MULE

By Paul A. Watler

Winter, New York City, the snow was piled as deep as three feet in some areas. The
snow plows pushed snow up and down West 47th street but in the face of continuous
snow drifts from the latest Nor’easter the task seemed frivolous at best.

Mule walked from her apartment on West 49th street and 11th avenue. She took her time
and tried to be very careful, she was carrying tonight and could not afford to be careless
in the least.

Every few seconds Mule looked over her shoulder, constantly she scanned the street in
front of her, behind her, even looking at the windows above her.

She could not afford to be marked, not by anyone. Five-O, mugger, rapist, the dangers
were many especially on a dark night like this.

Unfortunately mule’s friends were very few.

As a matter of fact they were completely non-existent these days. Her mother begged her
to come home but Schenectady was a long time ago and far, far, away.

There was nothing in that upstate mortuary of a town for her anymore. This was where
her life was now; this was where the money was at.

She could not go back to her mother who never accomplished more than catching
drunken bums who could barely hold a job.

The snow was falling in thick sheets that swirled and swilled and slewed. What little
pedestrians there were on the streets bravely made their way step by step, fighting to keep
their footing as they made their way down these frigid streets.
A young male, Puerto Rican she guessed, dressed in a thick, hooded parka minced
walked across the street. Mule tracks his progress, he was tall with a thin build under the
thick parka and looked no older than 18.

Just before he reaches the bank of cars on the curb lining her side of the street he slips
and goes down like a bag of meat.

Mule continues as if she never sees him. She reaches the corner of 9th avenue and 49th
street, The Time hotel stands on the far corner. Here she makes a right and heads
downtown. Her destination: the port authority bus terminal seven blocks south.

As Mule turns the corner onto ninth it feels as if the wind intensifies, the snow becomes a
blinding white fleece which obscures nearly every feature and name and street
identification before her eyes. Thankfully Mule made this trip dozens of times already
and she could probably make the journey to the bus station with her eyes closed if she
had to.

The cold was another matter. She was wrapped up as much as fashionably possible and
that unfortunately left some room for old man winter to creep in.

“Shoulda wrapped my head and neck up more…” Mule laments to herself.

The wind blew an incredible gust of wind that left Mule stunned and shaking to her very
soul.

It was then she heard the sound behind her…too close.

“Hey Chica…where ya goin ba..” it said.

Mule never gave him a chance to finish, she spins ducking and stepping under the
reaching arm she socks a gloved fist into the attackers jaw.

She hears an audible “crack” as the open jaw of the creep crashes together from the force
of her blow.

Following up she kicks her boots into the abdomen of the attacker with tremendous force
and speed, knocking him to the ground.

She pulls a Sig Sauer pistol from her back and squats bringing the gun right to the punks
face.

It was the same punk that slipped crossing the street earlier, of course that did not stop
him, his type extremely tenacious if anything.

“…The hell you want Jack…!? She seethes.

The gaunt face looked up at her in fear, eyes round and glassy, pupils unfocused.

“Crank, crystal, grass…?” The young Latino asks. “I aint got no money but I can pay
you the next time I sees you!” He says.

Mule cannot believe her ears. “Do I look like some stinking drug dealer fool?” She asks
incredulously keeping the gun trained on him, something about him… about all of this
seemed wrong.

“I know you got! Everyone knows, it aint no secret girl!” He says.

“Why does this seem so wrong…?” Mule asks herself, she looks closely at the drugged
out visage beneath her, she has never seen him before…and yet.
“Look” Mule says, “I aint got nothin’ for you, understand.” She points the gun even
closer. “You look like you’re about to freeze to death out here or maybe catch some lead
in the forehead so let me give you a bit of advice...bottom line: Leave me the hell alone
and get the hell off these streets, before somebody fits you for a toe tag, you copy?”

The kid nods his head, his bloodshot eyes looking at everything, focusing on nothing.

“Okay, okay, don’t hurt me, I’m sorry…!” He says.

Mule spins and walks off, the snow and wind has intensified even further, absolute white
fringed with complete darkness, Mule hasnever seen weather like this in NYC and she
has lived in this state all her life.

She would never admit it to anyone else but she is shaken and not just from the cold or
even being surprised by the punk, she is shaken by something else…something she
cannot put her hands on, something about that kid was not right and she could not put her
finger on it.

Mule walked, she constantly glanced back over her shoulder looking the way she came,
where she left the punk but could not see anything back there.

