Dead Land, Junior and Pinto, Page 2

one, winning three, losing two, making sure to always come out on top but never by too much. It would have worked too, if he didn’t have to play this game against pirates, a breed bred of inherent treachery.

  Junior barely noticed when the captain started to watch him. It was given away by a subtle grin, quiet, unassuming, his eyes staring directly at Junior in seemingly good-humored manner. But he had stopped blinking entirely, that soft smile never leaving his lips.

  “Sorry, mates, this one’s mine,” Junior grinned, slamming down three nines. A groan erupted from the pirates. He reached forward to grab the pot when the captain, lightning fast, grabbed a knife and brought it down right in the center of Junior’s hand. Junior’s eyes went wide, a silent scream frozen on his lips as he stared at the blood spilling from the wound, his hand pinned against the ply-board table.

  “Nice try, old man,” said the captain, reaching forward and grabbing the wrist of the impaled hand, yanking out a nine of spades. The other five pirates leaped up, brandishing knives and guns, all trained at Junior’s head.

  “Fucking Christ!” Junior exclaimed, staring down at his hand.

  “He ain’t ‘ere to ‘elp ya, mate.” The captain took on a huge, wild-eyed smile as he slowly stood up. He reached down and grabbed the knife, wriggling it a little before yanking it out of the table. Junior grabbed his hand, pulling it in towards his chest, and stumbled back against one of the supports of the small bar hall.

  “Let’s see ‘ow much blood this ‘ere old man ‘as in ‘is body, eh boys?”

  One of the pirates, a younger man with ratty blond dread-locks and a patch over his left eye, grinned maliciously and stepped forward. Without blinking, Junior buried his huge, black boot in the pirate’s crotch and slammed his good hand into the man’s face, sending the pirate howling to the ground. The remaining team leaped forward, grabbing Junior by the hands, the arms, legs, lifting him bodily off the ground. He struggled, kicking and writhing, but they held him fast and the blood-loss was beginning to drain him, his vision flickering in and out.

  “Take ‘im upstairs. Kill ‘im.”

  They carried his struggling form all the way upstairs, with one of the younger pirates, now wearing his wide-brimmed brown fedora as a trophy, following close behind. They found a room on the third floor, about thirty feet off the ground with a wide view of the lot outside and, beyond that, a square bustling with noonday traders and charlatans.

  “Cut ‘im open then. Toss ‘im to the dogs,” said the captain, grinning.

  “Could...could use a little...help...” Junior muttered to himself, gasping for air as the pirates began to pummel his chest and stomach with their bejeweled fists, kicking him in the ribs as he tried to protect his face on the ground.

  “I bet you could,” came a shaky voice in his head.

  “Fuck...fuck it! Help!”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “God damn it!”

  A heavy boot came crushing down on his wounded hand, still gushing blood while a second slammed into his groin. It was the blond pirate, exacting his revenge.

  “Ah! Fuck! What do you want?”

  “’e talkin’ to us?” asked one of the pirates, looking at his captain. The captain’s smile faded a bit, pensively.

  “I get to pick where we go next.”

  “Fuck no, you stupid, worthless piece of...AHHH!” Junior scream again as a fist slammed into his cheek, shattering teeth. The fist, he was certain, was not organic.

  “Deal or no deal?”

  “I’m fuckin’ dyin' here!”

  “Deal or no deal?”

  The captain moved forward, a worried look on his face. “Wait boys, somethin’ ‘ere ain’t right.”

  The pirates halted their assault, staring down at Junior, broken and bleeding from head to toe, one eye swollen completely shut.

  “Deal,” he whispered. Staring up at the pirates, panting for air.

  The sound started softly, a light whirring noise, metal passing gently against metal. But it wasn’t long before an explosion of exhaust erupted outside like a bomb going off. The pirates all flinched and looked around, confused at the incredible noise. Metal ground painfully against metal, churning, scraping, a cacophony of deafening noises followed by a loud explosion that was powerful enough to make the entire building tremble as if some massive weight had suddenly shifted outside and came crashing down onto the ground.

  “What the fuck?” asked one of the pirates, staring at his captain. The captain’s eyes were locked on Junior, who, gasping for air on the floor, threw him a bastardly grin through shattered teeth and bloodied cheeks. He locked eyes with the captain.

  “Gentlemen,” he grinned. “Meet Pinto.”

  The wall suddenly burst apart, hard ply and steel shredding like paper. The impact alone sent two of the pirates hurling across the room. The others scrambled for cover, over and under the bed, or huddled behind a flimsy folding partition, one even played dead on the ground, all of them gawking with wide, terrified eyes at the massive scraped metallic arm that had just cleared away the wall.

  A giant metal arm held together with duct tape and gum.