Mother Puncher

Also by Gina Ranalli

Novels

Chemical Gardens Wall of Kiss Suicide Girls in the Afterlife House of Fallen Trees Swarm of Flying Eyeballs Sky Tongues Praise the Dead Dark Surge Peppermint Twist (forthcoming) Still Life with Vibrator (forthcoming)

Collections

13 Thorns (with Gus Fink) Winner of the Wonderland Award

Published by Afterbirth Books PO Box 6068 Lynnwood, WA 98036 www.afterbirthbooks.com

Originally published in trade paperback by Afterbirth Books (2008)

Suicide Girls in the Afterlife ISBN-10: 1-933929-17-0 Copyright © 2008 by Gina Ranalli. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction.

Cover art and design copyright ©2008 by Ed Riggs

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author or publisher.

all lies and jest...

1

He punched her in the face as hard as he could. Normally, he wouldn’t have hit any woman so hard, but she’d pissed him off, shooting him in the eyes with that pepper spray. Someone must have smuggled it in for her and the second he’d gotten within arms-length—BAM—he was screaming in pain, blinded and, without thinking about it, he stepped forward and swung. It was amazing he’d connected at all. But he’d had, clocking her one in the nose and over the din of his own cries, he was pretty sure he’d heard her let out a yelp. He also knew how it felt to break a nose. He’d done it countless times. He knew exactly how it felt when the bones beneath someone’s skin shifted, even just a fraction. His knuckles were super-sensitive to such things, having experienced this nearly ever day since he was fourteen. Now, he was forty and though he only punched a few people per day, he’d never lost that magic touch in his knuckles. Once his fist connected, he’d stumbled backwards, clawing at his stinging eyes with both meaty fists. “You bitch! I can’t believe you sprayed me!” “You broke my fucking nose!” the woman screamed from her hospital bed. “I’m bleeding!” “I’m just doing my job lady,” Ed Means told her, still trying to clear his vision. Tears ran down his cheeks, giving him the appearance of a huge, sobbing man. Anyone who didn’t know him would probably think he looked shockingly like that big dude from Of Mice and Men. The sensitive retard who was always crying and didn’t know his own strength. But Ed knew his own strength alright. Had known it since he was kid in the school yard. Throwing punches was something that came as naturally to him as breathing. He knew from very early on that he would become a boxer and that’s exactly what he did, living out his glory days for nearly twenty years, from 18 to 38 when he’d caught one too many concussions and the federation snapped his license away. Ed hadn’t taken it well. Most guys got another ten years in the ring and he remained bitter about having to take a menial job as a Mother Puncher in the local hospital.

He supposed it was better than doing some other crap work like driving a truck or working as a mechanic, but still. He punched people for a living. For the most part, innocent people, woman who had just given birth to babies. He would have felt more comfortable hitting the fathers, but they more often than not got the hell out of there and let their wives and girlfriends take the heat alone. Little weasels. Ed loved the days when one of them was “brave” enough or “man” enough to stick by his woman’s side and take one in the chin for their mistake, assuming the pregnancy was a mistake, which it sometimes was, but not always. Sometimes people just took it into their heads that they wanted a brat and no amount of dissuasion was going to talk them out of it. Some of them just flat out didn’t care that it was strongly discouraged by the government. Breeding hadn’t been a popular thing to do for nearly three decades now. The world was so overcrowded that the government decided it was time they took control of the situation. They bought up every last insurance company and now they were the insurance company and they refused to pay for pregnancies. Once a kid was born, the family was pretty much good to go, as long as they could prove they’d had the kid in a hospital. Of course having the brat in a hospital didn’t mean much. Just that the woman and kid were both safe and clean and the delivery went off without a hitch. Usually anyway. Barring complications. And once the baby was born…that’s when Ed came in. His job was to clock the mothers a good one, one they wouldn’t forget. Discourage them from doing something so stupid as getting pregnant again. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. Sometimes Ed had to punch the same woman twice a year. He would swear, some of them even liked it, looked forward to it. But today, this woman was most definitely not looking forward to it. “What kind of a man are you?” she screeched from her bed. “Punching women for a living?” Ed ignored her. He’d heard it all before and it had long ago ceased to bruise his masculinity. “You know the rules, lady,” he muttered still rubbing the pepper spray out of his eyes. “You’re the one who got knocked up, not me.” “You son-of-a-bitch! If my husband was here…” She trailed off, as if it had just occurred to her that he husband wasn’t here and just where the hell was he? He deserved a punch in the face just as much as she did. Hell, probably more so since it was him who wanted to do the nasty that cold night last January. She hadn’t even wanted to do it! “Where the hell is my husband anyway?” she demanded, as if Ed would know. As if he was hiding the weasel away somewhere.

“Lady, I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in the cafeteria. That’s where they usually go when once the babies pop out. They know I’ll be in here any minute and they take off with their tails between their yellow fucking legs.” Big Ed Means spoke the truth. If it was up to him, he’d charge around the whole hospital looking for the little prick who would let his wife take a punch while his hid away in the janitors closet or some shit, waiting for Ed to cruise by, waiting until it was safe to play the loving, supportive husband again. Ed hated those guys. He thought there should be a law that the couple can’t leave with the brat until both parents got a good sock in the nose for being so stupid as to bring another mouth into this world. Of course, that would be pretty hard to do, since sometimes the mother either didn’t know who the father was or the guy was such a loser that he refused responsibility for the kid. Yeah, if Ed had his way, those guys would get not one but two shots in the face and he wouldn’t go easy on them either. One of the reasons the men often hid, however, was that they knew Ed from his boxing days. Knew he had once been a heavyweight contender and had KO’d a lot of famous boxers at one time or another. The good old days. But they were over now and here he was, his vision blurry but finally returning little by little, and the first thing he was able to see was a pissed-off woman with a bloody face glaring at him and shouting obscenities. Ed stumbled his way into the bathroom to rinse his eyes with water. Goddammit. He’d had a lot of stunts pulled on him in the last two years as the Mother Puncher but this was the first time someone had managed to nail him with pepper spray. He sure hoped it would be the last. Once he had his eyes rinsed well enough to see without squinting, he returned to the new mother, taking a digital camera out of his jacket pocket. “Okay, lady, smile for the camera.” “Are you crazy? I’m calling for security!” He fumbled with the camera, trying to put it into focus. “Go ahead and call them,” he said. “They won’t come. This is part of your hospital stay.” “Oh yeah? Getting punched by a fucking bully in a suit or having him take a picture of

the damage he’s done? Is this one of those sick trophy things? Like what serial killers do?” Sighing, he said, “No, it’s for the complimentary photo album the hospital provides. This is the first picture they glue down inside it.” Sandy the maternity nurse entered the room then, carrying a squirming bundle of joy wrapped in a blue blanket. “Here you are, Mrs. Obsenity. Here’s your little Jason.” She handed the baby over to the mother, oblivious to the fact that the woman now had a broken nose and was bleeding all over her hospital johnnie. “Where’s big Jason,” Mrs. Obsenity demanded. “Where the fuck is he?” Sandy and Ed exchanged a glance, and then Sandy shrugged. “Perfect,” Ed said, trying to change the subject. “I bet you’d much rather have little…uh…Jason in the picture with you, huh? Commemorating this day together?” Before the woman could respond, Ed snapped the picture. When it was too late, the woman stopped scowling and gave Ed a big smile. “Cheese.” She held the baby aloft, making sure Ed got him in the picture too. Ed sighed and took another pic, though he wasn’t really supposed to; the hospital paid for the camera and wanted it to last. They constantly reminded Ed that the more photos he took, the shorter the camera’s lifespan would be. “There you go,” he said. “Congratulations on your new baby boy.” This last statement was policy. He was supposed to smile when he delivered the line and if possible, shake the hands of the parents and tap the kid gently on the head. Those last things seldom happened, but he always said his line, without fail. He turned to exit the room, whispering to Sandy as he passed. “She has a canister of pepper spray. I want to know how she got it in here.” “The husband?” Sandy whispered back. Ed shook his head. “Well, he’s not around now, but I suppose it’s possible. Did you see him at all?” “No.” Sandy glanced warily at the woman with her new son. “Maybe she brought it in herself. You know….down there.” The thought made Ed cringe. “Whatever. Just be careful. I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee. You know when the next one is due?”

Sandy consulted her watch. “Probably around four hours. You have plenty of time.” “Thank fucking God.” With that he left the room, hoping Sandy would have better luck with the crazy bitch than he had.

2

Ed exited the hospital through the back in an attempt to avoid the picketers and Jesus freaks that were a constant staple out front. Some people didn’t take too kindly to the government’s laws these days, still harboring the belief that whoever wanted to have a baby should be allowed to and have the hospital pay for it to boot. Ed thought they were selfish scum, knowing the state of the world and still insisting that they should be able to breed as much as they wanted. Losers. He climbed inside his truck, a jet-black Ford Trinidad that he kept in mint condition, slammed and locked the door and started the engine. Checking his eyes in the rearview, he saw they were still red-rimmed and puffy. “That bitch,” he huffed under his breath. “Just doing my job.” He drove out of the hospital lot and headed home. Normally, he would have just grabbed a cup of coffee from the cafeteria but since he had four hours to kill, he figured he might as well go home and relax for a while. If the baby came sooner, the hospital staff would just call him on his cell and he’d high-tail it back there in no time at all. Flipping on the radio, he heard a familiar jingle and then a soothing woman’s voice say, “Envision: It’s a lifestyle.” Then a country tune started and Ed drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time to the music. He smiled a little in spite of the crummy day he’d had so far. Envision was a large and beautiful gated community where no children were allowed and it was also where Ed happened to live with Ash, his wife of ten years. He looked forward to getting there. He loved the peacefulness of the place and even though it was expensive, he thought it was worth it. In the ads, the owners promoted the place as being “without screaming or crying, without toys or laughter, Envision is the perfect place to live.” Ed knew they were right. He’d never wanted children and wanted them even less now that he saw the kinds of boneheads that did want them. In his mind, you had to be pretty stupid to want kids in this day and age. Not to mention selfish. Dumb asses. He approached the gatehouse at the front of Envision and the guard waved him through, raising the gate with barely a glance. Ed drove straight to his house, exactly like

all the others. Ash’s car was in the driveway and he pulled the Trinidad in behind it, climbing out and stretching, regarding the day with a mixture of suspicion and hopefulness. It was only 10:30 am, still plenty of time for the day to improve. He walked along the flagstone path to his front door and entered the house, calling for his wife. He found her in the computer room, chain-smoking, a cup of coffee that was almost certainly cold near her hand . “Hey, Ash,” he said from the doorway. “Ed. What are you doing here?” This without taking her eyes from the computer screen. “Got a few hours before the next brat is due. You in a chat room?” It was a foolish question. Ash was always in a chat room. “Yep. Coffee should still be warm.” “Thanks.” He hesitated, thinking he should say something else, but when he couldn’t think of anything, he turned and walked off towards the kitchen, leaving her to her online friends. Ash was wrong. The coffee wasn’t still warm, but Ed poured himself a mug anyway and heated it in the microwave. He carried the steaming cup into the living room, sat down in his favorite recliner and switched on the tube. His vision was still slightly blurry but the sting was now being drowned out by the ache in his right hand. The ache was a familiar one, though not constant. Not yet. But soon enough, Ed knew it would be. You could only punch so many people before your bones started protesting. He held his coffee in his left hand and gave his right an occasional shake, wondering if he should pop a few ibuprofen before the ache really began to scream at him. Keeping his eye on the clock, he drank his coffee and watched afternoon crap on TV. Eventually, Ash emerged from the computer room and Ed noticed she was still wearing her bathrobe and slippers. He watched his wife pass by him with barely a nod and wondered what had happened to the woman he’d married. Ash worked in a gas station/convenience store combo part-time, had long dry black hair that was in a constant state of disarray, smoked and drank too much and was growing thicker through her mid-section with every passing year. And she had a temper. The temper that had once seemed so sexy to Ed when they first

met was no longer attractive in any way. When she was drunk—which was every night she didn’t have to work—she would often get surly and sarcastic, sometimes pitching fits, screaming and throwing things at Ed. It was during these times that Ed prayed for a baby to be born so he could leave and go punch someone. He tried not to take his frustrations with his wife out on the mothers at the hospital, and for the most part he succeeded. But every so often, when one of the women was particularly obnoxious or tried to fight with him or made him chase them around the hospital, he would lose it and hit her a little too hard. He was always sorry afterwards, and made it a point to tell them so, but sometimes it was difficult not to haul off and knock their damn blocks off. Ed knew it was the same for other Mother Punchers and suspected that the mothers he worked with were among the luckiest mothers of all. Some guys just really and truly hated women and sometimes that was their sole purpose for even applying for the job. So they could clock women all day. Those kinds of guys, Ed wanted to clock himself and would have if given the chance. The only time Ed actually felt joy from his job when was he found some weasely father hiding under the bed or in the john, letting his wife take a punch that he deserved just as much as she did. Fuck those guys, Ed thought, sipping his coffee. He hoped there would be a father around when he got back to the hospital later. “Why are you home?” Ash asked, coming “I told you, I have a few hours until the next kid comes.”

into

the

living

room.

