Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

They looked like a sea of gray and brown — some were scurrying on the floor, others poked their heads out of the toilet bowl. He wasn’t quite sure what they were eating, but it both looked and smelled like ten-year-old shit and Aleister, sheathed in cold sweat, suddenly got the urge to pull off one of his four-hundred dollar Italian loafers and hurl it at the congregation of over-sized rodents.

The shoe smacked a few of them hard, and they let out a high-pitched screeching. The rest scattered and Aleister cursed and bolted for the door.

He was stupid; now there were not only a bunch of pissed-off rats but he had lost an expensive shoe.

He flung open the bathroom door and almost crashed into Broadway Queen. Fortunately he was able to stop himself before he got a mouthful of street-scum and disease.

“What did you do to my babies?” Broadway Queen cried. Standing, she was a large woman. “Did you hurt them?”

“They’re fucking rats, lady,” Aleister said.

Broadway Queen, eyes teary (or was that pus?), stomped into the men’s bathroom, her strong and unpleasant odor leaving a trail that seemed to linger around Aleister.

“Fucking nutcase,” he mumbled and walked with uneven steps over to the bar.

“Hey, you got any drink?” Aleister asked the Saviour, who was looking at him with questioning eyes.

“You’ve upset Broadway Queen,” the Saviour said.

“Yeah, well, her babies upset me first. Got a bottle of Jack handy?”

“I’m Jack,” said a voice from behind.

Aleister spun around. “If your last name’s Daniel’s, then come here and let me drink you.”

Jack stood. “How did you know my last name was Daniel’s?”

“I thought it was The Ripper?”

Jack’s eyes grew large and he shied. “Are you Jack the Ripper?”

“Yes, and if you don’t sit down I’ll slit your throat.”

Jack sat down, placed his hands in his lap and sat very still.

With a sigh Aleister turned and faced the Saviour. “So, how about that whiskey?”

“There is plenty of whiskey downstairs.”

Aleister clapped his hands together. “No shit? Great, well then let’s go and get some.”

“It’s for later.”

“Later?” Aleister looked around the room, glancing over his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He couldn’t see any stairs.

Have to wait it out a little longer.

He smiled at the Saviour, who didn’t smile back, then walked back to his crate and sat down.

Beside him Jack started shaking.

“Hey, I was only kidding. I’m not really Jack the Ripper.”

Jack slowly turned his head and gazed at Aleister out the corners of his eyes. “Really?”

“Nah, name’s Bundy. Ted Bundy.”

Jack smiled and he shot out his hand. “Hi Ted. Name’s Jack. Last name The Ripper.”

This time Aleister took Jack’s hand and shook it.

What the hell , he thought.

His body itched for some whiskey. Needed some. It was too long a way home on the subway (could he even face the subway without some booze?) and the bars charged for it. If he stayed, he could have some free alcohol — and lord knows how many bottles were left in this place after closing down. The friendlier he got with these people, the better chance he had of scoring some liquid gold.

Jack’s hand was slippery. Aleister took his own hand back and noticed there was now a red smear on his palm.

What the hell is that?

He was about to bring his hand close and smell the sticky substance, but decided some things were best left unknown. He wiped the grime off on his pants just as Broadway Queen came out of the men’s room. She was blubbering.

“He killed Ratsy and Ratso.”

Ratsy and Ratso?

Aleister clamped his lower lip between his teeth to stop himself from laughing.

“They’ve gone to a better place,” the Saviour said.

“Bullshit! He murdered them. In cold blood.”

“Hickock and Smith,” Peaches said. “Don’t know if they liked peaches or not.”

“We should hang him,” Judge Stevens grumbled. “Yes, a good old fashion hanging.”

“Just like Hickock and Smith,” Peaches said.

“They were just rats!” Aleister exclaimed.

“They were peaches!”

“Hmmm… yummy, stewed peaches,” Jack said.

“Stewed rats,” Peaches said, giggling.

“Stewed kidneys,” Jack said — he wasn’t giggling.

“You’re talking about Rat’s brothers,” Broadway Queen said. “They were murdered, just like my brothers were. I was about to star in Cats when they were killed.”

“Cats and rats!” proclaimed Peaches.

“Stewed cats and rats,” Jack said with a nod.

“I was going to be in Cats !” Broadway Queen cried. “I was going to be a star.”

“Star?” Judge Stevens huffed. “I tried a star once. Bruce Harris. Son-of-a-bitch liked wearing women’s clothes, did you know that?”

“ Cats !” shouted the Saviour. Everyone in the room stopped talking and looked at the old man.

The room, for once, was silent.

The Saviour had his arms raised, like some TV evangelist, and he looked over the group with a knowing gaze. Even Aleister waited in anticipation of what the old coot was going to say.

“ Cats !” he cried again. “Was a load of crap.”

The room erupted with applause and Aleister noticed even Broadway Queen was clapping.

Amidst all the admiration, Aleister heard Peaches cry, “Peaches!”

Who the hell are these people? Rejects of society that’s what they are. Sad, pathetic lost souls. The people that time forgot.

Aleister closed his eyes and thought of the whiskey flowing down his throat and the hot sweetness spreading through his body.

Soon they’ll get the bottles from downstairs. Just hang on a little longer.

The raucousness died down. Aleister opened his eyes and looked over at the Saviour.

“Now, we’ve all had our fun and food. Party time is over. I have gathered together here on this thin raft six people, six people chosen by God Almighty Himself to be Noahs of this life and when the world ends and mankind is wiped out, we, and we alone will be spared, and we will then begin the task of starting the race over again.” He stopped, grabbed his imaginary glass and took a drink.

Is that what this is about? They think the world’s going to end?

Aleister groaned. It was bad enough that he was in a room full of crazy old bums, but they were religious freaks too?

Just as long as I get my free whiskey, I couldn’t care if they thought they were sent here from the future.

A sobering thought.

“We seven will be all that’s left when the world closes her curtains. But fear not, my chosen ones, for the Earth will still be here, and it will be reborn again, like the human race will be reborn again, and she will be beautiful and pure.”

“Like Peaches!”

“That’s right, my dear fruit merchant. Just like peaches.”

The little man sitting atop the peaches crate laughed and nodded and Aleister thought he had never seen a more pathetic creature.

Aleister raised his hand.

“Yes my son?” the Saviour said.

“When’s the whiskey coming?”

“Soon, my son. Very soon.”

Aleister’s mouth began to salivate.

“I’ll have a whiskey sour, please,” said Jack.

“Oh, and I’ll have a mint julep,” said Broadway Queen.

“Later,” the Saviour said, his shoulder’s dropping. “Later later later later later!”

Aleister felt kind of bad about upsetting the Saviour. “Sorry Saviour,” Aleister said. “Go on.”

The old man seemed to brighten a little. He straightened. “Thank you, Mr. Donaldson.”