Rare Meat

***Language, Violence, and Gore***

When Nick arrived at table six sweat had dripped and dried on the back of his pressed white button-down shirt, and he was only one customer complaint away from getting fired. Chandeliers lit up the dining room. Voices of the other customers echoed behind him, the exhaustive conversations about New York City politics and the desire to help those less fortunate, spoken over steaks and wine and liquor that neither Nick nor any of his fellow servers could afford after weeks of working at this pretentious and pompous establishment. Then there was the smell. The smell didn’t seem to bother anyone else. The smell, like old copper, that made Nick want to vomit.

             He placed the plates down on the white table cloth. A man and woman sat across from each other in silence. The man’s gray and black chest hair blossomed like a bouquet of dead flowers over his shirt, and the woman’s tits and lips looked like they were in competition for how much money could be wasted on plastic surgeries.

             “I ought to have you fired.” The man slammed his fist on the table. The dining room went quiet. Nick stared at the two rings worn on the man’s finger. One on his index finger and one on his middle finger. “You even listening to me? You know who I am?”

             “I do apologize – ”

             “You are trying so very hard,” the woman said sitting across from him, in some exotic accent that was either Russian or some other Eastern European.

             “No one cares how hard you damn try in this world. Either you got it or you don’t and you clearly don’t. I order the same damn thing every time.”

               “Sir, I do apologize.”

             “Your being too harsh,” the woman said.   

             “And you can shut-up too. Just sit there and look cute. That’s what I pay for you anyway.”

             Nick excused himself and headed back toward the kitchen. The New York City skyline stared back at him, the skyscrapers mocking him as though they were a signal of the success he’d never have. The China. The custom tailored dresses and suits and gold cufflinks and gold watches. He didn’t care that other people lived like this. He just didn’t want them to pretend that they actually cared about people like him. He didn’t expect their sympathy. Didn’t want it either.

             He knew after this complaint it would all be over for hi.  Sure, the kitchen was slow. His section was busy. The orders got overwhelming. But there would be no explaining all of these away. His chest tightened. He tried to calm his breathing but nothing worked. He thought of all the reasons he had hoped that this job would work out and all the reasons he needed it to work. But he knew it was over. He was done.

The hostess, a woman with blonde hair in her early twenties, who had flirted with Nick when he came his interview., handed him the house phone. She looked and acted like she still lived at home with her parents because college had been just too damn stressful. She flashed Nick her perfectly white teeth as she walked away.

The restaurant manager’s voice came through the receiver like a high pitched squeal. Anthony, the prick, wore a bowtie every day to work and shouldn’t be responsible for managing anything.

             “You have any idea who you’ve pissed off?”

             “I brought that man exactly what he ordered. The kitchen’s been late all night”

             “You did something he didn’t like it.”

             “What?”

             “He said you looked at his girl.”

             “She was a hooker. The hell does he care?”    

             Nick didn’t want to think about having to apply for another job. More endless hours on the couch clicking ads on indeed. Ruminating where and when his life had gone wrong, but there may be too many correct answers for that question. Temptation calling him in the form of cheap bottles at the corner store.

             “Use the elevator when you leave.”  

             “I thought we weren’t supposed to use the elevator?”  

             “Just don’t go to the bottom level.”  

             He placed the phone back on a small mahogany table that led back to the kitchen and called the elevator. Ever since he’d accepted the job they had told him about the elevator. Only executive staff and VIP guests were allowed to use it. Everyone else had to use the stairs. What the hell was so damn special about the elevator?

             After waiting for 10 minutes, the elevator arrived at the top floor of the restaurant. Knowing this was his last time here, he selected the bottom floor, entitled “Private.”

             At first, the elevator wouldn’t budge, but after clicking several times it finally moved. It rumbled down to the “Private” floor, and with each floor, the smell of copper and old blood filled the elevator like water. When he arrived, the doors remained locked. A notification appeared on the panel, asking for a password.  

                                                                                     2.

What password?  He  thought to himself. He tried his employee ID. He tried the numbers in the address. He tried the year the restaurant opened. He tried until he received a notification that he had one more attempt.

             Perhaps it would be better if he just went back up. What was he trying to prove anyway? What did he have to gain? Nothing.

             He tried one more time, playing the numbers on that man’s golden rings from upstairs. Perhaps it had been just dumb luck, but when he was done entering the numbers the doors opened.  

             The rumors of a place that served exotic and illegal dishes had filled the city ten years back when those that were extremely wealthy were no longer sure what to spend their money on. They paid not only for the food, but for secrecy. There had been reports of a place like this, but the Mayor and the police commissioner and several congressmen had all promised a complete investigation and not found anything.

