Scum disposal

You stand back, teeth-gritting, to stare at the man who tried to violate your mother. His friend's twitching eyes stare at the faint moonlight, your mum's pink heel embedded through his forehead. His eyes dart around like a Goldfish, clutching at the rusty rod in his throat.

'Are you all, right, Joey?' says Mum, panting, wearing one heel. She hovers over the stiff thug, wrapping her hands around you. You feel wet scratch bumps across the back of her hands. Bruises and blemishes all over her from the skinny man's surprise attack. Now he is on the ground, stubble-covered face gasping for breath, life essence spurting from a punctured carotid artery. 

'Son of a bitch!' you shout as Mum holds you back. The image of him pinning your mother against the wall loops in your mind. His grinning white teeth as his bouncer-sized friend shoved his elephant knee into your ribs. You are ready to stomp the rod deeper into his neck until Mum obstructs you. 

'No more!' she says, her chest racing up and down. 

Your eyes adjust to the alley dimness, noticing five fingernail-shaped marks over her wrists, each bordered in rose blemish. The man chokes, gripping the metal with both hands. It flies out his wound with two yanks, oblivious to the red fountain gushing down his hoodie. He collapses face-first into the dirt. 

'Thank God,' says Mum, cleaning into you. A stabbing pain fills your chest as the adrenaline wears off. Take light breaths, sharp bone fragments piercing your inner flesh.  

'I should've killed him myself,' you snarl, kicking the boot heel lodged into the bald man's head.

'You're not like them,' she says, glancing at the dark red splatters covering her white evening dress. No apartment windows above opened during the ordeal, despite bright light shining through some of them. Whether completely heartless or oblivious, residents left a mother and son trembling below, drowned out by distant tom cats' cries and blaring New York taxis.

'Did he hurt you?' you ask, feeling her rapid heartbeats against you.

'I don't know. I think you got him in time.' Mum wipes falling mascara tears, snarling at the mugger who grabbed her.

'I should shove the other heel down his thro—' she says. You interrupt her with a comforting hug. A few minutes go by as you look down the illuminated ally entrance ten yards away. No one has passed, and taxis zoom by in yellow blurs.

'Bastards!' Mum kicks the tip of her heel into the bald one's chest a few times, stopping for breath.

'What do we do now?' you ask.

'I don't know,' she stares wide-eyed at the bodies.

'Should we call the police—'

'No! definitely not,' she says, taking away your phone. 

'It's self-defence. They'd have killed us,' you say, looking up the high corners of the ally buildings. 'Surely there's cameras around?' Mum looks around, seeing no tiny red lights or black spheres signifying roaming eyes. 

'Crap, no cameras,' she paces back and forth. 'It's our word against dead men,'

'But all courts will believe you. You're the victim.'

'There's a heel in that one's head and a bar in his neck,' she points to the gruesome scenery. 'They're going to ask why they're both dead.'  

'Come on, we've gotta clean this up,' she says, rapidly rubbing her handkerchief across her hand. 'Where's the sanitiser?'

'Sorry, what?' 

'Give it, or we're fucked,' she yanks the small bottle from my pocket, splurging it over the metal rod in the young man's grip. She squeezes it dry across the ally, kicking dirt piles over blood-soaked mud and rubbing out stains on the walls. 

'Burn the evidence.' she goes to a nearby dumpster and fishes out rippled trash bags. 'Put these over them.' After you cover the heads of the two with the stinky bags, she heaves the young man's legs through the dirt. 

'We won't get away with this,'  you say as she ignores you.

She jingles the Tesla keys in her pocket. 

'It's only around the corner, come on.' she pulls him towards the ally entrance, concealed by midnight shadows. 

You reluctantly use your knees to pull the large man with skull fragments sticking out of his head. He weighs like a ton of bricks, but the thought of your school friends and extended family finding out you brutally murdered two muggers in an excessive fashion push you on. 

'Assuming no one sees us, how are we getting rid of them?' you ask, cautiously scanning the approaching street entrance for cars. 

'Let's just get them to the car first,' she says, reaching the streetlights. 'We'll have to dissolve them. People say there's a black market around here.'

'Are you crazy? I'm not melting body—' she covers your mouth.

'Shut up, don't fight me on this.' you notice her arms still trembling, face sickly and paler. 

'Okay, but let's throw them in the East River—' 

'No, there are cameras there.' she gestures to you to duck as a beaming headlight blinds us. An old motorcycle engine crackles down the street as you utilise parked cars to obstruct the bodies. 

'Let's burn them then,' you say, seeing Mum's Tesla model S tucked a yard off under an Oak tree.

'No, we're dissolving them.' she says firmly. 

'I can't believe we're arguing over this,' 

As you halt under the concealing branches and leaves, the trunk sensor slowly opens. 

'Don't get blood on the white,' she says, lifting the skinny man's head into the trunk. You fold the big one's legs like an origami swan into the back, struggling to move his stiffening joints. 

'Hurry before rigor mortis sets in,' you say, using your sleeve to wipe away red droplets running down the white paint. 

Mum stares blank face at the black bags staining the interior trunk fabric. 

'You okay?' you ask, placing your hand over her shoulder. 

'Not really,' she slams the trunk, the backlight lighting up.

'Come on, we've got to clean the street.' you walk back down the way you came, using last sanitiser droplets to smudge scrape stains leading from the ally up to the car. 

'I'm sorry what happened,' 

'Don't say that,' she says. 'If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here.' 

She kisses your cheek, holding you close. You see glum hopelessness in her pupils. The joyful glow that sparked with laughter after opera nights is gone, replaced by a lifeless gaze. You think about those monsters left to rot inside her trunk. What their despicable decision led to, and how it's affected you tonight. You smile, anticipating Mum watching the mugger's dirty faces melting in your bathtub. They will fade into nothingness as your mum lives her life, slowly recovering from this situation whilst the attackers rot in the pits of Hell. Justice served.