Chapter IV

The warm, moist Rio air was sticky and palpable.

DEEGAN WASN’T AT ALL used to his clothes sticking to him. The weather never got this bloody hot in Hades. He had to laugh as he walked the streets. Everyone thinks that hell is a burning pit . . . little did they know. As far as Deegan was concerned, this was the ‘Hell’ that everyone is so scared of. “What a dive,” he said as he rounded a street to see some heavily eroded buildings.

Some people called them historically significant. He leaned more toward dilapidated, needing to be condemned.

“Put that on the damn post card and nobody would come to this pit,” he said to himself as the first rays of early light were making their way across the streets. They hadn’t yet overpowered the streetlights, but the day was coming.

He looked down at his trench coat. It was slightly scuffed from an earlier encounter he had been privileged enough to be a part of. It had started with a couple of prostitutes. Young girls, really. Probably no older than fifteen or sixteen. While he didn’t really think he was in a bad part of town, he didn’t know this new place well enough to be certain.

“Nice jacket, dad,” a girl in a low-cut, high-riding black dress had said as she walked up beside him. He glanced over at her and continued, without breaking his stride. No sense wasting time on these unimportant humans. He had a job, and the job started at the Hotel Americana. Why was he walking

in the first place . . . as it turns out, taxis don’t take credit cards. At least, not the three he had tried to flag down. What the heck, he thought, it was a nice night for a little stroll. He liked the quiet time to consider his game plan anyway.

He had gotten the location from a newspaper. A gentle tug had liberated the paper from its coin-operated, mechanical box. He couldn’t make out much, but, by coincidence, there was a blown-up picture of downtown Rio under the printed story, with the route of the parade that was going to end up at the Hotel Americana

So, he had decided to rough it. And everything had been just splendid until this whore had decided to service him. She spoke in broken spatters of English, as if she had watched Pretty Woman a couple hundred times and learned all the appropriate hooker lingo.

Although, Deegan thought, whatever a hooker says is hooker lingo, isn’t it?

“You making a walk . . . alone,” she tried. Her friend, a taller, and even uglier girl in some too-tight shorts and a gaudy silver shirt with fringe all over it made her way to his other side.

She looked Deegan up and down. “You look like a lonely guy. We could be your friends.” She looked back to her friend and winked—We’ve got this chump, honey.

Deegan continued forward, not really paying the two girls much attention. Surely they would get bored and move along to the next potential customer.

The first girl—in the black dress—sped up land walked in front of him, turning around backwards. Deegan continued forward. She clumsily fast-walked backwards.

“You don’t think I’m pretty or what?”

That brought a smile to Deegan’s borrowed face.

The girl continued, “See, you do think I’m pretty.”

This time Deegan laughed.

“What’s so goddamn funny?” The taller girl asked as she looked up ahead into an alley between several buildings.

Deegan knew what was going on, now. A poorly set ambush is an embarrassment to a real hunter.

“She asked you a question,” the black-dressed girl said. “It’s in your best interest to answer her.”

This was all a come-on. A ruse.

“You got any money on you . . . for us two ladies?” the tall girl said, and she wasn’t really asking. “We’ll show you a nice time.”

Deegan couldn’t hold it in so he laughed and then cleared his throat. Were these humans actually this daft? Could they not sense in him something that they should have let pass by? If you were in the jungle and an anaconda slithered by, would you not keep silent and let it continue?

Up ahead, about five young men stepped out of the alley. The taller girl nodded to them. “You fucked-up, mister! You should have given us some money. We could’ve had a nice time. I could have rocked your world.”

“But now,” the black dress barked, “these guys are gonna fuck you up and take your ass.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Deegan laughed. He had seen the kids from two blocks back, but this would be a nice diversion. Besides, he had to burn a couple calories anyway. He decided to let this thing play out.

“Don’t even think about running, asshole,” the tall girl barked as he felt the barrel of a small caliber pistol press into his sides.

