#rmahfoud

[rdmahfoud-blog]

Tricky Trickster Tricked

For Mike it had always been easy, a quick flick of the wrist, a stealthy sleight of the hand and wallets, watches, glasses, rings and any article that could be sold for any kind of money would slide straight into his skilled hands. Others called it luck, he prefered to call it a “blessing”.

From what or whom? Mike didn't have the slightest idea, or so he said.

He leaned against the wall on the corner of a street packed with tourists, an amorphous sea of white and red all craving consumers that hopped off luxurious cruise on the docks. Coffee and a cigarette was his oral hygiene routine for every morning, “Keeps away the street preachers”, he would often say.

He wasn’t a local, he considered himself to be one, but after twenty years living in the island who wouldn’t consider himself to be a local? His skin wasn’t as pale as the tourist’s but compared to the brownish tanned locals he looked like a cotton ball. A thin black moustache seemed to be suspended over his almost non existing lips, he combed it with his finger every now and then.

The thin line of smoke floated upwards unbothered, the ocean breeze seemed to have gone elsewhere that morning. He took a drag, then a sip of coffee, he let the smoke out with a sigh. There was something about these people that made him literally sick, he felt the urge to spit away his coffee. He put the cigarette out against the wall.

“Let’s get to work”, he whispered to his hands. His eyes glistened with the spark of whom is about to experience something amazing, an spectacle.

Mike took a another sip of his coffee and gracefully swam across the sea of people. He liked to stalk on his preys for a little while before pouncing on their belongings. He squinted his wrinkled eyes to have a better look, the sun was always scorching in this part of the island. He moved under a coffee shop’s canopy, the shadow was cool and he got a good view of the whole street.

His hands twitched nervously inside the pockets of his jacket, it was as if they craved to come out. They scratched against the fabric as trapped spiders, he struggled to keep them in.

“Patience”, he thought to himself.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he whistled as air came out of his mouth.

For a long moment there was only pitch black darkness on his mind. Then it happened, “the magic” as he called it. Dim glowing orbs moved in front of his darkened vision, the glow intensified as long as he kept his eyes shut. After half a minute the formless glow took shapes, the shape of a watch, shape of a wallet, shape of a recently bought expensive souvenir, shapes of possible preys floated all around him. He opened his eyes and the glow stayed in his vision,  if you could have seen through Mike’s eyes, it was a marvelous sight.

Rainbow colored strokes swirled around and through the crowd, imagine giant strokes of multicolored aquarella floating gracefully in the air.  The ray’s of the sun dimmed to a more tolerable level. “Exquisite”, was Mike’s description of it.

“Ok girls, your turn!”, Mike said and pulled his hands out of the jacket.

He took a step into the street and everything around him slowed it’s movement in a dramatical way. It was like watching a movie in slow motion.

An old european guy passed him by, his right hand swiftly slid in his glowing right pocket and took his cellphone, not even a second passed between the moment his hand sprinted out and when it was putting the phone it away in the safety of Mike’s jacket. In the blink of an eye his left hand was picking a couple american dollars out of a woman’s purse, then from her husband the wallet.

Next to them a Korean couple would miss their professional camera terribly. The same would happen with the hipster chick that had just lent him her phone indefinitely. His fingers moved faster and faster, sometimes they’d take strange angles, non human movements.

For Mike it felt like reaching nirvana, a higher state of mind, communion with his unconscious mind. But no one could witness his face for  he moved too fast for the human eye, you’d merely feel a gentle breeze or quick but almost not perceivable pull on your pants. He would collect enough to fill his pockets and then put it all in a trash can he bought himself, just to start all over again, until sundown.

When he dumped his last batch of stolen goods in the trash can he did a quick calculation, he had at least three thousand dollars in cash, gadgets and jewelry. Mike couldn't hide the wide grin on his face. It had been a really generous day. He kissed both of his hands and started putting things inside a backpack and a dirty sack he used to not be the center of attention carrying all that.

He filled his bags well and walked with them on his shoulders. The street was way more quiet though the city’s nightlife was pulsing ever younger.

He strolled down the old colonial roads, taking alleys and shortcuts, evading police officers that picked on the beggars for fun. If they found out what he had in his bags they’d lock him up for good couple of weeks.

The smell under the bridge was nauseating, years of trash being tossed into the river had made it an unofficial city dumpster. It always made Mike gag at least three times before he would get over the feeling.

He poured the content of his bags on the muddy shore, all that shine, gold and luxury thrown into the filth. He sighed, then walked back and sat on an old industrial paint bucket.

Then he waited. Patiently.

The water’s surface was placid, plastic bottles and organic human disposals floated adrift. Suddenly something started to stir in the river, ripples of water caressed the filthy shore, faster by the second. Then came the bubbles, right in the center of the river where the stir began. A fetid effervescence that let out a cloud of fog, a putrid slow moving fog that floated over the river towards the shore. Something else came behind the fog, the bubbling was moving closer to the shore.

Mike tried to cover his face as he always did, everything in vain. The smell was always strong enough to make him vomit, and so he did, until there was nothing more to throw out.

The odor intensified as a brownish mass of garbage and organic matter crawled out of the river and into land. More and more of it appeared making it grow in size and smell.  It grew until it was four times the size of Mike.

Mike’s eyes teared up badly. He couldn’t help it, it was always the same.

“Good...Good night your Majesty”, Mike stuttered.

The gigantic blob let out some kind of blurp, some water sprinkled over Mike´s face. It smelled like the water that drips out of pierced trash bags. He gagged.

