[Sodium_noir] A saturday in Darktown

[eagandigh]

Onitt
Gang brute & Ghoul
Streets of Darktown, midday
 
 
The car drove through the dirty and garbage packed streets of outer
Darktown. It was a car that had seen better times and only rust seemed
to hold it together. Ragga music droned out of it and the driver
casually let his arm stick out of the window as if he was driving in
sunny Florida instead of a cold and wet Gotham. There were four guys in
the car, three of them dressed like voodoo punks from hell. They had all
thick rasta locks and instead of the gold chains sported by most of the
more affluent gang members of Darktown, they wore amulets of chicken
feet and other even more disgusting things. The fourth, bald and broad
and mean-looking wore none of these paraphernalia except an amulet
looking like a ghostcatcher. He sat in the rear of the car, a giant Colt
Anaconda casually tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He looked out
of the window, brooding.
The last week had been quite eventful. After the slaughtering of the
Colombians’ last remaining contacts and acquaintances, and the roughing
up of some of the gangs in Darktown loyal to the Family, things only had
become worse. Onitt, the big bald guy, remembered hazy days filled with
Chinese tongs flooding Darktown in search of the Sharks and the pushing
back of the former, while the latter got practically wiped out or
arrested as even the police seemed to have taken a dim view of the
Sharks. Onitt hoped that the fucking Cops would stay out of his turf for
a while now. Well, those Sharks that got screwed by the police had been
luckier than those, who he and his boys had gotten their hands on. Well,
a few of them were still living, even if only barely. As if that hadn’t
been enough, the Mexican Snake Bitches from Some Fucked Up Hell and
their cronies had made some good entertainment in the last couple of
days. For now the whorehouses and the dealers and pushers seemed to be
clean again. Clean from the Snake Bitches taint. Where the Snake Bitches
themselves slithered to, was anyone’s guess. 
Although usually this sort of crap was to Onitt’s liking, he hadn’t been
as enthusiastic as usual. The gang, les filles de la nuit, had covered
up some very bad thing throughout the ruckus – the Bêtenoir had been
missing. Antoine, who had more or less taken over leadership of them,
had even used some dressed-as-Maurice gang members and had them show up
here and there across Darktown. But the fact had remained. During one of
the toughest times for the filles the leader was gone. On Tuesday, Papa
Saturday had arrived with some strange guy and since then Maurice was
away. Onitt was one of the few who knew where he was and had a vague
idea what was going on, but that didn’t make things better or easier.
He looked at his shaking hand. No, not easier at all. The craving had
begun at the end of the week and now he had gone cold turkey. Onitt
looked at the rotten streets of Darktown, rotten streets that belonged
to the filles now, out of bloodshot eyes. He didn’t see the streets,
everywhere he looked he saw only one thing – blood. Every thought was
occupied by one thing – blood. Hell, he even would refrain from fucking
some stupid whore forever, if he would get it. He even would stop to
breathe. If only he could get the blood. And not just some blood, but
the blood of the Loa. If just some blood would suffice, he would gladly
kill the three other guys in this car and drink them dry.
A cell phone beeped and Onitt fiddled at his pocket until he got it out.
“Yeah?” he said. At the other end a croaky voice answered. Antoine was
having difficulties, too. “It ends tonight. Get les filles down to the
Den tonight. All of them. Everyone should be there for the ceremony
tonight.”
 
[to be continued]
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