Hell, she could not see anything in front of her either; vision was limited to inches in
front of her nose. She might as well be blind for her world was now totally comprised of
whiteness.

She could not even make out the street lights or cars parked on the curb that had to be no
more than ten feet from her...nothing. It was surreal, cold and she had to admit, very
frightening.

She hunched her shoulders forward to tighten her coat across her back, her gloved hands
balled to fists with effort. She normally did this when she carried her load. She would
check her “burden” by feeling for it and it was within the lining of her coat, across her
lower back.

She did not carry it in a bag; she learned her lesson about the hazards of bags long ago.
No, it was best that no one be any the wiser about what she carried, if the street punks
knew they would kill her to get to her burden.

She normally carried two things, drugs or money. The drugs would be taken by her from
Felix Sempa, the notorious dealer who had made a name for himself on the streets of
Spanish Harlem as the number three supplier of crack and crank in the area.

Mule was one of Felix’s most trusted carriers of money or merchandise, her job was to
make deliveries or pickups all up and down the east coast connection that Felix was a part
of.

His operation was run right under everyone’s’ nose, like the body lying in plain sight. He
used the front of his auto body repair shop to hide the crack/crank manufacturing lab he
ran in a sealed off section of his garage.

Mule worked hard for Felix, and Felix took special care of Mule, not that their
relationship was sexual or anything like that, it was purely business.

Mule knew that she was regarded by men as fairly attractive and Felix, like most men she
knew, did make advances her way years ago but Mule found him unattractive for not only
what he looked like, a human replica of Mario from the Donkey Kong game but also for
what he did.

Mule trudged ahead, not seeing anything past the whiteness, not even sure if she were on
this planet anymore but all the while trying to feel her way along.
Only problem was nothing felt right to her, she had been walking this sidewalk for a
while and had not yet reached the corner to cross over as she knew she must.

Her mind drifted in the surreal scene…

…she had hopes and dreams at one time, like those of any young woman. She wanted to
live a life that was beautiful, full off promise and hope…maybe joy… a life worth living.

Instead, all she found was a life of drudgery, of hate and pain. She found that her life
would not be one of privilege. Her life began in rejection and coldness for she was born
in the winter to a single mother with a shaky hold on reality.

Once she was old enough life taught her the lessons of pain, shame and loneliness, she
remembered being alone all the time…so alone.

On summer days in Schenectady she did not have one close friend in the part of town she
lived in with her fragile mother.

Not one friend with which she could talk to, play with, confide in, communicate…no one.
Her mother never paid much attention to her at that age. Instead her mother seemed to
require loads of male attention and seemed to attract the worst of “men” to their doorstep.

The fiendish ones stole from them, beat her mother and finally …Mule was raped, in
complete darkness, in the dead of night, when she was but 14 years old, her innocence,
purity…just being clean. It all ended that night.

Mule told her mother soon after but her Mother did not believe her in the least and told
her that she imagined it all.

Imagined …being raped?

Mule left soon after, that was one betrayal that she could not live with. If she stayed in
that apartment she feared she would go insane and kill herself.

She could not kill the man for he was long gone, on to other acts of violence and hatred
no doubt.

The sealed pack of twenty thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills was still securely
nestled in her coat lining in the small of her back.

If one were to look at Mule from any angle, she would appear to be a woman a little taller
and muscular than average with a decent figure, the package would not be visible.

Having done this over forty times in the past four years taught Mule hard earned lessons
about how to not get tagged by anyone.

The snow drifts seemed to grow deeper and deeper, even in the middle of the wide
sidewalk. It was now past her knees, this made every step an additional burden in this
driving nightmare of a storm.

Mule suddenly stopped. How long had she been walking? Why had she not come to the
curb at the corner of 47th street? She remembered passing 48th street, at least she thinks
she did but she definitely never came past the corner at 47th. Somewhere in between both
the street seemed to…disappear...!

Mule shook her head, her paranoia was growing and she felt she was becoming a bit coo-
coo. The street was piled with snow and it probably covered the curb completely, that’s
why she did not feel it. But why did she not see any street lights, street poles or even cars
now for that matter…?

Everywhere was white, swirling white with only hints of the darkness beyond, she could
sense nothing outside of the cauldron of snow which had now nearly crept up to her hips.
She was cold, so cold but her fear was hot inside of her, she was actually sweating from
fright she now realized and her hammering heart was pushing blood and adrenaline
through her body at an intense rate.