“Ri...Right”, he stuttered again. “Good night, Oh your Majesty King of the River Bank, Giver of Pardons, Patron of those who are Lost. May your stench endure forever more”

As Mike spoke the mass on the blob moved from the center outwards, as if it was expelling something. A  face came out of the mass, then a man covered in filth levitated in front of Mike.

“That’s better!”, said the man.

At first glance he would have passed as an ordinary man, but if you looked closely at his hands you would have seen his webbed fingers and toes, his teeth are sharp as blades and his eyes are as black as the darkest void. He was the King of Filth.

“Always outdoing yourself Mihalka, well done my child”, the creature clapped.

“My name is not Mihalka anymore, it hasn't been for years now. So keep it to yourself”, Mike turned his head and spat.

“I know, i know. But today is different kind of day Mihalka”, the King of Filth laughed.

“Don’t call me Mihalka. What are you talking about?”, Mike looked confused.

“Is this my tithe?”, asked the creature.

“Yes, your majesty”

“Good. Perfect”

“Take it already”, Mike said.

“No Mihalka, we have to weight it”, Mike knew something odd was going on when the grin on the King of Filth widened and he showed that line of sharp teeth.

“Is there any…”, Mike tried to speak.

“Shhh, silence my child. You know the procedure.”

The blob behind the King of Filth engulfed the bulk of goods and money, swallowing it into its depths.

“Oh, oh, oh. It seems Mihalka didn’t get the message”, The King of Filth’s eyes were like glistening mirrors were Mike could see his own confused face.

“Hey. Wait. What?”

The King of Filth got on his four limbs and in a swift movement slithered behind Mike.

“Oh my, oh my. It seems Mihalka has been abusing the human liqueur”, he put his mouth next to Mike’s left ear. “Don’t you remember Mihalka? My child”

“What...what are you...talking about your… your Majesty?”, Mike was getting nervous. He knew better not to infuriate the King of Filth. Everybody knew that.

“Three days ago Mihalka. Three days ago at night i left the comfort of my waters to pay you and the others a visit. Double the tithe i asked, double it will be you said”

“No...your majesty. I’m sorry, but that’s not true”

“Oh yes? You are calling your King a liar”, the creature looked to both sides as if looking for a witness.

“No sir, it's just that i don’t recall it”

The King of Filth grinned one more time and raised his hand to caress Mike’s forehead.

Flashbacks came one after the other, hitting his head like a sledgehammer.

He was drinking, it was rum, a really cheap one. Caribbean moonshine you might call it. Three nights ago. He sat on the sidewalk when the dizziness took control of his movement. Something totally out of the ordinary happened, out of the corner came the King of Filth, naked and leaving the usual trail of fetid filth behind him. He grinned as usual and kneeled next to Mike.

“Double the tithe my child, or pay with your freedom”, he had said.

“Whatever you say”, Mike answered.

Mike really swore it had been a dream, some kind of hallucination caused by the alcohol.

But it wasn't.

“Sign the contract”, said the King of Filth.

Mike shook his hand and green tattoo like mark glowed in his hand for a couple of seconds, then disappeared.

The King of Filth dropped his hand from Mike’s forehead and the flashbacks stopped.

Mike opened his eyes. Something called his attention, there was something on his right hand. A mark, glowing with a green tint.

“No, no, no!”, Mike sprinted away from the King.

“Yes my child! You are coming back home!”, the King of Filth laughed.

Out of the water came three bullfrogs the size of a mastiff.

“No!”, Mike screamed.

“Your Majesty”, the three frogs spoke at the same time. It was as if they were the same creature.

“You may read him the sentence”, the King of Filth nodded.

“For the crime of not paying the “Double Tithe” to his Majesty, King of the Filth and Protector of those who are Lost. You, Mihalka the Trickster, are sentenced to go return home!”, the frogs said again.

“It seems you won’t be needing that anymore my child”

The King of Filth flicked his wrist and the giant blob jumped over Mike. It first got both of his hands. Mike screamed, it was the scream of a man in excruciating pain.

“No, no. No reason to cry”, said the King of Filth. Flicked his hand again and it was as if he had muted Mike. He screamed and twitched but there was no sound.

The mass of filth wrapped his hands completely and fume came out, it smelled like rotten burnt flesh. Mike fought and pulled, but he couldn't shake it off. The blob let go of his hands, or at least where his hands were supposed to be.

His hands had been eaten to the bone, just strips of flesh remained hanging from it. He looked at it and almost passed out. Streams of tears ran down his face, this time it wasn’t the smell.

“No. Get me his eyes too”, said the King of Filth.

The King ordered, his followers followed. The blob jumped to his face this time.

“Now that you are at it, get his tongue. We don’t want him speaking about this for the next hundred years”

When the putrid mass was off his face there were no eyes in his sockets, pure black emptiness. Mike opened his mouth but there was no tongue for him to use. He plummeted to the floor and moaned.

“Come my children, we are late for the feast”, the King had his feet already in the water.

“What feast your Majesty?”, asked the three frogs at the same time.

“Your brother is back, we have to give him a royal welcome”, he grinned. “Bring him Gurlak”

The gigantic mass of trash slowly engulfed Mike, he was still crawling away. Trying to escape the inevitable.

If only he had not drank that night. He knew better, or so he thought.

The mass engulfed him completely and slithered back into the river.

Oh poor Mikalha, he should have read his contract twice.