“Oh.” She glanced around the room, her dark eyes vacant. Ed wondered if she’d put anything in her morning coffee, though he doubted it. Ash was an alcoholic—there was no denying that—but she preferred wine to the hard stuff. Wine that came in a box. That was her drink, her constant evening companion. She reached into her robe and brought out a pack of Virginia Slims, shaking one out and sticking it between her chapped lips. “Whatcha watching?” “Ash, don’t light that cigarette in here.” Ed hated that his wife smoked and was forever reminding her to do it outside, which she did probably less than half the time he was home and never when he wasn’t. “This is my house too!” she barked at him. “I pay for it just as much as you do.” “Yeah, but these are my lungs and my heart. Smoke outside, please.” Ash rolled her eyes and shuffled out of the room. He heard the slider in the kitchen

open and close and he felt a sense of relief wash over him. He didn’t feel like getting into it with her today. He just wanted to drink his coffee in peace, stretch out in his own chair and relax before he had to go back to work. On the television, a talk show host was seated next to a young woman who was deathly afraid of pickles. She, in turn, was seated next to a woman who was deathly afraid of kittens. Not cats. Kittens. Ed had to wonder if these loons were putting on an act, just so they could get themselves on television and have their fifteen minutes of fame. He huffed and swallowed tepid coffee. He’d had fame once and didn’t think it was anything to write home about. From where he stood, all fame did was attract a lot of wackos. Sure, he’d met a few cool people back in his boxing days, but most of them were nuttier than a fruit cake and just trying to get something out of him. He shook his head at the TV screen and his stomach grumbled. He watched for a while more, until a woman came on the stage who was terrified of tin foil and screamed hysterically when the host showed her a balled-up sheet of it. Ed had seen enough. He clicked off the TV and went in search of food, glancing out at the back yard as he passed the slider. Ash was still out there on the bench swing he’d put at the back of the property a few years ago. It was near the tree line and quite a peaceful place to sit and think. He’d originally thought it would be a nice place to cuddle with his wife, but it didn’t turn out that way. It was now just a solitary spot and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat on it together. With a twinge of sadness, he moved to the refrigerator and began the process of making himself two ham and cheese sandwiches. He dumped half a bag of corn chips on his plate, grabbed a soda from the fridge and was on his way back to the living room when someone rapped on the glass slider. He flinched, ready to shout at Ash for scaring him, but it wasn’t Ash on the other side of the door. It was Drizzle. Ed looked past him and saw Ash still on the bench swing, smoking and watching Drizzle with a bored expression. Gritting his teeth, Ed set his lunch on the counter and went over and opened the slider. “What are you doing here, Drizzle? How did you get inside Envision?” Drizzle grinned toothily. “Came all the way through the woods,” he said proudly. “Six miles.” “Jesus Christ. What do you want?” The young man’s face fell and he pushed his thick glasses back up his nose. “To hang out with you. There’s some new stuff going on with the fan club that I wanted to run by

you.” Ed groaned. The fan club. Good God. Drizzle was a geeky guy of about 23, skinny as a toothpick, with orange-red hair and freckles covering every inch of his skin. He was also teetering on the dangerous edge of being Ed’s one current stalker, in addition to being the founder of the official Ed Means fan club. “I don’t want to know anything about the fan club,” Ed said sharply. “I told you that. That’s your thing, not mine.” “Yeah, but it’s really cool, Ed. Wait till you hear about it.” “There’s nothing cool about a guy your age obsessing over an old boxer like me. You need to get a job. Get a girlfriend. Or boyfriend, sheepfriend, whatever. You need to start leaving me alone.” Drizzle looked genuinely wounded. “Ed, you’re gonna like this. I swear!” “You interrupted my lunch, Drizzle. Now take a hike.” “I just came through six miles of woods to tell you this, since you changed your phone number again. Give me a break here, man. I’m doing this for you.” Ed scowled at the kid, but saw the seriousness in Drizzle’s eyes and decided to give him one small, tiny, minuscule, minute break. “Ok,” he said. “Make it quick.” Drizzle grinned. “The fans have all agreed to tell me whenever they know a pregnant woman.” Waiting for more, Ed folded his arms across his chest. “So?” “So….they tell me, I tell you. It’s perfect.” Ed resisted the urge to give the kid a shove and slam the door. He felt a headache coming on. “What’s perfect? Why the fuck should I care about pregnant women? You think I don’t get enough of them at work?” “Moonlighting,” Drizzle said, eyes wide with excitement. “Don’t you want some extra cash?” “I have enough money. I live in Envision, for Christ’s sake. Doesn’t that tell you I have enough money?” “Yeah, it’s a lifestyle, I know. But just think about it: the government will slip you

some under the table cash for doing the chicks who won’t go to the hospital. You know the ones who decide it’s better just to have the kid at home and never tell a soul that they’re even pregnant.” Ed was getting bored with the conversation and let it be known. “That’s not my business, Drizzle, and it shouldn’t be yours either.” “But, they put a strain on everyone’s taxes,” Drizzle protested. “Bye Drizzle.” Ed put his huge left hand against the kid’s scrawny chest and gently shoved him backwards, further away from the door. “If you don’t want it,” Drizzle said quickly. “I can always call Bowie. He’ll even give me a cut. I wasn’t gonna ask you for a cut…but…but…I could, you know!” The name Bowie froze Ed where he stood. “You already talked to Bowie?” “Not yet,” Drizzle told him. “But if you don’t want the deal, I know he will.” The kid was right. Bowie was a notorious scumbag, a bounty hunter for the government, seeking out breeders and doing more than giving them a single punch for their troubles. It was said that Bowie would often beat the shit out of them and sometimes—Ed hoped this part wasn’t true but he didn’t know for sure—sometimes they said he didn’t even wait until after the woman had given birth. He started pounding on them while they were still pregnant. Sometimes in the middle of their labor and sometimes, he wouldn’t do just a head shot. It was said he would pound them in the guts, too. Bowie gave all Mother Punchers a bad name and Ed couldn’t stand it. He was an unscrupulous vulture without a single strand of moral fiber in his entire body. Ed reached out grabbed Drizzle by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward. “You do any business with that prick and I will personally rip off your balls and feed them to you. You got that, dickhead?” Drizzle let out a little squeal of fright, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Then you do business with me, man. Otherwise, I got no choice.” “You got a choice!” Ed shook him hard. “Do it and I’ll fuck you up. That’s your choice.” “No way, man.” Drizzle shook his head and Ed was amazed and impressed by the kid’s bravery. “You fuck me up and I’ll just go to Bowie that much quicker.” “I can’t fucking believe you’re trying to blackmail me,” Ed said wonderingly.

“I’m not! I’m trying to give you an opportunity. More cash, more kudos from the suits. It’s win-win, man. I’m telling you!” Ed released his grip on Drizzle’s shirt and rubbed his face, feeling the sandpaper texture of his cheeks and chin. “Son of a bitch.” “It’ll be awesome, man,” Drizzle said, smiling again. “Even better than when I had the troops tag every building and bridge with ‘Ed Means is still the champ of the world’.” “Oh, yeah, that was great,” Ed said sarcastically. “I got called into the fucking police station on that one.” Ignoring him, Drizzle repeated, “Awesome, man.” “What’s awesome?” Ash asked, coming up behind Drizzle. “Nothing,” Ed said quickly. He gave Drizzle a look of warning but either the kid didn’t notice it or didn’t care. He turned to Ash and said, “I got a deal with the Dimes.” Dimes were what everyone called the folks who would report an undocumented pregnancy. “What kind of deal?” Ash asked. “You know…they call me, I call the big guy here. We go, wait for the chick to pop out the gremlin, give her a sock in the jaw, take a pic and be on our way. Five hundred bucks per.” Ash’s eyes widened. “Five hundred bucks? For a single punch?” “Yep.” Drizzle grinned like some of the proud papas Ed had seen now and again and it made his stomach turn. “I’m not doing it, Ash. We don’t need the money.” “The hell we don’t! I just bought a new car, remember? You think it’s gonna pay for itself?” “You said you would pay for it!” And you believed me? I work in a fucking gas station, Ed. It’s a fucking Firebird! How exactly am I supposed to pay for a new fucking Firebird?” “Take it back!” he shouted.

“No! I love that car! I’ve always wanted one, my whole life! And now you don’t want me to have it. You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that, Ed?” “Fuck!” Ed swung his fist, aiming for the wall beside the door but stopped himself at the last instant. His hand was still hurting after all. “Fuck!” “Easy there, big fella,” Drizzle said cheerfully. “That car could be paid off in just a few months.” “That’s bullshit,” Ed said. “You know how much that piece of shit cost?” “Hey!” Ash shouted, offended. “Well,” Drizzle went on. “Maybe not a few months, but pretty soon. And you’d be doing the government a favor.” “Fuck the government,” Ed yelled, pacing now. “Watch it, Ed!” Ash warned. “They sign your paychecks.” Ed said nothing, certain he had steam As a reminder, Drizzle said one word: “Bowie.”

coming

from

his

ears.

Ed wanted to kill him and that was saying something. Despite being violent his entire professional life, he’d never wished to actually kill a person. Fuck them up good, yes, but kill them? Never. “Fuck,” he said again. “Just do it, Ed,” Ash said. “It’s really no different from what you do now.” “She has a point,” Drizzle agreed. Ed’s cell phone rang and he snatched it off his belt and growled “Hello” into it, while glaring at Ash and Drizzle. It was the maternity nurse, Sandy. “Looks like she’s going sooner than we thought,” she said, referring to the pregnant woman they had discussed earlier. “You should get back here asap.” “Ok.” Ed pushed ‘end’ and told them, “I have to go to work.” Ash reached into her robe for her cigarettes while Drizzle called after him, “Think about it, man! Made in the shade!”

3

Back at the hospital, Sandy met him in the maternity ward, just outside room 1210. “She’s at 10 centimeters,” she said. “Contractions are less than a minute apart.” Ed nodded and leaned against the wall beside the closed door, thinking about his uneaten sandwich. Within the room, came the sounds of a woman in a lot of pain. “Are you ok?” Sandy asked. “Your eyes are red.” “I got maced, remember? You ever find out how she got that canister in here?” “No, she wouldn’t say. Probably the husband.” “The husband? I never saw him.” “He came running the second you were gone. Playing Mr.-I-care-so-much about my wife, I just couldn’t stand to watch her get hurt.” “Yeah, but he could stand plenty not getting hurt himself.” Sandy made a face that said, what’s new? Ed liked Sandy. She was petite and cute, but tough as nails and refused to take any guff from anyone, not the patients, not the doctors, not even that miserable Mary Kliss, the hospital’s Chief of Staff. “We got any more after this one?” Ed asked her. “Maybe one, but I doubt it. She’s trying to pretend she’s not having contractions, even though she is, but they’re pretty far apart. Won’t be for another twelve hours at least.” He nodded. His shift would be over by then and Chuckie would be on duty. Chuckie was a cool guy, just came in did what he was paid for and took off again. Very laid-back, never sweated the small stuff. Ed admired him quite a bit and wished he could be more like him. “She’s trying to get us to release her,” Sandy went on about the pregnant woman who was denying her contractions. “Think she’s having second thoughts about being here. Word got around that you broke the last one’s nose.” “That was an accident,” Ed cried defensively. “The woman pepper sprayed me!”

“I know.” Sandy put a consoling hand on his big arm. “But you know how some of them can be. They think they should be able to just breed any old time they like and not have to suffer any repercussions for it.” Ed nodded again. “If only that was how the world worked.” “If it was, you and I would probably be starving on the street.” “True enough.” They made small talk a while longer and then Sandy went in to check on the patient. She came out a few minutes later and went in search of the doctor. A moment later, a man rushed out of the room, only to be grabbed around the neck by Ed. “Going somewhere, Daddy?” Ed asked. The guy struggled to get away. “I’m not the father! I’m her brother!” “That so? Well, we’ll just wait for the doc to get here and see if he agrees with that statement. What do you say?” The man, chubby and dressed in a sweatsuit for some reason, tried twisting himself out of Ed’s grasp, to no avail. “I’m the brother!” he cried. “I’m calling my lawyer! Let me go!” But Ed didn’t let him go and a minute later the doctor and Sandy strode up purposefully, heading for the birthing room. “Yo, Doc,” Ed said as the doctor approached. “This guy the brother?” Both the doctor and Sandy rolled their eyes in what appeared to be almost a practiced gesture. Neither of them replied verbally, but they didn’t need to. “You know,” Ed told the guy, “pussies like you make me want to puke. You’ll let your wife take a punch while you go cower in a fucking corner somewhere. You weren’t cowering when you took your fucking pants off though, were you?” The father whined like a wounded animal, though Ed hadn’t done anything to him yet. “I bet you wish you’d wrapped that rascal now, don’t ya?” Ed went on. “Mr. Irresponsibility. Mr. Chivalrous. Mr. Yellow-bellied fucking pussy ass douche bag.” “Just get it over with,” the guy screamed, bursting into tears. “Why are you torturing me like this?” “Hospital policy, buddy. I gotta wait till the kid comes out, all pink and healthy. If, God

forbid, you end up with a still born, the hospital could get sued for punching the expectant parents before the birth. Nope, the kid has to be screaming and get the Doc’s ok before I give you the fat fucking lip you deserve.” The man began struggling again, which was becoming annoying to Ed. He switched position, throwing the guy’s back against the wall and holding him there by the throat. “The more you fight, the worse it’s gonna be for you,” Ed said. “Just relax. Christ, you act like you’ve never been punched before.” “I haven’t!” the man cried, trying to pry Ed’s fingers from his throat. “For real?” Ed was amazed. “Come on. Don’t bullshit me.” “I’m not. I’ve never been a fighter.” “Wow. Not even in the school yard? Seems like a wimp like you would get his ass kicked every day in school.” “They tried,” the guy said. “But I always managed to run away and tell the teacher.” “Figures,” Ed huffed with disgust. “I got pushed once on the bus though. I was seven.” Ed resisted the urge to squeeze the guy’s throat harder and decided to just ignore him. In the room, the mother was screaming now. Tuning it out, Ed began to hum “Ring of Fire” to pass the time. Johnny Cash was the man, as far as Ed was concerned. His voice could always sooth Ed’s frazzled nerves. He was another guy who took no bullshit. Ed wished he was still alive and that he could have met him. Maybe Johnny had been a boxing fan and they could have hung out and talked about how much better the first Rocky movie was compared to all the others. Ed was still thinking about kicking Mr. T’s ass when he heard a baby screeching from behind the closed door. He was somewhat sorry to have to let go of his fantasy and come back to reality and the blubbering guy he was holding against the wall. “Won’t be long now,” Ed told him, expecting it to comfort the man. Instead, he started wailing. “What the fuck is your problem?” Ed asked. “You just had a baby that you obviously wanted more than you cared about the rest of the world. You and your selfishness. You don’t even care that kid probably won’t even have a future on this fucked up planet. You just wanted a mini-you. You should be jumping for fucking joy.” The doctor emerged from the room, gave Ed a nod and strutted on down the hallway. Ed grinned at the guy and then pulled him through the doorway. Sandy was stripping

bloody gloves off her hands and throwing them in the trash. Nearby on a table a naked baby wailed like the most pissed-off creature on the planet. She looked up when Ed came in, the father in tow by the neck. She held up her index finger, a signal to Ed. Ed pushed the guy away from himself and said, “Congratulations, buddy. You have a son.” Then he popped him a good one in the eye. The man crumbled to the floor, dazed for a few moments. When he realized he wasn’t dead, he began screaming how Ed had blinded him and he would sue the hospital for every penny it had. Ignoring him, Ed waited for the go-ahead to punch the mother. Five minutes later, both mother and father were posing on the bed, their newborn infant wrapped in a blue blanket between them. Both parents grinned into the camera, both sporting the beginnings of matching shiners.

4

The next night was Friday and Ed’s turn to host the weekly poker game he had going on with his three best buddies. His only buddies, really. They all showed up promptly at eight p.m., Hank and Dale each carrying a case of beer and Bill with three kinds of snack chips. Bill was Ed’s oldest friend in the world. They’d met way back in Ed’s boxing days. Though not particularly bright, Bill was nonetheless a good guy and a good friend. Ed had met Hank and Dale when their wives had given birth to their sons a couple years prior. Hank had taken his punch like a man, pausing only to take off his glasses and request that he not get hit in the nose. Ed had liked the guy right away. Dale had been more of a typical wimp, trying to get away, yelling and fussing and putting down the government, but in the end, Ed decided he liked him too. Dale was quirky and funny, though still very much a wimp. It was his wife that wore the pants in that house, that was for sure. Gathered around the dining room table, the men eyed their cards and sipped their beers while Johnny Cash drifted to them through the living room speakers. Johnny was walking the line and Ed could certainly respect that. “That Johnny Cash sure can sing, I’ll tell you what,” Hank said. “Hehehe.” “Got that right,” Ed agreed, tossing a card down. “Hit me again, Dale.” “Yeah, I heard he was a drug addict,” Bill said. Everyone glared at him and he flushed pink, staring down at his cards again. “I seen the movie,” he mumbled. “You keep talking like that,” Hank said, “And I’ll have to kick your ass.” They were quiet for a while after that, serious expressions on all their faces. Ash wandered in holding a glass of red wine and wearing a long cotton night gown. Ed noticed with dismay that his own mother had had a nightgown quite similar to it. He also noticed that she was smoking. “Ashley,” he hollered. “Get that cigarette outside!”

