-2-
“That was pretty much the strangest thing I expect to see this week,” John said. “It’s going to be hard for me to think of you as a white boy after this.”
“You think he’ll eat it?” I shuddered at the thought of him popping the live scorpion in his mouth and crunching it up like a piece of peanut brittle.
John shrugged. “Who knows?”
“What else would he do with it? I mean, he just bought one, so I think it’s safe to say he isn’t having the gang over for a scorpion fry.”
“Maybe some kind of medicine,” John said. “People use all kinds of strange stuff—snake venom, animal claws, just about anything. When my aunt’s shoulder hurts, she rubs this brown liquid on it. She keeps the stuff in a jar with a couple huge beetles and all kinds of roots. “
“That’s really weird,” I said.
“So is using mold to kill bacteria,” John said. “Or tree bark to cure a headache.”
“Okay—you’ve got a point. But at least molds and trees don’t feel pain. I’m not all that worried about beetles, either. But I heard they’re wiping out the rhino just for the horn.”
“It’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac,” John said.
“You mean an Asian-disiac,” I said, trying to make a joke.
John groaned. “Anyhow, that’s what they use it for. They swear it helps them get horny.”
It was my turn to groan. “How appropriate.” As we walked toward the arcade, I thought about the sad state of a world where people would kill a rhinoceros just for the horn. My deep thoughts lasted less than a block and a half. Once we reached the arcade, my whole mind and body were centered on kicking John’s butt at Shock Fighter Deluxe. Unfortunately, John was pretty centered, too. So, as usual, my fighter ended up on the ground while various parts of his body flew in separate paths through the air, leaving crimson trails of veins like dozens of scarlet tadpoles.
“Again?” John asked, grinning at me while the CONTINUE? timer counted down and his player tap-danced a victory celebration on the scattered remains of my inept warrior’s innards.
“Nah, I’d better get home. If I’m late for dinner, Dad will make what we just did look like a pillow fight.”
“Later,” John said, moving off toward the pinball machines.
I left the arcade and cut through an alley toward the bus stop on Third Street. That’s when I saw the albino again, just ahead of me. Halfway down the alley, he ducked into a narrow pathway between two buildings. I walked up to the opening and peeked around the wall. The albino was standing by a solid steel door at the end of the path, about fifteen feet away from me. It looked like the back entrance to some sort of business. He opened the carton and reached inside. The scorpion wriggled and slashed as it hung between his right thumb and forefinger.
He dropped the carton, then put the scorpion on his left palm. He stroked it gently with the tips of his first two fingers. I expected it to make a dash for freedom, or plunge its stinger into his palm, but it sat where he’d placed it, unmoving.
I watched, as frozen as the scorpion.
For a moment, what I saw was so strange I didn’t realize I was seeing anything at all. The images passed through my eyes and entered my brain. But they hung there like abstract forms—shapes with no meaning. His left hand changed. Somehow, it curved and shrank and drew toward his sleeve. The scorpion on his palm withered and shriveled like a leaf on an unwatered house plant.
My stomach rippled. There was something beyond strange here, something unnatural and evil.
He raised his right hand and knocked at the door.
A minute passed. As much as I was dying to know what this was about, I found myself hoping nobody would answer.
I heard the clack of a bolt sliding open.
Whoever came out would see me. I stepped back into the alley, then squatted down so I could peek around the wall.
A middle-aged Chinese man wearing an expensive light grey suit stood in the doorway. He spat out a couple words. I had no idea what he was saying, but he sounded angry.
The albino spoke, also in Chinese. Once or twice he touched the other man with his right hand. He seemed to be trying to calm him down.
The Chinese man spoke again. His face softened a bit and he stepped out from the doorway. He smiled and nodded.
The albino slipped closer and put his left arm on the other man’s shoulder. His hand was still hidden within his sleeve.
I realized I was holding my breath. I exhaled, then inhaled quickly, gasping. To me, the sound was as loud as a shout, but neither of them looked my way.
A pale shaft emerged from the albino’s sleeve. It slid into the other man’s neck like a pump needle into a football.
For an instant, the victim didn’t seem to notice he’d been stabbed. Then his mouth opened as if he wanted to shout. His hands rose toward his neck.
They never got there. His body jerked like he’d grabbed a frayed power cord. His eyes rolled back. His knees buckled. A sigh drifted from his slackening jaw. He would have fallen, had he not been pinned to that dagger. The killer finally lowered his arm and his victim slid free, dropping to the street. His head bounced once against the pavement, the thud echoing between the buildings like an exclamation point.
– End Chapter Two –
