Nasty Comeback

The dirty alley stank. Julien contributed to both the filth and the stench by puking in a corner by a garbage container. He breathed heavily for a few times, then spasmed again. He heaved several more times.

“Merde,” he said as he calmed down.

He looked around. Not that he could see much, at this time of the night. With most of the streetlights vandalized ages ago, all the light he had came from the faraway blinking neon signs. Creeping his way out, he tripped and fell, cursing again in French.

Julien tried to stand, but found himself entangled with something. The something turned out to have arms and legs.

“Oh no no no…” Julien felt a spike of panic as he noticed the body was not responsive. He fumbled for his smartphone and lit up the screen. To his surprise, he recognized the face attached to the immobile body. “What the…? Tova?”

Julien shook her. His brain started registering that her old companion was, of all places, here, in this back alley, dressed like a cheap hooker, and looking very much just a few steps on this side of a cadaver. He recalled she had always looked stunning. Tova had always enjoyed her open sexuality and flirting with anything alive. The only thing that she had seemed to enjoy more than sex was his Glasgow Celtic football club. That had been back in the day. Before the Incident that had changed everything. The Incident that had changed them all.

“Tova! C’est moi, Julien!”

She stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered. Her head lolled. Julien shook her again, a little stronger this time, calling her name.

“J… Julien?” she breathed out… “Help… help me… please…”

Julien passed his arm under her. Tova had always been tall, contributing to her impressive presence. People used to feel intimidated by her. But he found her almost weightless. What had happened to her? For a moment, Julien considered taking her in his arms, but finally decided he wasn’t in such a good shape either, even though he had sobered up considerably in the last minutes. No money left, alcohol leaving his system. Debts was all he still had.

And Tova, it seemed.

Julien shuffled out of the alley with his burden, considering what to do next. If worse came to worst, he could take her to his place. And then what? They reached a still working streetlight, and grabbed his chance to take a good look at her.

“Merde,” he repeated.

Her look was unmistakable. Julien had seen enough crack addicts back then. They all had. The aftermath of the Incident had hit them all hard. He had become a gambler, and it seemed that Tova had ended up hooked to other addictions.

He cursed again. How long must it have been since she had smoked her last dose? There was no way for him to know. But there was something else he did know: there was no way for him to get crack for her. Hell, he almost couldn’t get food for himself.

Home for now, he thought, and we’ll see later. He tried not to cringe as he reflected on what he called home these days. A single room, a bunk, a kitchenette. But he had a tiny bathroom with a shower.

Julien gave the manager the slip, a no small feat considering he was half carrying Tova, and successfully achieved his goals of unlocking his door and getting in without dropping her. He couldn’t help her hitting the doorjamb, but she didn’t seem to notice. Julien set her on his bunk, and locked the door back. Then he went to the bathroom and let the water run.

Finding no other way to do it, since Tova was still almost two meters tall, he just stepped under the shower with her. Julien started peeling her tart uniform off.

“Mon dieu,” he whispered as he saw her body. What was left of her body, he thought. Tova was reacting to the cold water. Julien turned the hot water on, silently praying for the bloody manager not having turned it off, and sighing when he noticed he hadn’t. Thanks for the small miracles. Tova tried to put up a feeble protest when he started soaping her up, but that was all she managed before passing out in his arms again.

Leaning on the wall, Julien rinsed her, then cut off the water and stepped out. He managed to wrap Tova in a towel and, finally feeling strong enough, carried her to the bunk, then went back in to get himself dry.

Julien stared at his own reflection. Many of Tova’s features he saw repeated there: the bags under his eyes, the gaunt countenance. Some of the marks of their addictions. Of course, hers were much worse. His stubble had turned to a whitish beard. On a whim, he decided he’d leave it, moving his face this way and that. When he turned towards the room, he stared at Tova.

She’d soon wake up and need more drug. Something he could not give her. He’d just have to send her off, wouldn’t he?

Julien looked at the mirror again. Not really. He knew he wasn’t going to send her on her way. He nodded slowly: he realized he had made a decision, back in the alley, when he had picked her up. When he had taken her to his home, and had tidied her up and let her sleep on his bunk.

Coffee. He still had coffee left, and through all this he had always kept his moka pot. As he filled the funnel with ground coffee, he acknowledged he really had no idea how he was going to clean her. He needed help.

Julien put the coffee pot in the fire, and trying not to wake Tova, he kneeled by the bunk and felt underneath it, pulling out a large sports bag. He sighed, and took off the metallic case. He knew the biometric lock still worked. It couldn’t fail. He placed his palm on top of the sensor, and there was a click.

How long had it been since he had last seen his weapon? Julien shivered when he acknowledged he couldn’t honestly remember. The protective case was designed to preserve its contents, but a weapon like his had to be cleaned and maintained. There had been a time when such a task was a soothing routine. Had he stooped so low?

He caressed the metal, then the wood. It sang back to him. At least he still kept her (and why her? It was stupid, calling the weapon a her): there was some measure of dignity left in him, since he hadn’t pawned or sold it to keep gambling.

Damn. Someone could show up to collect his debts. No, someone would. Debts he had no money to pay off. They weren’t safe. He caressed the weapon again and, for a moment, considered his options. Well, he wasn’t going to make a mess, but taking precautions harmed no one. Or no one he actually cared for, and at least, it would help keeping the two of them alive.

Julien opened the secret compartment and palmed the small electronic device within. So. He had thought it would never happen, but here he was, with the emergency procedure in his hand. They were all illegal, had been for quite some time. But there was no way back now. He opened it. It looked much like a miniature smartphone, but the screen was blank. Julien touched it, and a red led started blinking. Moments later, it went green and stopped blinking, and the screen showed a map and a route.

***

Julien walked away from the stolen van, telling himself that no one was going to miss such a piece of junk. Still he left it two block away from his final destination, just in case. As if walking two blocks with a delirious woman suffering from detox in his arms wasn’t suspicious enough.

He had learned the address by heart. He rang and waited, and the door to the building unlocked. Julien pushed in with his elbow, and cursed when he saw there was no lift. But it was to be expected. He climbed three storeys, located the door and knocked. He waited, knowing they were being remotely searched. Tova moaned in pain. He heard footsteps on the other side, and an Asian woman opened. He could feel more people inside.

“Sharpshoot,” she said. “I cannot say this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Bonne nuit, Healer, it’s been a long time,” Julien answered. “Je suis désolé, but I had to activate the emergency procedure. Not for me, but last night I found Snowstorm. She needs your healing powers.”

A large shadow entered his field of vision.

“Tank,” Julien said in greeting. The giant just grunted, then bowed down, took Tova from his arms and carried her away.

“Come in,” Healer said. “We need to hurry.”

~~~

This is my entry for this week’s Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge, They Fight Crime!

For this challenge, we had to click on this link, They Fight Crime, and get one of the pairings the site gives us, then write 1500 words.

To be honest, I just couldn’t stop clicking on the link and get hilarious pairings. In the end, I chose this one:

He’s a sharp-shooting French-Canadian with a gambling addiction.
She’s an oversexed Celtic Fan who is addicted to crack.
Together, They Fight Crime!

Somehow along the writing procedure, the hilarity fell off and the forcefully retired superhero theme crept in.