Ice

John had great big waterproof boots on. He also had a waistcoat and a buttoned up shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and his tie was loosened. He was with Eric, who wore a similar outfit. Eric was shorter but with a broader chest. He was trying to keep his cigarette glowing in the salty sea winds. The air was cold and quiet. It was corpse wind.

The hotel stood next to them, eight floors high with thick white, sugary walls. Yellow light limped through the windows of the ground floor, and there was the subdued sound of furniture being moved from inside. Love and Happiness by Al Green was mutedly making its way through the clenched architecture. There was a weak sulfur light dangling above them, but it had a habit of blinking furiously.

-Shouldn’t we go back in? John asked. He shivered. Beneath the wharf where the hotel loomed, the ocean dauntedly churned. These kinds of nights, when the really rich guests came, they were the difficult ones.

Eric made a dismissive motion with his hand - they’ve started cleaning up without us.The smell of bleach was already making its way through the crookedly open windows. It stung the nostrils. The cleaning crew had come in already, with their white hooded clothes. Eric had seen crime shows before, and that was like the forensic people had always worn. He wondered how it was that they got those. You know, without anyone asking questions.

The wind howled like a soul escaping a corpse, and John looked at the caddy between them. It was a plastic tub on wheels, chock filled with ice which had half melted to freezing water. Beer bottle caps winked like stolen eyes on the surface.

I still think that we should finish up and maybe head back in - he said. The hotel was imposing, and John attempted to shield himself from the winds by tucking in behind the wall of the smoking area.

Eric shrugged, you wanna go back in there and stack the chairs and move the tables, be my guest. You know why it’s better to have two people for this job anyhow.

John decided to dump the conversation like dead weight.

He looked up at the stubbornly charred night sky.

You ever thought about getting out of hospo? (he asked) maybe moving to some other place, starting over?

Not really (Eric said) I’m okay where I am.

John looked bewildered - seriously? You’re okay with just being poked and prodded at this chop shop of a place, masquerading as a hotel for the rest of your life? Have rich guests marvel at you like you’re the next course on the menu?

Eric laughed softly and smoke billowed out of his nostrils and mouth like he had a dragon throat.

Chop shop masqu - that’s a good one (he said). He stared at nothing for a moment, kicked the toe of his boot against the concrete and seemed to consider.

I mean, I guess at the end of the day it depends if you want to be a pig in the wild or a pig waiting to be strung up, doesn't it. At least in there (he jerked his finger back at the building behind him) you won’t get eaten alive.

That’s always a positive (John said) can’t say that would be fun. He clicked his tongue. He was sure that some of them had been politicians.

- Oh, you think?

- I’ve never done it, but I think so. What about being drunk?

- Now that, I’ve tried.

- Not that kind of drunk.

- I know. I was trying to make a joke.

John sighed and pushed himself off the wall - can we just dump the ice already?

Eric looked at him. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it out.

- Fine.

The two of them grabbed either side of the tub and rolled it along the cement wharf towards the edge. The tub rattled on the old iron rails embedded in the ground. John wasn’t sure what the rails were there for, but he assumed it had been a tram service. Somewhere in the distance, a wave boomed like a behemoth lurching from the depths.

They reached the lip of the wharf, and both of them grabbed hold of the wheels (almost in perfect synchronization) and lifted. The tub tipped over and the ice and the water and the beer bottle caps that looked like so many eyes sloshed onto the concrete and slithered off into the frothy darkness. The two men heard it all splash heavily into the ocean, and once they were sure that the tub was empty, they yanked it back right side up.

Torches - Eric murmured.

The thick darkness was broken as two phone torches burst to life, and half melted ice twinkled in the white light. They used their waterboots to shift the chunks into the water, ensuring that there was nothing but ice on the concrete (anything else, people would see, and there would be complaints).

After a few seconds of searching, John paused, cocking an eyebrow, and squatting low. There was visceral color shining back in the light. He flicked away the ice carefully.

His heart rate quickened, and his mouth filled with saliva. He reached out with a trembling hand, and lifted up a finger, examining it in the light. The skin was so red that it was almost black, and the nail had all but fallen off. The finger hadn’t been cut, it had been torn free. The joint glistened with cartilage. Jagged, frozen blood hung onto the naked bone like a leech.

John stared, agog.

And then he jammed it into his mouth, and began to suckle on it, hungry for the frozen blood to melt and gurgle down his throat.

Eric looked over at him, clicked his teeth. John was always the luckier of the two of them.

Satisfied, both men stood up, dusting their hands.

And that (chuckled John) is that.