The men had just finished separating from Cindy and Paula who still stood traumatized and gore-clad by the windows. The only remaining females in the room stared down Taylor with a wicked hatred—they knew that the events which had unfolded were random, but if Taylor wasn’t such a societal tapeworm, her whack-job husband would have never sought after her. And as a result, they would not be in the helpless position that they all found themselves in.
Taylor didn’t seem upset, she was emotionless. The bloody bride stood watching the men file out onto the dancefloor. A few had been enlisted previously to help Jinx clear the crumpled corpses, otherwise, it would have taken hours for the floor to allow enough space for what came next.
She’d watched the mysterious enigma take a lap around the dancefloor and dining area prior to cleanup. The jester surveyed each of the massacred bodies carefully. If they admitted the slightest semblance of life, Jinx made sure to extinguish it, complements of the AK-47.
For those that were already beyond repair, the odd entertainer’s gloved hand slowly dragged them off to the side, or Jinx gestured to one of the men to remove them. The end result saw an enormous pile of ruin that looked holocaust-worthy.
When Taylor watched all of her friends be dragged away, it was like a little more pressure was lifted off her back. Better them than me. But we are running out of them… I’m going to have to think of something soon… before there’s no one left…
As Perry worked his way through the mass of men in the dining area, he began to lift random, half-finished drinks off the nasty tables. Whether it was whiskey, vodka, or wine, it didn’t matter. The men around him acted as a camouflage to his lush-like activities.
Keith looked at him, surprised by his forward actions, “How can you drink at a time like this?”
“How can you not?” Perry asked, dropping a vodka gimlet down with the quickness. “Something fuckin’ wrong with you if you can do this shit straight, buddy.” He grimaced and set the glass down only to pick up the next, “Ugh, goddamn vodka, how do people drink that shit?”
The mad rush and sheer volume and variety of drink combining in his gut had him feeling twisted. Perry could handle his Wild Turkey like swallowing water, but the uncommon mixture stewing inside of him was different. It was dealing him a feeling that usually took a hell of a lot more for him to achieve.
Being numb and shitfaced was the best he could hope for considering his position. He was a little happier now, a little looser, and maybe, most importantly, a little more confident. Traits that he had always aspired to project out into the world, but ones that had always been absent without the liquid courage constantly showering his gullet.
Ever since he was a young, awkward boy growing up on the rough side of the tracks, Perry had simply wanted to blend in. To not be judged by strangers. In bonding with the bottle, he had found his crutch. He felt the drink had allowed him that much in his life, but was it enough to save it?
“I’m not losing. You’re not fucking losing…” Keith muttered under his breath, ignoring Perry’s inquiry. He was trying to convince himself, but it was a hard sell. He wasn’t at the office bullshitting a stakeholder on a conference call, he was bullshitting himself. A much more difficult task giving the situation they’d been facing.
“Baby boy, let me tell you something, and I hope it don’t come down to it, but if it’s between you and me, I ain’t gonna be the one to give it up.” Perry was now in the grips of the drink. He slurred his words slightly while allowing his self-assurance to spread its wings wide.
“I ain’t the one, Mack. I ain’t the one you wanna test, you understand me?” he let out a little laugh amid the pep talk, questioning no one in particular. Not for nothing, the new smashed glass version of Perry gave him a better chance at perseverance. Whatever the task was going to be, he felt ready.
“Alright, gentlemen!” Sebastian hollered as the men finished grouping into the freshly cleared out area. He held the AK-47 with a fresh clip loaded. “The ladies had their turn, now it’s time to show them what we can do. But before we start, I need to ask a question. And let me stress, it’s imperative that you all answer honestly.”
While the flock of frightened males remained entranced by Sebastian’s speech, Jinx subtly wheeled another rather obtuse box that was gift-wrapped over by the exit door. He began to methodically unwrap the paper from a seated position at the table some distance away. The jester was careful not to let anyone get a peek and spoil the surprise.