It embarrassed him to no end when she showed up in front of the guys, disrespecting his wishes and blatantly ignoring him. “Oh, cool your jets,” she said. “I just came to fill up my glass.” She peered over Bill’s shoulder. “Isn’t that called a flush or something?” All four men groaned and Dale folded. Ash gave them an innocent look before moving off into the kitchen to top up a glass that was already half full. Ed released a sigh of distress and apologized. “It’s ok, Ed,” Bill said cheerfully. “It’s really a straight.” Dale cursed loudly and took a long swallow of beer. Ed’s cell phone rang. He was tempted not to answer it, thinking it was most likely the hospital but when he glanced at it, he didn’t recognize the number. This made him even less likely to answer it, but when the phone persisted and the guys gave him annoyed looks, he grabbed it off the table and barked into it. “What?” “Ed, man, it’s Drizzle.” “Drizzle! How the fuck did you get this number?” At the exact same instant Drizzle was saying, “Your wife gave it to me,” Ash was strolling back through the room sipping her wine and refusing to glance at him. “Son of a bitch,” Ed said. “Hey, man, I’m on a stakeout. You need to get down here. The chick is gonna pop any second.” Frowning, Ed said, “What the fuck are you talking about, a stake out?” His friends’ eyes were on him now, blinking with curiosity. “The Dimes, man,” Drizzle said. “They gave up a chick over in the projects. Get this— the dime is her teenage daughter. She’s gonna blink the light off and on once the kid pops out.” Ed sighed. He couldn’t believe his ears. “I’m not going to the fucking projects, Drizzle.”

There was silence on the phone for a long moment. Then Drizzle said, “You sure about that, man? I got Bowie on speed dial.” “You little fucking shit!” Ed yelled, jumping up and knocking his chair over. His three friends flinched at the sudden outburst. “You call Bowie and I swear to fucking God, you’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of your miserable little life!” “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, big guy. Is that anyway to talk to a friend? To your number one fan? I’m doing you a favor, remember.” “Some favor,” Ed muttered, trying to control his temper. “I hope you get caught in those projects, Drizzle. I hope some fucking gang catches you skulking around and skins you alive.” Drizzle laughed. “Ok, then. Talk to you later, Champ. The chick could burst any second and I have to get some Mother Puncher down here. I wanted it to be you, but oh well. The only other one I know is Bowie, so—” “Alright, already,” Ed yelled. “Shut the fuck up and give me the fucking address.”

5

Half an hour later, Ed was pulling his Trinidad in behind Drizzle’s beat-up old Pinto, which was parked in a park-and-ride a few blocks from the place where the woman was having the baby. Drizzle had insisted they only take his car to the building because Ed’s would stick out like a sore thumb in that neighborhood. Ed didn’t argue too much. He was more than happy to not have his truck in a shitty neighborhood, though part of him wished he’d taken Ash’s car instead of his own. That way, if the fucking thing got stripped, it would serve her right. After all, she and her fucking new car were part of the reason he was here in the first place. He climbed into the passenger seat of the Pinto, feeling the little car lean under the weight of his bulk. “Glad you could make, my man,” Drizzle said, smiling. Ed silently chewed a toothpick and wished it was this scrawny twerp’s body. “Sounded like you had company.” “I did.” “Oh, yeah? A party?” “Something like that.” “Sorry to interrupt,” though Ed didn’t think he sounded sorry at all. “This’ll be worth it, though,” Drizzle said, starting the engine. “Remember. Five hundred bucks.” Ed didn’t bother to ask where the five hundred bucks would be coming from. Drizzle had once told him that his father or his uncle or some damn body was a congressman’s aide or some shit. Ed knew the kid had connections of some sort, but he didn’t care to know the specifics. He figured, the more he was kept in the dark, the better. Drizzle drove them down a dark street lined with tenements. Ed was somewhat surprised that he saw no pedestrians but didn’t think too much of it. These kinds of places were dangerous at night, even for the gangs that ran them. “Well, here it is,” Drizzle said, parking in front of a puke-green three family house. “I thought you said the projects. This is just a house.”

“Not this house,” Drizzle said, pointing. “That one.” Ed looked at where Drizzle was pointing and groaned. The place looked like a bomb had recently gone off inside it. There was crap all over the front yard, if the patch of dirt could even be called a yard. Rusting hulks of two cars, a broken rocking chair, a shit load of broken toys and empty cans and who knew what else. A few of the steps leading up to the front door were broken; the railing was gone completely. “People live there?” Ed asked, amazed and disgusted. “Top floor. See the light?” “Holy shit. Drizzle, I can’t go in there and bust some chick’s chops. She probably can’t afford a hospital.” “Not what her daughter told me. She said she’s just having the kid here so the Mother Punchers will think exactly what you’re thinking, if any of them were to catch wind of it. Said she’s got plenty of money, just doesn’t want to pay it, doesn’t want the government involved at all.” “Doesn’t she know that the kid won’t ever be insured unless she can prove it was born in a hospital?” “Well, not till it turns eighteen and can get its own anyway. Yeah, of course she knows. Like I said, she’s got money. She’s just one of those conspiracy theory nut jobs. Thinks she’s living in the fucking X-Files or some shit. Despises the government. Even more than you do, Champ.” Drizzle laughed while Ed chewed moodily on his toothpick. “You’d better not be yanking my chain, Drizzle,” he said after a while. “Scout’s honor, bossman. That’s what the girl said. And hey, she’s a fan. Ordered a poster of you winning the belt against Tolberg. That poster is a big seller, you know.” “Great,” Ed said. He didn’t know if it was great or not. It was true Drizzle sent him a check every few months for whatever profits he made with his little fan club venture, but it was never any amount of money that Ed paid attention to. Chump change was all it was. “How long are we gonna have to sit here? Any idea?” “Shouldn’t be long. The chick said she was pretty close right before I called you.” “So, what am I supposed to do? Go rushing in there like a fucking gang-buster? Kick the fucking door in? What?”

“It’s unlocked, man. Shit, give me some credit. I’m not a total moron, you know.” Ed grunted, watching the light in the attic window of the abandoned house. “They have electricity in there?” “Lady got it turned on just for the occasion.” “How many people in there? Any men?” Drizzle shrugged. “The girl didn’t say.” “Well, fuck me blind!” Ed shouted. “How the hell am I supposed to go in there and punch her if she’s surrounded by mooks with guns or some fucking shit? You trying to get me killed?” “Will you relax, man? I think she would have mentioned dudes with guns, Champ. She’s pissed at her mom. Why’d you think she’s a Dime anyway?” “Fuck!” Ed continued to hiss and sputter until they saw the light blink on and off several times. “Shit!” Drizzle exclaimed. “This is it, Champ! Let’s rock and roll!” Ed exited the car reluctantly and cautiously looked up and down the street for anything that seemed suspicious. “If there’s anyone with weapons in there, Drizzle, the deal is off.” “Man, you think I’d be going in if there was gonna be that kind of trouble? You really think I’m some kind of loser, don’t you?” “Now that you mention it, yeah, I do.” Drizzle gave Ed a dirty look that made Ed like him just a tad more and then they were carefully climbing what was left of the stairs and entering the dilapidated house. Inside, it was nearly too dark too see and they had to take every step gingerly to keep from tripping and falling and, most likely, breaking something. “You didn’t think to bring a flashlight, huh smart guy?” Ed whispered. “No. Did you?” As they ascended the stairs, Ed began to think about a career change. Maybe working in a factory wouldn’t be so bad. Sure as hell couldn’t be any worse than this shit.

Then he thought about all those other guys who would gladly take his job, gladly punch women as hard as they fucking could just because their own mommies didn’t hug them enough when they were little or because they couldn’t get a date in high school, and now every woman on the planet had to pay for it. If only I didn’t have a conscience, Ed thought. Then I could walk away from this job and never look back, not give a damn if women got their heads caved in by some loser with a small dick and a huge grudge against half the human population. He was still having his inner war when they reached the top floor. Drizzle stepped back from the door and gestured. “Go ahead, man,” he murmured. “It’s your show.” Ed ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the door, listening to the sounds of a crying baby on the other side of it. The kid wasn’t screaming. Just crying softly, maybe already muffled against his mother’s soft breast. “Fuck,” he whispered. He tapped his hip pocket to be certain the small digital camera was still there and then reached out and opened the door as quietly as he could. He didn’t want the mother to try running. Not through this house, this dark, this neighborhood. She would likely drop the kid and God knew he didn’t want any of that kind of shit on his head. He peeked inside, saw nothing, looked back at Drizzle and pointed with his chin. Then he opened the door wider and stepped into what had once been an attic apartment, the first room being a living room/kitchen combo. Besides a bathroom, he was fairly certain there was only one other room and knew he was right when he saw a light flick on beneath a door right in front of them. “What are you doing?” an exhausted woman asked. “Stop doing that. You’ll attract attention.” “I’m bored,” a younger female voice said, much louder than the first had spoken, clearly wanting to be heard. “You’re bored?” the first woman spoke again. “You have a brand new baby sister and you’re bored? I swear, Virginia, sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” “Whatever,” the girl said. Ed dreaded opening the door but after taking a deep breath that was exactly what he did. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The woman—the mother—was sitting naked in a plastic kiddie pool filled to the top with bloody water, a naked baby clutched to her chest. She screamed when she saw Ed, instinctively covering the baby’s ear with her free hand. The teenage girl was perched on a window sill to the right, about ten feet away. “Holy shit,” Drizzle said, peering over Ed’s shoulder at the scene. “Ma’am,” Ed said awkwardly. “I’m Ed Means. I’m a federal appointed Mother Puncher.” “Oh my God!” the teenager shouted, a little too dramatically. “How did you find us?” The woman ignored her daughter and tried to sink lower into the pool, attempting to cover her breasts while keeping the head of her baby above water. Though it usually wasn’t necessary when he was at the hospital, Ed pulled out his wallet and showed the woman his official badge. “Maybe you want to hand the infant to your daughter, ma’am?” “You!” The woman suddenly snarled, her face warping into something resembling a gargoyle. “You bastards! You bugged my house didn’t you? You fucking trolls!” Ed looked at Drizzle, who shrugged. “You’re not taking my baby, you fucking Feds! Get out of here! Get out, you immoral monsters!” Glancing at the teenager, Ed said, “Maybe you want to grab your sister for me, Miss?” “Okay.” The girl crossed the room to the pool and leaned over. “Give her to me, Mom. Come on. Give me Jessie.” Her mother glared at her, eyes blazing with betrayal. “You! You fucking Judas! You called them, didn’t you?” “Of course not!” the teenager did a pretty good job of looking surprised. Even offended. “Why would I do that?” “You never wanted me to have this baby. You even said so! You were disgusted when I told you I was pregnant!” “It’s not right, Mom,” the girl said, her brows furrowing. “You shouldn’t have had her. I told you not to, but you didn’t want to listen. And now you think you’re above the law!”

The two of them began screaming at each and then the baby joined in and pretty soon Ed knew he’d have to take a lot of aspirin to get rid of the headache that was coming on. He tried to concentrate on the baby, feeling kind of bad for the little thing. Not only had she selfishly been brought into a world in which she would not be granted equal rights but also a world which might not even be able to feed her within a few short years. Not to mention the fact that she’d have to put up with these two screaming at each other all the time. “What should we do?” Drizzle had to shout to be heard over the women. Ed rubbed his stubble and assessed the situation. “Excuse me?” He yelled. He had to yell it several times before either one of them would look at him. When they did, he addressed the teenager again. “Please, take Jessie out of the room for a minute, ok? It won’t take long.” He looked at the mother, wishing he knew her name. “I promise I won’t hit you that hard and then we’ll just take the photo and be out of here. What do you say?” “I say go suck yourself, you government Nazi!” “Mom!” The teenager reached for the baby again and the mother twisted out of her reach. “I should have brought Sandy with us,” Ed said absently. “Who?” Drizzle asked. “This maternity nurse I know. She’s the best.” He let the screaming go on for a few more minutes before shouting that they needed to shut up right now. “Ok, listen up, ladies. This is how it’s gonna be. Mom, you’re gonna hand the kid over to the other kid and then take your lumps like a big girl. If not, I’ll be forced to call the cops and then you’ll really be up shit’s creek. How’s that sound to everybody? Good? Good. Let’s do this thing. You.” He pointed to the girl. “Take the kid out of here right now.” This time the mother handed over the newborn without saying a word, though her face was the color of fresh plums. The teenager wrapped the blanket tight around the baby and then moved past the men without looking at them. Ed looked at the mother apologetically and sighed. “Ok, then. Do you have a preference?” “What the fuck do you think?” He shrugged. “Maybe you should stand up.”

“Oh, right! So you can get your jollies off by seeing a naked woman? You and your pervert friend? Can’t you see enough already?” “It’s nothing like that ma’am. It’s just that with you being so low to the floor, I can’t guarantee a clean hit and if you stood up, my friend here could catch you.” “Your friend didn’t show me his badge!” she shouted triumphantly, as though the knowledge had just been whispered in her ear. Ed stared at her for a moment before turning to Drizzle. “Go check on the girl and the kid.” He thought Drizzle would argue, but he didn’t. He even closed the door behind himself. “Satisfied?” Ed said. “Now, you gonna stand up or are you gonna make this harder than it has to be?” “Harder for you? I repeat, what the fuck do you think?” “Ok, then.” He crossed the room and got down on his knees beside the pool, the woman watching him with feral eyes. The position was awkward but it would have to do. “Sorry about this,” he said, though at that point he wasn’t so sure he meant it anymore. Then he reared back his fist and nailed her in the forehead. Her head snapped back and then forward again, but she didn’t make a sound. Not even a grunt. Ed was impressed, watching her, waiting for the purple welt that was already beginning to rise on her forehead. They had to wait until the injury would appear on film, even if the bruise wasn’t fully formed yet. The hint of a bruise was usually enough to satisfy the insurance suits. The whole time they waited, the woman said nothing, just stared at him with murder on her mind. He ended up snapping the picture probably sooner than he should have, but at that point he didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him with such hate and he was more than a little relieved when he joined Drizzle and the girl in the other room. “Let’s go, Drizzle.” Drizzle exchanged a glance with the teenager, but said nothing, simply following Ed out to the hall and then back into the night.

