RAZOR CITY: The Severed Lines Anthology

Luck isn’t a woman’s name in Razor City. Luck here is the bluntness of the knife stabbed into your back while walking down an alley at midnight. Just that. Nothing more.

But I am here. In the bowels of the city, at this table smelling of rust and dried blood. The people sitting across from me have no faces. They look like they’re made of shadows. They don’t breathe, they just wait.

My hands are shaking. Not from fear. From the cold. Once the cold of this damned city seeps into your bones, you wouldn’t be able to warm up even if you went to hell.

I look at the center of the table. Right there. At that one thing.

Emerald Green.

It shines like a lighthouse in the middle of that filthy, gray, rotting world. My last token. I don’t remember my name. I don’t know where I was last night. I don’t even know why my hands are covered in blood. All I know is that my past is hidden inside that green plastic.

The dealer hands out the cards. The cards aren’t paper. They are razor blades. Razor-thin steel plates.

“Play, Lenny,” I tell myself. “Play and remember. Or lose and become a nobody forever.”

I take the card. My fingertip is sliced. Blood drips. The game begins.

The table is vibrating. Or maybe I’m the one vibrating, I’m not sure.

This isn’t a casino. This is the cold storage of that damn slaughterhouse in the “Rusty Teeth” district. Above, the blood of cattle hanging on hooks drips down. Just to mix with what’s dripping from us below. The ventilation fan on the ceiling is spinning. Whir. Whir. With every turn, it brings in the howl of the damned Razor Wind from outside, not fresh oxygen.

The dealer... They call him “Faceless”. And they’re right. His face is completely burned, like a melted candle. He has no eyelids. He never blinks. He only looks at those razor-sharp cards. He starts shuffling. Clack. Clack. Clack.

That’s not the sound of paper. It’s the sound of thin steel plates scraping against each other. Nobody can touch anything soft in this city. Even a game should hurt.

Faceless tosses the cards in front of me. The cards slide across the metal surface of the table and stop.

I reach out. There’s an old scar on my right index finger. A souvenir from a fight I don’t remember. I lift the card. Its edge is so sharp that I don’t even feel my skin splitting. Just a thin, hot sting. Then, that dark red dot dripping onto the table.

“Blood,” I say to myself. “Still warm. That means I’m still alive.”

I look at the cards. Seven of Diamonds. Two of Clubs.

A garbage hand. Just like my life. But the game isn’t won with cards here. It’s won with eyes. And with that thing in the middle of the table.

I lock onto that green token.

Why is it so important? Why do I smell burning rubber when I look at it? Why does a woman’s scream echo in my ear, crying, “Don’t do it, Lenny!“?

That token is my memory. That token is the only key to light up that dark room inside my head.

I lift my head and look around. The walls are covered in rusty metal plates. In the corner, hiding in the shadows, are armed guards. With those stupid, emotionless expressions on their faces. Maybe they aren’t even human. Maybe they’re tin men straight out of the Graveyard Shift’s scrap press.

The chairs at the other end of the table creak. My opponents take their places.

The breath of the man sitting to my left reeks of cheap whiskey and cigars. His massive frame barely fits the chair. The one sitting to my right is... motionless like a statue.

Faceless raises his head slightly. He looks at me as if he has no eyes.

“Bets.” he says. His voice sounds like a tombstone being dragged across the floor.

I pull out the last thing in my pocket. I have no money. I sold my watch a long time ago. As for my soul, it’s full of bullet holes.

There is only that. With my trembling, bloody fingers, I take that Emerald Green token and place it in the cold, gray heart of the table.

“All in,” I say. “My past, my future, and my present. It’s all on this table.”

The wind outside starts to howl louder. As if it’s also curious about the outcome.

I size up my opponents. No one uses their real name at this table. Names are meant to be written on tombstones in Razor City. Here, there are only aliases and sins.

