Crab Devil

Previously: Batya is back on land and has to run a few errands before passing out. She pays off her debt, finds the guy who shot her sister in the knee, decides not to take revenge on that guy, quits her job, and then checks in with her sister who doesn’t want to hear about any of this.

— 68 —

Malus Pier, Saturday morning. Yesterday’s unnatural unforecast storm cleared the air and the November sun gives the harbor a warm glow without providing any actual warmth. Two gulls are fighting over an ice cream cone they swiped from a little girl. The little girl, all cried out, is now rooting for the filthier gull to win.

Bat carries Mina over to where a dead galleon is docked. Mina carries a takeout box from Sal’s Crab House.

Mina says, “All this huffing and puffing you’re doing, it sounds fake.”

Bat says, “Well it’s not, you’re heavy.”

“Then you better limber up because you’re hauling me around till I can walk again, assuming that day ever comes.”

“They have these chairs with wheels on them, you move the wheels yourself, it goes wherever you want.”

“You really are in a hurry to abandon me, huh.”

Bat gives her sister the old Hull catchphrase—cheer up bitch—and then, with a very loud groan, lowers her onto a bench.

“The shower helped,” Mina says, “but you still have a pervasive reek I’m not loving.”

Bat sniffs her pits. “You think Delfino will repair my suit for free? I only had it a day.”

“Probably. He seems hard up for business.”

“I got some money now, maybe I’ll spring for a blazer.”

“What if you picked up a few practical items, like, say, a toothbrush? Deodorant? Some sort of scented powder?”

“Nah I’m good.” Bat points at the takeout box. “Have at that, it’s for you.”

Mina eases open the lid and makes a face. “Is it food, or..?”

“Sal taught me how to make it. He just invented it, calls it crab devil.”

“It looks like absolute diarrhea,” Mina says, jabbing at it with a plastic fork.

“Eat it before it gets cold.”

“It’s supposed to be hot?” Mina says, taking a bite. “Uh oh. This is pretty good.”

“You think?” Bat says, gleeful, jumping up and down. “I messed up steps nine and ten.”

“This has that many steps?”

She stops jumping. “Well, that’s kind of what I messed up, there are only supposed to be three steps.”

“It’s got a kick.”

“Yeah, that’s the devil part.”

Mina closes the box to protect the crab from an encroaching gull. “Look at you, a real chef. Now you know how to make two things.”

“Sal said he can make me a so-so cook in no time flat,” Bat says, sitting down next to her. 

“So when do you start frying up grub for your new boss?”

“I dunno. We’re meeting at the Laundromat to hash it out.”

“You don’t even know where the Laundromat is.”

“Nobody does.”

“Should I start worrying about you now, or save it up?”

“Yeah maybe start now, no reason to put it off.”

“I’ll tell you, Batya, I sure am tired of the Itch telling me all the bad things that are going to happen to you, and all the bad things I’m going to do about it.”

Bat rubs her aching shoulder. She’s not sure she likes that the pain makes her think—fondly—of Nia Muto. Eventually she says, “Lookit, we had a fun week together. You didn’t get your throat cut, I banged a little dude. You’ll be running Harvey’s Whatever in no time—”

Mina cracks up. “Oh my god, it’s Hawthorne Grain, how do you not know that.”

“I’m just saying let’s have a weekend for once, OK? Drink some drinks, don’t think any thinks. Save the crying for Monday where it belongs.”

“OK, you big stupid.”

And then a shadow falls across the sisters, and then a screeching voice tears through their souls:

“It is the time of reckoning, jackals!”

They scream. Bat jumps up and starts kicking nothing in particular. Then she turns and sees a figure in a black robe and ebony cry-mask looming over them, wielding a harpoon.

Mina lets out a long breath, relieved. “It’s just the Invoker.”

“Oh my guy,” Bat says. “Invoker, you scared my wits straight out.”

The Invoker makes a sound like two banshees screaming at a third banshee. Then: “Do you have that which you stole from me?”

“How much was it again?” Mina says. “Ten bucks?”

“Twenty!”

Bat takes out her new wad of cash, peels off a couple bills. “Tell you what, nai nai, let’s make it forty.”

The Invoker hesitates, then withdraws her harpoon and extends a claw to snatch the money. “The Invoker agrees to your terms.”

“You hungry?” Bat says, handing her the takeout box.

“What is this?”

“Just try it.”

The Invoker pushes up her mask. Seems like a nice enough old lady under there. “I have not yet feasted this morn.”

“Gimme your honest opinion.”

The Invoker has a forkful, nods. “Mm.”

Bat turns to Mina. “She loves it.”

“I like it,” the Invoker says.

“Look at her face,” Bat says, jumping again.

“Look at the joy your glop has brought,” Mina says.

“You can make fun of me all you want—”

“I will.”

“…but something I cooked up, me, is giving this old dame the jollies. I made that with my own two hands. These meathooks? That everyone wants me to pummel faces with? They did that.”

The Invoker, still chewing, says, “The ancient skinless spirits of our forest sing of the healing power of cooking. Do you know their song?”

“Course not,” Bat says.

“They sing: spice the dead, sustain the living.”

“What! That’s what Cha-Cha’s schlong told me!”

“It is very wise,” the Invoker says. “Now, let us sit and enjoy the sea air, ladies, for I am sick to death of standing.”

“Way ahead of you, Invoker,” Mina says.

“You’re the boss, Invoker,” Bat says.

And they sit, and they watch sailors haul piles of dead fish from the smoking husk of the Dandy Gorgon, and they pass the crab devil between them, and they think of nothing.

+++

This concludes Chokeville, a novel by Josh Fireland.

OK that’s that. Thank you for reading this. I’ll send one more email pretty soon to wrap things up and talk about what comes next. (I do not know what comes next.) I hope you’re doing well, or hanging in there.

xoxo josh