The QUEEN SONG

(10) Scenes 23-24

11/17/2019

Mike W McCoy

Version 2.0

<>23<>Xais tried, but failed.

Slight tremors of fear, along with a visceral visual revulsion at the creepy crooked ruins, swept over Special Agent Boris as he stood swaying stoically next to the dust-and-dirt-covered car.  His once immaculate shiny black suit was somewhat torn, and splashed with blood stains of others. 

A growing gang of raggedly costumed cultists had completely corralled the Firstborn, and the entourage of Yellow Hand triad.  The moaning and grumbling of the most spastic followers looked neither sane nor normal.  Boris began to doubt if they were still entirely human.  An intense insanity smoldered inside their bloodshot eyes, except the cruel, inscrutable, dead looking orbs of Mother. 

“H-hey,” the raspy voice of Ace croaked.  “Where are we?”

Boris helped the limp looking old man into a shuffling semi-stationary stance next to the long vehicle’s trunk.  The haggard looking veteran nodded a thanks.

“I asked where-” but the words stopped as his scratchy eyes focused on the assembled, crazy looking, jumpy crowd lit by the morning sunlight. 

“Oh crap.”

“Exactly,” Boris agreed while smirking that mutilated face of his.

The necktie-wearing triad henchmen stood close by, with hands on holstered weapons, and T-glass shades scanning the cult crowd.  Clinging alongside those Chinese Snakes were the nervous Birds still dressed in elegant evening gowns.

Underboss Xais muttered quietly into the ear of Mahn, who held a pair of silver automatic’s low against his thighs.  The wide hipped woman in the red dress assumed a defensive Kung Fu stance, as if she alone was to protect the clutch. 

Off to the sides, the refugees twitched and twittered.  They divided their devotion between the Firstborn, and the approaching figure of Mother, their Queen.

“Jax, my son,” her voice was deep sounding, and quieted the cult crowd.  “You have done well.”

“Mother,” he responded without a smile.  The ring of cultist parted as Jax strode alongside the edge of the waterless pool.

He continued talking down into the deep end.  “I have a future brother with me.”

Underboss Xais tried to smile, but failed.  Mahn remained impassive to the company of society’s castoffs. 

Mother continued to walk closer, from the shallower, sand filled side of the Olympic size pool.  It was a long moment of her awkward gate before Boris understand something was very wrong.  He had known many a crippled man, but she was not walking like any man. 

She stopped several strides shy, looked up to study the Yellow Hand and feel for their emotions.  Her slow smile was deceptive.  Then after an awkward swaying of shoulders, Mother focused on the underboss and his henchmen’s captain. 

The lead Snake gave no overt reaction, beyond the twitch of a sneer.  In response, Mother tossed her long, cactus-needle infused, black hair every which way, then settled on leaving the stringy mass to obscure her face.

Her words were harsh and slow.  “Are you the one called Xais?”

The wild woman at his side withdrew her talons, and the triad leader replied with a deep humbling bow.

“It is an honor to great the mother of this exceptional man,” he finally managed after a new profound swallow of pride.  The Vulture nodded her approval at his action.

“I only hope to be worthy of being called his brother,” he ended with another bow, and a lingering sideways glance at Jax.

The Firstborn slid over, and draped an arm casually over Xais, and stated honestly, “He’ll be good for my sister.”

The shadow that was the woman in the pool, gave no response.

“He understands us, Mother.  Brah, we bonded.  Isn’t that right?” ending with a good-natured squeeze of the shorter man’s shoulders.  Mechanically, Mahn holstered his duel weapons and pulled the woman in red farther away.

“That’s double-plus, right Jax,” Xais began after a nod of approval towards his leading man.  “It was a hell of a night.  Very…educational.”

Mother saw the Chinaman’s nervous smile, and recognized the trepidation of the men dressed in suits and sunglasses.

“That is good news,” she said, sidestepping left towards the frozen form of Boris, and the confused looking Ace. 

“Not a concerned now.  We have time, a different urgency.”  That sentence seemed to smother the mood. 

Continuing with the weird shuffling gait, Mother stopped in the pool’s deep diving area, and looked up at both men standing above.  Neither of them could clearly see her face hidden behind the wild mass of brittle hair, but they both felt her eyes burning across their minds, like a moving migraine. 

Boris started to say something.  “Take them upstairs,” she continued.  “And don’t kill them.”

“Yes, Mother,” Jax agreed to the dismayed looks of the entourage.  But she had already turned away, leaving him to ‘feel’ the confused glares from the Yellow Hand alone.

“Come on, I got you a special room,” the Firstborn said to Boris with a straight face, but with devious eyes. 

“Swell, sure thing.”

“Brother Xais,” Jax added with a nod towards the ring of refugees.  “You and others go inside.  Try to relax.  This may take a time.”

The underboss looked about to respond, but the Vulture hissed at him, and reached for his hand. 

“We will be honored to do as you ask,” the voice was sweet, but her glare at the triad leader was anything but.  “Isn’t that true?” 

It took a heartbeat for Xais to understand her angle.  “Yes, yes we all will go.”

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“How much longer?”  The question sounded confused and cranky. 

The dry mouthed words belonged to Ace as he struggled to keep pace with Special Agent Boris, who had stopped climbing the rusting emergency stairs.He flashed another half-smile to the disheveled old man laboring to stay ahead of the mostly naked sunburned freaks herding them both upwards. 

“You talk lots for a man whose name is means watching.”

