Behind the eight ball

Trevor woke up flat on his back on a velvety surface brilliant green in color. A bright overhead light shone down on him. Sitting up, he raised his hand to shy the light away from his eyes. He was surprised to find himself naked. A couple of feet away, the bouncer Luka lay on the impossibly flat green.

“What the fuck is going on here?“ he asked aloud, tone mumbled, trying to connect the dots of recent events in his mind as he took a couple of steps toward the other man.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the fuliginous darkness beyond the intense light beaming down, something incredibly large. He turned to look, peering into the blackness. Something immense was approaching and as it grew larger, he realized it was a woman, visible from the hips up, a black t-shirt with a picture and the band name ‘Injustice’ printed on it. From what he could see, she was seventy or so feet tall. Dark hair hanging loose around her head and down her back. She looked a lot like the girl Arvin shot. She was holding a long narrow piece of wood in her hands, tapered.

“Hello Trevor,” she said, turning the wood in her hands and holding it straight up and down between her hands.

He shook his head slightly, “What? What’s going on?” he asked.

Luka made a noise as consciousness returned. Trevor turned to watch. Pushing himself up, Luka had a confused expression on his broad face. “Trevor?” he asked.

Trevor turned his head to look at the gigantic woman standing at the edge of the green expanse. Luka followed his eyes, his own growing huge and round as he saw her.

“My name is Clare,” she said with a smile, “And she,” she looked across the table, “Is Angela.”

Both men followed Clare’s eyes to see the other enormous woman move close. Angela smiled. She was wearing a t-shirt with pink sleeves, a gold halo stenciled on the front. Her blonde haired was pulled back, strands of blue hanging free but tucked behind her ears. Like the dark haired girl, she was holding a similarly shaped slender piece of wood in one hand. She reached down and picked up a blue cube and brought it to the end of the wood. He knew what it was. Chalk. Pool chalk. He looked over the field, a hole in each of the four corners, one in either side along the long axis. He was standing on a pool table. Angela put the chalk back down.

“Trevor?” Luka repeated.

“So I’m told you were being quite the douche when you met with my sister,” Clare said. Angela moved around the table, fishing colored numbered balls out of the pockets and rolling them along the rail toward the end of the table.

“What are you doing?” Trevor asked, watching the blonde woman rolling balls nearly as tall as he was down the table.

Clare smiled. “Why, we are going to play some pool of course,” she answered, “What is it with you guys and your inability to comprehend the obvious?”

“What madness is this?” he asked, “How?” He shook his head.

All of the balls on top of the table, Angela bent down and retrieved the wooden triangle. Setting it down, she started filling it with balls, the phenolic resin clicking against the slate beneath the felt.

“How what? Play pool?”

Luka began to wander toward the side cushion,

“No, how are we so small?” he asked, looking at Luka then back to Clare.

Clare chuckled, turning her head to Angela she asked, “What was it Jack said, bad lifestyle choices?”

Angela smiled and nodded. All of the balls in the triangle, she rearranged them so they solids and stripes were evenly dispersed.

Trevor started to shake, anxiety beginning to overwhelm him. Luka was almost to the rail. Clare lowered her cue and used it to herd him back toward Trevor.

Angela rolled the cue ball slowly up to the other end of the table.

Clare circled around the table, taking the cue ball and setting it on the center dot of the three along the line. Angela grabbed the triangle and rolled it in a circular motion, finally bringing it to rest on the dot before pulling the wooden frame away.

“You can’t be serious?” Trevor queried, voice almost breaking.

Clare frowned. Looking down the table she asked, “Does it sound like he might be on the verge of crying?”

Angela nodded slowly. “Sounds like it,” she agreed.

“Please,” he said, tone plaintive.

“You break,” Angela said.

Clare nodded, bending over and drawing a bead on the cure ball.

“Jesus, fucking wait!” said Trevor, putting his hands up.

Clare looked up from her shot, “What?”

“Don’t do this thing, please, I don’t want to go out this way,” he pleaded. “If you want me to beg, I’ll beg, please.”

Luka frowned. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but be damned if he was going to start sniveling like some fucking bitch. He walked over and cuffed Trevor on the back of the head.

Angela laughed.

Clare rolled her eyes, then took aim. The cue ball struck the triangular collection of balls almost dead on, scattering the fifteen balls in all directions, sinking the blue number 2 ball in a corner pocket. Luka and dodged out of harm’s way, while Trevor was struck from behind by the yellow striped 9 ball coming back off the rail. Though the ball grazed him, the force was enough to throw him off his feet and to the slate. He raised his arms as the green 6 ball rolled slowly up against his side.

“You’re solids,” Angela said. Clare walked around the table looking for her next shot. Trevor pushed the 6 ball away and got to his feet, pain in his left leg, he limped as Clare circled the table.

“Bank shot 5 ball corner pocket,” Clare called.

“Never going to happen,” Angela said, shaking her head.

Clare lined up the shot, striking the cue ball low to draw it back up the table. The orange ball struck first one rail near the corner pocket then other, before careening back out. Luka narrowly avoided being hit by the cue ball back spinning while Trevor limped away.

