La Grandia Part 9: Simon Pete
Matthew Ryan Fischer
A man came tripping out of a fire exit and stumbled into the dark
alleyway behind The Grandia. Simon Pete sat in the shadows between a dumpster
and a pile of extra trash bags. The smell was horrific and something moist was
soaked into his clothes. Simon Pete leaned a forward to get a better look, but
kept mostly to the shadows. The man held his hands to his stomach. Knife wound,
thought Simon Pete.
The man took a step forward then swayed, and almost slipped to his
knees. Do it, thought Simon Pete, as if he could command a thing to happen with
his mind. The man did not fall. But he wasn’t far away. He was injured. Distracted.
Simon Pete pulled out a pocket knife. If he could rise in silence, he could keep
to the shadows and be on the man before he knew what was happening. Rendy had taught
him. Cut a man low to make him fall. Cut a man high to make sure he never got
up again.
As Simon Pete began to move, the exit door opened and another man
came stumbling out. The first man looked back and took a step away, but moved
to slow. The second man fell towards him, grabbed his waist and both men fell
to the ground. They didn’t so much fight, as they pushed fists through molasses
at each other. The second man got a hand on the chin of the first man and
shoved as hard as he could, pushing the man’s head back further than it wanted
to go. The first man reached out and found a bottle and was able to use it as a
club to disorient the second man.
Simon Pete was fairly sure he could approach unseen and even
thought he could get his knife into one of the other, but wasn’t sure he could
knife both before one of them could react. And the way they were headed, Simon Pete
figured they might do the job for him. The Grandia was full of rich men on rich
people vacations. He couldn’t imagine why these two men would want to kill each
other, but he was sure their pockets were full of gold.
One man tried to crawl away, kicking the other man in the face as
he moved. He inched forward, towards Simon Pete. The man hadn’t seen him yet.
His mind not be right, he might not notice, thought Simon Pete. But if he did
Simon Pete would lose the element of surprise. He gripped the knife, unsure.
Rendy had told him it would be easy. Rendy taught him well. Practice, over and
over. Slice slice stab. It would be easy. He just had to move.
The second man grabbed the first man’s ankle. He held on as the
first man tried to kick, over and over. The second man held tight, somehow
against the barrage of pain. The fist man was busy, looking back Simon Pete had
his chance.
He pushed the knife forward, but was afraid. He couldn’t make his
arm listen. He grabbed his hand with his other hand, but still he was frozen.
The first man turned his head, saw Simon Pete.
“Kid, give me that knife!”
Simon Pete didn’t move. The first man reached out, but couldn’t
make it. Simon Pete took a step back anyway.
The second man had that bottle from before and it was broken now.
He stabbed it deep into the first man’s leg. The first man screamed, but it
sounded more like a cry for help. Tears were in his eyes. Simon Pete had never
seen a man cry from pain before. It wasn’t pretty.
The first man kicked with his good foot, tried to get the bottle
away from the other man. The first man barely had any strength left. He pushed the
broken bottle at the man a few more times, but he was shifting blindly and barely
making any contact. Simon Pete wasn’t sure if the glass shards would even get though
the pants, let alone his skin. Both men were exhausted. It wasn’t a fight
anymore. It was sad.
Simon Pete sat back down and watched the men. Their breathing was
labored. Neither wanted to move. Pools of blood formed on the cement. Every few
minutes one or the other would try to move, to swing at the other, or to try
and crawl away. Neither’s efforts were rewarded.
Simon Pete eventually moved closer. He had his knife. Cut them
high, he heard Rendy’s voice say. Cut the high so they stay down and never get
up again. Simon Pete had never killed anyone. He was afraid.
The second man rolled on his side and stared right at Simon Pete.
“Help me,” he said.
Simon Pete froze and watched the man.
“You…you’re one of Rendy’s boys. Help me.”
Simon Pete realized this was Ruel.
“Help… You’re… Pete. Right? Help me.”
Simon Pete thought about it for a long time.
“Why did you do what you did to Rendy?” asked Simon Pete.
“What?”
He looked genuinely confused, thought Simon Pete.
“Rendy got killed. You did it.”
“No…”
“Everyone knows you had it done. Why’d you have it done! Rendy was
good to me!”
Cut him high, he thought. Cut him high, he heard Rendy say.
Killing a man was easy. A simple slice of the knife. Anyone can do it.
Simon Pete had never killed a man. Killing a man was hard.
Watching him bleed to death was easy.
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