“DJ Buttaz, I’m counting on you for this one, brother, so be ready,” Sebastian said.
The terrified DJ nodded obediently and smiled, but he was anything but thrilled to learn he was participating. Just play that flavor, play those bangers, the surefire joints… DJ Buttaz thought to himself, believing he could appease him.
“But to the larger group, I need you to follow my instructions right now. We all know, there are good dancers and there are bad dancers. It’s just a fact of life. And right now, it’s important that you ask yourself, which are you?”
“Let me remind you again to be truthful in your self-assessment. If I find out you’re lying—and I will find out—you will find a far worse fate than you’ve seen previously on display. So, with that preface out in the open, I’d like all of you who believe you’re shitty dancers to please congregate on the left side here,” he said, pointing. “Up against the far wall there. Make room, judging by the looks of you, I’m sure there’ll be plenty.”
He then turned his attention back to the other direction, “And for those of you that think you’ve got the chops to cut up the rug, please assemble on my right side.”
A nervous confusion took over the men, many of them had no idea. It wasn’t the type of question they asked themselves regularly, if ever.
“C’mon, quickly now! You know if you suck or not, get moving!” Sebastian commanded.
Slowly, the humanity sifted itself into two-scale tipping disproportionate halves. All but several men found themselves in the shitty dance audience.
Perry stood next to Keith in the small group of men that had chosen to label themselves as the cream of the crop. He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant or if it should give him a greater sense of survival security than the rest. The decision was made based on instinct and it was a good decision indeed.
When Jinx hoisted up the freshly unpackaged and fully-loaded AT4, the brigade of bad dancers were all still too focused on Sebastian’s next words and command to realize what was happening. As the recoilless anti-tank weaponry launched the first rocket into flight, Jinx was already engrossed in the process of reloading the next before the initial missile exploded.
The violent blast took something from everyone and everything—including the building. The men’s bodies came apart and painted the cavernous gap. The newly exposed and fractured underlying building materials were pelted with the warm innards of the various guests.
The magnitude of the explosion had been slightly miscalculated. As the room shook, the groom was launched backwards. The shrapnel flew; some hot glass shards and pieces atop the tables embedded into Sebastian’s facial and shoulder tissue, tearing through his seven-thousand-dollar suit. He landed safely, still firmly gripping the machine gun in the pile of his dead in-laws.
The needle came off record and DJ Buttaz followed everyone else on the other side of the room as they landed hard on their asses.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Sebastian barked, trying to regain his bearings and dig a big hunk of glass out of his skull.
When Sebastian opened his eyes, the blood in them made it seem like he was looking through rose-colored glasses. The many mangled men left an abominable imprint. The countless random limbs scattered about, the missing faces, and charred exterior created a melting pot of ghastly peril.
Somehow, amid the smoke and disorientation, a few stragglers hadn’t become cut up enough to be part of the human butcher shop. One man was staggering around near the wall of the building screaming at the top of his lungs, “My eyes! I can’t see! They took my fucking eyes!”
That they had, his state was no act. That much was displayed by the poor man’s next step. Mere moment’s ago, it would have been a step onto the floorboards that butted up against the wall, but now, it was into the thin air of the gaping hole that offered a new exit from the thirteenth floor of the Biltmore. He didn’t get to enjoy the entirety of the fall, instead, he fell chest-first into the fraying rebar that was now sticking out in all directions. As his bones burst to allow space for the unforgiving metal to rupture its way through him, all of his gripes came to a sharp and absolute ending.
One man emerged from the smoke looking like a mangled extra in a zombie movie. He was eyeing Sebastian like he was about to jump on top of him, but the groom had enough of his senses to pull the trigger before he got close enough.
As Sebastian’s burst of shells cracked against the aggressor’s hips and pelvis, he dropped, bleeding in agony and unable to advance another inch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jinx eyeing the remaining cluster of men and elevating the rocket launcher again.
The evil jester quickly found footing again, and as the second rocket let off, Sebastian dove toward the area where Perry, Taylor, DJ Buttaz, and the rest were all huddled.