The summer that report came out Nick fell three stories while working on his construction site, leaving with his left leg broken, his right shoulder and arm broken, and parts of his lower back needed multiple surgeries. Even after recovering, at 33, he couldn’t work long hours at a construction site anymore and needed to find another job.

             His search yielded nothing, and worse, left to raise a three year old Sophia after his girlfriend  left him that fall, he needed help. Relief had come, he thought, in the way of his Mother moving in with him. Though it was apparent after Nick had taken her to doctors’ appointments all week and asked him to go the pharmacy in between pickups and drop-offs that Nick would be taking care of her more than she would be helping help with Sophia, who she showed only a vague interest in anyway

             So he accepted this job when the manager, that prick, told him the hours were from 8pm until 3am.  That would be perfect, he thought. Long after his Mother and daughter had gone to bed. He’d be gone to work his shift and if anything happened to his little girl his Mother would be there to handle it.

             He pressed the elevator button to go back upstairs, his chest tightening and tears dripping down his eyes because he was realizing that everything they said about this restaurant was true. He thought of little Sophia and what would happen to her if something happened to him. A dark shadow moved across the room.

                                                                                     3.

             Nick tried the elevator button again. His fingers felt heavy and dripped in sweat. The smell of old copper filled the elevator.  Whatever that smell was upstairs in the dining room, it seemed like Nick could taste it down here.

             The buttons in the panel of the elevator went dark. The lights light inside shut off. Nick pressed and pressed again but the elevator didn’t move. C’mon you son-of-a-bitch, C’mon! Nick thought to himself as he pressed the buttons frantically.

             “Those buttons won’t work now. Not till I send it back up,” A voice said, deep in the far corners of the room.

             In the distance, footsteps walked slowly toward the elevator. Toward Nick. Darkness filled the room, and the smell of stale sweat filled the already rot-filled room. Nick felt as though he were being hunted. His predator is taking its time. But he wanted so desperately to explain that this was all big one mistake. He doesn’t belong here. Just let me go back upstairs. Please, let me go. Let me go.

             “I need to go back upstairs. This is all one big misunderstanding,” Nick said, the desperation filling his voice like a hungry beggar.

              “I really don’t like my job. Do you like your job?” The voice said, filling the dark room.

             “I just care about my family. I want to go back to them,” Nick said.  

“I have family. I have a father.  But I don’t like what he makes me do. I am sorry. I supposed that won’t help you.”

The sight of the dark figure appearing from the dark shadows stole the air from Nick’s lungs. The figure was fat. Fat and obscenely tall. He wore a plain beige shirt. Sweat stains dripped from his armpits down his shirt. He wore blue-jean shorts that didn’t fit, as his belly pressed on the waist band. The shoes were missing laces and the leather was falling off at the seams. Still, he looked gentle. Harmless.

In the corner of the room was a locked box. Nick kicked himself for not seeing it before, though perhaps in the darkness what could you expect.

“I didn’t get many presents as a kid,” the man said, as he walked over to the locked box. He entered a code on a lock panel and the box snapped open. He laughed as the door opened, like a child opening up a brand new toy. “I like it when that box opens. Gives you a nice a big snap!”

The baseball bat was metallic, shining in the moonlight he pulled it out of the box. The man gripped the bat and squeezed the handle. Nick could feel the tension in the man’s hands. The man smiled at the bat the way you might smile at old friend.

“My father only let me play baseball for one year until he sent me down here,” the man said. “I had hurt too many people. I don’t mean too. I just like to play with them. Would you like to play with me?”

“I don’t want to play. I just want to go home to my family.”

“My father won’t let me out of here. I’m almost 30 and I have been out of here since I was fourteen. Do you have a father?”

“My father left when I was small.”

“I hate it down here. I god-damned hate it,” the man said, smacking the baseball bat against the wall. “Anyway, its time to play.”

The bat made a crisp and clean clinging sound as it swept across Nick’s legs. The pain in his lower body traveled through every fiber of his body. He crushed Nick’s leg with such pounding force that it sounded like the snap of a twig was being repeated over and over again. The man’s hands were calloused by the time he was done breaking both of Nick’s legs.

             “I used to let them run, but I don’t run so good anymore,” the man said.  

             Nick rolled over. The pain so intense he couldn’t breathe. His body trembled. He spat blood, rolling from his chin down to his chest. Tears dripped from his eyes. There would be no getting out of here, Nick knew. This basement. This man. The bat. The bloodstained bat. Here, it ends.

