Chris Abani - The Secret History of Las Vegas

The sound from Sunil was guttural and now he struggled to his feet, hands still tied behind him, and lunged for Eskia. A short blow from the crowbar brought him down.

I’m getting bored, Sunil, Eskia said.

With that, Eskia pulled the piece of rubber tubing back down over Sunil’s mouth and watched him writhe.

In his head, Sunil begged for a quick death. Willed his body, and his mind, to stop fighting, to just give in. Please let me die, Sunil begged his body. Let me die. He couldn’t even bring himself to think about his mother, to think about all the ways he had betrayed her. That was too much to contemplate, even now. Instead he forced himself to only think of death, of his dying, of speeding it up. And then there it was, a deep, wet darkness, and it was taking him, like a river of blood, a waterway of oblivion.

But then he was sputtering and his chest hurt and the sun burned his eyes. Words wouldn’t come, but he was thinking, No, no, no. Fuck, no!

Slowly his eyes began to focus and he realized he wasn’t dead and that there was a new wetness. Salazar was giving him mouth to mouth. Closing his eyes, Sunil bit down on Salazar’s lip, forcing him to let go.

What the fuck, you asshole! Salazar screamed, jumping back.

Sunil coughed for a minute and then said: I’m sorry, man, but you were enjoying that a little too much.

Fuck you! I should have let you die.

Sunil struggled up, his hands still tied.

Can you cut me loose?

Salazar pulled a pocketknife and cut the plastic. Sunil rubbed his still-bleeding wrists.

Where is—

Over there, Salazar said, pointing.

Eskia lay a little distance from the rental, his body twisted, glasses in the dirt, one lens broken. But it was the gaping hole in the back of his head that held Sunil’s attention.

Had no choice, Salazar said. I had to shoot the fucker.

Yeah, Sunil said, but his voice was sad.

Here, Salazar said, passing Sunil his flask. Drink some of this.

The whiskey burned Sunil’s air-deprived throat, but its sting felt good. It was the sting of life. Thanks, he said, passing it back.

Welcome back, Salazar said. Now, wait here, I’m going to fetch my car, then radio the locals to come in. I think we’re on reservation grounds so it will have to be the tribal police. But they’re fair.

Was that you I saw by the Joshua trees? In a blue car?

Yeah, I borrowed the Bug from a rookie at the precinct.

Hey, Salazar, he called as Salazar began to walk away. There’s your killer right there, he said, pointing to Eskia. He is the man who took the lives of all those homeless men.

Yeah, Salazar said. I guess we solved it, then.

The security man shoved Water unceremoniously into his room. He sat on the bed for a moment and, lifting his shirt, he stroked Fire’s head gently, singing softly under his breath. Half an hour later the door opened. Brewster stood there sucking on his oxygen tank flanked by two security guards.

Water, the man said.

Water said nothing.

It’s okay, boys, Brewster said to the guards. I think this one is harmless.

If you say so, Doctor, one of the guards said.

Brewster waved them away. Go, go, he said. Turning back to Water, he said, Don’t you think that’s creepy, stroking your dead brother’s head like that?

How would you know that, Water asked.

Brewster pointed to the ceiling. I have eyes everywhere. Remember me? I believe you belong to me now. Did Sunil explain to you that you are now here for good?

Has anyone ever told you that you have a sort of Dr. Mengele manic look about you?

Dr. Brewster laughed. This is good, he said. You are as feisty as I have been led to believe. I am really looking forward to studying you.

Fuck you, Water said.

No, no, my friend, it’s you who’s getting fucked. You are not going anywhere. You don’t seem to understand that I have complete power over you. Unlike Sunil, I am not soft, or trying to make restitution for my sins. In my experience, men of science — true men of science, mark you — are like unto the gods. I have no interest in your humanity. No, I am only interested in your monstrosity, and that, my friend, is the medical term for your condition. So if I decide to cut your hands off as part of my exam or dissect you where you stand—

It’s vivisect, Water corrected.

What?

Vivisect if alive; dissect if dead, Water said. You should know that, being a doctor and all. Or are you so high off that oxygen tank you’ve been sucking on?

Why you—

Oh, shut up, Water said. While he spoke, Fire retreated under his caul.

I—, Brewster began.

Fuck this, Water said. He reached forward, ripped Brewster’s ID off, and then, wrapping his oxygen line around his neck, he slowly strangled him. It took longer than he expected. It was like Brewster wouldn’t die.

He let himself out with Brewster’s key and headed to the elevator, which he rode down to the hidden labs in the basement, the ones he knew Sunil had never seen. Selecting one that seemed right in the middle, he gathered all the tanks labeled FLAMMABLE into a pile. Next he took out the cell phone that Fred had given him. He pushed the buttons in sequence and the countdown began. He had five minutes to get out. Best to go, he thought, placing the phone in the middle of the pile of tanks. He took off at a fast trot, and three minutes and fifty seconds later he was out the back door, past the loading dock, and into Fred’s car.

Fred gunned it out of the institute’s grounds and quickly onto the main road.

Did it go well?

I had a bit of unexpected luck, Water said.

Oh yeah?

Yeah, Brewster came to see me.

Did he?

Yes, with his own oxygen line.

They laughed, and Fred gunned the engine some more, pushing the car even faster. Then she pulled off the road into a strip mall that afforded a perfect view of the institute from its lot, parking right next to the black SUV that held the midgets. They all got out and sat on the roof of the SUV. Fred glanced at her watch.

Not bad, she said, we have ten seconds to spare.

In exactly ten seconds, the institute went up in a ball of fire. It was spectacular, as though the old days of the bomb tests were back. Flames and smoke in a big plume that rose over a hundred feet into the sky, throwing debris everywhere, showering the parking lot of the strip mall with ash.

I told you I was a fire wizard, Water said.

Yes, baby, Fred said, kissing him.

We should have brought Champagne, he said.

You don’t drink, remember?

Oh yeah.

I feel bad about all those poor apes still trapped in the building, one of the midgets said.

I know, the other said. I wish it could have been different.

By the time the fire brigade got there, there was nothing left to save. They just concentrated on making sure the fire didn’t spread. The entire institute was gone; even the peacocks had gone up in flames.

Spectacular work, Fred said.

Water turned and kissed her deeply.

Where now, he said.

The desert for a while. The carnival has already moved on. We’ll catch up later.

And like that, Fred, Fire, Water, and the fighting midgets were gone.

We are many things — shapeshifters, actresses, mothers, sisters, virgins, whores, homemakers, and home wreckers — but more than anything, prostitutes are mirrors. We reflect only what the john wants, what he has paid to see, to experience. There are many different kinds of johns and a prostitute to match each need. In that way the best prostitutes are those who aren’t ever there. Not really. We are only the desire of men slowly taking shape in the muted lights and scented rooms of their shame and need.