#17 Slaughter café
TRIGUN
-104-
sunlight streams down mercilessly, baking the desert sand and the huge, craggy
rock that shoots upwards for hundreds of feet, a single pillar standing in the
flatlands.
Juneora Rock
next to it arcs a metal rib from one of the old Ships, the three giant light
bulbs dangling from it visible from miles away.
1000km northwest of May City...
at the base of both huddles a fair-sized town.
...and a major stop on the route to Augusta.
-105-
as far as the residents are concerned, it’s another normal day.
But today, unwanted visitors will blow into this
quiet country town, bringing with them the scorching desert wind.
wheels rumble against the sand, a caravan of cars breaching town limits.
inside a simple diner, a couple patrons munch away on lunch, unaware. at the
corner of the bar, sits a dark haired man in a white trench coat.
-106-
the townsfolk finally take notice of the newcomers, mostly because the whole
caravan parked right in the middle of the road. an ostentatious skull,
snake and sword sigil is painted on the sides of at least one of the trucks.
Legato doesn’t deign to notice their arrival. his mind is elsewhere,
a certain series of events on continuous replay in his mind.
//flashback//
Vash- From this second on, I am coming after you!!
-107-
eyes distant and body on autopilot, he brings a forkful of food to his mouth.
I doubt he tastes it at all.
outside, passersby watch the men getting out of the trucks and start edging
away. en masse the gang heads for the diner, ignoring the townsfolk.
among the heavy tread of their boots comes the patter of small, bare feet.
frilly skirts stick out horribly against metal and leather.
BAM
the diner’s swinging doors bang open.
-108-
striding in like they owned the place comes one scruffy horde. they’ve
got “thug” written all over them; big shoulders, thick necks, wild
hair, tattoos, and utterly unnecessary metal all over their clothing.
a couple have their hands wrapped around long chains, each of which is attached
to the collar circling the necks of petite, blank eyed girls.
Boss Meathead- YO! Bring out the booze! The best stuff you’ve
got an’ keep it coming!
the lot strides over to a set of tables, the girls trailing docilely in their
wake, empty-eyed and silent.
-109-
the other patrons of the bar look on and seethe inside, but none dare to
make any move. after all, it is a horde of big, burly guys used to a regular
diet of violence.
Gutless Patron 1- //thinking// Th- the Roadwreck Slavers!
Gutless Patron 2- //thinking// That means all those poor girls are cattle
bound for the organ factories… but on the way the slavers can have all
the “fun” they want, sick bastards!
the meatheads take their seats, one which faces the bar. the whole
café is dead silent. not even the sound of silverware clinking
on plates is heard.
-110-
but even with the sudden, smothering tension in the air, Legato doesn’t
change. his hand mechanically spoons food to his mouth, his eyes boring
a hole into the counter a couple inches above his dish.
kneeling complacently on the floor at the feet her “master”, one girl’s
dead gaze lands on him, and a spark of brightness lights. unfortunately
for her, “master” notices.
Meathead- GRAAAAAAA!!
he decks her hard enough that she hits the floor face first and bounces.
Meathead- Bitch!! You looked! I saw you! You think he’s
better than me, don’t you. Huh!? Don’t you?!
he adds in several stomps on her unresisting back for good measure.
-111-
everyone else’s eyes are rounder than saucers, the sudden, loud outbreak
a shock in more ways than one. well… everyone except Legato is shocked,
anyway. he’s still focused on that one spot in front of his dish,
spoon moving steadily. suddenly the Meathead who looks like he’s
the boss starts chuckling.
Boss Meathead- I got it. Good lookin’, mysterious and menacing. Girls
go for that type. You ain’t winning this one, Nagi. …Hey
mister. You’re a cruel one, ain’cha. These girls finally
gave up on everything last night. You ain’t doing them no favors,
trying to help.
-112-
Boss Meathead- It just means we gotta break ‘em all over again. Hyahahaha!
the other patrons bite their tongues, the instinct for personal survival
winning out over their increasing rage and disgust.
Gutless Patron 1- //thinking// Those… swine!!
