Lupo

Flash Fiction by Frank Sonderborg

The Avianca Boeing 777 direct flight from Bogota, started its approach to Heathrow.

Lupo was in a window seat, watching the lights of London brighten the darkened sky.

It was turbulent, and he could feel the plastic plane twist and sing, as it cut through the air.

He closed his eyes and waited for the final touch down.

As soon as the plane had finished taxiing, Lupo was up and moving.

His small bag was out of the overhead rack, and he started pushing through and past the slow-moving tourists.

Of course he got abused. But that was part and parcel of the, getting off a landed plane first, hard metal cage, contact sport.

He moved on and in through the First Class. Pushing past the Business Boss men that ruled the world.

The stunning blond had her bag down and was talking and laughing with a small fat bald man, still sitting.

Lupo kept coming. Pile driving people out of his way. He pushed the blond hard, then grabbed her before she fell and whispered in her ear. Then motored on past, heading hurriedly towards the exit.

He glanced back to see the shadows rising from around the bald hombre. But too slow to intervene. He was at the opening door and was gone.

The bald man grabbed the blond, “What the fuck did that greaser say?”

The blond went pale in the face, “He said nothin Tony, he said nothin.”

He pulled her down by her hair as she started to whimper.

“What the fuck did he say?” He was leaning menacingly into her face.

“He said, your boyfriend looks like a limp dick loser.”

Tony Mad Hatter O’Hare, exploded at this, “The fuck he did, that fucker, I’m going to…”

“Boss, calm down, people are staring.”

Tony’s minder Charlie Smiles, nodded towards the other passengers.

Giving a grimace, and his version of a hysterical laugh.

Tony said, “Nothing to see here folks, move along,”

The flight attendant had come back down to see what the bother was.

But now she was back helping getting the flow of bodies out the door.

Tony leaned into Charlie Smiles, “Smiley, I want that bastard.

Find out who he is and take him.”

“Capiche, Boss.”

***

“Philip Parris Lupo, now what kind of fucking name is that?” said Smiley.

Lupo was bound with leather straps to an old Dentist chair.

His left eye was a mess. His fingers had been broken with a large hammer.

Blood dribbled down from his smashed teeth.

They had kidnapped him from his hotel room and taken him to this deserted warehouse, south of London.

“My Papa gave me that name,” said Lupo.

“Do ya know, Mr O’Hare’s nickname. Well, do ya?”

Lupo smiled through the pain.

“Si, Atter, Mr Mad Atter.”

He was rewarded with a hard smack in the bad left eye.

“No, you greaser mothafucker. It’s Thoth. The Moon God.

He likes to do his drilling under a magical mystery Moon.

And tonight, you’re the poor mothafucker that’s won the Moon prize.

You insulted him greaser. Did ya think you’d get away with that?”

The back door opened, and O’Hare came in with the blond moll stuck to his arm.

“Watch me boys. I’m gonna teach this greaser some manners,” he said to his entourage.

He stood in front of Lupo and powered up a drill.

“I believe in the power of Luna.”

And he pointed at the massive warehouse windows.

Some broken, all covered in a badly stained economic downturn slimy Brexit rustic brown.

He had his shadows switch the warehouse strip lighting off.

The only illumination now was the streaming brown moonlight.

Bathing them in an ethereal otherworldly glow.

“Do you believe in the supernatural Mr Lupo?

How about the Egyptian Kingdom of the Dead?

Just imagine, to be embalmed to rise, to live again.

Because tonight my friend you’re going to die.

People fear me because I have a connection with the eternal.

Can you feel it Mr Lupo. That power from beyond the grave.

But first you’re going to feel pain. And when I finally let you die.

Remember me to Charon the Ferryman.” And he stuck a silver coin in Lupo’s top pocket.

He then raised his hands. The drill cord trailing in his left hand.

He turned on the drill. The noise echoed in the vast warehouse space.

Then he started humming Blue Moon.

Lupo felt the blood surge of the Nagual Shapeshifter.

As the moonshine flowed over him and started to feed his DNA altering soup.

The change came rapidly.

The leather straps snapped as he reached out with both claws, and grabbed the Mad Hatters face, and bit it off with one ravenous bite.

Howling at the fat moon he threw the still screaming Mad Hatter to one side.

The blond collapsed with sheer terror.

Smiley pulled his gun and started shooting at this dark twisted beast from hell, arisen and among them.

But he was torn apart. Limb from limb.

At a speed his city slicker brain could never conceive.

The two remaining shadows tried to run for the door. But the Nagual was upon them, holding them, biting through their necks until they stopped their screaming.

The Nagual stood and sniffed the air.

And smelt the fresh blood on the warehouse squalid air.

O’Hare was still breathing. A mess of bubbling blood.

Barely alive. His lifeblood pumping out onto the hard concrete floor.

The Nagual could feel the beating hearts of the hungry rats starting to get closer.

As they contemplated a flesh flash feed in the night.

The shapeshifting warp-spasm over, the Nagual resumed the shape of Philip Parris Lupo.

He stood over O’Hare.

“The Cartel said they could not get to you. That you had some sort of sixth sense.

Someone with supernatural powers. But you were vain.

You’re dying Thoth. And when you pass over.

Remember to tell your Underworld Ferryman, it was a Nagual that sent you there.

Then he dropped the silver coin on O’Hare’s twitching carcass, and left.

Bio: Frank Sonderborg was born in Dublin, Ireland, lives in the UK and does his best to write interesting stories. His stories have appeared in: Action: Pulse Pounding Tales 2:, Noir Nation 3: Noir Nation 5:, Pulp Modern JFK Issue #6, Pulp Alternative, Shadows and Light:, Thrills, Kills ‘n’ Chaos:, ShotgunHoney, Twist and Twain.