This time, he was able to avoid the shrapnel but the strength of the blast assisted his airborne state like that predictable scene in every action movie where the hero is diving away from the explosion. As he sailed through the atmosphere, he touched down awkwardly.
The harsh landing caused the machine gun to rotate toward him. As Sebastian landed on top of the gun, his finger hyperextended and accidentally activated the trigger. A couple of shots let off and went ripping through part of his belly.
“Fuck!” he cried, feeling the deep burning sensation in his abs.
He glanced down at his gut and while it didn’t look good, he wasn’t about to let it stop him. He had done away with most of them, there were only a few more left to accomplish his goal.
Sebastian quickly pushed the pain out of his mind and focused on the people before him. He couldn’t let himself look weak in front of them. He sluggishly pulled the gun up and projected it in menacing fashion.
As he looked into Taylor’s pupils just a few feet away, he knew there was a hidden happiness swirling inside them. A happiness for his hurt and pain. She wouldn’t show it, she wasn’t always that stupid. Especially when it would have most likely triggered immediate retaliation, but even though it was invisible, Sebastian knew it was there.
He wasn’t quite ready to deal with her yet, they were still mid-contest. Sebastian looked back at the pure annihilation on the other side of the ballroom. The destruction looked like something out of a modern war film.
The bottomless hole that led to the chilly outside of the hotel and lack of life around it was astounding and beautiful. He took it in like inhaling a foreign cigar. But it wasn’t quite stunning enough to leave him without fury.
Sebastian popped up off the floor and sprayed a burst of rounds at the ceiling. Then he looked over at Jinx and grabbed his bleeding stomach. His face and shoulder were also still torn up from the shrapnel, leaving him with a roughness hovering about him.
“Are you fucking stupid! You almost blew me to bits! I’m willing to die, but not fucking yet! You understand me!”
The creepy jester nodded and set the weaponry down on the table. Jinx then fished below for a moment. Seconds later, the wicked helper retrieved a handgun and promptly stuck the barrel to the temple of the oversized mask.
“No, no, no! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to yell at you… you’re doing excellent. Please, we’re so close now! It’s me, it’s not you, okay? Let’s just finish this thing up. We’re almost there, what do you say?”
Jinx registered Sebastian’s plea and lowered the gun slowly. Then extended it back to the dwindled group of those who remained.
“That’s the spirit,” Sebastian smiled before applying more pressure with his arm against his bleeding gut. “Alright, the rest of the men get out here! Now! And, DJ Buttaz, man your goddamn station!” he yelled.
Perry, Keith, and three other gentlemen dragged themselves out to the still smokey dancefloor in reluctant fashion. The men looked up at him like a pack of dogs that were potentially about to be reprimanded.
“Alright, now that we have the amateurs out of the way, we can get down to the nitty-gritty. No one wants to watch some middle-aged fuckers that can’t cut a rug anyway, am I right?”
A flurry of forced concurrence followed his query. They knew better than to disagree with him, they had been down that road before.
“So, here we are. Standing is the top of the class, the real men that can fuckin’ boogie down. Well, you better not have been bullshitting me. I guess we’re gonna find out pretty quickly anyway.”
Sebastian continued clenching his bread basket and pouted a moment before continuing. “You won’t have to wait much longer; it’ll all be done after a song. A song, I might add, that will be up to our very own floundering fuck boy, DJ Buttaz, to select.”
Sebastian cranked his neck back toward the disc jockey, “So, you better make it a good one, slick.”
As Sebastian returned his glare back to the participants, he noticed that one of the men had raised his hand. He looked at him, a bit annoyed, before nodding his head in a ‘what the fuck do you want?’ sort of gesture.
“I have a question…” he moused.
Sebastian unloaded several rounds of machine gun fire into his face, causing the man’s cheek area to form a ruby pit and send his nose off toward the dining area. The man somersaulted backwards and out of the picture as particles of his head misted the surrounding air.
