Mr.ThrowSomeHands
New member
Maero knew he wasn’t normal. If anything, he viewed himself as the furthest thing from it. Nothing reminded him of that fact more than the way Jennie looked at him now. The way her eyes widened, filled with concern, confusion, and whatever else. It is the same look someone gave when their innocence was taken from them. Either having walked in on seeing a loved one dying, or worse, learning the world wasn’t as simple or clean as it seemed. Her hand reaching up to cover her mouth was just the icing on the cake.
He remembered seeing it four years ago, in Puerto Vallarta, when cruises were returning to the city after an instance of domestic terrorism. An American couple, Vivienne and Robert Walsh, owed money to the Cartel and had docked there. It was Maero’s job to get it back by any means necessary, so he did, cutting them off in an alleyway. Robert tried to talk him out of it; “The money will be there in a few weeks”. When Maero wasn’t taking no for an answer, he pulled out a pocket knife, but bullets were better.
Vivienne’s yellow sundress with a patterned flower motif was painted red by the blood and grey matter of her husband. Maero didn’t care, he stepped forward, putting the gun to her forehead and reminded her why he was there. She quickly pulled out the remaining cash, paying back what they owed and more. He didn’t even count the cash. He just hopped back on the back of a motorcycle, and shortly after, the get-away driver had them on the highway ramp going to Guadalajara.
The confrontation, the drawn knife, the gunshot, the robbery, all of it had been a blur. The only thing he thought he remembered is the way his heart beat seeing the gleaming metal, the fear in the man’s eyes as he raised his pistol, the way the blood sprayed when he pulled the trigger. Yet as Jennie gazed at him in morbid shock, his mind began to gather the hidden details. Until all that he was able to remember of the moment was the wife who hadn’t yet registered what had happened.
The wife whose fourteen year marriage and wedding anniversary had ended. The wife who would never again make love with the man she shared her life with. The wife whose husband was not going to sleep beside her, but in a freezer, until the cruise finished its voyage. The wife who was going to have to make sure that her husband was laid six feet beneath the earth before his time. The wife who was going to have to figure out whatever was left of her life without the one she pledged it to.
It ended just as quickly as it began. Not because Maero was good at keeping thoughts like that out of his mind, but rather, the sheer pain he put himself through cauterizing the wound. It was likely the girls weren’t even going to notice anything. Especially since he felt so keen on keeping his composure. It's why he put on the leather jacket, let it hang as the immediate pain slowly subsided, then slid into the heated seats of his ride as if nothing had happened.
Maero’s eyes darted to Trinity as she reached out to touch him. He was going to be tense, stiff as a statue, something he didn’t realize until then. He played it off with a chuckle, leaning back in his seat, raising his left hand up to the top of the steering wheel. Then she threw a curve ball at him and gave him an offer that no sane man could refuse. Yet, he had too, as he knew he couldn’t perform with the image of a woman coated in her husband’s blood kept flickering into his mind’s eye.
Or maybe he could, but either way, he wasn’t going to try it now. Instead, he continued playing the part, his lips curling to form a fiendish grin. Then, if she would allow, Maero reached out to grip her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He’d pull her in close to him, leading her like a dog on a leash, until she was able to feel the heat of his breath on her skin.
He remembered seeing it four years ago, in Puerto Vallarta, when cruises were returning to the city after an instance of domestic terrorism. An American couple, Vivienne and Robert Walsh, owed money to the Cartel and had docked there. It was Maero’s job to get it back by any means necessary, so he did, cutting them off in an alleyway. Robert tried to talk him out of it; “The money will be there in a few weeks”. When Maero wasn’t taking no for an answer, he pulled out a pocket knife, but bullets were better.
Vivienne’s yellow sundress with a patterned flower motif was painted red by the blood and grey matter of her husband. Maero didn’t care, he stepped forward, putting the gun to her forehead and reminded her why he was there. She quickly pulled out the remaining cash, paying back what they owed and more. He didn’t even count the cash. He just hopped back on the back of a motorcycle, and shortly after, the get-away driver had them on the highway ramp going to Guadalajara.
The confrontation, the drawn knife, the gunshot, the robbery, all of it had been a blur. The only thing he thought he remembered is the way his heart beat seeing the gleaming metal, the fear in the man’s eyes as he raised his pistol, the way the blood sprayed when he pulled the trigger. Yet as Jennie gazed at him in morbid shock, his mind began to gather the hidden details. Until all that he was able to remember of the moment was the wife who hadn’t yet registered what had happened.
The wife whose fourteen year marriage and wedding anniversary had ended. The wife who would never again make love with the man she shared her life with. The wife whose husband was not going to sleep beside her, but in a freezer, until the cruise finished its voyage. The wife who was going to have to make sure that her husband was laid six feet beneath the earth before his time. The wife who was going to have to figure out whatever was left of her life without the one she pledged it to.