The heap on my left... They call him “Chrome Tooth”. The syndicate boss of the “Rusty Teeth” district. The buttons on his shirt struggle to hold back his gut. His chest heaves like a bellows as he breathes. That single gold tooth in his mouth grins with a filthy gleam in the dim light. His hands are calloused and greasy. God only knows how many throats those hands have choked, how many strikers they’ve pushed under those metal presses. But God hasn’t visited this basement in a long time.

The one sitting on my right is a ghost: “The Widow”. Dressed in all black. Her face is hidden behind a laced veil. I can only see the tip of her chin; white as marble, cold as a corpse. Her scent overpowers the stench of rust and blood in here. She smells of rotting lilies and formaldehyde. Like a funeral home.

Faceless raises his hand with those mechanical movements. The first three cards are revealed. Chink. Chink. Chink.

The cards drop onto the table like guillotine blades. Queen of Spades. Ten of Diamonds. King of Clubs.

There is nothing in the middle. With this garbage two and seven in my hand, I am a nobody. But not a single muscle twitches on my face. The moment you show your fear in this city, the vultures swarm.

Chrome Tooth smirks. A phlegm-filled laugh rises from his throat. He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket. He tosses a heavy, rusty object onto the table.

“I call,” he says. His voice sounds like he’s chewing gravel.

I look at the object on the table. A heavy iron key. It says “Port Warehouse 44” on it.

“Inside are records that will lock up half the city,” he growls. “And a little surprise for you, Lenny. Proof of that night.”

My heart pounds against my ribcage. That night…

It’s The Widow’s turn. She adjusts her veil with her slender, porcelain-like fingers. She places a small, glass vial in front of her. The liquid inside the vial emits a bright purple glow.

“Oblivion,” she says. Her voice is like the whisper of the wind. “If you drink this, the pain ends, Lenny. It wipes away that night, that woman, that blood... all of it. A clean slate. You’ll sleep like a baby.”

The offer is tempting. Damn, it is so tempting. To forget... That is the most luxurious thing money can buy in this city. I want to take that bottle, chug it, and silence the screams in my head.

But then my fingertips touch that green token. And in that moment, lightning strikes my mind.

...The windshield of the car is shattered. Glass shards hang in the air like diamonds. I am at the steering wheel. The passenger seat is empty. No, it’s not empty. There is blood. And that green light shining in the glove compartment... That token... It’s not a casino chip... It’s a... It’s part of a trigger mechanism…

My breath catches. My vision fades. That token isn’t just a gaming tool. It is part of my guilt.

“I call,” I say. My voice doesn’t feel like mine. Dry, cracked, and angry. “I see Chrome Tooth’s key and The Widow’s poison.”

I push the last thing I hold, that green token, to the center of the table, to the very top of that filthy pile.

“And I raise.”

The silence at the table cuts like a knife. Because what I pull out of my jacket’s inner pocket isn’t a chip. The .45 caliber pistol with a filed-down barrel and a pearl grip.

I place the gun in the middle of the table, next to the key and the vial. Metal strikes metal. Dull and clear.

“This gun...” I say, locking my eyes on Chrome Tooth’s greasy face. “Was fired that night. It has my fingerprints on it. If I lose, the gun is yours. You hand me to the cops, and they’ll sever my neck at the ‘Guillotine Courthouse’.”

Then I turn to The Widow. I look into those dark eyes behind her veil.

“But if I win... You will tell me who pulled the trigger that night. Was it me? Or was it one of you?”

Faceless’s hand stops. Even the howl of the wind seems to cease. Now it’s their turn. They will either run, or risk death and reveal those cards.

I slammed the gun onto the table. The sound echoed like a hammer strike in the empty slaughterhouse.

“All in.” I said. “My gun and my life. In exchange for that token.”

Normally, when a man puts a gun on the table, his opponents sweat. Their eyes dart away. Their hands shake.

But Chrome Tooth... He smiles.

There is no expression of fear on his disgusting, greasy face. On the contrary, there is relief. As if tons of weight had been lifted off his back. He relaxes his shoulders. Takes a deep breath.