“And I’ve got an answer! Any other questions?” he screamed at the rest of them. “Good, because it’s gonna be the same fucking answer. Now! When he starts the track, the five of you… pardon, the four of you will dance. You will give us everything you fucking have. And as you should, because as the song continues, whoever isn’t maintaining the standard is gonna join quiz show back there.”
Contrary to Keith and the other two men beside him, Perry was keeping loose. His vibe was as chill as a vacation. He moved his body around like a boxer might before a fight to get himself fired up and in the zone. This uncommon confidence that was circulating inside was a welcomed asset.
In a way, this was the moment he’d been waiting for all of his life. A moment to express his artistic side that had been suffocated since before the 70s. A moment to be included. I ain’t the one, I ain’t going out like a punk this time, he thought to himself.
“Holy shit, grandpa’s ass is fired up. You guys better not sleep on him,” Sebastian laughed.
The moment was something Perry never would have had the stomach to do if he wasn’t being forced to. The grim circumstances were less than ideal but he still embraced it, even though the outcome was anything but certain.
Perry knew it would all come down to the song. In his heart, he knew he had skills, but he was a one-trick pony. Perry laser beamed at DJ Buttaz with a menacing glare. As if he could will him to select a jam you might hear kicking out of an oversized boombox on a stoop in Yonkers back in the day.
DJ Buttaz was formulating his own strategy as Sebastian tired of watching Perry warm-up and glared back at him in anticipation. Three younger white boys, and one old black dude. At the end of the day, that crusty mother fucker is my best bet… DJ Buttaz thought to himself selfishly.
He reached down into the milkcrate of records until he found it. He set the wax down and aligned it with the needle. The room waited in anticipation as the baby blue vinyl sticker started to swirl around. The print read: GRAND MASTER FLASH & THE FURIOUS FIVE. A little further below, the artist’s name read: THE MESSAGE.
Perry could’ve broken down crying when he heard the thrashing of symbols and the trippy synth invade his ear canals. It wasn’t just his style, IT WAS HIS SONG.
Each bar in the verses painted the portrait of the life he’d lived. He had so many fond memories from afar watching kids break to the beat of the classic track that would undoubtedly live on forever. And while he’d never been comfortable enough in his own skin to join them, he’d practiced.
In his apartment building’s vacant basement, Perry had set up a cardboard foundation. He’d laid it down gracefully on the cold floor and even put a few milk crates down there for seating (despite never finding an audience). During all of those hot summers in the 80s, all he did was practice in solitude. All he did was prepare for a day that never arrived. Until now…
“Aw shit!” Sebastian yelled. “I fucking love this song! I never thought you would’ve picked this! Let’s see what you fuckers got!”
Perry’s body was becoming possessed. During the buildup of the beat, his shoulders popped and his arms swam up and down as he screamed the words he’d been waiting to release since puberty. The question Grandmaster Flash posed to himself was one Perry had asked himself countless times during his upbringing. When shit got too real in his hood, and he was consumed with trying to keep his ass intact.
Sebastian’s eyes lit up as he watched Perry’s passions rip out from inside him. “Yes,” he said under his breath, “this is what it’s about!”
The other men looked lost, moving their arms, shaking their hips, and even snapping their fingers as they peeked at Perry for inspiration. But what the man was doing just wasn’t in their wheelhouse.
As the sound of glass breaking blared out and echoed through the ballroom, Perry’s old brittle pelvis cracked as he transitioned out of his top rock hype motions and dropped into a backslide. The blood-drenched floor helped him glide like a god as he twisted into a pair of back two steps. He then cycled into rotating between kickouts and crazy commandos. He was putting on a brilliant display of elderly athleticism for the ages.
As Perry immersed himself more in the dance, he screamed out the words and snapped back into his prehistoric routine. It was like he’d never stopped practicing, like he’d never left that dingy but cozy basement in Yonkers.
Perry continued to belt out the rhymes, somehow able to spit the lyrics while continuing the flashy breakdance routine at the same time.
