away with it.
Gogo was the one he regularly had to back up. She was a self-centered whore and a complete bitch, with a mouth that often got her into a lot of trouble. Whenever she didn’t like someone, she let them know. She didn’t care who they were. If a customer in her strip club pissed her off while she was dancing she had no problem spitting on them, kicking them in the head, or even farting on them when she had her dancing bare ass pointed directly in their face. This would often lead to her coming home with a black eye or a bloody nose. Scavy never let a single asshole ever get away with doing that to her, even if she sometimes deserved it. He’d find them and leave them bruised and broken in an alley somewhere.
One time Gogo fucked with the wrong guy. It was Domino, the leader of the largest street gang in Copper. They were called the Diamonds and they had twelve times the man power of any gang in the quadrant. Scavy’s gang didn’t have a name. He thought gang names were pretentious, and there was no gang name more pretentious than the Diamonds. Scavy hated the Diamonds stupid gang name, and their stupid matching leather jackets with the word
Gogo often slept with the men she danced for, but only if they paid well and she thought they looked fuckable. Domino was a large, balding, scarred-up, punk who Gogo did not find the least bit fuckable. But Domino wanted her, and he thought he deserved to get whatever he wanted.
“Listen, bitch,” he grabbed her by the arm as she walked toward the dance floor. “I know you just fucked that scrawny kid over there. If you can fuck him then you can fuck me.”
Gogo just laughed in his face and called him a limp-dick slob. Then she started her dance. While she was on stage, Domino gave her looks of intimidation. When she leaned into him, teasing him with her breasts to show him up close what he’s never going to get, Domino whispered in her ear. “I’m going to fuck you whether you like it or not.”
Then Gogo grabbed a cigarette from his ashtray and put it out in his eye. He shrieked and jumped back. Gogo seductively bit her lip at him, as her body curved to the music on the stage. Domino clenched a fist and came at her, but the bouncers grabbed him before he could get on the stage. The punk and his crew were escorted out of the club.
But before he left, he yelled back to Gogo, “Your ass is mine, bitch.”
After the club was closed, the bouncers offered to escort Gogo home, but she said she’d be fine. She could take care of herself. That is, until Domino and four of his men jumped her on her way home. They put their hands on her mouth and pulled her into an abandoned slaughter house. There, they beat her until she was in too much pain to fight back, then they took turns raping her. With a switchblade, Domino cut a slit down the center of her lips, then kissed her. She spit blood in his face. Then he headbutted her until she was out cold.
Gogo arrived at Scavy’s place naked and crying. It was the first time he’d seen her in such a fragile, hysterical state. He cleaned her up and put her to bed. She didn’t stop crying until she was asleep.
“I’m going,” Scavy told Popcorn. “Look after her.”
“Shouldn’t you wait for Brick?” she asked, as she washed the blood from Gogo’s tattered clothing in the sink.
Scavy shook his head. “That guy is out there basking in satisfaction right now.”
Opening the drawer of his dresser, Scavy dug through his cache of weapons. There were knives, guns, and railroad spikes, but Scavy decided to go with his old standby: a crowbar. When he was really pissed off at somebody, he used a crowbar on them.
“I want to beat that satisfaction off his face while it’s still there.”
Even though Scavy has just met Junko, he considers her his friend, just as much a friend as Gogo or Brick. She’s earned his respect, proved herself to be one tough chick, and Scavy thinks of himself as a brother to anyone he respects. That’s why he’s willing to do this for her. Plus, he’s been wanting to use his sniper rifle on some asshole ever since he got the thing.
On the fifth floor of the apartment complex, Scavy takes his position. Heinz has gotten a bit further ahead than the punk had expected, but not nearly far enough ahead to get out of his range. A camera ball floats over Scavy’s shoulder, another is filming Heinz. Scavy swats the camera ball away like a fly as it gets too close to his face. When he looks into the scope of his sniper rifle, it’s out of focus. He adjusts the scope, but only seems to blur his vision even more.
“Fuck!” Scavy says, trying to figure out his aim.
Meanwhile, Heinz gets further away. If Scavy doesn’t figure it out soon the nazi will be too far out of range, then Junko and the hippy will have to deal with him on their own. Scavy continues working on the scope, but just can’t get it focused right.
“Damn son of a bitch!” he says, slamming his fist down on the rifle.
A man steps out of the intersection and blocks Heinz’s way. Scavy recognizes the man. It is Laurence, the vagrant who had handed out the bags back at the hotel. Only, the guy looks a lot different now. His body is made of gold-plated steel, glimmering in the mid-morning sunlight.
Laurence stands there, in Heinz’s way, his hands on his hips.
“Shooting women in the back as they’re running away,” Laurence yells at the nazi. “The T-2000 don’t think that’s very friendly behavior.”
Heinz stops his pursuit, staring at the golden metal man with a confused expression. The dog heads on his hands snap and snarl in Mr. T’s direction.
“Mr. T’s gonna have to teach you a lesson in manners,” then he punches his metal fist into the palm of his other hand.
Heinz opens fire on Mr. T, but the bullets just ricochet off the cyborg’s chest. Mr. T roars as he rips off a chunk of the building next to him, then lifts it over his head. The piece of brick wall is the size of a dumpster.
“Here’s a gift for you,” Laurence says, tossing the enormous piece of wall at the nazi. “Courtesy of Mr. T.”
Heinz ducks out of the way and the chunk of debris explodes against the cement wall behind him. Then he continues firing. Scavy adjusts the scope, not sure whether Laurence is on his side or if he’s got to shoot down the both of them. He’s able to see Laurence through the glass, letting it out just a bit to zoom off of his chest.
Heinz’s Gatling gun runs out of ammo, so he drops the mechjaw into his pack and raises his left arm. The mechjaw on his left arm isn’t connected to a Gatling gun. It’s connected to a rocket launcher. Heinz squeeze’s the dog’s brain and the rocket shoots from his fist. It hits Mr. T square in the chest and the enormous cyborg flies back, through a wall, into an old bank building. The explosion creates an avalanche, and three stories of the building cave in on top of the T-2000.
“Fuck…” Scavy says, as he witnesses the nazi take down the cyborg. He wonders if going up against Heinz is such a good idea. If a bulletproof Mr. T with a robot body isn’t strong enough to defeat him how does Scavy have a chance?
Heinz waits for the dust to settle, to make sure the T-2000 will not be getting up again. Once he is satisfied, he turns to the direction Junko was headed for and continues on his hunt.
Scavy lifts the sniper rifle to his shoulder and peers through the scope, aiming for the gas canisters on the nazi’s back. The aim is dead center. Scavy knows that he only has one shot at this. If he misses he’s dead. He takes a deep breath.
When Scavy pulls the trigger, the kickback slams his shoulder hard, jerking back his arm. The bullet hits the street in front of Heinz, missing by over five feet.
“Damn it,” Scavy says, rubbing his bruised shoulder.
Heinz turns around, slowly, and looks up at Scavy. Then he aims his mechjaw rocket launcher at the window and fires.
When Scavy caught up to Domino and the other Diamonds who raped Gogo, they were doing Waste in the back of a broken down van. He crept up alongside the graffiti-coated vehicle, and heard Domino’s low grunting voice and laughter coming from the other four in his crew.
“Smell my finger,” he could hear Domino say. “I still got the scent of her sweet cunt on me.”
“Get that out of my face,” another said. “That shit is rank.”
