LEGACY OF THE BLAZERS - CHAPTER FOUR (Patreon)

 CHAPTER FOUR - BLUNT AFTER BLUNT

Screams of anguish filled the air—music to Blowhole’s bulbous ears.

He crowded his throne to the corners, scrubbing plaque off his teeth with a freshly picked-clean chicken bone as he glided through the town, watching the remnants of the Blazers burn to smoldering bits. He’d reduced a once renowned gang to nothing, robbed them of their most prized treasures, all without breaking a sweat.

The world stank of death and ash as blood leaked from bodies yet to be incinerated by the roaring flames. Some found this gruesome—he’d caught two of his men dumping their guts into sewer grates already. But to him? This was life. The strong always devour the weak unless the weak kneel. He’d given them a chance. They’d refused his offer.

“Blazers,” he hissed. Nothing more than a weightless name to be forgotten.

“Blazers,” the dolphin babes repeated, giggling.

In the center of town sat a statue erected in Jess’ honor—it depicted her killing Skullcrusher, toking a blunt and letting the snakes choke the life out of him. He ordered a few dimwits to topple it before departing his throne, shaking the world with two quaking stomps before surveying the area. Crumbling buildings and smoke-polluted clouds made for a pleasantly destructive horizon which he soaked up with a smile.

Winning was joyous.

Dominating was euphoric.

A ring came from behind him. When he turned around, he found the dolphin babes with their mouths wide open, TV screens poking out their throats and projecting Bon’s ugly mug across a wall. Blowhole wasn’t particular about many things, but he cared very much about appearances. Babes were cool, and so he’d had babes built. If you reminded him that they were simple glorified phones with stuffing wrapped around their circuits he’d rip your innards out in a second.

“Phew!” Bon yelled, looking around. “What a smell! I think I’m gettin’ a contact high all the way over here, Blowy!”

Blowhole bowed, showing respect to his superior. “My men are hunting down the last Blazers as we speak, sir.”

“Looks like they put up a goddamn fight.”

He chuckled. “They refused my offer, so I decided to show all the other gangs in Panty’s Landing why you don’t fuck with us.”

Bon cracked a beer open, took a swig, then glared off camera. “Keep slackin’ Tubs and you’re gonna have to blow him just to keep your job! And don’t cry about your wife, dammit. Nobody cares.”

Blowhole lowered his head to hide a grimace. ‘Tubs’, AKA Tubby the Walrus, was one of three members of Bon’s inner cabinet. Their jobs were easy. Smoke, drink, fuck, and every once and a while, when things aren’t working smooth as butter, actually do something. It’s the highest of the high life, and last time promotions came around, Blowhole had been sure he was next in line.

But instead he chose him.

Tubby.

With his tusks and his wife and his cowardice.

He’ll get what’s coming to him, he thought. As will you, Bon.

Not wanting to linger around and risk exposing his frustration, he decided to end the conversation quickly. “Operations will be up by the end of next week,” he said. “The fields are soaked with blood, piled high with bodies, but otherwise unharmed. There’s still plenty of weed to sell.”

“Good. Good,” Bon said. “I’m serious, Blowhole. You might be coming up to the big leagues soon. You’re heart, its cold as fuckin’ ice. And you’re loyal, too. I respect loyalty more than anything.”

If only you knew, Bon.

The babes closed their mouths, ending the call, while Blowhole’s mouth was stuck in a permanent sneer. That bastard was so scummy he couldn’t speak to him without feeling like he needed a shower. Behind him, those dimwits had brought the statue down atop themselves, crushing them into a fine paste. He felt not an ounce of pity for them—stupidity is weakness.

And the weak kneel.

You’re loyal, Bon had said.

Yes, he had been. Ever since the Panty Mafia’s inception he’d sworn utter allegiance to both Bon and Kern. He’d done enough unsavory things to earn him a permanent place in Hell and suffered through damned unimaginable pain. Yet, in what should have been his crowning moment, he was betrayed.