“It’s my mother’s side.  Great, great, great grandniece of somebody once important.”

“Great.”

“Shut up, keep moving,” the strongest looking cult thug commanded with a shove and a grunt.  His naked chest was well developed, and covered in fresh deep scratches.  He carried a dark-stained heavy hemp rope over his left shoulder. 

“Swell,” Boris interjected.  “Now you pissed them off.”

The mob ignored the verbal exchange and continued up to the 4th floor landing.  The cement walls had partially crumbled away, revealing iron rebar, and a section of the non-functioning elevator shaft.  Some of the advancing refugee-review rushed thru the doorway and stood waiting for Boris and Ace.

The central corridor was mostly intact, and lit by shafts of sunlight from hand-sized holes scattered down the ceiling’s length.  A pair of shoeless, tall, skinny Hispanic women, dressed in filthy earth tone rags of high collared dresses, stood at an open door and indicated the room for Boris.

After a shrug he stepped into the crack-house chic of furnished rubble.  The far wall was missing nearly half of its masonry, and the open air bathroom had no ceiling at all.  As he scanned around, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a trap this was. 

A trio of the better starved dark haired Caucasian cult men followed him inside.  They were costumed in forgettable ripped sleeveless dress shirts, well-worn thick slacks, and ragged unlaced dress shoes. Their smell alone could prevent his escape.

“Oh, an adjoining suite?” he remarked smartly as the mob continued pushing Ace farther down the corridor.  The old man gave a pleading look, but said nothing.

“See you around Ace,” Boris grunted accepting his position.  “I’ll try to get room service to swing on by.”

All the cultists left quickly, but the thug with the rope, blocked him and closed the door, leaving the special agent alone to wonder about his situation.

Boris carefully wandered about the small room, avoiding the crushed glass and other trash piled in the corners.  Reaching the broken wall, he leaned over the edge and his gaze was instantly drawn down towards the patches of smart-cactus creeping across the asphalt and dirt, keeping pace with the morning sun.  The reluctant prisoner smiled, knowing how extremely dangerous it was for any person stupid enough to cross that street during the daylight hours.

Moving back inside, he removed his suit jacket and the empty borrowed revolver, before flipping the cushion of the least ratty sofa and sat.

Noticing the dusty old fashion phone, he couldn’t help himself.  “Oh, course not,” dropping the dead thing.  “Just swell.” 

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 <>24<>  The question’s intention. 

“You can handle this lover, the men still believe in you,” the wide hipped woman in red said calmly while offering Xais a drink.

He looked up into her dark, oval, heavily-painted eyes, saw no lie there, and reached for the glass.  She was much older than the others, but her thick muscled, curvy figure, even concealed under the traditional, now blood stained, Chinese silk dress, could still draw stares of approval. 

“Thank you, Mei Liun,” Xais smiled back at her.  The underboss sipped the strong alcohol and his eyes roamed the shadow filled room, assessing his situation.

A quintet of older triad Snakes and their quartet of Birds stood clustered near the surprisingly amply stocked bar of the Grand California Resort’s main lounge.  A cracked section of wall, off to the left, allowed in the only ambient daylight from the adjoining glass walled dining room.  A pair of closed doors, and who knew how many wriggling refugees, separated them from the path to the limousine outside.

His oldest and most trusted henchman, ‘Uncle Mahn’, wound among the group.  He would squeeze a shoulder, or say something quietly to each one.  In turn, they would nod, adjust their expensive suit and tie uniform, and bow respectfully towards the underboss.  Xais wound a smile back, hopping this wasn’t going to be end of him. 

Frustrated, and just starting to feel the edge of the drink’s buzz, he stood and waived for Mahn to join him away from the others.

“This is weird boss, real weird,” he noted after a deep bow.

“Not what I expected either,” Xais added.  “You want to tell me about last night now?” 

Mahn had trouble reading the question’s intention.  Was Xais referring to Mohammed Max and the crazy images played on the 3D glass wall?  Or was it about the shootout free-for-all on the roof of Club Uzi?  Or maybe the mutilated assassin named Boris and his worn-out friend?  Or the scarier question?  Who were those Ninja types, and why were they trying to kidnap him?  In the end, Mahn decided to chance fate.

“Sir, I think Jax is the son of a demon.  For your safety we should leave ASAP.”

Unexpectedly that answer brought out a giggle.  “Mahn, we can’t leave now.  Did you forget, I have a wife to wed?”

“But sir?”

“Oh no, look around.”  Then loudly to the room as a whole.  “All of you look around.  We would not make it half way to the car, before those people, those…” pausing to finish the drink.  “Those zombie eyed creatures ripped us apart.”

Some of the henchmen murmured and nodded agreement, while the peripheral women bowed in subservience, and looked to Mei Liun. 

“No gentleman, we can’t shoot our way out of this one.  I will play it smart, and wed one of the daughters of Mother.  Jax will support me, and I will make him a good brother.”

The Snakes and Birds bowed in acceptance of his decree, but Mahn still looked worried.

“Have faith, all will not be lost!  The Yellow Hand still has a secret card to play in this game.  And it should arrive tonight.”

“A secret?” Mahn asked quietly as they both moved towards the bar.

“Relax some.  I couldn’t get married without a gift for the mother of the bride,” he said, pausing to take another drink from Mei Liun.  “Why don’t you find what happed to that agent and his pal?”

It didn’t sound like a question, so Mahn bowed deeply and backed away.

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