“Get a hold of yourself, damn it!” She says loudly. “Stop acting like some stupid scared
kid, you’re a professional! Just make this drop and you got yourself another three
thousand dollars! Yeah, that’s it.” She reasoned to herself.

The thought of another easy three helped to ease her nerves. If anything she was a
woman of strong will and determination, she would make it through, all she had to do
was keep walking and soon she would see the lights of Times Square and be at the bus
terminal.

Closing her eyes, Mule breathed once, twice, three times. She then opened her eyes and
began once again to move forward. The snow parted in around her thighs as she slowly
plowed ahead.

Rivets the same sizes as her legs were left behind, marking her progress through the deep
snow, but soon snow covered her tracks making them disappear in the storms severity.

She made this same journey about four times a month, sometimes five or six. The bus
terminal was a familiar old friend. Mule normally felt no apprehension at all, she had
done this so often she could write a “how to” book about being a …Mule.

Felix was very good to trusted and valued employees of his organization. He had to be,
runners were busted by cops who were getting better and better at locating them with
their “cargo”.
Felix had lost several of his runners. “Some of his best”, he lamented more than once.
Mule reasoned to herself “if they were so damn good then they would never have been
caught.”

The problem was normally either nervousness or flamboyance. Either a person was not
in control of their nerves - a dead giveaway when stopped by cops, or they were dressed
too damn fly or driving some damn escalade or something else utterly stupid -another
dead giveaway.

Mule…? She had been stopped by cops only twice and each time she was able to act
herself right out of a bad situation. The dummies did not even try and search her.

Her cover stories always held up and she never let her nerves get the best of her. She was
the coolest cat there was in a job that was full of “pros” and “boo - boo’s”, and if that
didn’t work she could always fall back on plan “B” and push her medium sized but nicely
shaped breasts out at the cop.

A man was a man, no matter if he were a cop or not.

Mule heard two quick steps of someone plowing through the knee high snow, too fast for
a normal person, coming directly her way!

She began to turn, her hand reaching for the gun but it was too late.

The dark blur was upon her and tackled her down into the snow…hard. The impact of
the attacker was tremendous, this left her head spinning. Fortunately the landing in the
deep snow was fairly soft.

She quickly shook off the daze. Survival was of primary importance now.
She struggled and wrestled with her larger attacker. She knew she could be killed if she
did not get out from under him but she could not get her arms free, whoever it was had
her pinned good.

Still locked up in a dangerous embrace she was rolled to her side and looked up into the
face of the man.

It was the same punk from earlier, she realized without much surprise. What frightened
her greatly was…the look on his face.

Manic…that was the only way to describe how he looked, totally insane. He was
screaming at her, spit flying from a mouth which appeared to be foaming.

His eyes were focused now with a deadly intensity that was reserved for only the maddest
of hatters.

“I KNOW YOU’RE CARRYING, DAMNITT! I NEED A FIX NOW!! I NEED IT

NOW! I NEED IT NOOOWWWWWWW!!!” He roared shaking her hard.

Mules only option was to crack her forehead into the nose of her attacker, which she did
forcefully. This caused the maniac to release his grip on her a little.

That was all that Mule needed, she quickly pushed up on his chest to gain some elbow
room and punched him dead in the grill, blood and teeth flying. The punk rolled off her
screaming and bleeding.

Fury gripped Mule now, her fear and coldness forgotten. She jumped to her feet and
kicked her attacker in the face and in the side twice. The punk howled as several ribs
cracked under her boot, she screamed in furious satisfaction as he fell over.
She felt for the pistol…gone! She looked about but all she saw was deep snow, not even
the imprint of where she fell remained. Plunging into the snow she felt everywhere on
the ice covered sidewalk for her piece.

Finally she felt the matted handle of the SIG; grabbing it she racked it and spun with the
full intention of killing her attacker.

Nothing! He was gone!! She had only turned her back on him for maybe three seconds
and he had completely vanished!! Mule spun every where checking all around her, her
six-three times, above her, kicking the deep snow beneath her, everywhere. He was
gone!

Her eyes were wide now and the fear that she had been fighting gripped her heart in a
fierce embrace. The darkness of the blowing white snow surrounded her as completely
as the fear; the animal that attacked her was still out there and would continue to hunt her
she irrationally reasoned.