Each sentence he spat was reliving all of his impoverished experiences, every instant that he’d struggled to survive through. It was almost as if Grandmaster Flash had found him again to help aid in his survival. The words felt like so much more than just another dope song.
Sebastian was becoming so enthralled by Perry’s epic performance that he shot the gun off at the heavens again. Then he looked at the others, who were anything but inspiring, and got a better idea.
“The old man is fucking killing you guys! Better get moving!” he yelled, shooting the machine gun at their feet like he’d seen in the movies.
But unlike the cliché comedies where the shots never seem to actually land, his were finding their mark. Keith was trying to keep up and doing his best impression of what he’d seen in the hip hop music videos. It was god-awful but slightly better than the rest. The men beside him weren’t as quick with their feet, hence they weren’t so lucky.
One had a slug tear the left half of his ankle open. The poor bastard plummeted to the dancefloor writhing in pain. Somehow, in ridiculous fashion, he was still trying to emulate the freshness that Perry was putting out. Bleeding, screaming, and dancing. Only at Sebastian’s wedding day massacre could you see those three things at once
The other fella beside him got tagged higher and multiple times. His injuries were more life-threatening so he wasn’t trying to dance anymore. Instead, he was trying to stop the bleeding from exiting the dangling mix of bone and meat where his kneecap used to be.
The gruesome sight made Sebastian recall his own wound and how he was able to push past the pain. The deformed man seemed to enrage him. He lifted up the gun again and let a foul scowl manifest on his face.
“You’re a fucking disgrace! The both of you!” Sebastian hissed before pulling the trigger again. The spray of bullets found their mark, sending a bloody spatter that touched both Keith and Perry.
But Perry was still in the fucking zone. He was already covered in blood from swirling around on the floor, the warm addition didn’t affect him. His janitor jumpsuit was discolored and moist to the touch as he windmilled his way up off the slippery surface. Somehow, he was able to muster the upper body strength to keep himself poised to perfection.
Perry continued to maintain his lyrical output as he went back to the standing top rock moves for a moment.
Keith continued to unveil his whack moves that felt like they were the culmination of a dad joke. While dripping buckets of perspiration, from the corner of his eye, he watched Perry knowing there wasn’t much more time. When the custodian’s old aching bones flipped into the monkey sweeps and then back to around the worlds he knew, he was fucked hard.
There was no way he was getting out alive. Keith’s trajectory had taken a bizarre turn—he would be executed because he could not out dance a janitor. He almost wished he could’ve said it out loud before they killed him because it sounded so ridiculous. When people think about the end of their life, they never think about that one… So, do I wanna get shot in the face? Not particularly… Maybe it’s finally time to get my wings, but fuck it, I’ll get them on my terms, he thought to himself.
As Keith registered that the look on Sebastian’s face had just switched to ‘I’ve seen enough’, he took off toward the massive hole that the rocket launcher had created in the side of the once regal ballroom. Jinx instinctively raised a handgun up at the fleeing contestant but Sebastian held the jester’s arms.
“Let him go,” Sebastian said.
Keith didn’t hesitate; he looked like a gymnast the way he bounced off the cracked flooring and barreled through the enormous hole. He cleared the man that had been bayonetted by rebar a short time ago and was set to get the full effects of the fall.
He screamed inaudible moans on the way down and attempted to apologize for all of his sins on the way, but there simply wasn’t enough time to seek forgiveness for everything. Keith fell through all the darkness of the recently transitioned evening sky, knowing most likely that there would only be more darkness after it was over.
DJ Buttaz pulled the needle off the record just in time for everyone in the ballroom to listen to his body crash into the hood of an SUV. The annoying alarm was loud enough for them to hear faintly.
Sebastian looked at Perry who was panting like he’d just finished running a marathon and on the verge of regurgitation. A smile crept across his bloody face as he clenched his belly and continued to try and stop the bleeding. “Well, it looks like we have a winner,” he said with a sinister laugh.
