The QUEEN SONG

Part 2

(19) Scenes 41-42

08/08/2019
Mike W McCoy

Version 1.0

<>41<>  A jumbled juxtapose of jeopardy.

Boris breathed shallow trying to keep the smell of the dead and decaying bodies out of his mouth.  It didn’t work.  The tepid tinge inside his partly melted nose reminded him of burnt bacon and putrid pineapple.  It was enough to bring tears to both bloodshot itchy eyes. 

The flies had left long ago, leaving only questionable stains to mark the remains of the half-dozen deceased cult corpses.  They were crowded onto the narrow gallery overlooking the Resort’s theater stage.  Thrice as many gnawed upon single limbs, and small broken bones, rotted in the thick shadows clinging to the rest of the rust and dust colored carpet.

Playing the Phantom’s part, Boris sat up and risked a glance over the railing.  2 floors straight down, and a little to the left, the stage was laid out like a chess board.  Mother was caressingly-close to something big that her awkward slithering body kept hidden from his direct sight.  Whatever is was, it had a dramatic, recognizable, effect on the faces of the devoted cultists whom the feeble firelight and slippery moonlight did show.

Nearest to Mother was a pair Ueo’s yellow headband wearing soldiers.  Both heavyset Chinese men were kneeling, and cringed with fear behind a single thick metal panel.  A few paces off, and diagonal, stood the slightly trembling from of the triad underboss, his witch-like Vulture, and a young demon made flesh. 

Whispering into the ear of Xais, and resting a long fingered hand on the man’s shoulder, was Jax the Firstborn.  The tall, brashly costumed, beach-bum Mafioso, alternately played with the grasping infant sized hands of his eldest Twin sister, and nodded towards Mother as if she was telepathically speaking.

The Vulture, in her red silk dress, held the small girl firmly and comfortably.  The woman’s eyes never left those of the child.  The face Mei Liun showed no look of fear or distress, but her long black hair had escaped its bun, and now hung haphazardly across her back and breast.

Wailing voices, from the room’s outlying dimness, drew the special agent’s attention towards the Yellow Hand triad Snakes, standing impassive and impassionate in their soiled earth tone suits and bright neck ties.  Each had a large handgun or a blade held low against their thigh.  Other than their heads scanning the crowd, with electronic T-glass shades, they appeared as statues, ready to strike at the first confirmed threat.

The 4 remaining triad Birds were loosely clustered near their henchmen.  Boris got the impression that they were trying to hold onto sanity, especially as the drool sounds of the surrounding cult masses assaulted them.  The women still wore their evening gowns from the Club Uzi massacre, but the elegant bright colored material, and matching hairdos now showed signs of severe stress and frantic repairs.

Distracted by their raw beauty, Boris was surprised when, from down below, Mother called out a swelling deep throated yell.  He ducked back down behind the balcony’s railing, just as the mob of fanatic followers tried to repeat the train-wreck of a sound.  The chorus of cultists caterwauled with a fierce impending hostility, but their spastic wild movements were of undeniable sorrow. 

Despite this spectral scene, Underboss Xais tried to present a neutral expression, and again faced Mother with a deep bow.  However, Boris could sense that the triad man thought everything was in a jumbled juxtapose of jeopardy.  He could read Xais’s nervous vibes, which radiated like sunlight, and it worried the special agent, but his own dance-card was already full. 

Mother sidestepped a square closer to the head hoodlum, and revealed the Uncle Ueo’s open metal box for Boris. 

His breath nearly choked into an audible gasp.  Multiple fears crowed Boris’s mind.  ‘Memory’ flashed the moon base at double-fast-forward speed, and even the eerie lighting down below looked the same as before, crimson tinted and somehow wet.  The concrete like oval holding down the stage, appeared larger than the one that gave birth to the Alien monster that took his face. 

An unconscious revulsion dry vomited into his mouth, and kept him from screaming his anger out loud.  Boris collapsed behind the balcony railing, and as he tried check his breathing, he thought he heard Xais say something. 

“A life for a life? What hell does that mean?” he muttered to himself, while trying to stand. 

More words fluttered up to the balcony.  “We are going to be close friends.” 

