The Brothers Crunk (2 page)

“
Well, you know what that means . . .” Divey removes the light gun from his beltline. “We zap for it.”

“
You know, I was thinking, we could always wait until the next town to do this. I mean, shit, we still have a couple days worth of rations. We may not have to do this at all.”

“
That’s what you said in the last town. And the town before that. Things gotta change ’ere, Petey boy. We’ve gotta stay ahead of the game. Right now, we’re eating up all of our profit—
literally
. We’re supposed to
sell
our burritos, not eat them. And now with the shortage of meat, well . . . one of us just has to go.” Divey pulls a long black cord from the bottom of the gun and plugs it into an electric generator sitting on the pavement behind the van. “This is the only fair way to choose which one of us has to make that sacrifice.”

“
Okay, boss. You’re right.” Pete bites his upper lip. “But, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to go first.” He takes one final draw from his cigarette before stomping it out with his boot. Reynold’s mouth drops open. His cigarette burns a hole in his shirt as it falls to the ground.

“
Wait, why should he get to be the one who chooses?” says Reynold, batting the ashes off his shirt. “Yeah, you know, I think I want to be the one who goes first.” He smiles smugly at Pete and puts another cigarette up to his lips, lighting the wrong end by mistake and inhaling a lungful of torched filter. He hunches over and begins to cough. “Shit, that was me last ciggy.”

“
Well, I’ll tell ya what, princess,” Pete says with a smirk, “why don’t you take out that shiny lil’ 500 yen piece you got in your pocket and let’s have us a good old-fashioned coin toss. Winner goes first, loser last, and boss here will go second. How’s about it?”

Reynold looks over at Divey, but Divey shies his eyes away and says, “Sounds like a plan, Pete, but Reynold gets to call it. Fair?”

“
Fair,” Pete replies.

“
Rey, coin please?”

Reynold digs into his pocket and hands the coin over to Divey. “You sure about this?” he whispers.

“
It doesn’t matter what I think, brother, it’s up to fate. All of this is by chance, isn’t it? Whether or not you win this facking coin toss, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve lost the game. The gun could still go off on any of us at any moment.” Divey winks. Reynold takes a deep breath and nods, trusting that his brother knows what he is doing. Divey places the coin on top of his fist. “Call it in the air.”

He flips the coin.

“
Heads.”

The coin flickers under the streetlight and lands in Divey’s palm. He balls his fist around it. An unpleasant stench fills the air—it smells like burnt tire rubber.

“
For fack’s sake, tell us what it is!” yells Reynold.

“
Wait a second, what the hell is that smell?” says Divey.

The generator begins to crackle and smoke.

“
Shit, Rey, you set the generator down in a facking rain puddle!” yells Divey.

“
Well, where else was I supposed to have put it?
Everywhere
is a facking rain puddle!”

“
Well now the generator isn’t going to work properly, you dolt!”

Pete’s eyes narrow like two coin-slots. “Are you both fucking putting me on? That generator has been broken for ages. You know that. That’s the whole reason why we’re using the fucking thing, because it’s impossible to know when it will fire!”

Reynold and Divey exchange
‘oh shit’
glances. Pete is getting suspicious. Oh shit, indeed.

“
Wait a second, you two fucks are trying to set me up! The zapper’s been rigged and that’s why you don’t want me to go first, right?!”

Reynold and Divey stare ahead blankly and slowly shake their heads ‘no’.

“
Right,” Pete says. “Give me the gun.” Divey hands the gun over to Pete, butt-first.

“
Fuck it. We’re still doing this. But I’m going to go first.” Pete holds the gun up to the remote sensor installed in his in his left temple. “You guys have t’wake up pretty early in the morning to outsm—” Pete pulls the trigger. His skull explodes and brain sludge erupts from the crater, spraying along the side wall of the van. His body falls limply to the ground.

“
Holy shit! I thought you said the gun wouldn’t go off until the third pull of the trigger!” Reynold yells.

“
Fack, but yeah, that was when I thought the generator was working right! Shit! I wasn’t expecting that!”

Reynold holds his hands over his mouth, shaking, and takes a deep breath. After a moment of silence, he says, “Shit. Why did it
have
to be Pete, Divey? Why not either of
us
?”

“
I told you before, he’s bigger than the two of us put together. The business could run nearly three times as long from the meat off of his bones than it would from either of ours.”

“
You know what I mean . . .”

“
Oh shit, you’re not going to get emotional on me, are you, Rey?”

“
I just want to know.
Why Pete?
I mean, fack, we rigged the zapper to go off on him, it didn’t work out the way we planned, but the bloody thing
still
went off on him. It’s not just that the odds were stacked against him, no, he really had no facking chance.”

“
Fate.”

Reynold wipes the sweat from his upper lip. “You know, I never believed any of that shit before today, but I think you’re right, brother. Fate. Damn.” Reynold bends down and removes a pack of fags from Pete’s jacket pocket. He puts one up to his lips and lights it. “Do you think we have the power to change our fate?”

Divey unfolds his palm. The coin is facing heads up. “No, brother, we don’t.” He places the coin in Reynold’s hands.

“
But what if this is just some sort of
lucky
coin? What if it has nothing to do with fate . . . only luck?”

“
You’re asking questions that I can’t answer, Rey.” Divey puts on a pair of canary yellow kitchen gloves.

Reynold holds the coin up to the light. The Japanese writing shimmers in a way he hasn’t noticed before—as if it possesses some sort of magic. He presses the coin up to his lips.