6

“Well, that sucked,” Drizzle said when they were in the car driving again. “Shut the fuck up,” Ed replied. “What? It didn’t suck?” “How much are you making form this shit, Drizzle, huh? Is it enough?” “I don’t know. You’re the boss. But I figure, you wouldn’t be getting the work if it wasn’t for me so…I don’t know…fifty percent?” Ed snorted, wishing he still had the toothpick he’d been gnawing on. “I’ll give you ten.” Drizzle slammed on the brakes so hard that a tire blew out, the car spun sideways and the next thing Ed knew they were careening into oncoming traffic, headlights blinding them, horns blaring and tires squealing in an attempt to get out of their way. Both men began to scream as the Pinto swerved back and forth, one second almost clipping a telephone pole, the next nearly slamming head first into a mini-van. Drizzle stomped the brake pedal and twisted the wheel hard to the right and avoided killing them by a millisecond. When the car finally stopped on the shoulder, Ed thought for sure he was having a heart-attack. He didn’t even have enough air in his lungs to yell at the stupid shit, but he was capable of being amazed when Drizzle shouted, “Ten percent? Are you fucking kidding me? After everything I’ve done for you?” Ed couldn’t believe his ears. He was beginning to think he’d over-estimated this kid’s sanity in a big way. When he was finally able to speak again, he said, “Drizzle, you know you just blew out a tire, right?” “Fuck the tire, man! I thought we were buds! And now you wanna fuck me in the ass with your fucking lousy ten percent! Fuck you, Champ! That’s some cold shit, right there!” “I was in the middle of a poker game with my buddies,” Ed said slowly. “If you and I were buds, you would have been at the game. Get it Champ? We are not friends. We’ve never been friends. You’re a fucking fan. A crazy fucking fan! A fucking stalker fan. That’s what you are, Drizzle. That’s what you’ve always been, that’s what you’ll always be. Get it through your thick fucking skull. We are most definitely not buds.”

The silence in the car after that speech almost made Ed regret having made it. Almost. But it had needed to be said; had needed to be said for a long time now. They sat in that thick silence for quite a while before Ed finally broke it by saying, “Do you have a spare tire?” “Yeah, man,” Drizzle replied, almost too softly for Ed to hear. “Yeah, I have a fucking spare.” Then he got out of the car and slammed the door. Ed debated getting out and helping the kid change the tire, then decided against it. He also debated getting out and walking. True, the neighborhood sucked, but hell, he was a fucking boxer. He thought he could handle pretty much anything that might come up, with the exception of a gun pointed at him. “Fuck it,” he said aloud and got out of the car. He didn’t bother saying anything to Drizzle, just started walking in the direction of the park-and-ride. He never even looked back at the kid or his piece of shit Pinto.

7

Of course, the guys were long gone when he finally arrived back home, but Ash was still awake, drunk off her ass and wanting to hear all about how it went. Ed went to the refrigerator and took out a beer, brought it over to the table and sat down with his wife staring bleary eyed at him. “It was just a job,” he said, taking a pull off the beer. He didn’t think he’d tasted anything so fine in his life. “That’s it? It was ‘just a job’?” “That’s right, Ash. It was just a job. It sucked, but it’s over now.” “Did you get the money?” Studying the brown bottle in his hand, he said, “No, no money. At least not yet. Maybe never.” “Never?” She screeched the word in that way she had when she was really shit-faced and itching for a fight. “What do you mean, ‘never’?” “The kid wanted fifty percent. You believe that shit?” “So? Fifty-fifty. So fucking what? What do you got if you ain’t got nothing? Fifty percent of nothing? Jesus, Ed, he got you the job!” “No, he blackmailed me into the job. There’s a difference.” “Money is money. I don’t see a difference.” She continued trying to goad him into a fight for another half hour before she took her glass of wine into the bedroom and left him alone. Ed just sat there drinking his beer until it was gone and then he drank another. He sighed a lot. And then his phone rang. It was the hospital. Emergency C-section. “I’ve been drinking,” he said, trying to sound more drunk than he was. The voice on the other end told him that no one else was available.

“Where’s Chuckie?” Turned out, Chuckie was already waiting on a couple. Both parents there, ready and willing to take their punishment. Lucky bastard, Ed thought and hung up the phone. He grabbed the keys to the Trinidad off the table and headed out the door, wondering if this shit-ass night would ever end.

8

Back at work, he was greeted by a slew of family members waiting on the expectant mother, all of them looking tired and shell-shocked, with the exception of a boy of about ten. “Are you the baby’s brother?” Ed asked him after the kid had stared at him for the better part of an hour. “Yeah. You’re the Mother Puncher?” “Yep. And the Father Puncher too.” The little kid nodded and kicked Ed in the shin, just below his knee. Ed fell back against the wall, howling while the rest of the family laughed and cheered, suddenly more alive and alert than they’d had been in the entire previous hour. The little shit was wearing football cleats that clanked against the linoleum floor as he ran back to his cheering family, laughing and shouting, “I kicked him! I kicked him for mom and dad!” Ed bent and rubbed his sore shin, lips pressed tightly together. What the hell was wrong with these people? Didn’t they have any respect at all for the government? Didn’t they realize that these laws had been passed by people just like themselves voting for them to be passed? No matter how much he tried, Ed just couldn’t make himself understand the mentality of these selfish people who continued to think breeding was a right that should go unpunished by the rest of society. No matter how many children died of starvation throughout the world every single day, they still managed to convince themselves that their kid would be different, it would be special and entitled to things that all the other kids couldn’t have. Fucking bastards. Ed did his best to ignore them until the doctor came out of the room and gave him the nod. Then he went inside and took care of business, clocking both parents hard enough to remind himself that he should stop hitting people with his right hand. He was pretty sure he was going to need surgery on it sooner rather than later, and that would be a total fucking drag.

But, at least he knew a few good doctors and more than a few good nurses. They would fix him up right when the time came. He just hoped the diagnosis wouldn’t be that he had to find work in some other field. At least, that’s what he thought he hoped. Maybe. Sometimes.

9

By the time the pictures were taken and turned in, the sky was blushing pink on the eastern horizon and Ed just didn’t feel like going home. It was Saturday and Ash would be there and he was in no mood for one of her hangover bitch-fests. He found an empty examining room on the first floor of the hospital, in the walk-in clinic, and curled up and went to sleep. He never even took off his shoes.

10

It was Sandy who shook him awake a few hours later. “Mrs. English is back,” she said. Ed fisted sleep from his eyes and sat up. “You can’t be fucking serious.” “Oh, yeah. Serious as a heart attack. Number 9 is on its way.” “When?” he said, yawning. “Hour, maybe. She said she’s looking forward to seeing you again.” He didn’t doubt it. Mrs. English was one of those rare women who enjoyed being pregnant so much that she just kept doing it. And now she was back again, ready to pop out the 9th brat in about as many years. “Jesus Christ,” Ed said. “Yeah, well, I just wanted to give you a heads up. You probably have plenty of time to hit the cafeteria and get a cup of Joe, if you want.” He snorted. “If I want? Sandy you know me better than that. I live on caffeine.” “I was being facetious.” Laughing, he said, “You know, I don’t think my wife even knows that word.” He instantly felt a pang of guilt for saying it, implying that Ash was none too bright. Sandy gave him a sad chuckle and walked out of the room, probably to check on Mrs. English’s progress. Ed sat there, still as stone for another few minutes before finding the strength to pull himself up and drag his ass down to the cafeteria. He grunted good mornings at the staff, got his free cup of sludge and took it to a table near the windows that looked out on the parking lot. Nothing too exciting to see out there at the moment, and he thought about going out to get a newspaper, but in the end, he just sat sipping the foul coffee and gazing off into space.

Draining the last of the cup, he rose to throw it away when a couple of young guys approached him. They appeared to be in their mid-twenties, both scruffy-faced with greasy hair and clothes and dirt beneath their fingernails. Ed immediately took them for auto mechanics. “Aren’t you Ed Means?” the taller one asked. “Who wants to know?” The tall one slapped the short one’s shoulder. “Dude, I told you it was him.” Shorty regarded Ed evenly, looking him up and down. “You looked bigger on TV.” “Yeah, TV will do that “Hey! That’s no way to be!”

to

you,”

Ed

said,

pushing

past

them.

Ed faced them again. He was still just waking up and not really in the mood to play “famous guy” this morning. “Dude, you fucking sucked,” the tall one said suddenly. “That time you K.O.’d Big Tommy Worthen? Yeah, he gave that to you. They paid him to go down. What do you think about that, Champ?” Ed shrugged. “It’s history, either way.” Laughing, Shorty said, “Mark, remember the time the Champ here got his ass handed to him by Bulldog Travis? Shit, that was some must see TV!” Turning away once again, Ed said over his shoulder, “You boys have a good day now.” He walked towards the trash bins and tossed away his paper cup. He could feel everyone’s eyes burning into his back but he didn’t care. He was beginning to wish he’d gone home last night after all. Then he’d be sitting at his own table, drinking his own coffee and not having to deal with loser rednecks like those two clowns. He’d just stepped out of the cafeteria and into the hall when someone jumped him from behind, landing on his back, causing him to stumble forward. “Fuck,” he muttered, more annoyed than surprised. “Let’s see how tough you are now, Champ,” the tall one snarled into his right ear. Ed could smell booze on the lowlife’s breath. “You a tough guy now, Champ? I hear you beat up women for a fucking living. That how tough you are, old Champeroo?” Shorty came around the front of them, laughing, and slugged Ed in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. The guy on his back—Mark—was tightening his forearm around

Ed’s throat, clinching his windpipe closed. Ed knew he had to remain upright unless he wanted to be kicked with steel-toed workman’s boots for breakfast, and in order to remain upright he needed to breathe. He quickly assessed his options and regretted the decision he was left with. Shorty was coming in for another swing, this time aiming for his face, leaving his own mid-section wide open. Ed took advantage of it and gave the kid a nice hard kidney punch. Shorty yelped, reeled backwards holding his side until he collided with the wall and sat down on his ass. Ed didn’t think he’d be coming at him again, so he spun his body and rammed Mark’s back into the wall just inches from where his friend had landed. Mark grunted, his grip loosened, but he didn’t fall off. Wishing for the first time that he had been a wrestler instead of a boxer, Ed slammed Mark again, harder this time and finally his grip loosened enough for Ed to get a hand under his forearm and twist the asshole around, tossing him to the floor like a sack of laundry. Ed pointed a meaty finger at them. “Don’t get up,” he warned. Shorty looked like he might cry at any moment, but Mark was clearly debating whether or not to rise and give him another go. “Do it and I’ll break your fucking arm,” Ed said, staring him down. It wasn’t until Mark dropped his furious gaze that Ed felt ok to turn his back on them and continue on his way up to maternity to see how Mrs. English was doing. Knowing her, it was probably better than him. When he saw Sandy, she said, “Damn. You look even rougher than you did when I first woke you up.” He shrugged. “Run-in with a few anti-fans. Nothing major.” She shook her head just as she had down in the walk-in clinic. “Mrs. English is gonna go quick. Don’t go far.” “I won’t,” he said. “I’ll be right here.” She smiled and disappeared back into the birthing room. Ed really would have preferred being in the waiting room, leafing through a magazine and relaxing until it was time for him to go in, but experience had taught him that being anywhere near the expectant mother’s family and friends often had bad results. And Mrs. English had a lot of family, though they weren’t nearly as bad as some. He remembered the kick in the shin he’d received the previous day from that little kid, which only reinforced his idea to stay away from the waiting room. However, if the family members

approached the birthing room, there wasn’t much he could do about it. He wanted more coffee. And a shower and shave. And a change of clothes. He gave his armpit a sniff and grimaced. He really needed a shower and fresh clothes. As soon as this job was done, he’d check with Sandy about any other mothers and then rush home and get cleaned up. Maybe brew some coffee while he was in the shower and take a thermos to work. He hoped Ash would be asleep for all this. If not…he shuddered to think. Luckily, that’s when he heard the screaming of a newborn and a few moments later, the doctor emerged, giving him the nod. Ed slowly walked into the birthing room. As usual, Sandy was attending to the crying baby and Mrs. English was sitting up in bed, smiling to beat the band. She was a fat broad with thick dark curly hair and chubby cheeks that seemed rosy whether she’d just given birth or not. “Ed!” she exclaimed happily. “Good to see you again. You’re looking…uh…not so good, actually. You feeling ok?” He returned her smile. “I’m ok Mrs. English. How you doing?” “Right as rain!” she announced proudly. “Another boy. Can you imagine? That’s five now!” Ed said he couldn’t imagine and he really couldn’t. He lived at Envision for a reason. “I’m naming this one Jeremy! All J’s! Nine J’s! Can you imagine?” Still smiling, Ed nodded. “Jeremy is a fine name, Mrs. English.” “It is! A fine name for a fine boy!” “Uh huh.” There was a pause punctuated only by Jeremy’s loud braying and then Mrs. English took a deep breath, released it and said, “Well, I’m ready whenever you are, Ed.” “Ok.” He stepped up to the side of the bed. “Any preference?” “Nope. Same as always. Just not the nose.” “You got it, Mrs. English.” Then he socked her in the eye, trying not to hit her too hard, but hard enough to leave a bruise. Mrs. English gasped in pain but recovered quickly. “That the best you got these days, Ed?” she joked. “You don’t hit like you used to.”

“I try to go easy on people I know.” She laughed and then Sandy brought Jeremy over to her, placing the baby on her ample bosom. Ed sat down at the foot of the bed and watched mother and son for a while, waiting for the shiner to show itself. It took a while, but Ed was happy to wait. The baby gurgled while Mrs. English cooed at him, wiping drool from his chin with a corner of the sheet. Watching them together cheered Ed up somehow, but he couldn’t really say why. He still thought having babies in the current world was sinful but there was something about Mrs. English and her determination to keep doing it for no other reason than that she loved kids. And it was obvious that she was a kind and caring mother. Hell, she was a kind and caring woman. Go figure, Ed thought. A little while later, Mr. English hurried in, saying, “How are you, Barb? You ok?” Ed stepped away for a bit, in order to give them some privacy and let the father examine and say hello to his new son. He figured five or ten minutes would be enough, but now that Mr. English was here, he knew he’d also have to wait for his shiner to show up too, doubling the time he had to spend in here. He hoped no other mothers were waiting to be punched, but he certainly wasn’t going to let an opportunity to punch a father pass him by. When the time came, Mr. English was a good enough sport about it. Not as good as his wife, of course, but no one else was that good. Mr. English climbed into the bed with his wife, little Jeremy perched between them, both parents ginning into the camera as Ed snapped their picture. “Congratulations to you both,” Ed told them before he left them alone. And for once, he was pretty sure he meant it.