The special agent heard it clearly, just as the hand of Jax walked the underboss closer to another large cult Enforcer.  This one had no clothes, and his ash-white painted legs matched his bulbous belly and grotesquely muscled arms.

Boris paused.  “Not if I can help it.”

The acid burned Monster’s survival instinct decided it was time to leave; not just from the gallery above the main stage, but from the entire cult compound.  ‘Laughter’, ‘Regret’ and their weird cousin ‘Discretion’ made themselves felt.  The clash of competing emotions held him frozen with indecision. 

The Alien egg had to be destroyed.  Boris wanted to try, but having seen Mother, reach out and caress the thing, introduced a wave of remorse.  So shuffling down the steps more by feel than sight, he arrived into the back stage area of the theater. Boris was now only a yelling distance from the horrific figure of admiring the abominable egg.

Voices approached, and he concealed himself behind a pile of forgotten stage props.  The duo were speaking in rapid Chinese, but the rhythm and manner was similar to a husband and wife bitching.  After another moment of hiding, Boris felt the conversation had dipped into a more conspiratorial flavor.  Sharp hushed tones became significantly spaced between infant cries and wines. 

“A child?” Boris murmured quietly just as he decided to risk a glance.

Looking from around the concealment, the special agent was drawn to the dark skinned infant girl held in the woman’s arms.  He remembered her red dress, and knew she was Mei Liun, the lead consort of the angry looking man standing beside her, Xais. 

The child saw him 1st, and its reaching hand seemed to call to him from inside his brain.  Unable to stop himself Boris stepped clear of his hiding place.  The triad leaders looked at him dumbfounded.  It was the underboss who ended the awkward moment. 

“Special Agent Boris, what are you doing here?” Xais asked rudely, and lunged closer, forcing them both into a deeper shadow.  The woman added something sounding angry in Chinese, but both men ignored her.

“Um, looking for the bathroom?” Boris smirked back.  Mei Liun started laughing again. 

“Shut up woman!” Xais interrupted.

Boris tried to say something, but the underboss pushed back.  “No, me first.  I thought you were dead.”

“Obviously not,” he replied flippantly.  “But, not for lack of trying.”

“Oh, so you got jokes,” Xais commented with a knowing smirk towards Mei Liun. 

Both men stared at each other briefly, like combat buddies in a fox hole, until Boris broke the moment.

“Do you know what that thing is out there?”

“Yes!” the triad man answered gruffly.

Then getting closer, he added more with a sorrow tinge under the words.

“Yes, I know exactly what that is.  I brought it here.  My problem…but I got an angle on it.”

“Do you mean Mahn?” he asked quickly, and got another shove in response.

“What do you know about him?” Xais wondered aloud, and pulled them both closer towards the Vulture and child.

“Not much,” Boris smirked back and adjusted what was left of his shredded shirt and slacks.  “We kind of bonded a little.  That Club Uzi crap, you know.”

“That is the only reason I don’t kill you right now,” Xais quipped and dragged the special agent along the broken back wall of the theater. 

“You saved my number one on that rooftop, and for that I owe you.  But I think Jax has a hard-on for you.  He just sent a big bruiser after you.”

“Swell,” Boris grumbled in a defeated tone.  Mei Liun and the Twin both giggled at the remark, drawing an icy stare from Xais.

“Now get out of here and just stay away from me.  Next time I will kill you.”

Before Boris could respond, Xais shoved him towards the exit door.  “Go.  I don’t think you have much time.”

Boris stumbled with the momentum.  And as he pushed through the heavy exit door, he saw the handgun held in the underboss’s hand.  He paused just long enough to wonder if Xais really would have killed him.

The dull droning sounds of the cultist crowd gathered inside the theater throbbed inside the special agent’s head.  The resulting headache slowed his reaction time as he continued to stumble outside, and up against the broken wall of the building.  Looking through a crack, Boris saw how the cultists were extremely excited as their Queen continued to caress the Alien egg.  The Snakes and Birds were not in sight, but he could only imagine them starting to lose their nerve.

“This play is going to get ugly,” Boris assured himself.  “I need a drink.”

Then just as the words faded into the night, he saw Mother, the cult Queen, pause and face him.  There was no mistaking it, Boris felt her Alien mental vibe touch his mind.  The sensation is not a pull or a push like during the Queen Song, but a connection was made.  It was more of a nod or a wink, that mental touch, and her wide grinned grievous smile scared him.