“
Hey, once you’re done snogging with that coin, you think you could give me a hand ’ere?” Divey begins hacking Pete’s limbs off with an axe, tossing the bloody hunks of meat into the back of the van.

Reynold stuffs the coin into his pocket and ties a surgical mask around the bottom half of his face. “I’ll get the trash bags.”

THREE

PINK DEATH XXX

Reynold fingers through a case of loose cassette tapes, plucks one from a litter—a white one labeled, ‘Z. STARDUST’—and pops it into the tape deck located in the back of the van. The deck pops and whirrs. The sound of a bluesy rock guitar shreds through the air as “The Jean Genie” boom-rattles through the speakers and causes the pots and pans hanging above the stove to hum along with the drumbeat.

Divey sits up front, driving. Destination: Terratown. He doesn’t hear the music - his brain is a clogged pipe of thought and steam. Thoughts of survival. Thoughts of Pete. Thoughts of flesh, blood, and bone. Thoughts of remorse. Thoughts of surviving in this god-forsaken post-apocalyptic world of Japan in this year of our Emperor 209 [E209]. If the van could travel at the speed of thought, they would have arrived in Terratown hours ago.

Reynold tosses a few strips of Pete’s meat onto a sizzling skillet. His mouth salivates as the aroma fills his nostrils. It’s been over a month since either of them has had anything other than refried beans in their stomachs.

He opens the cabinet door hanging above the freezer on the other side of the van. He moves aside a few bottles of soap and cleaning agents and removes a clear bottle full of light pink liquid out from behind. The label is hot pink and shiny metallic. It reads “PINK DEATH XXX”. Reynold twists the cap off and takes a swig. It burns like the fires of fack all the way down to his empty, churning stomach.

Reynold makes his way up to the front of the van.

“
Hey, Div—You want me to fire you up one of these Pete and bean burritos? It smells facking delish.”

“
Naw, I’m not feeling too hungry just yet. Thanks though.” Divey looks at Reynold, eyeing the bottle of PINK DEATH XXX in his hand. “Shit, Rey, I don’t mind you drinking and all, but fack man, don’t get wasted! We’ve got to be in Terratown by morning, or else we aren’t gonna catch the morning traffic. You know how many goddamn brackfas burritos we can sell in a big city like Terratown?” Reynold stares blankly and shrugs his shoulders. “
Shit-tons
, that’s how many. So, really, don’t get facking drunk, man. I’m counting on you to take the reins here in a few hours. I didn’t get much sleep the last few days. I need to try and get some rest.”

“
Relax, Div . . . I’m only celebrating. I promise I won’t overdo it. Scout’s honor.”

“
You were never a scout.”

“
Yeah, but I tried to be, remember? Goddamn childhood asthma.”

The stench of scorched meat makes its way to the front of the van.

“
Shit! My burrito!” Reynold cries and jumps into the back.

Divey grabs the bottle of PINK DEATH XXX lying in the passenger seat, removes the cap, and takes a whiff.

“
Christ, Rey, what the fack
are
you drinking?” he mutters to himself.

● ● ●

The night begins to play with Divey’s eyes. It is raining, for one, the glassy reflections dancing across the road make it almost invisible. And more recently, shadow animals have been darting out in front of the van, causing him to jerk the wheel and nearly skid off the road. Divey decides to draw the line at hallucinations. It is probably best that Reynold begins his shift so he can get a few winks of rest.

He pulls the van over to the side of the road and climbs into the back to find Reynold asleep, facedown on the stove. His left forearm is resting on a glowing orange heating coil. He apparently does not realize this, as he seems to be resting comfortably.

“
Christ, Rey, get up!” Divey shouts. “Your arm, it’s facking cooking!”

Reynold jerks into consciousness and quickly grabs the metal spatula hanging above the stove. “Oh, no you don’t, wanker! Get your own facking arm to snack on . . .” Reynold shoves the spatula underneath his arm and wriggles it around vigorously, trying to separate his flesh from the burner.

“
I’ve been waiting for this TOO LONG, Divey . . . TOO FACKING LONG! I’m starving . . . too long . . .” Reynold slips back into unconsciousness, his arm falls limply at his side, the spatula still held tight in his fist.

“
Christ’s sake, Rey, I told you not to get obliterated! How are we supposed to make it to Terratown now? Shit! You really facked this up for us, man.”

“
Don’t get your facking panties in a wad. Shit. I can still drive.” Reynold’s eye involuntarily begins to roll back in its socket.

“
Reynold, you just tried to eat your facking arm. There is no way in hell I’m going to let you drive us anywhere.”

“
I don’t need your goddamn permission, Divey. You’re not me mum. Are you, Divey?
Are you?
”

Divey exhales audibly.

“
No, you’re
not
me facking mum. That’s the facking answer . . . when it comes down to it . . . wanker. Yeah, you . . . you are the wanker, Divey. I’m calling YOU a wanker.”

“
Rey, I’m not in the mood for this. I’m spent, man. I need some rest. Do whatever the fack you want to do. I don’t care. But remember, if you wreck this facking van, then we’re finished. This is all we’ve got, man. Don’t fack this up.” Divey tosses a pillow on the floor of the van and grabs a blanket from the cabinet. “I’m going to sleep.” Divey tosses the keys to him.

● ● ●

In an attempt to sober himself up, Reynold hops out of the van and takes a deep breath of cool fresh air. He begins to shift his body weight, alternating between the left and right foot, and throwing punches in the air like Rocky in training. He bounces up and down to better his circulation and then does three jumping jacks before falling to his knees and vomiting violently all over the pavement.