Banner Men
GARYAN KIRKE
"Hey, are you open? Just, you know, I'm starving!"
"One minute. Gimme a minute." Punters. Always punters. Didn't they know there was a recession on?
Well, there was certainly one on at the Freeride Foodery, primary eatery for the discerning clientele. Frankly, everyone was welcome and almost anyone came in. And they ate. Oh, how they ate!
But, you see, there's only so much to go around, and if one orders more than the other, the stocks deplete quickly, leaving a Chef with nothing to cook. That had to be remedied. And how.
In order to find food, Garyan Kirke even went as far as the forbidden Wastelands, but the creatures that dwelled there were slim pickings at best.
"There's nothing to serve, my friend." explained Garyan, after lifting the shutter an inch.
"Come on Kirke! Get it open!"
"I can't, I - oh forget it." Garyan slammed the shutter down, which was followed almost immediately by fists on the other side. There was nothing he could do. Or was there?
An epiphany hit Kirke at that moment. Normally he would dismiss it out of hand. But he was desperate. The customers were desperate. And Kirke, he needed a living. He saw what poverty did to the people in the Droke. Turned them more desperate than desperate. Animals, they were. No. This idea would work. It was meat, after all. Wasn't it?
#
"I'm not sure about this, boss. I mean, sure, it's meat, but its human meat. Dead human meat." spoke the Chef as he pulled the covered package from the wheelbarrow. The sheet the body was wrapped in was covered in dirt.
Kirke helped the man the last few feet to the kitchens, "Come now, Ruford? It was only going to waste?”
"It was buried not an hour ago. Dead, and buried. A dead body, of a man, dead and buried."
"It's meat, Ruford. Just meat, like any other meat. Look, you don't have to eat it yourself, do you?"
"Not the point boss. It’s -"
"Think of your family, Ruford. Want them to go into poverty? Want them to suck of the grey paste of subsidy?"
"Well, no, but -"
"Trust me, Ruford. They'll never know the difference." Kirke said, placing a guiding hand on Ruford's shoulder.
"Hmm. Okay. As long as I don't have to eat it, I suppose."
"There's my man!" smiled Kirke, enthusiastically slapping Ruford on the shoulder. He returned his attention to the corpse before him on the chopping block, "Right. Start with the arms, I suppose?" said Garyan Kirke, lifting his cleaver intentionally.
#
The punters, they lapped it up. Couldn't get enough. Trouble was, neither could Kirke. There were only so many dead bodies to go around. Kirke and Ruford had cleaned out the newly dead. They had moved on to the a-while dead. Soon they would be on the long dead. Long dead ones, had less flesh, it having rotted off, of course. Broth from the bones, stew from the offal, sure. But the punters demanded fresher meat, fresher soup, and fresher casseroles. Why couldn't they eat subsidiary grey mush, like all poor people?
At first it was difficult. Finding a victim took time. Then killing them quietly, calmly and secretly, well, that was a rigmarole all of its own. But slowly Kirke became an adept at it. After a while it became second nature. Find Victim - slit throat - chop up. Done and done. Of course it took much persuading for Ruford, but he saw the sense in it when threatened with the sack. Accessory was a word Garyan Kirke liked to throw around in Ruford's presence. Torture was another. Spices was yet one more, but that had to do with the cooking of the body parts and not the murders.
One of the servers pulled Kirke to the kitchen door. He pointed out into the Eatery. And who was there? Only the deliciously dangerous Happy Face - Banner Man of Freeride. The law, as far as it went in this place. He was so named for the smile permanently plastered on his face from the over-abundance of drugs the man was on at any given time. Scary and dangerous. Deadly. Just don't get on the wrong side of him.
And there he was, bold as brass, out there at a table, eating away at probably Yatton Coldford, once proprietor of the Muddy Cist. Now dead, and no longer proprietor of anything, including his own life. Happy Face was tucking into the man's genitals. Of course, he didn't know he was, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.
What if he knew? Or guessed? Or tasted? It was rumoured that Happy Face had eaten his fair share of ears and noses in the past. Mostly during punch-ups. Only occasionally out of pleasure.
Then he stood.
He caught a server by the arm and whispered something in his ear. It was more accurate to say he spat something in the server's ear. Happy was no tidy eater. If he got some food in his mouth it was a miracle.
The server he had spoken to returned to the kitchen, "He said he wants to speak to the owner. Very insistent, in fact." The server rubbed his arm to get the blood there again, after Happy had cut the circulation off with his grip.
Garyan Kirke thought about it and decided. He sent the server back out to bring Happy Face with him next time he returned to the kitchen.
What had he to lose? If Happy Face knew and was on his way back to arrest Kirke, then being compliant may mean Happy would be ever so less violent in his apprehension. People lost fingers, toes; whole feet sometimes, just for telling Happy Face where to go. Compliant. That was the logical course.
Happy Face bouldered into the kitchen. With the expression on his face, it was difficult to tell how he felt, whether murderous or enthusiastic. The words that followed the opening of his mouth soon put that worry to rest, "Nice! You done well, Kirke, my boy! Compliments to the Chef!" Happy slapped Ruford a little too hard on the back, causing Ruford to nosedive into a spleen, "Just watch it though."
"Uhm, watch what, Sir?"
Watch who yer killing." Happy put a hand around Kirke's shoulders, pulling him in, "Hey, just the poor, alright? Keep taking the rich and affluent and it's gonna be difficult to explain, ain't it, Kirkey? Know what I mean?"
"Y - yes?"
"Good lad." Happy turned as if to leave, then turned back when a thought occurred to him, "Oh, yeah. You got any more of them sweet meats? Very juicy." said Happy Face, picking a bit of penis from his teeth.
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