This Machine Kills (6 page)

   As they were drying off, Lennox and Skinner gently poked fun at Doyle’s slight body. They both looked like they could snap him in two with ease.

   “When are you gonna start hitting the gym with us?” Lennox asked, “you need to beef up if you want to make it on this team.”

   Still dripping with water, Rudy approached Lennox and rested his hand on his shoulder,

   “If I remember right it was you who was breathing out of your ass on top of that pile of rocks today. You did fine kid,” he winked at Doyle then headed towards his locker.

   “My cardio may not be great,” Lennox justified himself to Doyle, “but there’s no one in the unit who can lift as much weight as I can. Ain’t that right Skinner?”

   Skinner nodded solemnly.

   “You know what that is, don’t you Lennox?” Spike shouted from the shower, “Mong strength, all retards have got it.”

  Lennox’s brain worked overtime as it searched for the response that never materialised.

   Standing next to each other with only their towels wrapped around them, it was possible to see just how big the two Goliaths of the team really were. Although broader, Lennox was at least six inches shorter than Skinner and much stockier in build. He had the shape of an Olympic power-lifter.

  Skinner however, looked more like a body builder, his frame packed with watery, bloated muscle. The huge veins that ran the length of his biceps were almost as thick as a man’s finger. Without his armour on, the full extent of his body art became evident. The patterning on his arms continued up his chest and right the way down his massive back; the result of many hours under the needle. But even combined with his deep brown tan, the tattoos could not disguise the painful-looking acne covering his body and the shallow, pitted scars that had once been the same thing. These were the result of years of cheap steroid abuse that had helped him gain the look he’d craved so badly.

   Leaving the showers, Taylor walked past the men and headed towards the lockers where he was met by the sight of Rudy buttoning up his jeans. His face may have been weathered, but Rudy’s body could easily have been that of a man half his age. Even though he smoked like a chimney and Taylor had never seen him take part in any form of exercise, Rudy’s slim, sinewy physique looked like it belonged to a man who had spent his life digging ditches and carrying out other tasks of hard labour. Minor lacerations that Rudy paid no attention to, now peppered his face and body. Taylor had been lucky, with the exception of a dull ache in his back, he had escaped the explosion injury-free.

  
“You know what that shit reminded me of?” Rudy half-whispered so only Taylor could hear him.

  The usual vitriol he spoke to him with had disappeared. This was a very different Rudy from the one who had spent the morning antagonising his superior.

   “The fucking Uprisings,” he said, not waiting for Taylor to answer.

   Taylor patted himself dry with his towel, “Except there were thousands of them then, not just two.”

   “That’s not what I meant,” Rudy went on, “it was the way that crazy  bitch was willing to kill herself just to take a few of us out. It was how those assholes who followed Billy Nothing used to act.”

   “Yeah,” Taylor agreed, willing to bow to Rudy’s superior knowledge on the subject. Those things had taken place before he and his friends had signed up for SecForce. In fact, it was the Uprisings that led to Taylor leaving the Old-Town and permanently moving to the City. For that, he would always be grateful to them.

   Rudy ran a comb through his thick, grey hair, “You think this shit’s going to start getting heavy again?”

   “If they were going to try something,” Taylor answered, “they should have done it before the wall was up. It’s too late now for heroics.”

   “Let’s hope so. If Rogers was right about SecForce keeping us on, I’m looking forward to earning my money the easy way.”

   Taylor looked around the room for eavesdroppers, “Well it’s not like we don’t deserve a bit of down-time, you boys have had to take more shit than most.”

   Rudy pushed his locker closed, “Perhaps they’ll give us the Leisureplex as our new stomping ground. It’ll be bikinis and cocktails all round.”

   Taylor laughed, “Yeah and with our luck we’ll be guarding the men’s steam room.”

   As they continued to dress in silence, Taylor glanced at the mirror on the inside of his locker. He may have been indifferent about his looks, (he could at best be described as rugged rather than handsome), but he couldn’t help admire the reflection he saw of his own body. He was athletic looking rather than bulky and packed with functional lean muscle, every inch of it there for a reason. His torso looked like it had been sculpted with a chisel. What he really prized himself on though, was that unlike his muscle-bound colleagues, he knew exactly how to use his strength and power; years of training had taught him well.

   The locker room grew louder as the banter between the men steadily increased. Taylor was glad to hear them sounding happy, they had just suffered the first fatality in the Old-Town for months. He was surprised to see Doyle look so carefree as he laughed at Spike’s dirty jokes.

   As the laughter from Spike’s punch-line delivery died down, the high spirited boy yelled across the room to Taylor, “Hey Sarge, you watching the fights tonight?”

   Doyle’s words caused the noise in the room to quickly die down.

   Lennox looked at him and shook his head, “Don’t you know dude? Taylor don’t do prison matches.”

   Now they were off-duty, the team was free to address their leader by his name.

   Doyle stared back at Lennox blankly.

   “You do know who he is don’t you?” Lennox asked.

   “Yeah, of course. When I told my father I was joining your team,” he said, addressing Taylor, “he made me sit down and watch some of your fights. My dad was a big fan of yours.”

   Taylor smiled, accepting the compliment.

   “It was really funny to see you in those old files, you looked really young back then.”

   Spontaneous laughter broke out in the room.

   “What?” Doyle asked innocently.

   “Old man Taylor!” shouted Skinner.

   Spike was laughing so hard at Doyle’s unintentional slight, he could barely catch his breath.

   “Nice, rookie,” he finally managed to say, “I’m getting to like you more and more.”

   Doyle looked to Taylor apologetically, “I didn’t mean anything.”

   Taylor shook his head, trying to conceal his amusement, “And there I was thinking that you were going to become a valued member of the team.”