11

He found out he had plenty of time to go home for a while and hurried out to his truck, got in and sped along with the windows open so he wouldn’t stink up the cab. On the radio was that familiar feminine voice backed by the familiar soothing jingle as she said, “Envision: It’s a lifestyle.” Ed smiled to himself. “Damn right it is.” He pulled into his driveway ten minutes later, cursing that damn Firebird yet again, got out and began fishing around on his key ring for the one that would open the door. He found it and was about to slide it home when the door swung open of its own accord. Ash stood before him, still wearing her robe, a burning cigarette in one skeletal hand. “Where have you been?” Frowning, he said, “Work. Where the fuck do you think I’ve been?” “You have company.” “Who?” he asked, his frown deepening. “Come see for yourself.” Ed followed her into the house, closing the door behind him, knowing that it would be Drizzle. Damn, he had to remember to tell security that the property was approachable through the northern woods. He walked into the dining room behind his wife and there sitting at his table, in his house, was Bowie. Fucking Bowie. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Ed barked, rushing over to the table. “Ed,” Bowie grinned beneath a fat mustache. Ed suspected the guy fancied himself a Burt Reynolds look-alike, but if he looked like any celebrity it would have to be that weird singer Yanni. “Good to see you again, my friend. How’s the war treating you?” “What are you doing here?” Ed repeated with more fierceness. But he had a feeling he knew. Drizzle.

Bowie laughed and Ed saw with some distress that he was smoking. “Put out that fucking cigarette!” Bowie looked genuinely confused. “Your wife is smoking.” Ed tossed Ash a burning glance before returning his attention to the man seated at his table. “I said, put it out.” Shrugging, Bowie obliged, mashing out the butt in the huge glass ashtray that sat in the middle of the dining room table, much to Ed’s chagrin. “Your little sidekick paid me a visit,” Bowie said. “Drizzle.” “I figured. But he’s not my sidekick. He’s nothing but an obsessed fan.” “That so?” Bowie arched his eyebrows. “I was under the impression that you were business partners.” “Get to the point, Bowie. I’m tired of you stinking up my house.” “I wish you wouldn’t take that attitude with me, Ed. I’m here as a professional courtesy. Making sure I’m not stepping on your toes before I strike up a deal with your boy.” Ed tried to play dumb. “What deal?” Again, that surprised look. “The moonlighting gig. I was sure he told you about it. He was very convincing.” Lips pressed tightly together, Ed said nothing. “Anyway,” Bowie continued, “If you’re not interested in the Dimes Drizzle has lined up…well, hell, I sure could use the money, if you know what I mean. These are tough times for those who can’t gain…shall we say, respectable jobs?” He chuckled a little, implying that Ed had anything but a respectable job. Ed was tired. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now. He doubted he would ever want to be having this conversation, but he definitely didn’t want it now. “Just get out, Bowie. Before I throw your ass out.” “Fine, fine.” Bowie stood, his hands raised in supplication. “No problem, Champ. I just need a yes or no answer from you. Are you working for the kid or not?” “Working for the kid? Are you fucking nuts? I work for the government. That’s who

signs my fucking checks! Who signs yours, Bowie, huh? Who the fuck signs yours?” Ed realized he’d gotten in the other man’s face and was shouting at him. He backed up half a step but refused to give him any more room than that. Bowie gave him a faux-concerned look. “Champ, I think you’re over-reacting. They got you running around in circles up at that hospital, don’t they? Ash here was telling me all about it. And I have to say, I’m very sorry to hear it. But, really, it’s a simple question.” He paused and when he spoke again, his voice had grown hard. “You in business with the kid or not? I’m trying to be respectful here, Means. Yes or no?” “Yes!” Ash shouted from behind Ed. “Yes, he is!” Ed whirled around. “Stay out of this, Ash!” “We need the money,” she cried. “We don’t need it! You just want it! But you’re not the one who has to run all over hell and back punching mothers in the fucking face, are you? Did I tell you last week, they made me punch a 13 year old girl? Huh? Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you that. That’s right. Because it made me fucking sick and I wanted to forget about it!” He stopped, breathing hard and took a second to regain some sense of control. He turned back to Bowie and saw that the man was struggling not to smile. “Something funny, Bowie?” he asked. “No. Not at all. But it’s obvious that your wife is right. The job is getting to you. And I doubt the people you work for would be happy to hear that. Nope, I doubt they’d be happy at all.” That did it. Ed outweighed Bowie by a good 60 pounds and stood several inches taller. He grabbed the other man by his long, hippie fucking pony-tail and began to drag him towards the front door. “You motherfucker,” he roared. “Don’t you ever come to my house again! You hear me? You do and I’ll fucking kill you!” They were almost at the door and Ed didn’t even realize that the smaller man was not struggling or protesting in any way. Had he not been so blinded by rage he would have noticed this little fact and immediately been suspicious. But as it was, he was too consumed and didn’t feel the tip of the knife until it poked through the skin over his highest rib. “Ed, look out!” Ash screamed, too late. Yelping in surprised pain, Ed shoved Bowie away from himself and sent him flying back towards the dining room table. He stared in stunned disbelief as the other man leapt to his feet with the grace of an attacking panther and charged him. Ed immediately went into boxing mode, saw the knife hand as a fast approaching

missile and dodged it, nailing Bowie with an uppercut to the jaw and quickly stepping forward as the other man stumbled back and nailed him again with three rapid-fire left hooks. Bowie doubled over and any nervousness Ed felt immediately evaporated as he continued to pummel the asshole into submission, the knife clattering to the floor. In the end, Bowie was just a crumpled heap, covering his head with hands and bleeding from half a dozen wounds on his face. Ed stood over him, panting. “You wanna fuck around some more, you gutless little prick?” he growled. “You’re fucking with the wrong guy. I warned you. Come here again and I swear to fucking God I will lay you flat and the next thing you’ll see will be demons singing. You got that, fuckface?” Bowie groaned and whimpered. Stepping over him, Ed went into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed 9 for Envision Security. Ash stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, hands to her mouth, eyes wide, hangover forgotten. A couple guys from security showed up less than two minutes later and hauled Bowie away, spouting apologies to both Ed and Ash. When they were gone, Ash approached Ed and touched his side. “You’re bleeding.” He looked down, saw a spot of blood roughly the side of a drink coaster. “Eh. I’ve been hurt worse.” He flexed his right hand, which really did hurt worse. “I need a shower.” He wandered away, heading towards the bathroom and Ash called after him. “You want something to eat? I can make eggs. Maybe fry some potatoes?” Surprised, Ed couldn’t remember the last time she’d offered to cook for him, but he didn’t turn around. “Sounds good,” he said mildly. “Put on some coffee, too, ok?” “Sure thing, baby.” Her reply almost made him stop, turn and look at her. almost. But the call of a hot soothing shower was too strong and far outweighed the odd behavior of his wife at the moment. In the bathroom, he stripped, examined the knife wound and decided it probably didn’t need stitches. He’d tape it up himself once he cleaned it out. Inspection complete, he turned on the shower as hot as it would go and stepped inside. The world melted away and he knew peace for a little while.

12

He ate the meal she’d prepared for him without saying much. Ash sat across from him, not eating, just watching him intently. He thought he remembered that look from a long time ago. Trying not to think too much about it, he concentrated on shoveling the food into his mouth and occasionally grunting his appreciation. When he was finished, she wordlessly cleared away the dishes and refilled his coffee cup. He worked at a piece of potato stuck between two molars and tried not to look directly at her. Eventually, she circled around behind him and ran her fingers through the hair on top of his head. “What you did today…” She trailed off and he felt her nails on the back of his neck. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “It was so sexy. Just like the old days when I would watch you fight.” He swallowed a mouthful of coffee, his eyes widening slightly. “Remember those days, Champ?” Champ? She hadn’t called him that in…hell, he didn’t know how long. The next thing he knew, her tongue trailing along the back of his neck, tracing the path her nails had taken. He shivered, his hand tightening around the coffee mug. She leaned over him, her long hair falling across his chest, and planted a long deep kiss on his mouth. Part of him was disgusted and he felt ashamed of himself for feeling that way about his own wife. But another part—a much stronger part—kissed her back and barely noticed the taste of cigarettes on her tongue. He felt himself rising in his pants and thought, oh the hell with it. Plunging a fist into her hair, he pulled her into him as he stood, both of them moaning against each other’s mouths. And because he knew it would turn her on, just as it had in the beginning, he swung her up and over his shoulder, like Tarzan carrying Jane, and brought her down the hall and into the dim, cool bedroom.

13

When it was over he felt dirty, the way he had after masturbating as a kid. He wanted to sleep, concentrating hard on listening to Ash’s snores and nothing else. This was a method he often used to lull himself to sleep but today it wasn’t working. He supposed due to the recent events in his life, he was just too wired. He couldn’t shake the thought of Drizzle and Bowie working together. All those poor mothers, and probably some poor fathers as well. Wondering what choice he really had in the matter, he considered his options. He knew he could call M.P. Headquarters and report Bowie for operating without a license, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d made that call and a fat lot of good it had done anyone in the past. He secretly suspected the suits liked what Bowie—and other men like him—did. The breeders got punished and they didn’t have to put it on the books. Not to mention the fact that the breeders were, in most cases, being overly punished, thereby really making them think twice before breeding again. Ed knew he couldn’t stand idly by while those two goons ran around beating the shit out of people. He remembered again how Bowie had been known to punch women before they’d even given birth, often directly in the stomach. He just couldn’t allow that—not when there was something he could do about it. With a loud sigh, he resolved to call Drizzle and take him up on his offer. He just hoped it wasn’t too late. With that huge decision made, he found himself drowsy and dropped off to sleep almost at once.

14

He left for work the next day feeling refreshed and relieved. He’d spoken with Drizzle and after a little bit of cajoling on his part, convinced the kid that he was serious and willing to do the moonlighting gig with him. Fifty-fifty, no strings attached. There was no doubt in his mind—it was the right thing to do. Perhaps even the only thing to do, noble and patriotic. At least that’s what he told himself. When he drove up to the hospital, he saw crowds of people on the sidewalk, both directly in front of the hospital and across the street from it. Some of the people were shouting and holding signs. “Oh, great. Not this again.” It was the picketers that so often surrounded the hospital. Ed assumed their restraining orders must have expired and now they were back, harassing everyone going in or coming out of the hospital, even those who were sick or in need of emergency care. He noticed that on the far side of the street were a gang of women who supported the government laws dissuading breeding, though they themselves had had children. They called themselves Mothers Against Mothers and they were known for being quite vigilant in their pursuits. Some of them recognized Ed as he drove up and cheered him on. He winced, knowing that because of that, those opposed now knew he was an MP and would set upon him like a pack of rabid dogs. And sure as shit, that’s exactly what happened. “MOTHER PUNCHER!” They screamed and ran in front of his truck, preventing him from pulling into the hospital lot. “Mother puncher! Bone cruncher! Baby eater! Woman beater!” They repeated their chant over and over while Ed laid on his horn and yelled at them to get the hell out of his way. Shaking signs at him, some with blown-up photographs of badly beaten women glued to them, they refused to budge. Ed revved his engine, inching the truck forward little by little, as much as he dared. Where the fuck was security? Or the police for that matter?

Frustrated, he gave them the finger and revved the engine even louder. “Get out of the goddamn way!” he shouted. “Take it up with the fucking White House, you fucking commies!” Some of the Mothers Against Mothers had dared to cross the street and began screaming and shouting at the others. Then the poking and shoving began. Then, hairpulling, kicking, scratching, punching and an all-out brawl. “Jesus,” Ed muttered. Now he couldn’t even back up; he was completely surrounded by the protesters, though at this point he figured it would be fair to call them rioters. He thumbed open his cell phone and called the maternity desk to tell them what was going on. The desk nurse said they were already aware of it and had called the police but apparently they were tied up at other hospitals all over the city where other riots had broken out. She seemed perplexed that Ed had not heard about it on the news. Ed hung up, slightly more nervous than he had previously been. Did these people know the police were already busy elsewhere? And if so, what was to stop them from storming the hospital? “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He sat chewing his lips for a while, uncertain of how to proceed. For the most part, the rioters were ignoring him now, except for the occasional flying saliva that landed on his windows and obscene taunts. Should I just drive? he asked himself. He figured they’d get out of the way if they thought he really didn’t give a shit if he ran anyone over. But what if he actually did run someone over? He didn’t think he could live with that, not to mention he might end up serving time over it. “Fuck,” he repeated. Scratching his head, he fought with himself over what to do, but then decided he really had no choice. He couldn’t just sit here until they decided to pick up rocks and began hucking them at his truck. They’d probably drag him out and kick him to death eventually. The prospect of death at the hands of an angry mob didn’t much appeal to him, so he slowly began nudging those in front of him with the bumper of his truck. He figured, if it came down to it, the truck was a bigger weapon than anything that they had. He just needed to go for it. He continued believing in this theory, crawling along at a snail’s pace, until the police showed up twenty minutes later. Ed breathed a sigh of relief, though it was still another

twenty minutes before the cops had cleared a path for him to get to his parking place. Getting out of his truck, he assessed the damage to it and felt his face tighten. There were now countless scratches and dings in it that hadn’t been there before. Not to mention it was now in serious need of a washing. Grumbling, he walked into the hospital, hearing the angry shouting fade as he got further away.

