Nightfall: III. Economic issues

His hand down his trousers and almost devoutly studying his cheap porno booklet, Scarroneye flinched violently when Scarface abruptly yanked open the door to his questionable love nest, rudely interrupting his passionate machinations inside the rubbish truck.

"Damn bastard, I should dump you in the trash compactor right now!"

"Sorry to interrupt you playing with your only friend, but Dr. Strankenfein was paying quite a bit, 'because the incessant organ removal far exceeded the specified amount of hospital waste' - as Igor put it in his interleaved way. Well, I then helped Ogrinski a bit with the culling of now penniless patients, so it took a bit longer!"

Grinning insinuatingly, our special kind of money messenger handed his boss a fat envelope. The prevented onanist's mood brightened abruptly and a contentedly greedy smile spread across his fat face as he snatched at the envelope like a shark at a bloody prey. Motivated by money-driven joy, the superior trash executive counted the financial blessings.

"Cool, isn't it, bossy?"

Scarface's disfigured facial expression expressed a certain satisfaction with much room for interpretation, while the amusement in his dissonant voice was unmistakable.

"Listen, Hackface, if just one cent is missing, you will be gone. Don't forget that I know Strankenfein personally and supplied him with endless cadavers at his castle back then for his experiments as a service specialist in excavation!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, boss."

Cunningly, Scarface pondered the bonus that the Russian giant had patronisingly slipped him after he had performed euthanasia on the aforementioned patients.

"All right then! Now go see what the bitch and the one-eyed moron are up to. The slowpokes should have finished their work by now!"

"Sure, I will bossy!"

Scarface intercepted the two eager rubbish collectors on their way back with their last haul. So far, Maria and the One-Eye had carried out their gruesome work without hesitation or disgust. Like two shadows in the darkness, they create the remnants of human misery into the rubbish truck, each body a silent witness to a broken existence. Shortly before Scarface arrived for the memorable business meeting with his bustling executive, the disposal specialists had left for their final tour.

"Hola, you one-eyed bandit! You and the princess, have you made it soon? Scarroneye is getting impatient!"

The monovisual bandolero, laden with two body bags, gave his disfigured comrade a cool look, while the intern stood impassively behind him with a shopping bag from a large discounter full of corpse parts.

"These are the last ones. While you're there, you can take that one!"

Before Scarface could react, the One-Eye had already placed a body bag in front of him.

"That's your job! I'm just here to check!"

„Take it!“

The disfigured controller knew from experience that not complying with one of the few instructions given by his cyclopean colleague could have quite a negative effect on one's health.

"Well, for the sake of peace!"

Groaning heavily, Scarface picked up the lifeless body and set off with his colleagues.

When the trio finally reached their destination, their burden was quickly deposited. Unimpressed by the sickening sound of corpses being crushed by the trash compactor, they finally reported to their boss, who greeted them with a satisfied grunt in the manner of his trunk-armed relatives.

"Okay, it's bloody time! But what can you expect when a chick wants to do men's work?"

"She was quick and efficient!"

Scarroneye was momentarily tongue-tied at the one-eye's objection.

The bitch must have made quite an impression on the one-eyed bastard, probably through sexual advances. It was better not to mess with the son of a bitch over such a small thing.

"Er, um, all right. Enough with the jabbering, our next job awaits. Now it's off to the whorehouse to clean up. So let's go!"

Shortly after these wise words, the merry disposal squad set off for their next assignment.

The rattling roar of the decrepit rubbish truck echoed through the ramshackle streets lined with dilapidated tenements. The destination of the illustrious troupe was the 'Borderline Swallow', a luxurious establishment for intimate physical contact.

Scarroneye, still deeply wounded in his manly honour as a macho king, tried to assert his dominance over Maria to prove himself as an alpha male. At first incredulous, but then delighted, the bedraggled leading trash executive spotted a lone cargo cyclist pedalling laboriously.

Obviously a forced recruit from some delivery service or some poor sod who has to cycle off in the middle of the night to reach his underpaid job. Well, not everyone could afford the forced e-mobility. This was the opportunity to prove to this frigid cunt who was the master here!

Without hesitation, Jean, the philosopher from the depths of the rubbish heaps, headed for the cyclist, his eyes sparkling with sadistic delight. The sound of metal on flesh echoed through the air as the cyclist was mercilessly struck down and his body cruelly crushed by the truck's wide tyres. The murderous rubbish driver's crooked grin reflected his satisfaction, for he believed that such senseless brutality would have an intimidating effect on the recalcitrant trainee. To top it off, the driving artist stepped hard on the brakes and gave his female passenger a supposed look of masculine superiority, which, however, rather resembled that of a drunken gorilla by all means.

"It makes you feel like a man, baby! A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!"

"What nonsense and economically pointless. Boss Scarroneye, you should consider that we are not being paid for this killing and that, for example, the tyres have worn out as a result."

The subtle hint of supposed mockery in Maria's voice almost drove the dethroned monarch of toxic masculinity mad. Only with difficulty did he restrain himself from falling upon this ice-cold bitch.

One-eye and Scarface, who clung tightly to the running boards at the rear of the rubbish truck in the face of their leader's wayward driving style, registered the demise of the biking packhorse with cool composure. This was nothing new for them, because their boss liked to kill for pleasure, especially when it was completely risk-free for him.

"Hackface and One-Eye, clear this shit away now and let's get on with it! But a little snappy, you bastards!"

Scarroneye, momentarily taken aback by Maria's casual response, struggled to regain his composure. Anger and frustration clouded his eyes as he tried to save face, shouting his instructions through the open truck window to his co-workers in the back standing room, his voice dripping with world-weariness and malice.

Without comment, the rubbish collectors fulfilled their boss' request, which was polite by his standards, and then hurriedly returned to their usual positions, as their garbage-collecting superior did not wait to restart the engine until his subordinates had completed their work.

Together, the quartet continued on their way towards the brothel, a cloud of darkness in tow.

To be continued