   “But Sarge…” Doyle’s voice was drowned out by the other men’s laughter.

   Skinner patted him on the back, “Don’t make it worse for yourself son, you’re in the doghouse now.”

   Taylor finally smiled, letting Doyle know no offence had been taken.

   “So Taylor,” Lennox said over the noise, “we thought we’d hit the City tonight and give Rogers a send-off. You up for it?”

   Taylor pulled his T-shirt over his shoulders, “I’d love to, but I’ve got something I need to do.”

   Spike jumped in before anyone could reply.

   “Hang-on Lennox, I thought you said you and Skinner were polishing each other’s helmets tonight?”

   Skinner let out a nervous laugh as Lennox dropped his eyes to the floor, avoiding the gazes of the team. It was a well-known secret that when they were in basic training together, Skinner and Lennox had become more than a little friendly with each other. They weren’t the only ones either, it had always amazed Taylor how only a few months away from their wives and girlfriends could quickly send a group of red-blooded men into each other’s arms. When they went back to their normal lives, these brief relationships were usually swept under the carpet but in Skinner and Lennox’s case, it was hard to tell if they had altogether given up on their  feelings for each other.

   “You’re not saying you’re too good to have a drink with your team are you Sarge?” Rudy asked, undeterred by Spike’s attempts at distraction.

   Taylor shook his head, “No Rudy, I’m not.”

    He had wondered how long it would take his sparring partner to get back to his old self.

   “Then what’s more important than toasting a man who died serving beneath you?”

   Taylor sighed, “If you must know, I’ve got to go and tell Rogers’ wife and kid that he won’t be coming home tonight.”

   He picked up his bag and headed for the door, feeling guilty that his last comment would hang in the room like a bad smell.

   “I’ll see you all in a few days,” he said, grateful in the knowledge that his tour of duty had finally ended.

   As he walked down the corridor, Taylor heard heavy footsteps chasing him. He turned to see Spike approaching; he was red-faced and breathing heavily.

   “Thanks for walking so fast,” Spike panted when he finally caught his breath, “now I’m going to need another shower when I get home.” 

   Taylor laughed, “Have you ever considered exercising?”

   Spike wiped the sweat from his forehead, “Nah, fuck that man, exercise will kill you, take my word for it.”

   If there was anyone who shouldn’t have been working in the security forces it was Spike. He was lazy, undisciplined (he often arrived late for duty with egg yolk or other food stuff staining the front of his uniform) and hated all forms of violence. Unfortunately for him he also had a terminal gambling addiction. When the debts he ran up lost him his wife, job and home, it was only his heavy goods vehicle licence that got him a driver’s post with SecForce and prevented him being permanently expelled to the Old-Town.

   “Listen boss, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job…”

   It was how Spike always began when he wanted to tell Taylor how to do his job.

   “I know they’re assholes an’ all but don’t cut yourself off from the team. Look at what happened today for fuck’s sake. You need to trust the man watching your back.”

   “I know that Spike, but Rogers was one of my guys, its up to me to tell his wife before she hears it elsewhere.”

   He was referring to the newsbites. Taylor knew it wouldn’t be long before Rogers’ face was plastered all over them, his death further terrifying the City’s inhabitants.

   Spike shook his head and sighed,  “All the fucking cocksuckers they could have chosen from and they had to get him. Life really ain’t fair is it boss?”

   Taylor shrugged, “It’s not about fair, shit like this just comes down to luck. A gambling man like yourself should know that better than anyone.”

    “Yeah,” Spike laughed, “me and luck are well acquainted.” 

    “It’s a damn shame though,” Taylor sighed, “took me six months to get the team back to full strength and then this happens.”

   Spike smiled, “Looks like you’ve got to go begging to Mason again.” 

   Taylor’s team had been a man down since Goldman’s freak accident. The team had been calming down a minor skirmish at a food queue when the teargas grenade he was holding went off. As he had lost his trigger finger and thumb there had been no choice but to retire him on ill-health.  There were rumours it had been done on purpose as a means to gain a pay-out for his family. It wouldn’t have surprised Taylor; Goldman was an edgy fucker who should never have been operational in the first place. The first thing he had done upon retiring was up sticks and move to Ocean City; the only one still left on the coast. Taylor imagined him lying on the beach; a cocktail glass in his mutilated hand.

   He took a fifty out of his wallet and pressed it into Spike’s hand, “Get the first round on me, hopefully they’re shallow enough that I can still buy their affections.”

   Spike inspected the note, “It can only work in your favour, although I’m sure a hundred will give them a real hard-on for you.”

   Taylor nudged Spike’s chubby arm, “Go on, piss off before I take the money back.”

   “Be safe Taylor,” Spike said as he turned and waddled back towards the shower room. 

   “Hey Spike,” Taylor yelled down the corridor, “take it easy on the kid tonight, I want to make sure he’s back in one piece next week.”

   “Don’t worry, you can count on me,” Spike answered without bothering to turn round.

   Taylor could imagine the smile on his face growing as he said it.

   He decided to walk to the Rogers house. It would give him time to think. He realised that when talking to Doyle earlier in the day, it had been the first time he had spoken about his mother for years. He smiled when he remembered how angry he had got as a child when she made him take the long bus journey to Jubilee Street. He would constantly nag her as she dragged him from one dingy shop to another. Why didn’t she just save time and buy all the food in the mega-market?

   His mother, a beautiful woman of Greek decent and a lover of authentically cooked food, never relented. ‘If something was worth making’ she would say, ‘then it was worth making properly’. ‘Anyway,’ she would add, ‘wouldn’t you rather give our money to lots of different people rather than just one who’s already rich?’ Taylor never responded, knowing she would dislike his reply.