15

“Hey, you made it,” Sandy greeted him inside. “Yeah, barely. I thought they were gonna skin me alive.” “They probably would if they could,” she agreed. He nodded. “Anything doing yet?” “We have one woman whose water just broke, but other than that, no rush on anything.” He looked past her down the hall. Someone was standing outside of the birthing room. “That fat guy the father?” Sandy glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t think so. But he’s been here for a while now. Maybe a friend or relative.” “Huh.” Ed pondered this a moment, before saying, “Well, guess I’ll go get a cup of sludge from the caf. You want anything?” “Hmm. Maybe a cinnamon-raisin bagel, if they have any left?” He smiled. “You got it, sister.” She surprised him by standing on her tip-toes and kissing his cheeks. “Thanks, Ed. You’re a doll.” He blushed and walked away fast, eyeing the fat guy as he passed by. He bore a startling resemblance to some old time movie actor, though Ed couldn’t place the actor’s name. Now he knew it would drive him nuts until he remembered it. It was just how his mind worked sometimes, worrying things the way an old nun will worry her rosary beads. It was at the cafeteria counter while he was waiting his turn that it came to him. “Laurel and Hardy,” he blurted, causing everyone to turn and give him curious stares. “Sorry,” he muttered, but inside he was smiling, proud of himself for remembering something that had happened so long before his time. He wondered which was the fat one? Hardy, he thought, though he had no idea if he was right or not. He returned to the nurse’s station and, when he didn’t immediately see Sandy, set the

bagel on the counter. She was probably in with the patient, measuring centimeters or some such nonsense. Eyeing the fat guy again, he decided to go over and strike up a conversation with him. Maybe find out just who the hell he was. But as Ed started walking towards the stranger, the guy saw him coming, turned and began waddling away like a duck. Ed’s eyes narrowed and he increased his pace. He knew that walk. God knew he’d seen it enough times. “Hey, hold up,” he called, knowing perfectly well that the stranger wouldn’t obey. He wasn’t particularly worried though. He knew from experience that pregnant women can’t run worth a damn and it was only a matter of seconds before he was grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around to face him. “Nice mustache you have there, sir,” he said. “Mind if I ask where you get it trimmed?” Large, frightened eyes blinked at him, blue as a summer sky. “Maybe you trim it yourself?” Ed volunteered. When it became apparent that no answer would be forth coming, Ed reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding a cup of coffee and ripped the fake mustache from the woman’s face. “OW!” she cried, reaching to feel her upper lip. He regarded her with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “What the hell are you doing?” “Nothing!” she snapped. “What business is it of yours?” “Well, for starters, I work here.” “I know who you are,” she said coldly. After an unconcerned sip of coffee, he said, “I guess that makes you one up on me. I take it you’re not a fan from my fighting days?” “Take it any way you want to.” “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here? Are you in labor?” She pursed her lips and looked away. “No. Not yet.” “Do you know anyone staying in the hospital? Anyone who works here? Come on—

what’s the story?” “Funny you should phrase it that way,” she said, looking directly into his eyes again. “What way? What are you talking about?” Reaching into a back pocket, she pulled out a man’s wallet and removed a card from it. Wordlessly, she handed the card to Ed, who accepted it, glanced down and then back up again. “What the fuck is this?” “Are you an idiot?” she asked snidely. “It’s a card.” “I can see it’s a card. What’s it for?” “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have known Mother Punchers are illiterate as well as inhumane.” “It says ‘Tea Leaves.’ What the fuck is that? A tea house or something? Because if you haven’t noticed, I’m a coffee man.” “It’s me. And it’s Tee-Uh. Not tea.” “Your name is Tea Leaves?” “TEE UH!” she barked. “Oh, sorry. Your name is TEE-UH Leaves?” He burst out laughing and she snatched the card back. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Tea asked. Still laughing, he said, “So I’ve been told.” She stood there impatiently, waiting for his amusement to subside. When it became apparent that it wasn’t going to, she said, “I’m here to do an expose.” Immediately, he stopped laughing. “What?” “You heard me. Or are you deaf as well as dumb?” “The PC term is mute.” “Whatever. I came here undercover, to see what I could find out about the cruel and unusual practices of this hospital.” Ed made a face at her. “What the hell are you talking about? Everything we do here is

by the book. Maybe you’re thinking of some other hospital.” “I guess maybe I should rephrase then. The cruel and unusual practices of the United States Government.” “Oh,” he said, understanding clearing his face. “You’re one of those.” Tea rolled her pretty blue eyes at him. “I don’t know what one of those is in your book but considering the source, I’ll take it as a compliment.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he drank more coffee. “Why don’t you let me interview you?” she suggested, her tone suddenly friendly. Ed was so surprised, he almost spit coffee in her face. Choking, he said, “No way. Uhuh. Absolutely not.” “Why not? What do you have to hide?” “Nothing! Listen, I think you’d better leave now, Miss Leaves.” The reality of what he’d said got him cracking up again. “You’re very immature,” she told him. “How old are you anyway?” “Old enough to be your daddy, I’m betting. And thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.” “There’s no way you’re old enough to be my father.” “No? How old are you?” “I asked you first.” “Forty,” he said straight-faced. “Well, maybe you are old enough, but barely. I’m twenty-two.” “And dressed like a fucking clown. A guy clown. What’s up with that?” “I’ll answer all your questions if you answer mine.” He considered it for a moment before coming to his senses. “Ok, that’s it. Like I said, it’s time for you to…uh…vacate the premises. Let’s go.” Ed took her by the arm and began to gently lead her towards the elevator.

“Are you aware that there is a riot going on outside?” she asked. “So?” “So…it’s dangerous out there. Do you want me to be burned at the stake or what? Would that satisfy your blood lust?” “My blood lu—? Hey! Now you’re just being insulting.” “Ya think?” She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “I am not going out there with those rabid animals foaming at the mouth for a taste of pregnant meat.” Ed rubbed his temple. Another one of his famous headaches was knocking at the door of his skull. “Are you even really pregnant?” There was a long moment when he didn’t think she was going to reply at all, but then she said, “One answer for one answer.” “No! I told you, I’m not playing that game. No interviews!” “Why not? If you’re so innocent in what you do here, then why not take this chance to tell the world?” “The world? Just who is that you work for?” She hesitated then blurted, “Ok. The people who attend Orwell University.” “Ah. You’re a student.” “I’m also a human rights activist and a militant feminist.” “You don’t say?” His voice was utterly bland. “I do. What can you proudly proclaim yourself to be?” Still rubbing his temple, he said, “Patience. It’s a virtue, you know.” This time it was he who had stumped her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and refused to meet his gaze. “Ok, listen,” he said. “I don’t give a shit if you’re pregnant or not. You can stay in the waiting room or the cafeteria until that crap going on outside blows over. It shouldn’t be too long; the cops are already here. But…I don’t want you bothering anyone. No questions for your little school newspaper. Deal?” “Freedom of Speech. First amendment rights. The American Constitution. Any of these

things ringing any bells for you?” Ed killed his coffee and crumpled the cup in his fist. “I need more coffee. Walk with me to the cafeteria?” “Isn’t that downstairs?” “Yeah.” “How do I know you’re not going to rape and kill me the second you get me alone on the elevator or in the stairwell? Do you think I’m an idiot?” Eyebrows raised, he said, “Well, I didn’t think you were an idiot until just now.” “Ha ha. You’re very witty for a woman beater.” He bristled. He hated when people called him that, though he supposed the reason for his hating it might be that it was a little too close to the truth for comfort. “Fine,” he said. “Do whatever the fuck you want. Talk to anyone you want. It’s not my business. I’m not security. Just stay the hell away from me.” Continuing on to the elevator, he was aware that she was now following him. He punched the “down” button and said, “Go away.” “What are you hiding?” she asked. “A fucking uzi. Now get lost.” “Wow. That’s quite an attitude you’re copping there. Did I hit a nerve?” “You know that patience I was just bragging about? Well, I’m about to lose it, so take a fucking hike.” The elevator door slide open and he stepped inside. To his dismay, so did she. “Motherfucker,” he muttered as the door slid closed again. “Seriously,” she said. “I want to know why you’re so sensitive about your job.” “I’m not sensitive about my job. I just don’t appreciate being called names. Do you?” Looking up at the glowing numbers, she said, “I guess not. But I don’t punch women for a living either.” “I don’t punch just women. I punch men too!”

“Oh, so that makes it all right?” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “On average, how many women do you punch in a year or even a day, as opposed to how many men?” Ed’s face was beginning to burn and he realized how tightly his jaw was clenched. He tried to relax it, knowing that the habit contributed to his headaches. As if he’d answered her, Tea asked, “And what do you suppose the reason for those numbers is?” “Because most men are cowards,” he said tightly. The elevator opened and they both stepped out. From here it was just a short walk to the cafeteria. “Thanks for not raping me,” Tea said, trying to match his long stride. He stopped abruptly and faced her. “Are you trying to get punched? Because, you know, I do some moonlighting on the side.” “So, you’ll hit anyone who pays you in addition to those who run in terror from you?” He raised a finger to her face, ready to shout at her. But he thought better of it, dropped the finger and said, “I’m really tired of this conversation. Please go away.” “No,” she said defiantly. Ed couldn’t believe it. Who the fuck was this chick and why was she harassing him so much? Flustered, he began walking towards the caf again, and again Tea remained on his heels. “So, men are cowards, huh? Tell me a little bit about that.” “Are you a shrink or something?” “Not till graduation. Come on—spill it. I promise I won’t declare you a traitor to your gender.” “Thanks for that,” he said sarcastically. At the caf counter, one of the staff asked Ed if the gentleman was with him. In unison, Ed said “No,” while Tea said, “Yes.” The cafeteria worker gave them both a strange look and Ed finally said, “I mean, yeah…he’s…with me.”

When they both had coffee from a fresh pot, they carried their cups to the only vacant table in the middle of the room and sat down across from each other. Ed sipped his coffee and said, “You look ridiculous.” “Fooled you, didn’t I?” “For about two seconds.” Something smashed against the outside of the nearest window, causing everyone to jump and a few people to scream. Startled, Ed splashed hot coffee into his lap and began cursing a blue streak. “What was that?” someone yelled. “Was it a bullet?” Pandemonium broke out, people scattering and running for the exit. A brave soul went to the window and cautiously peered out. “It’s okay,” he said. “It was just an egg.” But Ed and Tea were the only ones who heard him since neither of them had moved. They sat still, watching the chaos around them, Ed occasionally dabbing at his damp crotch with a paper napkin. “Damn protesters,” he said. “The natives are getting restless,” Tea agreed, though she didn’t seem worried in the slightest. Ed had to hand it to her. She was definitely a little spitfire. Even if she was dressed like a fool. The guy who had looked out the window glanced nervously over his shoulder at them and announced, “Here come a few more eggs.” As if on cue, small grenades of yellow gore exploded against the thick glass and dribbled down like snot mixed with cartilage. Recognizing the guy as one of the orderlies, Ed asked, “How many of them are out there?” The orderly shrugged. “Too many to count. I think I’d better go call my wife. I have a feeling we might not be going anywhere tonight.” With that, he left the cafeteria, patting himself down, perhaps searching for his cell phone. “Well, that’s reassuring,” Tea said and sipped her coffee. “Guess you might be stuck with me.”

Stifling a groan, Ed drank in moody silence. “This happens a lot, huh?” she asked. “Now and then. It usually blows over pretty quick. Their bark is worse than their bite.” “I’ve watched this kind of thing on the news before. Never actually participated in a riot though.” “Yeah, well…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he shut up. A few people started drifting back into the cafeteria, either people who realized they’d over-reacted or people who weren’t there during the initial bombing. Ed nodded to them in greeting and jerked his thumb towards the windows. “Egging the windows again,” he said. His phone rang, startling him once more. He spilled more coffee, swore again, then answered, already knowing it was Sandy. “Hey, Sandy. What’s up?” “She’s getting close,” the nurse told him. “Where are you?” “Needed coffee.” “Oh. Well, you’d better get back up here, just it case the damn thing falls out. Turns out this woman is on her fifth kid.” “Okie dokie. On the way.” He pushed the END button and stood up. “Duty calls,” he told Tea and walked away. He was unsurprised when she followed him. He was beginning to feel like a rambunctious little shit of a puppy had claimed him as her person. “Baby on the way?” she asked. “What else?” “How should I know? Maybe a sick kid got out of line and they’re calling you to come beat him up.” Ed let the comment slide. He was quickly learning to ignore this wise-ass. “You’re kind of a dick, you know,” she said. “It’s no wonder they hired you as a Mother Puncher.”

“Yeah. No wonder.” She trailed him into the elevator, her too-big shoes clopping noisily. He wondered what she looked like under that ridiculous Hardy suit, if she had a good body…if she was pregnant. Then he gave himself a mental punch in the head for even wondering about her figure. What was wrong with him? She was half his age. Sandy was waiting for him outside the birthing room. She gave Tea a double-take, then returned her attention to Ed. “Might have been a false alarm. Her contractions have apparently stopped.” Ed nodded, sipped his coffee and hoped Sandy didn’t notice the stain at his crotch, but of course, she probably did. Unlike Tea, Ed assumed she was too polite to mention it. “I’ll be in the waiting area,” he told Sandy and started off with the new puppy at his side. He’d barely gone ten steps when the woman in the birthing room screamed. Ed spun on his heels but Sandy was already inside, working whatever magic she worked with these women. “Guess maybe I’ll wait here instead,” he said, more to himself than to Tea. There was a loud thud and another scream. Sandy’s scream. Ed never even knew he’d dropped his coffee. He ran to the room, shoved open the door, saw Sandy on the floor and started to rush towards her. Before he could even fully register what was happening, his head and his feet switched positions and then he was on his back, staring at the ceiling, a large knot already forming on the back of his skull. “What the…Sandy!” He struggled to sit up, slipped back to the floor again. The intense pain in his head made him nauseous and his confusion grew, his heart leaping in his ribcage. Instead of sitting up, he decided just to turn his head and see what he could see. But his hair felt weird and he had a momentary instant of panic, thinking he’d cracked his head open and was oozing brains all over the linoleum. But then he realized his hands felt gooey too. The first thing that came into his head was eggs. Someone had dropped an egg on the floor. He held his hand up in front of his face and saw that it was covered in a thick blue slime. Frowning, he sniffed it. It smelled like dish soap. To his left, Sandy groaned, sitting up slowly, staring down at the blue goo all over her

peach-colored scrubs. Up in the bed, the pregnant woman began to laugh.

16

Tea made her way gingerly into the room and knelt down beside him. “You okay, Ed?” She had to ask the question rather loudly to be heard over the maniacal laughter of the patient. “Yeah,” he said. “Sick to my stomach though.” “I’m not surprised. I heard your head hit the floor. It sounded gross. I guess you might have a concussion or something. Good thing you work in a hospital, huh?” “Yeah, good thing.” He managed to get himself into a sitting position and looked over at Sandy who was grabbing the side of the bed and trying to stand. Her feet kept sliding out from under her and back to the floor she went, landing on her ass. “It’s like trying to walk on ice,” Tea said. “Be careful.” Ed ignored her and shouted at the pregnant woman. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch! You could have killed us!” This statement of fact only caused her to laugh harder. She was holding her bountiful belly, tears streaming down her apple cheeks. “You just wait till you drop that brat,” Ed went on. “I’m gonna punch you like you’ll never forget!” It took Ed several times of trying before he managed to stand up, even with the help of Tea, who gripped the counter with one hand and tried to help him keep his balance with the other. “How come you’re not falling down?” he asked when he was finally up. “Grew up in Chicago. lots of ice.” “Ed?” Sandy said. “Can I get a hand here?” Getting Sandy up was another comedy of errors but together Ed and Tea managed to do it on the fifth or sixth try. Once she was standing, Sandy glared at the pregnant woman and gave a look of disgust at the blue dish soap that covered them all. “She must have used a dozen bottles of this stuff.”

