Writing - Sixed

Writing - Sixed

A faint veneer of dust covered the streets of Markesh.  If a person looked too closely, they might see that same faint veneer on the skin and in the hair of everyone on the streets of Markesh.  It was a city of gravel, dust and neon.  Post-modern steel and glass had given way to grafitti, dried black chewing gum and the stink of piss.

The once-promise of a bright future with robotic servants now a disarray beneath junkies and whores.  Markesh was dust and regret.


In the daylight everything was too bright, you had to squint to find your way.  At night though, the darkness would fold in the misbegotten sons and daughters of refuse.

Iori knew them all.  The Chits, and the Razor boys, the Joes, and the Cherry's.  These people of Markesh. He pulled his black fleece closer, even in the hot dusty sun and ducked into Wecks'.

The bar was empty except for a Cherry stretched flat out on her back, eyes closed on the pool table.  Her knees were drawn up and legs spread wide obscenely, but Iori wasn't looking.

He wasn't buying.

"What do you want, mouse?"

Borowecki was a strange name to call anyone.  Wecks for short.  A ruined man with rusting iron graft hands that methodically cleaned down the chipped bar.  Wecks had cataracts shredded eyes, perpetually bloody in their sockets that he'd dab at with a scrap of grey linen.  In a time of medicine and perfect fixes, he was an oddity.  Wecks was one of those.  Like a ruined wind-up doll that had been cast aside, dashed against a brick wall one too many times.

Wecks' voice had a graveled rumble, the kind that seemed to come from everywhere in the bar at once. 

Iori tossed a crumpled bill on the counter.  "One for now, one for later tonight." his voice rasped, even to him.

"What if I don't remember so good later tonight?"

It was an old game. Iori reached into his waistband, just behind the small of his back and produced a black and silver tube, four nasty little spikes on one end.  He set it down on the bar counter without looking at it.

"What's that mouse?  You gonna aerate someone tonight?" the man chuckled a dry laugh, sounding more like a too large dog breathing nastily.

An ale appeared shortly after the words, poured from the good tap, not the one that misfired too much CO2.  Wecks leaned against the bar, absently tucking away the grimy rag.

"You should know something..."

Iori turned at that, his eyes following the bartender staring off at the main door.

"Jisic and his boys.  They come looking for you last night."

"I was here last night, I didn't see Jisic."

"They come after, when we was closing up.  Wanted to know if you were by, if you were drinking."

"What did you say, Wecks?"

"That you were, but it was just water, like a little mouse."  Again that strange chuckle.  "Jisic says he'll be back again tonight.  You owe him something Iori?  Some kinda expensiv-"

Wecks stopped short.  Iori turned his head ever so slightly.

The Cherry.

Her eyes were open now, and she was staring at them intently.  When she noticed them stop short, she brought a finger to her lips and sucked on it suggestively.  She writhed for a moment, baiting him.

Iori turned away, the combi-knife already disappeared off the bar and replaced by his now empty glass.

"Be seein' you Wecks.  One more tonight, remember."

He ignored the Cherry, and stepped back out into the dust.