             “My Dad said that pain is an important part of life. He’d make me eaten certain things, but I never liked the things he made me eat. He said I’d consume the strength of others if I ate them. I’m not sure it ever worked. Its my bat that makes me strong.” 

             Nick crawled towards the edge of the wall, dragging his legs and body across the cold floor. He sat up against. The wall. He looked down. He couldn’t recognize his legs. Blood smeared against the floor. The bat lay on the other side of the wall, covered in blood.

             “Just let me go. Even now I won’t say anything. You don’t need to do this.”

             “I can’t. Daddy would be mad at me. Daddy would hurt me.”

                                                                                   4.

             On the third day, the fat man came in through the same opening in the wall. The man reeked of sweat and there large bags beneath his eyes.  In those three days, he’d heart the man weeping while also hearing the sound of the tv going on and off, mixed with the sound of crying. By the time Nick saw him, he felt more pity for this man than he did for himself. The fat man threw him a bottle of water.

             The fat man smiled and started clapping. “He’s alive, he’s alive. He’s alive. More playtime for me.”

             “Please, before we play again. Can you answer one question for me,” Nick said, the words taking all the remaining strength he had.

             “I’m not sure I like this game. I want to play my game. Wait, where’s my – ”

             “Just one question,” Nick said.

             “Fine,” the fat man said, his eyes now darting across the room.  

             “Is your father the man upstairs? The one with the rings?”

             “I don’t want to talk about him. No, I won’t do it. I didn’t like when we did it last time and I won’t do it now.

             “What’s your name?” Nick said.

             “You said one question. Now you’ve asked two.”

             “Tell me what your name is.”

             “Why are you doing this to me? Stop make it stop, please make it stop.”

             “What is your name you fat fuck!”

             The man charged at Nick with everything he had. That gentle face that he had seen only a few days ago disappeared, and now, he saw nothing but rage. Blind rage. He was only a few steps from Nick, but still had enough time to reach behind him and grab the handle of the bat.

             It took him a day just to notice that the bat had gone missing, and a better park of the second day to drag himself over to the bat. All morning, he had practiced his movements, like a basketball player working on his free throws. When the time came, Nick knew it would just be muscle memory. It wasn’t a guarantee. Nick was weak, dehydrated, and losing blood. But this would be his best bet. His only chance to get the hell out of this building.

             When the fat man got within striking distance, Nick reached back, pulled the bat that stood upright behind his back, and slammed it against the man’s upper arm. It wasn’t a powerful hit, but shocked him enough to force him backward.

             A look of confusion. Of betrayal ran across the man’s face. It dawned on Nick that he’d probably never been in a fair fight before. But still consumed by rage, the man charged back at him. Nick used the bat to support himself. Just as the man came within range again, Nick struck once more, hitting the man’s neck and sending him to the floor.  

             The elevator door was still open.  He grabbed the baseball bat, still dripping with blood, and crawled into the elevator as though he were a soldier traversing an open battlefield with bullets whizzing past his head.

             Work you damn thing, for fucksake, please work, Nick thought to himself. He thought of seeing Sophia again, For the first time in three days, that seemed like a real possibility. Telling her and telling his mother that he was so sorry. Hugging Sophia and feeling her little hands on his neck and back. Telling her that he loved her and I’m so sorry that Daddy’s been gone. But he had one item of business to handle first.

             He pressed the elevator back to the top floor. The elevator hesitated for a moment, as though it were shifting into gear. With no warning, the doors closed and elevator was on his its way. Nick gripped the baseball bat, unsure what time it was, or if he’d see who he wanted to see. Perhaps it would be better if he just went home now. What was the point of staying now? The longer he waited the more likelihood of him dying or being sent right back down.

             When the doors opened, dinner service had just begun. He stood up, leaning on the baseball bat for balance. The room had never looked so beautiful. The chandeliers had just been shined. Nick could see his reflection in the buffed marble floors. There were live violinists filling the air with calming music. But it was the same guests he’d seen before. And sitting in the far corner of the bar, he saw the man with the shiny rings.

             The music stopped, and people stared as Nick walked across the room, spilling blood as he made his way over to the man’s table. Behind him, he could hear other guests. They were scrambling away from him, pushing their tables in. Some screamed. Get him out of here! Who the hell is that!

             When Nick arrived at the old man’s table, he saw thing rings on the man’s finger. He saw the family reflection immediately. How he hadn’t seen it before, he didn’t know.

             He raised the bat in the air and said, “I have a message from your son downstairs.”