horrors2

and_Into.The_Truly_.tex

  1\chapauth{and Into}
  2\chapter{The Truly Horrid Reflection}
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  8The shadows trickled through the alley like the breath of an aging,
  9slightly obese hard-boiled cop in the middle of extending an
 10over-wrought metaphor. But even in the face of a dark alley opening
 11up like the maw of blackest Death itself, I wasn't afraid--I
 12have a Beretta, and I have the name Bavarious. Luke Bavarious,
 13NYPD.
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 17My partner Rogue was busy working a tough murder case. Rogue was
 18chosen as part of a task force to catch the Bronx Butcher, a serial
 19killer with a hobby of hunting and taunting his would-be pursuers.
 20Some men have all the luck. I've been put on the toughest
 21beat of all: noise complaints.
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 25There are noises out there--a car door slammed, an alarm in the
 26night, a clown horn comically honked too loud--noises that wait in
 27the shadows, only to surprise and rape the sweet ears of the
 28innocent citizens of New York. But not if Bavarious has anything to
 29say about it. Luke Bavarious.
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 33The alley off 42nd street is home to many things. And apparently
 34some of them make noise, because I've been called to
 35investigate. Staying just inside the cold cloak of the shadows I
 36edge down the alley. I saw a figure perched on a dumpster, his back
 37to me. He was sobbing and crying.
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 41It's for nights like this I joined the force.
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 45``New York Ordinances state that excessive noise is punishable
 46by fines not exceeding one hundred dollars for the first
 47offense,'' I said, smirking. ``But I bet that
 48you're a repeat offender, huh? You should have picked just
 49one: sobbing OR crying. But you've just gotta be a loud son
 50of a bitch and do both, don't ya? Well, I guess you just
 51weren't planning on the icy justice of Bavarious--Luke
 52Bavarious--were you? Now turn around.''
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 56I raised my loaded Beretta, cocked it, and pointed it directly at
 57the figure's back, as per the NYPD protocols for how to
 58handle the grief-stricken.
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 62``I said, `Turn around,''' I repeated, more
 63loudly and even more smirkingly. But still at a reasonable decibel
 64level, so as not to disturb the peace. The peace I've been
 65hired to protect.
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 69``Excuse me, sir,'' the crying figure said between,
 70frankly, unnecessarily loud sobs. ``But you don't want
 71me to turn around{\ldots}.''
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 75``Sure I do. I have a loaded, sleek, cocked Beretta pointed at
 76your back, so you better turn around,'' I said. I went ahead
 77and cocked the Beretta again, just for the effect, and because I
 78goddamn love me a good Beretta-cocking.
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 82``Okay, you asked for it,'' the thing mumbled,
 83uncharacteristically low in volume.
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 87From the gutter above, water-trickles breezed through the alley as
 88it turned toward me, and began slowly inching into the light.
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 92First its combat boots emerged from the darkness. Then its knee.
 93Then its leg. Then its pelvis and hips. Then its chest actually
 94seemed to emerge slightly before its stomach, oddly, but its
 95shoulders came out next, just as one would anatomically expect.
 96Then its neck (it is kind of limboing now, for some reason).
 97Finally, its head came into clarity in the dim light.
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101If you could call it a head. His face was horrid. There was a
102superfluity of purple scars. There was blood trickling from an
103empty eye socket and his sole ear was ugly. There was no nose.
104There were no lips. There were bruises and lumps all over the
105cheeks. There was only thin stubble for eyebrows. Although there
106was a well groomed and handsome mustache, this could not make up
107for the fact that there were deep gashes and uneven scar tissue
108across the forehead, the chin, the mandible{\ldots}
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112I really could go on, but the point is, he is an ugly motherfucker,
113like burn-ward ugly, and the still-sobbing thing stared at me for
114quite some time while I noted, like an obsessive cartographer,
115every curve and contour of its face. In {\em excruciating} detail.
116The thing's neck was a bit small in circumcrence compared to
117its body, too, by the way. About 17% too small.
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121My exhaustive cataloguing of the ugly bastard complete, I finally
122took a step back, in narratively delayed astonishment. I had to
123grit my teeth to keep the vomit down. Damn bourbon and peyote
124cocktails.
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128He took three more steps forward. ``I told ya,'' it
129said.
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133If there's one thing Luke Bavarious hates more than loudness,
134it is people or things that rub it in your face when they are
135right. I shot the sad, monstrous I-told-ya-so in the jaw a few
136times, adding more holes to the disfigured jerk. The bullets hit
137the face terribly powerful. The gunshots rang out, more audible
138than I would have preferred--but it is a necessary evil. Lifeless,
139the beastly thing slunk anticlimactically to the asphalt.
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143But at his side some object fell--what is this--Strunk and
144White's {\em Elements of Style}? Its pages unfurl, revealing
145a check, signed ``Luke Bavarious, NYPD.''
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149I now recognize at my feet the broken body of the copy editor I had
150hired to read over a draft of my memoir, the man who had
151disappeared after receiving my papers and my first payment, the man
152I thought had conned me and run off. I see him and what I have done
153to him, what every mixed metaphor, switched tense, and redundant
154adjective had driven him to become, what it drove him to do to
155himself.
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159I tasted my tears and vomit mix into a martini of misery. I saw a
160horrid reflection. Suddenly, I was sobbing. And crying. 
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