There seemed to be other things out there as well, just beyond her range of vision, very
dim things…shadows of…people. She could hear the groan of the constant wind, or was
it people…?

Her courage left her and she ran, gun held at the ready, Mule ran for her life. The street
knew no end and the snow storm seemed to become deeper, more immense than before.

By now all direction was gone and Mule began running left and right, diagonally,
screaming and yelling for help.

She should have smacked into cars, run into buildings, tripped over fire hydrants…but
Mule hit nothing, saw nothing, and heard nothing except the howling made by souls of
the damned.
Mule was not on earth any longer, she was certain of that and it was that certainty that
brought her closer to the stark edge of what was left of her sanity. Fear was nothing until
that fear was fully realized with a starkness that only fear itself could bring.

The truth was that Mule had been removed from her reality to a frozen one of madness,
despair and danger, and the knowledge of this truth was too much to bear.

The voices and shadows grew louder, larger and closer. Each one seemed to know that
she was the Mule that delivered the toxins they desired…needed…demanded and they
would stop at nothing to achieve their goal, even if it meant killing her.

Shadows swirled and coalesced into figures of drugged out desire! They ran at her, she
shot at them, they screamed insanities and kept coming, kept running!

She saw faces now, the shadowy bodies ran closer and she could see the faces of the
addicted dead that hungered for her product, the young attacker from earlier among the
ones in pursuit, hollering insanities.

She screamed at them. She had no drugs on her, she told them to go to hell, to go see
Felix, to go any damn where just leave her the hell alone.

Another shadow ran at her to tackle her, she ducked just in time as the shadow flew over
head screaming obscenities at her. Another came at her head on and she saw the despair
of the things soul play out in front of her.

His last moments in life an overdose of drugs and madness, he must wander forever now,
in search of his fix, one which he formerly obtained from her shipment of cargo that
supplied his need and fed his addiction. Unfortunately the dead had no supplier and
could only hunger now in desperation...the curse of living death.
The shade howled in agony and Mule screamed in horror. It seemed to understand that
life was totally gone now and only the addiction remained, eternal and terrible like the
fire of the sun with no hope of quenching, Mule fell and rolled away from the horror, still
screaming she stumbled to her feet and ran on.

Madness was close now and began to cover her. The thick blanket it offered very
comforting, except Mule did not want to go there, she wanted to go home. She suddenly
wanted to see her mother.

She wanted mommy so badly, she wanted to be protected as when she was little, she
wanted to have her mother tuck her in and tell her it would be alright…!

But that never happened, her mother was a wreck and Mule was all alone, about to die,
paying forever for the sins of careless greed and avarice…eternally consumed by her
consumers.

She was the Mule, the supplier of poison to those addicted to poison. She gave them
what they loved and what they loved killed them…it killed them…it killed them.

“IT KILLED THEM…IT KILLED THEM…!!” She screamed over and over again,
she ran in circles now, tears streaming, her coat containing twenty thousand dollars
yanked off her in the struggle to get away from the dead and desperate ones who wanted
what she did not carry tonight.

Her body was beginning to slow, the cold taking her strength. She breathed heavy,
sobbing. Finally she collapsed in a sobbing heap in the middle of the swirling blackness
of white, her will to continue gone.

They were all around her now white, black, Hispanic, the old, the very young all
demanding over and over for the drug of their choice. Demanding that the Mule get for
them what they could no longer get for themselves.
So many…so damned many and they would never leave her, their voices would always
be there to torment her into making provision for them.

She could not, would not live like this, because she could not take anymore any longer.

The gun was still in her hand, the slide was still forward which meant that there was at
least one round left inside the weapon.

She looked around for a way out in desperation, she was completely surrounded by the
living dead and they were moving in, coming closer.

Her mind snapped so easily and completely, the only way out she reasoned lie in the
palm of her right hand.

“I need to get my nails done tomorrow...” She said looking at her nails.

She raises the gun and places it to her temple.

“Yes, tomorrow…” She sobs.

“Excuse me…?” A young voice said, one that belonged to a little girl.

Mule slowly lowers the gun.

“Yes?” She replies.

The little shadow walks forward into the light of the darkness; her face can now be seen.

She is about nine, her long hair pulled back into a long, black pony tail, barrettes on the
end, pink ones…just like…!
“Like I used to wear,” Mule says out loud.