“Tubby,” he scoffed.

“Tubby!” the dolphin babes exclaimed.

It was time to relax, though, not let fury consume him. He sat back in his throne, watching the crackling flames ahead of him as they ate through wooden supports, chipping paint off the walls before devouring them whole. To him, there was glory in desolation. Tearing down something gave you the opportunity to rebuild it better. Under his rule, these pot fields would print enough cash for him to wipe his ass with.

And when he made his move against Bon? There’d be desolation with the fall of the Panty Mafia, sure. But there’d be far more glory when it rose from the ashes, born anew. It was powerful, but he’d make it godly.

His own insubordination stirred a chuckle.

He tossed the chicken bone to the side, snatched Jess’ blunt from the depths of his deepest fat-roll, and sparked it up. After a mighty hit he blew snake-ish smoke rings which coiled around each other. Soon they’d be around Bon’s throat, sucking the last bit of life out that damned teddy.

If only you knew, Bon.

***

The stink of ammonia from the piss in the “water” made those sewers the least romantic place in all of Panty Landing for a reunion—and that was saying something fierce—but Lux didn’t give a goddamn because he was alive. Cy was alive, and somehow, through all the shit that had happened, smiling. 

That wasn’t surprising. He’d always been an optimist able to spot the sun through even the gloomiest of thunderstorms. It was a damn infectious talent of his, maybe even the reason she’d fallen for him—too much of her life had been plagued by hate, something she’d blamed on this shit-hole of a city and all its denizens. But he’d grown up here too, and she wasn’t convinced he had enough hate in his heart to kill even a fly.

That brought her hope.

Hope that one day people like him would change Panty’s Landing.

“Cy,” she said. “It’s…really you.”

“Yeah.” He swiped his long blonde hair out of his face, revealing his hazelnut eyes. “I was on my way down here to see you when…”

Lux nodded. She had a billion questions to ask Cy, but none of them were as important as the one she needed to ask Sam. “Did anyone else…?”

He lowered his head. “I tried, Lux, I did. But everyone wanted to fight.”

“Of course they did,” she said. “We’re Blazers.”

“We fight ‘till the very end,” they both said.

Then, silence.

“What comes next?” Sam asked.

“Ain’t it obvious?” she said. “We’re gonna kick Blowhole’s fuckin’ ass. Maybe stomp his face in, too. Smash his balls, perhaps?”

“Feed him to the wolves?” Sam asked.

Lux sighed. “He…has the wolves. And the snakes.”

If that stifled what little confidence Sam and Cy had been clinging to, they didn’t show it. In fact, Sam smirked. “Guess we’ll just have to take ‘em back then, won’t we?”

“There are still plenty of Greasers alive,” Cy said.

Lux’s eyes widened—Sam didn’t know about her and Cy. Nobody did. He must’ve noticed the worry staining her face because he just chuckled. “War’s over, man. We got bigger shit to worry about.”

Maybe we could do it, she thought, pushing herself onto her feet. Alone, we’re weak. I’ve proven that already. But together…together we could strike back and really hurt those bastards.

Cy was a sweet-talker with a tongue slick enough to bend anyone to his will. Tegan, once the weed wore off and she returned to her normal self, was a genius who could formulate a plan for any scenario and execute it perfectly. Her and Sam? They were brawn. They’d fought more battles, spilled more blood, than even the most vicious of killers lurking in the depths of Hell. And shit, with an army of furious Greasers backing them up?

We might just have a chance.

She’d stolen Cy’s smile and turned it into a smirk but couldn’t grasp the strength needed to stand. Her body had suffered too much damage, lost too much blood, and was just done. Vision blurred, she saw two, no three, of Cy, and witnessed Sam’s body stretching toward the ceiling as she slumped to the floor.

“Together,” she mumbled as the darkness swallowed the world around her. “We can do it together…”

If only you knew about us, Blowhole.

If only you knew.