Dominovich's Arc

Chapter 6 of 2

Dominovich sat on the dock, still sticky with mustard and swamp mud. The beast was ash. The victory sandwich was gone. But the smell clung to him, thick and sour, and no clean water waited in the swamp. Daddy Bieuuu scratched at the dried sauce on his arm and said nothing. Both of them stank of smoke and pickle brine. Word of the beast's fiery death had spread, and now something new came sliding across the water toward them. A boat drifted up to the dock. It was built from stacked deli meat, pink and shining, with fat pontoons that hummed like they meant to fly. A round man stepped off. He was made of sausage links and napkins, held together with grease and cheese. A cowboy hat sat over his big mustache. He pointed a sausage finger at Dominovich, then at Daddy Bieuuu. "You two killed the steel beast," he said. "Heard it downriver. You smell like it too." He tucked a loose napkin back into his collar. "Name's Wiener Cleaner. I clean folks. You need it." Dominovich stood, wary. He feared nothing, but he had never seen a man made of lunch. "We have no coin," he said. "And I don't take charity." "No coin needed," Wiener Cleaner said. He pulled the napkins from his own arms and wiped Dominovich's face with them. The sauce came off. Then the sandwich crumbs, the pickle bits, the mustard smear. He plucked the dried sauce from Daddy Bieuuu's beard and rolled it into the napkins. "I collect the scraps. That's my pay." He held up the soaked napkins. "Good eating." Daddy Bieuuu ran a hand over his clean arm. He almost smiled. "Clean," he said. It was the plainest praise he had. Wiener Cleaner waved them onto his boat. "Come. I'm crossing away from here. This place stinks worse than me." He looked at Dominovich. "You want to eat a sandwich in peace? You come now." Dominovich hesitated. The swamp had given him his dead enemy. But the tyrant at the gate still stood, far off and waiting. He looked at the meat boat, then back at the ash. Rest was a thing he never let himself want. Still, his followers needed him whole, not broken by mud and stench. "One trip," Dominovich said. "Then I go back to my war." They boarded. The squirrelmoose stepped on last, hooves clicking on the deli deck. Wiener Cleaner pushed off, and the pontoons hummed louder. The boat rose and slid over the reeds. The swamp dump shrank behind them, its rusty shack sinking into the green. They left Bieuuuville's stench behind. Wiener Cleaner passed out mustard and pickles, and they ate in peace, clean at last. Dominovich chewed slowly and watched the water pass. He had bought himself calm. But every mile carried him farther from the gate, and the tyrant would not wait forever.