The little girl who looked so familiar stopped in front of her kneeling form, the little girls
eyes were calm, loving and accepting, nothing judgmental or insane about them.

“I believe you dropped this,” She held up Mule’s coat. “Is this yours?” She asks.

“Uh huh…” Mule dumbly answers. She takes the offered coat and looks with sad
wonder upon the child.

“What are you doing here?” Mule asks quietly.

“My mother is with her new boyfriend. I was in the way and he told me to go outside
and play…he scares me.” The little girl says sadly.

“But it’s night time …in the dead of winter!! Does your mother not care for you…or
love you?” Mule asks.

“My mother cannot love me because no one has ever loved her. I don’t even think that
she loves herself.” The child replies sadly.

Heart ache now fills her, a deep sadness grips her and a ragged scar that was poorly
healed long ago begins to tear. The wound was closed with a poorly healed scab that
suddenly tears wide open.

Instead of blood, tears flow in its place, rivers of them. Tears from the gash in her heart
that had never quite healed, only staunched with dirty rags soaked in the blood of
addicted junkies.

In appeal she looked to the heavens, the gun in her hand falling away, lost in the snow.
She looked to the little girl that was her, gone these many years now but still hurting…
still in need.

“What is your name?” Mule asks.

“I’m Isabel,” the child answers, “What’s yours?”

“I’m Isabel too,” Isabel replies choking back tears.

The child Isabel looked around her. “They seem to be leaving.” She said regarding the
shadow people.

The adult Isabel looked about without fear. “Yes…they are.” She agreed.

The child Isabel pointed to the coat in adult Isabel’s hand. “Aren’t you going to put that
on?” She asked.

Adult Isabel looked at the coat, a dark dreadful thing, her burden hidden…on the inside…

“No I am not going to put that on, we don’t need this any longer.” Isabel instructs, she
then let the coat slip from her fingers. It is immediately swallowed by the snow, just like
the gun.

“What now?” The little girl says looking at adult Isabel, “What do we do now? Mom
wont love us, dad never knew us…What do we do now?” She laments fearfully…
pitifully.

“I will love you and you will love me. We will love each other.” Adult Isabel says with
calm conviction.
Child Isabel’s eyes sparkle with hope and longing at adult Isabel’s words. “Do you mean
it?” She asks.

“Yes, I will never leave you, I will always love you.” She says, looking at herself with
the deepest of love.

“I will never leave you, I will always love you.” Child Isabel repeats smiling.

With that Adult Isabel takes child Isabel into her arms and holds her tight against the
wind and snow of the blinding darkness.

A small glow, a soft flash and Isabel, whole once more, holds herself, not against the cold
but with love, the void in her wounded heart, finally cleaned and dressed and beginning
to heal.

Hating herself for far, far too long was killing her. She was nearly dead, chasing
something which was poisoning her to death.

She nearly succeeded when she reached the depths of the horror from her past combined
with the insane shadows of her present.

It took the love she knew as a child to save her as an adult by reminding her that the only
thing that really matters is love and if one cannot love oneself then one will not survive a
lonely and despairing storm on a cold winter’s night.

Isabel stood …strong and tall now, she did not know what the future would hold but she
was ready to face it, now that the past had finally let her go.

The whiteness began to break a bit and Isabel could finally see that she was still in the
middle of 47th and 48th streets.
She turned around and began the walk back to her apartment. Once there she would take
a hot shower, eat, and finally sleep. In the morning she would pack only what was
required and then she would leave this city forever.

She would call upon her mother to begin anew someplace else together with her. If her
mother agreed all the better, maybe they could be a family…finally.

If she declined…so be it, she would always, always love her and want her love but if this
night taught Isabel anything it was this:

You had to love yourself enough to send the very best, this world at times was very dark
and cold and you could get lost in the frozen drifts of your soul if not extremely careful.

Surrender was not an option, not for Isabel. As dark as this night was, one surety
remained true. The sun would shine again.

Isabel walked calmly back the way she came. The dread was now gone and it showed in
her steps. In its place rested a peace brought on by love, something Mule had never
understood but a little girl from long ago possessed in abundance before her innocence
was lost.

The shadows were not gone but pushed back very far. There they would stay, only fear
would give them access and Isabel would never fear them again, for she had forgiven
herself.

Isabel walked on in the middle of the night, in one of the worst storms of the century, on
the Island of Manhattan.

The temperature was 19 degrees…

…and she didn’t feel a thing.