“I guess you girls like rough sex,” Deegan played. “But I’m not into that kind of thing. I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”

“Idiota! You have a smart mouth, old man.”

Old, now that really hurt. Deegan wasn’t a day over three hundred. And his complexion certainly didn’t show it.

The black dress yelled to her friends in Portuguese, “Vamos lançar este homem velho!”

Let’s roll him.

The boys then raced quickly out onto the sidewalk and surrounded him. A few of them grabbed his arms and led him into the alley. Deegan tried to look scared, but it was kind of hard to fake it. Those fifteenth century acting classes were really paying off.

If only he had paid more attention.

One of the boys—obviously the ring leader if their sordid crew of thugs—said, “You don’t look to scared of us. You know what we want?”

Deegan nodded, and with a strait face he said, “You’re here to interview me for the newspaper. No, no . . . you want to sell me some books. Or is it that you are all Jehovah’s witnesses, and you want me to read your version of the bibles?”

The mixture of crazed looks and glances were from uncomprehending to semi-retarded.

Hmmm, he thought, he might have to dumb down his humor. Have to know your audience, don’t you?

The older boy gritted his yellowed teeth, his thin jaw becoming tight and stressed. “I want your wallet, and your watch, and anything else you have on you—”

“And that necklace, too,” the tall girl blurted.

There were angry glares all around him, as if he should be glad to still be alive.

“Here’s the problem, fellas. I don’t have a wallet.” Deegan shrugged. “Don’t have any cash. If I did, I wouldn’t be walking the streets at this hour, getting chatted up by these two,” he glanced at the girls, “ . . . ladies? And I have no watch. I was planning to use a sundial, but the sun isn’t yet up. I’ll have to wait a couple more minutes.”

The ring leader started to protest, but Deegan continued, “And . . . if you have the audacity to try and steal a crucifix, my only possession . . . well, I think I might not like that. I might even be tempted to take your wallet.”

Sure, some of it was lost in translation, but the kid basically understood. And he couldn’t believe it.

Just for good measure, Deegan added, “After all, what would the good lord think about this?”

The boy looked into Deegan’s eyes, and then started laughing slowly, along with him. This was all very amusing to them.

“I like this old man. He is very brave man. Very funny. I almost feel bad that I am going to kill him for nothing.” Just then the boy lifted his arms to grab Deegan’s chain, and that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

Deegan snapped his right hand forward, smashing a closed fist into the kid’s throat. Both of the kid’s hands were clenched around his neck as he fell to his knees. Deegan didn’t stop there. He ducked forward and kneed the kid in the face, shoving him to the ground as he did.

For a moment the others were startled, but they quickly decided to attack. Nobody was going to get away with something like this on their own turf.

Two kids ran forward at Deegan, one had a knife in his right hand, the other had a small length of chain. Deegan ducked a swing of the knife as he kicked that boy in the chest, then he spun back the other direction with a wide foot sweep that took the other kid, and his steel chain, right off of his feet, landing him down on the coarse concrete alley floor. Deegan liked a good old-fashioned brawl.

Another boy ran towards him with a broken bottle. Where do these kids pick up all of these dangerous things?

“Be careful you don’t cut yourself, kiddo,” Deegan said as the kid took a couple of swipes. Deegan ducked backwards and stepped out of the way.

“Take a good look at your friends. It could be a lot worse.” The kid took another swing.

“Last chance, sunny.”

The next swing was right at chest level. He was actually trying to hurt Deegan, and that was just the rudest thing in the world.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, asshole,” the kid yelled as he took another wide step and swung spastically.

“The postcards really do a poor job of informing the weary traveler about the hospitality of the locals,” Deegan quipped. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to run me off.”

Deegan stayed light on his feet, the weight on the balls of his feet and toes. Regular humans were a lot softer and slower than he remembered.