Legato… keeps munching on his lunch.
now people are starting to look at him sidelong, too. the Meatheads are looking
at him a little harder.
Nagi- He’s ignoring us.
Boss Meathead- Ballsy bastard.
silence.
Legato lifts a forkful to his mouth.
-113-
the snub is more than Nagi can take. jumping to his feet, he pulls a pistol
out of his jacket and aims.
Nagi- SAY SOMETHING, DICKHEAD!!!!
firing, he takes the top half of Legato’s fork right off. there’s
a half-second pause, before Legato lets the utensil plop into his bowl.
-114-
but he doesn’t rise to the bait.
Legato- Barkeep, may I have another spoon?
Nagi- LOOK AT ME!!!!!!!!
the Meathead opens fire again, this time tracing a fairly neat outline of
Legato’s body. I’ll give the guy this; he’s got good aim.
too bad he’s dumb.
however, he did get his wish. Legato is looking at him. it’s
not a nice gaze.
Legato- ………What’s your hurry, little bug?
Boss Meathead- ?! Wha--!
Legato- In a very short time, this world will be purged of humankind, down to
the last filthy soul. Why rush to throw away what little time you have
left?
-115-
in an instant, the mood in the café goes from tense fear to confusion.
everyone blinks a couple times and looks around them. did this guy really
just say, seriously mind you, that the world was going to end soon? Nagi
comes to the same conclusion just about everyone else did.
Nagi- This guy’s a nut. I don’t get a word of what you’re sayin---
a chill finger of pure fear slides down Nagi’s spine and his body jerks
to a halt. it wasn’t a voluntary decision.
Legato- You needn’t. Mister Slaver, you die first.
the words are spoken quietly, but their impact is huge. Nagi’s arm twitches,
then rockets upwards, almost pulling his shoulder joint apart. writhing,
his fingers curl into claws---
-116-
then his whole hand punches into his chest. with strength that should
be utterly impossible period, let alone at such an odd and twisted angle, Nagi’s
hand wriggles through muscle and cracks bone, fingers aiming for one spot.
Nagi himself is wide-eyed and screeching, right hand trying --futilely-- to
stop what the left is doing. the other meatheads are all gaping, the situation
not computing. no one can muster the presence of mind to assist Nagi.
Legato simply stares.
-117-
Nagi’s fingers find their target, and with a wrenching jerk that sends
gobs of blood, bone and meat flying, he pulls his own heart out of his chest.
it’s only after his body finishes collapsing that the rest of the meatheads
finally get a grasp on what happened. Nagi’s blood all over them,
they gang-rush a still-glaring Legato.
Meatheads- YOU FU-----!!!!
-118-119-
it was a very, very bad move.
screams and bullets and blood and bodies dance jerkily through the air in a
red-soaked parody of a play, the director in untouched white simply watching
it unfold, still and silent as a grave.
-120-
crimson paints a huge circle on the floor, various bodies and some of their
unattached parts scattered about.
The customers who witnessed the entire event at the
café provided the exact same statement, down to a man.
outside that sharply defined circle are only a couple of splatters of blood,
no other damage.
‘The man in white never moved. The victims just
started killing each other.'
blood splotches on their frilly dresses, the girls’ blank-eyed stares register
no shock, no fear, no nothing.
-121-
some look up, some don’t, when Legato stands in front of them.
Legato- For all that the day humanity is purged is close, you at least deserve
to live out the rest of your lives in quiet peace. You were misfortunate.
The end is near. Live as much and as meaningfully as you can in
your remaining time.
utter silence sees Legato out of the café, no one daring even to breathe.
-122-
some distance outside, Legato suddenly stops, eyes again turning inwards.
Legato- //thinking// How unusual. For me to stoop to squashing bugs
like those…
a small, ghostly, not-quite-sane smile quirks the edges of Legato’s lips,
and his eyes go a little wide.
Legato- //thinking// Interesting, Vash the Stampede. Very interesting.
It seems your very existence puts me in a foul mood.
Slaughter café/ END