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<>42<>  Felt like a dull knife.

The glow from the nearly dead fireplace cast the only source of illumination inside the dreary walls of the Main Lounge.  Also echoing around the crumbling wood paneled chamber was the muffled drone of the cult believers.  Their Soundtrack throbbed from the main theater only a few walls away. 

The sound felt like a dull knife twisting in the brain of the lone triad henchman slouching against the tall bar.

The countertop was sticky from a spilled decanter, and a scattering of whiskey glasses.  An empty handgun lay with its slide locked open next to a standing single shiny bullet.  It was only inches from the Chinese man’s blood smeared hand, poking out from a tattered gold business suit.  Another mostly empty glass, gripped tightly by the other hand, was being tapped gently against the polished wood, as if marking time.

The short muscular man’s eyes, hidden behind amber-tinted electronic T-glass shades, twitched, and teared up, alongside the rising rage of the cult crazies.  Thoughts ran behind then, inside his brain-works, depressing, evil, and dangerous thoughts.  Nothing good or happy had a chance of interrupting his self-reflection.  This soldier was convinced now was the time for the ‘Something’ to happen.

It was while pouring another splash of whiskey that the idea completed itself, and a nervous giggle escaped his split lips, making a childish sound.  The morale of his fellow Snakes in the Yellow Hand was on the edge.  They clung to a blind loyalty in underboss Xais, because the alternative was suicide.  But, that option was becoming more attractive as the volume of the mob rose. 

The elegantly dressed Birds were just a collateral expense, except for the lead Vulture, Mei Liun.  That devious woman had a plan, but it was hard to ident.  She had taken it upon herself to care for the eldest Twin girl/monster, but her actions were stilted, as if fighting against some unseen force, an Alien acuity.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” a half-joking voice boomed as its speaker neared the bar.  The triad man swallowed the whiskey, and slammed the glass down loudly before responding. 

“Special agent Boris, care to join me?”

The 2nd man grunted in a more neutral tone.  “I thought, people with cybernetic implants weren’t supposed to drink.”

“We are not,” he giggled back.  “But it helps dull my…visions.”

“Visions huh?” Boris asked in all seriousness.  “Mahn what the hell are you talking about?”

“Do not play me,” the henchman replied while over-pouring 2 glasses of whiskey.  “We have both seen things,” sliding the glass over. 

Boris agreed picking up the drink for a toast.  “That we have.  Long live the Queen.”

Both men clinked glass and smiled.  The reflection of Boris’s mutilated face off the other’s T-glass shades was classic Van Gogh insanity.  While the smirk below that very same band of technology expressed a resolution of action that was anything but happy.

“We must not forget the children,” Mahn added and drained his glass.

“I agree,” Boris concluded, swallowing his drink.  He left his empty on the bar top next to the gun and bullet.

Then like 2 old warriors, the pair stared at the weapon.  Neither said a word, but they seemed to bond on a mystic level, as their heartbeats tumbled over long held breaths. 

“You weren’t planning on an early exit were you?”

Mahn giggled slightly before answering.

“The truth?  I thought about it.  But how could I let you face this madness all alone?” he giggled again under the last words.

“Oh speaking of that,” Boris said, pushed away from the bar.  “I’m sure your sister, Agent Yoshi, is at the Resort by now.”

Mahn showed no reaction to Boris’s line, so the special agent tried again,

“I hear Mars is good this time of year.”  That put a smile on the Chinaman’s face.

“Yes, so I am told.  I would have liked to go there.”

“It might still happen.”

“No, it will not,” Mahn grunted, losing the smile.

“Swell,” Boris smirked, taking a few steps farther back.  “You’re right.”

Mahn quickly poured another glass, and Boris turned to go. 

“Hey, can I have this?” the special agent asked, prying a Snake’s polished knife from its spot, stuck through a hand of playing cards on the nearby table. 

The cards flipped over as the big blade came free.  “Look at that, a queen high straight.”

“Maybe in the next life,” the henchman offered with a wave on his glass.

“Let’s hope not,” Boris saluted back with the knife.

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