The kid took another swing, and it would be his last. Deegan dropped low, and as the jagged edges of broken glass cut the air where his neck had been, he launched forward and tackled the kid at his knees.

As Deegan’s shoulders crashed into the kid’s legs they both fell onto the rough concrete, the broken bottle smashing to pieces near the kids head as he lost control of his only weapon. The fall had shaken him up, but there was more fight in this one.

Like an accomplished wrestler, Deegan crawled his way along the kid’s body until he was pressing down on him with his chest, his legs off to the kid’s left side. Deegan leaned all of his weight, making it nearly impossible for the kid to breath. He then raised his head, and with a sharp whip forward he head-butted the kid in the chin.

Whatever fight had been left in the kid was gone now. Deegan straddled him and looked down.

Boom!

Deegan ducked his head instinctively and glanced to the left and right. The two girls from the street were huddled together, scared. The shorter girl—in the sweat drenched black dress—was now holding a small caliber pistol. They were both shaking very badly, and who knows where the next shot might come from, or where it would go.

Deegan decided to have a little fun at their expense. He looked down at the unconscious kid, barely out of his early teens, and ran his hands over his face. He then shifted bodies again and became the clone.

Slowly he turned with a pleasant smile on his face. Both girls were uncomprehending for the first couple of seconds as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing. Then that confusion turned into fear.

What they were feeling was more than scared.

Deeper than panic.

This was pure horror.

“But, you haven’t seen the best part, yet . . . my little exclamation mark on this morning’s festivities,” Deegan said.

And then he began.

They stared, paralyzed by what they saw, as this strange man began to bite at the neck of their friend Carlos. But he wasn’t just biting, like some rabid animal. But it was more. He wasn’t acting like a lion or a tiger, killing to survive. This was about pleasure. The enjoyment of the act of carnage. He was a beast from some dark place they’d never even imagined.

He was a monster.

He was eating.

The tall girl grabbed her stomach as she turned, trying not to vomit. She ran her way, clumsily out of the ally while girl in the Black dress stood, quivering.

And in this near catatonic state . . . she watched-as foamy bubbles of blood mixed with air spat in every direction as the lungs purged.

Carnage.

That girl never moved. N6t once. She stood there watching as Deegan ate. He dined. A couple of the other kids awoke and almost as quickly as they did they looked over to the nauseating feast that was taking place.

As quickly as they could they too ran out of the ally, screaming.

Deegan ate efficiently. He was all about the protein, so he concentrated on muscles. The jaw was not the best meat, but still quite tasty. The choice cuts were the back of the neck and the lats. Not that he wouldn’t have preferred a nice leg or a glute, just that the back meat was a tad sweater. The worst part about out all of this—and for Deegan, the best part—was that the boy was still barely alive for a couple of minutes.

Imagine being ripped apart by the most awful creature you can envision, and you’re still alive to feel it.

Every sharp bite.

Every tear of cartilage and flesh.

The resonation of tendons and muscle being separated from the bones in your body. And you get a front row seat.

Deegan was in hog heaven, but he also knew that he could only enjoy this sick fetish for a bit longer. Pigs get fed, hogs get slaughtered. At some point, somebody would say something about the monster in the alley. He could probably stay, but he’d end up having to eat half of the police force before it was over.

Oh well, then. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Well, leaving a fresh kill if you’re a cannibal, anyway.

Deegan had gotten up, admiring his work, and turned toward the black dressed girl. The gun was still handing loosely at her side. Her eyes were dilated into large greenish ovals, almost opaque. She was in shock. Deegan approached her, standing within a couple of inches, leaning toward her ear.

He whispered to her, gently, “You did this, princess. You made me do all of this. I want you to think about that at night when the lights are tuned off. You made this thing happen . . . and I thank you.”

And then he kissed her on the cheek. A bloody lip print her reward. Her reminder.

And he left. Next stop . . . Hotel Americana. That is, if nobody else serves an open continental breakfast in an alley.