“Yeah,” Ed agreed, trying to flick the goo from his fingers. “You ever have someone do this before?” “Nope. New one on me.” “I’m gonna knock her block off,” Ed grumbled. “My head feels like someone hit it with a bat.” “Do you guys get hazard pay?” Tea asked. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Sandy said, rubbing a bruise on her forearm. Ed’s cell phone rang. He looked down at his pocket, dismayed, not wanting it to get gooey. “I’ll let voice mail pick it up,” he said. Sandy eyed the pregnant woman and said, “I’m gonna have to get her to a new room.” “Don’t bother!” the woman cried with delight. She pointed at Ed, still laughing, “Lord, we got you good, you son-of-a-bitch! My water ain’t even broke yet!” To Sandy she said, “Clean that shit up off the floor so I can get out of here without breaking my neck or I’ll sue your sorry asses!” The three of them stared at her, expressions of disbelief and dismay on their faces. “Can she do that?” Tea asked. Almost sounding bored, Sandy said, “I’ll go call an orderly.” Very carefully, holding on to everything she could, she managed to get to the doorway without falling down. “Ed, keep an eye on her, will you?” “Sure.” After Sandy had left, the woman abruptly stopped laughing and gazed at Ed warily. His phone began to ring again. He ignored it. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?” Tea asked. “What if it’s something important?” “I doubt it. Besides, it’s a new phone. I don’t want it to get sticky.” The three of them watched each other in silence for a while, until Tea broke it by announcing, “I can’t stay here. This chick is giving me the creeps.” “Welcome to my world,” Ed told her. “We can wait in the hall.” Slip sliding away, they made their way out of the room safely.

“I think I’m getting the hang of walking on that shit,” Ed said proudly. “For your sake, I hope no one is ever that imaginative again.” “Good point.” His cell rang again. He frowned down at his pocket while Tea looked at him expectantly. “It must be something important,” she said. Ed glanced at her, suspicious. “You have a crystal ball in that ridiculous suit?” “No, I just know that whenever someone rings your phone like that, it’s usually for a reason.” He scratched his forehead, then his ear. He felt itchy all over and desperately wanted a shower. All he needed at this point was the water—no soap required. In his pocket, the phone continued to ring. He was being to suspect it was Drizzle. Only that little dweeb would be so persistent. “Where the fuck is that orderly?” he growled. “I thought you said you were patient?” “I lied.” “I figured. They’re probably busy cleaning egg off the side of the building or something.” “Hmm.” Ed hadn’t thought of that. He peered back into the birthing room. The pregnant woman hadn’t moved; she was still in the bed, peering at him with sullen eyes. “She’s not going anywhere. I’m gonna go wash my hands.” “Good idea. Mine are gross too. Can I come?” “To the men’s room?” She made a disgusted face. “You wish.” “Oh, yeah. I’d probably rape you, right?” “Stranger things have happened.”

He grunted and together they cruised down the hall to the restrooms and briefly parted ways. He was drying his hands on a paper towel when his phone rang again. This time he pulled it from his pocket and checked the display screen. Drizzle. Of course. Flipping it open, he said, “Now is not a good time.” “Man, it’s not a good time anywhere.” “You know there’s a riot going on outside the hospital right now?” “Yeah, I heard, but there are riots going on all over the place.” “What do you want me to do about it? I’m at fucking work! Don’t tell me you found a bitch giving birth to a litter of pups behind some Dumpster and you want me to come take care of it, because I’m not in the mood. Not to mention, I couldn’t get out of here right now if I wanted to.” “Well, you better find a way, man, because the mob is headed straight for your house.” Ed paused, his head pounding. “What?” “Envision: It’s a lifestyle. Remember? Your house?” He whirled to face himself in the mirror. “What the fuck are you talking about, Drizzle?” “A Dime. I got a call from a Dime, man. I got a call from a chick who got a call from a chick who got a call.” Ed waited, listening. Drizzle said, “The Dimes are getting dropped on you, man. On all the Mother Punchers. They’re coming for you.” Rubbing his stubble with his free hand, Ed said, “Well, I’m right here. What are they going to Envision for?” “Not sure. But Ash is there, isn’t she?” He checked his watch, tried to remember what day it was. The men’s room door swung open and Tea peeked in. “Is it safe?” Ed ignored her. Into the phone he said, “Yeah, I think she has a late shift at the station

tonight. So she’s probably there. But, Drizzle, there’s no way anyone could get to the house. Envision has guards, remember?” “Guards didn’t stop me.” Tea came into the rest room and leaned against a sink, trying to read Ed’s face. Pacing, Ed tried to think. It was hard with the way his head was aching. “Champ?” Drizzle said. “Yeah, I’m thinking. What?” “Word on the street is that Bowie is leading the charge.” “What the fuck?” he shouted. “Are you sure?” “I’m just telling you what I heard.” “That motherfucker.” Then another thought occurred to him. “Are you just fucking with me, Drizzle? Because if you are—” “No way, man. What kind of a scum do you think I am?” Ed was tempted to say “one of the lowest” but he bit his tongue. Instead, he said, “I told Bowie that I’d do that moonlighting gig with you. That must have been what pissed him off. That and the ass whipping I gave him.” “No shit? Really? You didn’t tell me that part” “Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “Man, I hate that fucker.” “Speaking of the moonlighting gig, I’ve already got a few leads. Did you know there’s something like that…uh…what did they call it? Freedom Train or something? For the slaves back in the day?” “The Underground Railroad?” “Yeah, that’s it man! An Underground Railroad for the preggies. Bet the guys in the White House would give out medals for uncovering something that big. Supposed to run the whole length of the country.” “I’m guessing the guys in the White House already know about it,” Ed said absently. “Can we please stay on one subject at a time, Drizzle?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, man.” “Okay. So, you and me, we’re square, right? No hard feelings?” “It’s hip to be square, man!” Drizzle laughed at his own joke. “Was that a yes?” “Yeah. Absolutely. We’re totally square, man. You’re my hero, remember?” “Uh huh. Okay, then. Where are you now?” “Nowhere special. Just driving around looking for some riot action. I figure maybe there’s gonna be looting and shit, like those LA riots I learned about in history class in high school. I have my camcorder right here, in case I find anything juicy.” “Go to Envision, Drizzle. I’ll meet you there. Try to get to my house. If the guard doesn’t let you in, make a run for it on foot. If he catches you, don’t worry, I’ll be there soon.” “Uh…okay. But, Champ?” “What?” “What am I supposed to do when I get there?” Ed thought about it. He had no idea. “You have any weapons?” “No, man. Just the camcorder, like I said.” “Well, I guess that might come in handy. Maybe you could swing it if you had to.” “Swing it?” Drizzle sounded worried. “Swing it at who?” “The fucking mothers. Who else?”

17

Ed ended the call and told Tea what was going on. When he finished, he said, “I gotta get home.” “Can I come?” But Ed was already pushing his way through the bathroom door, mentally kicking himself for even wasting the time it took to explain everything to the girl. Together, he and Tea hurried to the exit that led out to the parking lot. Wisely, he stopped and peered out the little square window before opening the door. There were people in the parking “Motherfucker!” he growled. “My truck!”

lot

vandalizing

the

vehicles.

Tea pushed him aside, stretched her neck and looked out. “Is that the employee’s lot?” “Yep.” “They’re being so quiet.” “What do you mean?” “I mean, listen. When have you ever heard of a quiet riot?” “Uh…” “Exactly. They’re doing things like spraying painting the cars, popping the hoods, ripping out wires, slashing the tires. Shit like that. They’re not smashing windows and bashing the bodies with sledgehammers.” “So the fuck what?” Ed demanded. “Damage is damage. Who cares if they’re being quiet about it? They probably just didn’t want us to hear them from inside the building.” “Exactly,” Tea said. Ed gave her a blank stare. “If they don’t want anyone inside to hear, then it must mean that they want everyone who leaves the building to be caught by surprise.”

“That’s stupid. All we have to do is look out the window, like we just did. Bang. There goes the surprise.” Tea frowned. “Doesn’t it seem weird to you, though?” “I don’t know. I only know I have to get to my truck and get home.” “Well, going out there right now seems like a really bad idea to me.” He glanced out the window again, trying to count how many people there were and found that he couldn’t. His line of sight only showed him a small sliver of the parking lot and in that sliver he could see about eight people, both men and women, though mostly women. He couldn’t see his own truck at all, but he knew it was nearby and had probably sustained quite a bit of damage, especially since the assholes had seen him drive up in it in the first place. Hell, for all he knew, they’d gained entry into the employee’s parking lot for the sole purpose of trashing his truck. Maybe all the other cars were just collateral damage, something for the rioters to do until they got their hands on some actual meat. Most likely, his meat. “Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I have a car,” Tea said. He looked at her. “Where is it?” “Visitor’s parking.” “Let’s go.”

18

They raced from one side of the hospital to the other, dodging doctors, nurses, patients, orderlies, visitors and various members of the cleaning staff. Tea ran holding her shoes in one hand so she wouldn’t trip and fall on her face. No one they passed looked twice at them. The entire hospital seemed on the verge of panic, knowing they were surrounded by an angry mob and had virtually no way to escape unscathed. When they arrived at the front of the hospital, they had no choice but to stop running. The waiting area around the check-in counter was wall to wall people, all of them fearfully peering over each other’s shoulders to see outside. Ed pushed his way through to see out the huge sliding glass doors. More people, mostly women, stood in the visitors parking area, facing the building and staring back through the glass at the people inside. “They’re just standing there,” Tea said, coming up beside Ed. “Creepy. Why aren’t they just coming in?” “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe they’re like vampires and have to be invited in.” Ed almost laughed, but when he glanced at the girl, he saw that she was serious. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “They’re not vampires.” “How do you know?” “Well, they’re out in the daytime, aren’t they?” “True. But maybe they’re impervious to sunlight. Maybe they can stand it, but they don’t have any energy to attack during the day. So, they just keep guard, waiting for night.” “Yeah,” Ed said, rolling his eyes. “I bet that’s it.” “It’s a theory,” she said.

“Yeah. A lame theory. Where’s your car?” She pointed. “Right over there. Beside that Hummer.” “The red Volkswagen?” “Yeah, why? You have a thing against Germans too?” Ed didn’t reply. He just didn’t see the point in arguing about the superiority of American-made vehicles at the moment. “We have to go right past those people to get to it.” “You think they’ll attack anyone who goes out there?” “Not sure. But I am pretty damn sure they’ll attack me.” “Maybe they don’t know you’re still here.” “They know.” Tea studied the figures outside. “How can you be sure?” He demonstrated by knocking on the glass. When a dozen pair of eyes found him, he flipped them the bird. One of them pointed and screamed, “MOTHER PUNCHER!” “See?” “Well, of course they know now. Dumb ass.” “They knew anyway.” “If you say so.” More people outside were taking up the Mother Puncher chant now and Ed dragged Tea away from the doors. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get to your car.” “Well, you’re not going without me, if that’s what you’re implying.” “I wasn’t implying anything. Stop being so paranoid.” “I’m not paranoid!”

Ed filled his lungs with air and then released it in a long slow whoosh. “I have an idea,” Tea said, her eyes suddenly bright with excitement. “Yeah? What is it?” She pointed to herself. Ed raised his eyebrows and waited. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “You wanna give me a piggy-back?” “No,” Tea groaned. “Look at me.” “I am looking at you.” “What do you see?” “A weird pregnant girl dressed in a guy’s black suit.” She smiled proudly. “I’m not pregnant.” “Oh, sorry. A weird fat girl dressed in a guy’s black suit.” “Very funny. I’m not fat either. Get it?” “Soooo…you’re wearing a costume.” “Exactly.” Ed sighed again. “I don’t have time for games, Tea. My house is probably being burned to the ground right now.” “I’m in disguise!” she blurted. “Okay.” She shook her head, exasperated. “We need to find you a disguise.” He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to yell at her. She was only trying to help. But, in the end, he yelled anyway. “Just where the fuck do you think I’m gonna find a disguise around here?” Giving him a wounded look, she said, “You could dress up like a nurse.”

“Yeah? And wear a bag over my head? The nurses wear scrubs, in case you haven’t noticed. Not very effective as a disguise.” “Well, you come up with an idea then.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “This blows.” They watched the people around them for a while. A minute passed. Then another. Suddenly, Ed snapped his fingers. “I got it. We could snatch an ambulance.” “People really do that?” Tea asked doubtfully. “I thought it was something they could only get away with in the movies.” “What’s life but a movie that hasn’t been filmed yet?” She scrunched up her nose. “Did you really just say that?” “Come on. Let’s go check it out.” Then they were going back the way they had come, heading for Emergency. “I sure am getting my exercise today,” Tea puffed, jogging along behind Ed. “I had no idea hospitals were so good for cardio.” When they got to Emergency, they were disappointed to see that it was just as bustling as everywhere else in the hospital. “Did everyone get sick all at once?” Ed asked. He didn’t wait for a reply, hurrying over to the entrance to see if there were any ambulances outside. Not one. “Fuck!” He shoved his way over to a nurse he’d never seen before and asked where they all were. “Out on calls. They can’t keep up. They’re getting a new one every couple of minutes. Why?” He ran a hand down his scraggly face. “No reason. Just wondered.” Once the nurse moved away, Tea said, “We can just wait here until one gets back.” “No, it was a stupid idea anyway. I don’t know what I was thinking.” “I think it was a pretty good idea,” she disagreed. “If we were to snatch one, we could be signing someone’s death warrant. I don’t want

that on my hands.” “Well…what then?” Ed felt defeated. He was stuck here, helpless to do anything about what was probably happening at his house, though he didn’t want to think about the specifics. “I’m gonna kill that fucking Bowie.” Tea tilted her head. “Who?” “Never mind.” “I think we should just go back to my first idea.” “What? That I dress up like a nurse? That would never work. It’s not enough of a disguise and everyone knows my face.” She spent some time pulling and yanking her lower lip as if it were taffy, her eyes on Ed but her mind clearly elsewhere. Then she blinked and was with him again. She grinned and Ed was struck by how pretty she was. Beautiful, even. He had to shake his head to clear it and listen to what she was saying. When she was finished, he wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he had to admit he didn’t have a better one. Grim-faced, he said, “What the hell. Let’s give it a whirl.”

19

In the nurse’s locker room, they pulled open lockers, shoving things aside that would be of no use to them. They’d searched about a dozen when Tea said, “Ed.” The seriousness of her voice caused him to turn around. “What?” “Check this out.” He crossed the room and when she stepped back from the locker, he saw a big trash bag on the floor inside it. He looked at her quizzically. “Look inside it.” Ed leaned down and opened the bag. Inside it was a bunch of empty dish soap bottles. His stomach did a summersault and when he glanced at the shelf in the locker what he saw there didn’t make him feel any less queasy. Several small canisters of pepper spray lined up just as neat as you please. “What the fuck?” He swung the locker door closed so he could read the name on the outside of it: S. PALMETTO. He fell back a step. “Oh, Jesus.” “Palmetto,” Tea read aloud. “Like the cockroach?” “What?” Ed felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Haven’t you ever heard of Palmetto bugs? I guess they’re really big cockroaches that can fly. Florida is supposed to be infested with them.” He put a hand against his chest, as if he was experiencing pain there and the truth of the matter was, he was. “Looks like you busted me, Eddie.” Ed and Tea whirled to see Sandy rounding the corner, walking purposefully towards them. “You did all this to me?” Ed’s voice was shaky. “All this time you were helping them hurt me?” “Not enough, Ed,” she said coldly. “We were never able to hurt you enough. You’re like a goddamn bull. There doesn’t seem to be any stopping you. But this might.”

