clean up after your mess. Are you gonna do it? Not fucking likely. Why should someone else clean up your shit?" she shouted, gesturing to the dead man on the floor. That body was going to sit there and smell for days until someone gritted their teeth and hauled him outside. Someone else had to get a dead man’s blood all over them just because the prick in front of her didn’t have the common sense to simply take it outside.

She shook her head and slipped into a stool at the mar, muttering under her breath about, 'No fucking consideration.'

[Svothe Jackson]

Looking towards you and shaking my head a little astounded at the mouth on this girl I shouted out over the crowd "Alright darlin' I'll do you's a favour and haul this twat out of here, but you step up in my business again and they'll be some unpleasentries; thats for sure." switching my attention back to the limp, lifeless man in the corner I mutter some words of hate quietly to myself before heaving him up onto my shoulder and pushing my way outside again.

As I step into the cool air outside the bar I let out a sigh of relief. I'd got my man and I could finally return to York; Where I belong. The sun was still in the sky but beginning its lazy descent now till it dips behind the horizon. The sense of relief was matched by another feeling it was something I couldn't quite put my finger on, a nagging feeling that something had been forgotten. Laying the corpse down behind a shed along the road I pull my jacket on a little tighter and pace back towards the bar. Gently kicking the door open I walk inside a second time this evening, immiediately walking up to the bar and pulling a stool over next to the 'bitchy' female who had the nerves to step up to me. "Happy now then are you?" as I glance a look over in your direction chuckling a little. "Parked the bloke out behind some shed or something, Im sure some unsuspecting tourist will find him in the morning eh?" as normal I rest my baton loudly on the table in front of me and call down to the barman. "Throw us a drink keep, anything but what I had last time'd be good." then wiggling a little on the stool trying to get comfortable.

[Cassie Lindstrom]

Cassie slumped at the bar and, from the corner of her eyes, watched the man haul the cadaver out of the nightclub, leaving a greasy red trail of blood droplets in his wake. Cassie shook her head and turned back to the bar, assuming that that was to be the last she ever saw of that man and his cracked-in-the-head mercenary tactics. What was his game – trying to be as public as possible to draw attention to himself? Maybe that’s how he got ‘clients’ to hire him, by broadcasting his gospel of bloody murder in the first place.

When the door got kicked open, Cassie looked to it, but had a sinking feeling that she already knew who it was going to be. Her suspicions were proved right, it was Señor Blockhead. Cassie sighed, rolled her eyes, and turned her attention back to the bar.
She hadn’t expected the man to approach her again.

Happy now then are you?
Cassie didn’t look at him as she shrugged and made a ‘nyeh’ sort of sound, clearly indicating that she didn’t give two shits either way, then added, “You don’t get tourists anymore, honey. Not much to see in this shithole anyway.” She turned her head to face him after he made his order, and she seemed to make a point about not being subtle when her dark eyes looked him up and down, giving him the once-over. “What do you want now? I doubt you were intending to strike up a scintillating conversation with just me.”