“Told you,” said Angela. She called and sank the next three shots, the last of which was a spectacular double banked shot.

“That was such a fluke!” said Clare.

Angela looked at the men on the table. “Did I or did I not call that shot?” she asked, arms out wide.

Luka nodded, Trevor ignored her.

She missed her next shot.

Clare pointed her cue directly at Luka, “So you’re on her side are you?” she said playfully. “Remember, I picked you, if she wins, she’s going to swallow you down.” His eyes widened as he prepared for her next shot.

Clare rattled off five consecutive balls before missing her last colored ball, the purple 4 ball. Angela sank the 14 and 15 balls before scratching. Clare potted the 4 ball, leaving the cue ball at the end of the table and the eight ball near the opposite end.

Chalking her cue, she evaluated her chances of sliding the 8 ball into the far corner pocket without kissing off the striped 11 ball.

“You‘re not going to make it,” Angela teased.

Clare struck the cue ball with a fair degree of impact and some side english trying to slide the 8 ball passed the number 11 ball, but the black ball clipped the edge of the red striped ball suddenly altering its direction directly at Trevor who was standing near the orange striped 13 ball. The hobbled man tried to get out of the way, but the 8 ball was moving too fast, smashing his leg between it and the 13. Trevor screamed as he toppled to the felt, pain shooting up and down his leg. On his back, he grabbed his leg between his hands.

“Tough break, I thought you had that one,” Angela said looking to Clare, “Not.” Taking a bead, she sank the 11 ball. Smiling, she circled the table. “Looks like the big one is going to be mine,” she said. Lining up the 12 ball but missing.

“Ha!” Clare said. “It’s all over now except for the crying,” she pointed at Trevor who was still cradling his broken knee. She dropped the eight ball and curtsied.

Angela rolled her eyes and frowned. “Lucky.”

Walking to the rail nearest Trevor, Clare leaned in and plucked him by the foot of his wounded leg off the table between her thumb and forefinger. Lifting him up, she brought him over her head. He shrieked and flailed in agony as he was dangled for a moment by his injured leg over her face. Opening her mouth, she lowered him close, ignoring his protests, and dropped him in. Closing her mouth, she swallowed, the sensation of him moving down her throat making her shudder slightly.

Luka huddled against a rail, short of breath from the exertion of dodging billiard balls.

“What about him?” Angela asked, pointing at him.

Clare smiled. “We were only playing for fun anyway, he’s all yours,” she said.

Angela smiled and licked her lips.

The Pin

When Jimmy opened his eyes, it was dark. He found he couldn’t move, his body was wrapped in something translucent and incredibly restrictive, the only thing exposed was his head. “Hey!” he called out. Squirming, trying to shimmy out of whatever confined him proving fruitless, other than making him sweat. “Fuck,” he muttered. He wondered how the hell he wound up naked and rolled up like day old leftovers. The last thing he could recall was Little Train plugging the girl, Jack jumping to her side, the door opening and then nothing. Lying back he frowned. Rocking from side to side, he found he could use momentum and roll. Once, twice, he rolled himself sideways until coming to a stop when he came into contact with something cold and unyielding. Rolling the other way, he got a fair number of turns in before coming into contact with another edge. It seemed sloped up and in, like he was inside some kind of a dome or something. Jimmy frowned, drained from the effort, he lay there contemplating. A nasty thought crept into his head, was he being whacked? He’d seen bodies rolled up in poly before. He didn’t hurt anywhere. Jesus he muttered. Suddenly there was light as the concave object was lifted away, a decorative pattern lining an inner ring inside the inverted soup bowl. The world spilled out around him, he was lying on a smooth flat surface, light suspended overhead, centerpiece on the table. Chair backs surrounded the table on three sides, on the fourth side was a woman with white hair folded back in on itself behind her head, right hand moving the bowl to the side, left arm resting on the table. Jimmy gobbled at the air. She was massive, like Statue of Liberty massive. Turning her head she looked to where she was going to set the bowl, face devoid of expression. She was astoundingly beautiful, but so cold, blue eyes like chipped ice.

Setting the bowl down, upright, she turned back to look down upon him, regarding him with indifference.

Turning his head left and right, before looking up at her, “This isn’t fucking funny!” he barked angrily, wiggling in his confinement.

“Do you see me laughing?” she asked, face serious, icy eyes unreadable, full lips pursed.

He grunted and pushed against the transparency holding him. Unable to create any type of play in his restraint, “Hey lady, please, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, please,” he begged.

“What possible reason could you give me to keep you alive?” she asked, tone neutral, neither mocking nor menacing.

“Sweet Jesus, I don’t know what you want me to say,” he continued, futilely thrashing against his bonds again.

Her expression remained impassive, inscrutable. “Should I just consume you and be done with you then?” she asked.

“Consume?” he asked, eyes growing wide, his struggles becoming desperate.

“Give me some reason not to,” she instructed.

“C’mon,” he said, lying back. “I’m nothing but skin and bone,” he said, trying to be comical.