Suddenly, she lunged for him and he caught a glimpse of something in her hand but couldn’t tell what it was. He threw up his arm across his face, to protect himself, which was bad form—very bad form—he should have known better. What was he thinking, leaving himself open like that? Something stung his elbow—a knife?—Whatever it was, it turned his legs to Jello and then he was going down, all jittering. He thought of eggs frying and he heard a woman scream. Then he was on his back on the floor, twitching uncontrollably and he had a terrible fear that he was going to piss himself. A sack of some sort fell on top of him, hindering his twitching. His right hand—his bad hand—shook the worst. It stuck out from under the sack, flopping around on the floor. He could see it out of the corner of his eye and for some reason this made him want to cry. “Ed? Ed!” Tea’s face came into view, looking scared, short dark hair framing her features. She still looked beautiful. “Ed, snap out of it!” She slapped him across the face, once, twice, three times. “Ouch,” he coughed. “Knock it off.” “Yeah, not so fun when you’re the one being hit, is it?” The comment stung him more than the slapping had. He tried to sit up and she grabbed him by his wrists, pulling as hard as she could. “You really are an ox,” she said when he was in a seated position. “Are you okay?” He was feeling his body, especially his elbow. “I think so. What did she hit me with?” “This.” Tea held up a taser, then gestured with it. Ed saw Sandy twitching on the floor. “Zapped her a good one in the neck. Hope it doesn’t kill her.” Ed still felt weird, like there was electricity buzzing around in his veins. “I can’t believe it. I thought she was my friend.” “Well, I guess you thought wrong. But look at the bright side. This little gadget could come in handy. Come on—get up.” He didn’t see any bright side. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so betrayed, and knowing that later, when all this was over, he’d feel more angry than hurt and maybe even more stupid than angry, it still didn’t diminish the ache in his chest. Getting to his

feet, he looked down at Sandy. “Should we just leave her like that?” Tea considered the question. “We could tie her up, I guess. Or just keep zapping her.” “Let’s find something to tie her up with,” he said. He didn’t think he could stomach zapping her repeatedly with the taser unless it was in self-defense. They found panty-hose and bras and tied her up with those. As an afterthought, Tea stuck someone’s dirty sock in the nurse’s mouth to keep her from shouting for help and causing them further trouble. Once she was securely tied, they dragged her to the back of the locker room where the laundry bins were, lifted her up and tossed her inside one of them. A bunch of dirty scrubs and towels went in on top of her. “That ought to keep her quiet for a while,” Tea said. She leaned over the laundry bin and shouted, “Maybe this will teach you that violence only begets violence!” Ed found himself feeling grateful to her. She’d actually managed to get a smile out of him.

20

A little less than an hour later and they were bravely putting their new plan into action. It was Tea who dressed as a nurse, wearing peach scrubs too big for her but they didn’t think anyone would notice with all the commotion going on. In front of her, she pushed a wheelchair in which Ed sat, his entire head and hands wrapped in thick gauze, only his eyes and lips showing. A blanket covered the lower half of his body under which was the belly portion of Tea’s fat suit. Anyone who studied his chest would see the top half of a flowery maternity dress beneath which huge breasts protruded, eagerly awaiting the milking that most certainly was in their future. In reality, the breasts were the small pillows always found on examining room tables, bunched up into balls that kept their shape with the help of surgical tape. Tea wheeled the chair up to the sliding glass doors where Ed had recently flipped off the angry mob. “We’re never gonna get away with this,” Ed said, his voice muffled. “We have to try,” she replied. “And just be quiet. You’re a pregnant burn victim. You’re in no mood to speak. In fact, it might be best if you just pretend to be asleep.” “How will you get me in the car if I’m asleep?” It took a while for her to answer. “Good point. You’re awake, but you still can’t talk.” “Won’t they think it’s weird that the nurse is driving off with a pregnant burn victim?” “I have no idea. But, you’re being transferred to a facility better equipped to handle your injuries. And besides, all the ambulances are out on calls. I’m going above and beyond the call of duty. Maybe dropping you off at another hospital on my way home from work.” “You’re a regular Florence Nightingale.” “A what?” “Never mind. Why is a nurse parked in the visitor’s parking lot?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Stop asking so many questions.” “I just want to know my part.” “Okay. You’re part is to sit there and play shut the fuck up.” “This isn’t gonna work.” “Probably not with that attitude.” “Jesus.” “Yeah, good idea. Mumble a prayer or something. Pretend to be delirious. But make sure you do it in a high squeaky voice.” Ed groaned miserably. “Let’s just get it over with.” Without warning him, Tea yelled over to the nurse at the front desk. “Open up! Can’t you see this woman needs a better hospital!” The nurse glowered at them, but unlocked the door long enough for them to slip through it. Pushing the wheelchair fast, Tea made a beeline for her car, wheeling through the crowd. “Oh my goodness!” A woman gasped, stepping in front of them. She held a sign that said “PUNCH A MOTHER PUNCHER TODAY!” “What happened to this poor woman? Did the Mother Puncher do this?” “Uh…no,” Tea said. “It was an accident in…uh..the boiler room.” Ed flinched, knowing they were doomed. “The boiler room?” The woman questioned. “What was she doing down there?” “Uh….hiding. From the Mother Puncher.” “Oh my word! Did you all hear that? This poor woman was hiding from the Mother Puncher and got burned! You poor, poor woman!” She bent forward and patted Ed’s knee. “Good for you, though, I say. Good for you!” Ed nodded, wondering if he was going to have a heart attack. “Make some room, people,” Tea commanded. “This woman needs emergency treatment!”

“Are they refusing to treat her in there?” the woman asked, still blocking the way. “I bet they are. An accident of this nature. They’re probably already saying it was her own fault and calling up their fancy lawyers!” A crowd had gathered around them and Ed could feel sweat trickling down his side. He shivered involuntarily. Whispers were moving through the crowd, murmurs of “She was hiding from the Mother Puncher.” “What a shame!” “We have to make them pay!” “We’ll give that bastard what’s coming to him!” Tea was inching the wheelchair forward. “Please, people. Make way. All the ambulances are gone and I have to get this woman to another hospital.” “She must be in terrible pain.” “She is,” Tea confirmed. “She’s very traumatized. That Mother Puncher in there swore he was going to punch her anyway, burns or no burns!” A gasp went through the crowd and then it was as if a switch had been thrown. All of a sudden they were enraged and rushed passed Tea and Ed, in an attempt to storm the hospital. Looking over her shoulder at the people pounding on the glass, Tea said, “Oops.” “Just get us to the fucking car!” Ed hissed. Tea didn’t hesitate. She broke into a run, pushing the wheelchair along at an alarming speed. The reached the Volkswagen and, once they confirmed that the mob was paying no attention to them, Ed leapt from the wheelchair and scuttled into the car, squeezing his huge bulk inside with a wheezy intake of breath. Getting behind the wheel, Tea slammed her door and locked it. Ed did the same on his side, and she started the engine and peeled out, burning rubber. Ed didn’t see a single person in the crowd turn to watch them go.

21

Tea laughed loudly, slamming her hand against the steer wheel. “Oh my fucking God!” she squealed with delight. “Can you believe we just did that? They bought it! Are we good or what? Oh my God, what idiots!” She continued on that way for the entire ride, with Ed occasionally interrupting to give her directions. When they neared the turnoff, Ed said, “Drive right up to the gate.” Tea looked in amazement at the long brick wall with gold lettering that surrounded most of the community. “You live at Envision?” “It’s a lifestyle,” he said. “It sure is, but not the one I imagined from the ads.” They pulled up to find one side of the huge cast-iron gate hanging crookedly from its post. It looked as if someone had rammed through it with a tank. Ed felt sick to his stomach again. The guard shack was empty as they drove by, thumping over a plastic garbage can that had been thrown into the driveway, the garbage strewn everywhere over the manicured lawns. “What happened here?” Tea asked softly. He didn’t respond, but the deeper they drove into the community, the more obvious the answer became. Residents, some of whom Ed recognized, wandered around in a daze, looking at their previously beautiful half-million dollar homes, vandalized. There were smashed windows, doors kicked in, profanities spray painted across cars, mailboxes kicked over. Gardens had been ripped up, flowers and shrubs tossed every which way. They passed a large burning oak, the fire just beginning to die down. “Whatever it was, I think we missed it,” Tea said. “Look!” Ed pointed to one house, a message five feet tall, sprayed across its front,

windows and all. The message read: GIVE UP THE MOTHER PUNCHER! “Oh, shit.” Tea breathed. Ed was wondering what had happened to Drizzle. The kid hadn’t called him again to notify Ed of his arrival at Envision. Now, he was afraid he knew why. “That’s the one,” he pointed again, this time to his house, which by all appearances, was dark. “The one with the Firebird in the driveway.” Tea pulled up to the curb and parked, but kept the engine running. “Looks deserted.” “Yeah. But I don’t think it is.” He got out of the Volkswagen, pulling off the bandages that covered his skin. Then the dress he’d put on over his own clothes, the fat belly and rolled up pillows falling to the pavement silently. While he did this, he kept his eyes on his home, searching the windows for movement, for any sign of life at all. There wasn’t any. Ed walked around to the driver’s side and said, “You wait here.” “I don’t think I want to,” Tea said. She sounded afraid. “For once, don’t give me any crap. The second shit goes down, I want you to drive this piece of shit car of yours as fast as it will go and get the hell out of Dodge. Don’t even look back. Got that?” Silence from inside the car. He bent over, stuck his head in the window. “Thanks for all your help, Tea. You’ve been a blessing.” Her eyes widened, mouth opening to say something that she didn’t quite have words for. It was then he noticed that she wasn’t even looking at him, but behind him. Ed spun around in time to see the silent crowd rounding the back of his house, coming from both sides, not moving particularly fast, but not slow either. Bowie was leading the crowd approaching from the west side, shoving Ash along, a knife to her throat. Behind him, he heard Tea whisper, “Jesus.” From the eastern side, another man Ed didn’t recognize pushed Drizzle ahead of him

with the barrel of a shotgun. Ed tried to count the number of people, found he couldn’t. There were just too many. Maybe six dozen, maybe more. And most of them seemed to be carrying weapons of some sort. Trying not to sound panicked, he said, “Tea. Drive.” But she didn’t. He didn’t know if she was frozen in fear or if she intended to do battle beside him. He hoped it was the former and that her fear would eventually break and she would go, before it was too late for her. “Howdy, Champ!” Bowie called cheerfully. “Look who I got here. Why, it’s your purdy little wifey. Ain’t she a beauty? A little too skinny for my taste, but what the hell. She got a snatch, right?” His laughter boomed and echoed like the voice of God. “Let her go, Bowie,” Ed said. “She didn’t do anything.” Both crowds had become one on his lawn and stopped walking towards him. They simply stood and stared. “You’re wrong about that, buddy,” Bowie said. “She did something alright. She loved and supported you! She harbored a goddamn lowlife woman-beating MOTHER PUNCHER! She should die for her sins, same as you.” “And this one too!” the man pointing the shotgun at Drizzle shouted. Ed ignored the stranger, keeping his eyes on Bowie. “You fucking hypocrite.” He wished he could wrap his hands around the snake’s neck for just one minute. Just one. The he addressed the rest of the crowd. “This man is lying to you people. He’s a Mother Puncher too. The worst kind. A fucking vigilante!” The crowd murmured but Bowie silenced them quickly. “Bullshit” he screamed, giving Ash a hard shake. “Tell them, woman! Tell them the truth!” He pushed the point of the blade against her throat, just beneath her earlobe. Ash cried out and Ed saw blood flow freely down her neck. “It’s true!” Ash cried. “This man…Bowie…never laid a hand on any woman ever.” She burst into tears and Bowie cut her again, making her scream. Ed felt like crying himself. Instead, he shouted, “You fucking bastard! I’ll kill you! Be a man and face me, one on one!” “Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” Bowie grinned at him.

“Fucking right I would,” Ed agreed. “Will you people pay attention? He never hurt a woman? What the fuck is he doing right now?” “Shut up” Bowie screamed. He shook Ash again. “Tell him” “I’m pregnant with Bowie’s baby!” Ash sobbed. “Okay? Okay? I told him!” All the blood drained from Ed’s face and he felt it go. “That’s a lie,” he said, his voice low. “You’re making her say that!” “Am I?” Bowie asked, grinning once again. “You need to pay for your sins, Champ. A man should not lay an angry hand upon a woman, so sayeth the LORD ALMIGHTY!” Narrowing his eyes, Ed asked, “What the fuck scripture is that from?” Bowie laughed. “No idea, Champ. But if it ain’t in there, it sure as hell should be. AM I RIGHT, PEOPLE?” The crowd cheered, all of them leering at Ed with hunger. It was then that Ed knew he was beaten. There wasn’t going to be any escaping this. Hell, maybe they were even right. Maybe he’d taken the wrong path all along, had been a monster, working for monsters and had been too self-righteous to know it. Quietly, he asked Bowie, “Will you let my wife and friends go?” He heard Tea start to cry behind him. “Of course we will, Champ. You have my word as a Christian and a gentleman. You just have to come with us, and then everything will be back to normal. We just need to send the rest of the American people a message. A message that says you do not have to tolerate the abuse of your women!” Again, the mob cheered wildly. “YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE PUNISHED FOR DOING WHAT THE GOOD LORD PUT YOU HERE TO DO! AND THAT’S PROCREATE!” This time the people screeched their agreement so loudly that Ed felt vibrations under his feet. He waited for them to settle down, waited to see if Bowie was finished with his bullshit sermon on the mount. When Bowie said nothing more, just stood there grinning like the cat that ate the fucking canary, Ed raised his hands above his head and said, “Okay. Let them go and let’s do this thing.” Bowie studied him carefully, probably trying to assess if Ed had some trick up his

sleeve. A moment later, evidently convinced that Ed was out of tricks, he smiled and said, “Ladies. He’s all yours.” And the surge of women came forward like a wave, falling on Ed and dragging him off towards the woods behind his house. He fought to see around them, to see that Bowie was keeping his word and letting Ash and Drizzle, and hopefully Tea as well, go free. He struggled wildly, trying to peer over shoulders and between legs and passing heads, but his sight was blocked in every direction. All he could see was furious red faces and once, he caught a glimpse of the darkening gray sky.

Gina Ranalli is an author of bizarro fiction, including Wall of Kiss, Suicide Girls in the Afterlife, Chemical Gardens, and 13 Thorns (with outsider artist Gus Fink). Her short stories have appeared in zines and print collections, such as The Dream People, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, Falling from the Sky and The Bizarro Starter Kit.

You can visit her at www.myspace.com/ginaranalli

E. Riggs paints out of his basement in upstate NY. There has never been a time he has not felt the need to create kicking at his skull. He has a degree in Industrial Design and works as a full time designer. He paints when he can and relishes its freedom from the confines of the ever-smothering world around him.

See more of his work at: myspace.com/ill_lit_er_art