It ended just as quickly as it began. Not because Maero was good at keeping thoughts like that out of his mind, but rather, the sheer pain he put himself through cauterizing the wound. It was likely the girls weren’t even going to notice anything. Especially since he felt so keen on keeping his composure. It's why he put on the leather jacket, let it hang as the immediate pain slowly subsided, then slid into the heated seats of his ride as if nothing had happened.
Maero’s eyes darted to Trinity as she reached out to touch him. He was going to be tense, stiff as a statue, something he didn’t realize until then. He played it off with a chuckle, leaning back in his seat, raising his left hand up to the top of the steering wheel. Then she threw a curve ball at him and gave him an offer that no sane man could refuse. Yet, he had too, as he knew he couldn’t perform with the image of a woman coated in her husband’s blood kept flickering into his mind’s eye.
Or maybe he could, but either way, he wasn’t going to try it now. Instead, he continued playing the part, his lips curling to form a fiendish grin. Then, if she would allow, Maero reached out to grip her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He’d pull her in close to him, leading her like a dog on a leash, until she was able to feel the heat of his breath on her skin.
His voice had dropped to a faint whisper as he spoke to her. Raising his thumb, he was going to place it on the corner of her bottom lip, before sliding it across to the other side. Then brought it back to the center, where he pulled it down slowly, before it returned to its original place on her chin. The entire time, his eyes had focused on hers, never once leaving.
Then his hand fell, not back to his side, but to Trinity’s thigh. His fingers splayed open as they trailed down to her knee, gripping the sides softly, before going back up. Unlike with her lips, however, it didn’t stop in its original position. It kept going, its trajectory curving inward. For half a second it looked like he was going for the glory, but a few inches short of it, he stopped and gave her thigh a firm squeeze before keeping it there as it's resting place.
During this time, he looked over at Jennie, his eyes watching as she retrieved the astral fiber from the rosary once again. Like magic it began to morph at her will, similar to how it did before, but this time was different. Rather than form a weapon, it had created a board that hovered a few feet off the ground, putting them at the same height. Maero stared at it in fascination, taking in the way it seemingly defied gravity, before he caught Jennie’s eyes again.
The image flickered again in his head. He shook his head, forcing himself to let out a chuckle, as he gazed at the city streets before them. It was vacant, the majority of the district having gone to the other side of it, as per usual during the larger soccer games. Then an idea hit him, not a good one, but an idea nonetheless.
As if to enunciate his challenge, Maero revved the engine, but it was different this time. The ground directly beneath it quaked under its intensity as the frame shuddered. The vibrations were going to be felt in the seats like cheap massage chairs once kept in malls. If only it mattered what her answer had been, as less than a few seconds later, Maero and Trinity went from zero to seventy five.
It had also been the fastest speed limit posted in all of Tokyo. So fast, in fact, that as they pulled out of the garage Medianoche gained air as it turned. When they landed, the tires screeched, trying to redirect the momentum forward rather than to the side. They were less than five feet from a parked car when it succeeded in its task and they took off downhill.
Medianoche travelled like a shadow across the neon-lit streets of the Kurohana Wards. The engine churned as it burned through diesel, forcing the car to accelerate faster, easily passing a hundred miles an hour. If Trinity looked at the dash, she’d see the electronics struggling to keep up, as the number kept climbing higher and higher. Maero just stared ahead, watching the world in his peripherals dissolve into a blur, as if reality was fading away.
He saw cars come into view, but he didn’t slow down, just veered at what looked like the last second to avoid the collision. In one instance, two cars were side by side, not giving him a way to go around. He just gunned it, turning the wheel slightly, where he slid in the thin space between them. They blared their horns at him, but they faded into silence, then faded from rearview entirely.
Then everything began to fade, the lights, the wind, the roar of the engine, the drastic change in course with the slightest turn of the wheel. All that laid before Maero was the freedom that the road brought him. Each intersection and on-ramp, a sprawl of endless opportunities. Many led to other portions of Tokyo, but some led to Niigata, others to Osaka, and others to more remote regions. Such as small towns like Showa or landmarks like Kenganime.
Not that he even cared about any of that. As the adrenaline coursed through his veins, Maero’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, holding onto it like he was hanging on for dear life. One wrong movement was a quick trip to the emergency room, or worse, the morgue. Strange then, as the gears shifted once more and the car’s speed climbed to just above two hundred miles, that he didn’t feel a fear of death. In fact, it was the complete opposite, proven by the stupid shit-eating grin on his face.
Maero finally felt alive.