I look at The Widow sitting to my right. That ice-cold woman is giggling from beneath her veil. Yes, giggling. The kind of annoying, hysterical sound you’d hear in a funeral home.

Something is wrong.

Chrome Tooth tosses his “Red Kings” face down onto the table.

“Fold,” he says. His voice is cheerful. “I’m out.”

The Widow drops her cards on the table as if tearing them up. “I fold too.” she says. “Congratulations, Lenny.”

I freeze.

I squeeze the cards in my hands. I was bluffing to win. I wanted to scare them away. And they ran. They ran too easily.

Faceless looks at me with those dead eyes. With his long, bony fingers, he pushes everything in the center of the table toward me. Chrome Tooth’s bloody pile of cash from the safe, The Widow’s purple poison vial, and sitting at the very top, that Emerald Green Token.

“You win.” says Faceless. His voice is like a verdict.

Chrome Tooth stands up. Straightens his jacket. As he looks at me, there is pure pity in his eyes.

“Congratulations, sucker.” he says. “You’re left holding the bag.”

“What?” I say. My voice disappears into the void.

I reach out my trembling hand to that green token. I wanted to win it. I wanted to learn my past. The moment my fingers touch the token...

(FLASHBACK)

...Not a casino. A courtroom. But underground. Chrome Tooth is sitting at the judge’s bench. I am in the defendant’s chair. There is a bomb on the desk. A small, nuclear trigger. Its color is Emerald Green. Chrome Tooth shouts: “Who planted this bomb in the city’s water grid?” Everyone goes silent. A culprit is being sought. A scapegoat is needed. And a rule is established: Whoever wins the game played tonight gets the ‘Green Token’ (the bomb’s remote and the guilt). The losers walk free. The winner gets executed as the man who poisoned the city...

(PRESENT TIME)

My breath catches. I want to pull my hand away from the token, but it feels glued to my skin. It burns.

I didn’t buy my memory. I bought the guilt.

Chrome Tooth and The Widow walk toward the door. They are free. They pinned the crime on me, that stupid drifter with no memory. They called my bluff and lost on purpose.

“Wait!” I yell, leaping to my feet. I point my gun at them.

“Don’t touch that gun, Lenny.” The Widow says without turning back. “That gun is evidence, too. And now it only has your fingerprints on it.”

Siren sounds begin to approach from outside. Not police sirens. These are “The Cleaners”. The Syndicate’s execution squad. They’re coming to get the culprit.

Chrome Tooth stops at the door, glancing back one last time.

“There is only one rule in Razor City, kid.” he says, smirking. “If you’re looking around the table to see who the sucker is and you can’t spot him, you are the sucker. Enjoy.”

The door closes.

I am left alone at the table with a pile of dirty money, a broken gun, and that damn Green Token.

I won. And this is the last victory of my life.

I hear the sound of the metal locks turning on the door. Clack. Clack. Clack.

The Cleaners are coming.

There is nowhere to run. This is a slaughterhouse basement. The only exit is that door, and behind that door lies death.

I look at that purple vial on the table. The “Oblivion” potion The Widow left behind.

“If you drink this...” she had said. “You’ll forget everything.”

I smile. A bitter smile. I toss the token into my pocket. It’s my curse. But also my ticket.

I open the cap of the purple vial. The smell is sharp. It doesn’t smell like death, it smells like sleep.

The door bursts open with a loud crash. Heavily armed men in gas masks flood inside. Laser sights dance across my chest.

“Hands up! Drop the token!” they shout.

I raise the vial in the air. Like raising a glass for a toast.

“Cheers, boys.” I say. “Winner takes all.”

And I down the bottle.

The lights go out. First, the siren sounds fade away. Then Chrome Tooth’s laughter is erased from my mind. Then that green color fades. And finally... I am erased.

The only way to win the game in Razor City is to get up from the table. I’m getting up, too.