She arched an eyebrow, “There certainly isn’t much to you,” she agreed.

“That’s why they call me the Pin, Jimmy the Pin,” he said.

“I don’t care,” she replied without emotion.

“Please, what’s your name?” he asked.

“What does it matter to you? Will it give you some comfort to know my name as my stomach acid slowly dissolves what little flesh there is from your bones?” she asked.

“It might,” he said, “I’d know who to cuss out.”

The faintest wisp of a smile touched the corner of her mouth and then it was gone.

“I saw that! You smiled!” he asserted. “There’s your reason, I made you smile,” he cried, hoping it was enough to warrant a stay of execution.

“And you believe that’s reason enough for me to allow you live?” she inquired, tilting her head slightly to the side.

“Like that chick in the book, you know, the Arab one, Arabian Nights, yeah that’s it. That chick was going to get killed by the dude, but she kept telling him stories and he couldn’t kill her,” he said.

“So you are going to be my little Scheherazade and tell me entertaining stories so that I won’t eat you? Is that the crux of your plan?” she asked.

“Lady I will do whatever you want me to do, please don’t eat me,” he replied. “Stories, I’m almost famous for my back rubs, well, but, that might be a bit of a problem,” he said, looking down toward where his hands were pinned and frowning.

She seemed to consider it a moment. Reaching in with her right hand, she picked him up by his feet and lifted him into the air.

“No!” he screamed hanging upside down several times his own body height.

“Quiet yourself,” she said with a frown, removing the clear cling wrap from around his frail body, before laying him back on the table.

He scrambled to his feet, choking back on emotion.

“I am not in the habit of collecting pets,” she said.

“Thank you,” he expressed, dropping to his knees.

“Pin,” she said. “It suits you.”

“What should I call you?” Jimmy asked.

“Serah,” she said.

“Thank you Serah, thank you,” he effused.

She frowned anew, “Silence would be best for now, lest I be inclined to regret this impulse,” she said.

Rising from her chair, he watched as she crossed the dining area to go to a cupboard in her kitchen. Retrieving a box of cereal and unrolling the plastic bag within. Grabbing three flakes, she set them on the counter and closed up the box. She peeled a square of paper towel from a roll on the counter, gathered the flakes and returned to the table and set them near Jimmy. She lay the towel down near him.

“I will not tolerate any messes,” she said, “Now eat.”

He looked at the cereal flakes, each roughly the size of his head. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re not trying to fatten me up are you?” he asked, bending down and picking one up.

The ghost of the smile touched her lips again. “Eat,” she said.

He grabbed ahold of a flake and started to gnaw on it.

“You are acquainted with Jack Dalton?”

He finished chewing. “The Hammer? We got some history,” he said, nodding.

Sitting back down, “Tell me,” she said.

“We used to live on the same street when we were kids. I was always kind of small and Jack looked out for me, made sure no one on the block put a hurt on me, unless I brought it on myself, you know, sometimes talking when maybe I should have been listening. We used to hang out down by the rail yards, busting into cars and stuff. Small time stuff led to bigger stuff and we both wound up on the wrong side of the law.”

“Tell me about his mother,” she encouraged.

Jimmy chuckled. “I used to have the biggest crush on her, she was so pretty. She worked a lot, hardly ever was at home, I think that’s why Jack was on the street.”

“Where is she now?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Jack’s father?”

He shook his head. “Jack said he took off before Jack was born, didn’t know his dad.”

She nodded again. “Why were you on the street?” she asked.

“Unlike Jack’s dad, my dad was home a lot, except he had a taste for whiskey. Bastard used to get mean when he was drunk, which seemed to be all the time, I needed to be somewhere else.” He chuckled, “When we were sixteen, Jack went at my old man, laid the sonofabitch out cold and told him if he ever put a hand on me or my mom again, he’d kill him.”

“Did he?”

“No, just came home one day and the old man was gone, haven’t seen him since,” Jimmy answered.

Serah nodded. “Thank you,” she said, rising from the table.

“Um, so what am I supposed to do?” he asked.

She turned, “I’m sure you are capable of entertaining yourself. Just make sure you do not leave a mess,” she said before leaving the room.

Jimmy frowned. He didn’t understand the white haired woman’s interest in Jack or his history, but he was grateful to still be drawing breath. Equipped with a vivid imagination, he certainly was able to envision what it would have been like to be deposited into her stomach alive and kicking. He shuddered at the thought.

Serah sat in the living room of her home, head back on the plush couch as she tried to connect confusing fragments of information in her mind. While she had heard about Clare’s capture of Jack Dalton, she gave it no mind, just more meaningless prey. But tonight, at Hilde’s, it was the first time she had actually set eyes on the man. She was taken aback, stunned because she recognized him, or at least his features. There was no mistaking the likeness, she had seen those same features on another man before, but so many years ago. That man had been her first love, her only love, before he was ripped away from her and her heart was broken. Long dormant emotions welled to the surface, anger, sadness, joy, things she hadn’t felt in forever. Who was Jack Dalton?