Work Text:
There was going to be a retrial in the fall. It felt like going back to school — the browning leaves, the humid mornings. Taking a loop around the prison track with sneakers, washing off the mud from the rubber grout with a spare toothbrush.
Drinking from a hose. Groundwater mix. Watching the sun rise behind the windmills past the prison walls, industrious scythes for air.
It was a learned life, and Geto was taking notes. It was best to enjoy the little things – the frozen corn and peas on his tray, the generic aspirin they sold for a dollar per shake; two in a dole.
Geto kept his jacket tied around his waist. It was best to appear bigger, wider than a real man. It also helped with the hardass plastic chairs in prison, his tailbone numb after sitting through a legal counseling session.
The mornings were the best – the structure immaculate, the fogginess of the other inmates not worn off yet. They were mostly dumb, like babies – babbling about their next meal, their mothers and wives.
Toji would sometimes stand beside him and observe the lot — grunt while watching inmates play wallball for the seventh day in a row.
Fushiguro was a class act – he had sway, served time. Previous convictions, though nothing as dead-ending as this one.
Toji threw the tennis ball, it splaying off the brick back of a building in the yard. The others reached for its trajectory, some sap jogging to fetch. His voice was always salted in the morning, like an iced road. “Let me ask you this – would you do it for fifty thousand?”
Geto didn’t hesitate, even if it was over a wasted girl. Little, too – Toji said she was something like fourteen. The things fathers and boyfriends did to their girls. “Twice.”
Toji grunted. “Exactly.”
They were close in height, less in age. But it was easy sticking, so Geto tried not to push his luck too hard.
After their first week – Shoko sinking in six visits in seven days, putting money into his account like it was for lunch, carton milk – Toji started brushing him off.
“You don’t want to join the brutes?” Geto asked, lobbing a ball. Starting a game he didn’t intend to stay in. He wished they were allowed sunglasses. The white concrete killed his retinas.
“Bad knee,” Toji said, and that was that.
There had to be some recovery – Geto was missing Shoko by the hours, the separation like a knife wedging out a socket. Ball and joint. Incline and balance. They worked, and she wasn’t fucking here on Monday, so what was that?
Geto was brushing his teeth when Toji came to the sink the next morning, eyeing the tattoo on Geto’s forehead, the white crease over the center. Sure, he was tipping thirty. Toji didn’t need to notice that.
The man only ever flossed — didn’t believe in a brush. Clean gums and a happy life – that was the Fushiguro way. The brown uniforms looked good on him, too. Brought out the sunspots on his hands, the flush under his nails.
Girl-killer. Geto had to remind himself that he used to be against that sort of thing on principle. Girls were for keeping.
Toji made him rethink.
“You have a good smile, kid.” Toji spared a look while rinsing his floss under the tap, lifting a lip to pick at a molar. “Should have done something with that.”
Geto did: the cult antics. Internet sensationalism. Local newspaper spreads of him with topless girls kneeling to listen to him speak. Of course, the old man wouldn’t have a fucking clue who he was.
He struck gold. There was a cherry, too – Geto’s picture of Shoko he had tapped on his wall – Toji hummed at the thing, looking between the photo and him.
She’s cute , he said. Good find .
He couldn’t wait to tell her the news.
*****
“You don’t know what you’re getting us into with him,” Shoko tried to be diplomatic. Play off her genuine annoyance, which never got anyone anywhere with Suguru. The man liked levity, young girls with smoke in their ears.
“He’s alright, sweetness.” Geto grinned. They were in the trailer again, finally, Shoko lifting up her ass on the mattress, Geto closing off her cunt with two fingers as he settled inside. Pinched it until he felt her sink lower, his dick wetter than fish. Fuck yes. “He’s got a kid outside in the real world. Talks about him too – he’s not some deadbeat.”
“Yeah,” Shoko ignored the grip on her hair, Geto keeping her head locked like she was in a wooden yoke. “I met him in the waiting room. He looks like his daddy.”
The kid was quiet. Let her smoke in peace beside an air vent, earphones dangling around his neck. Unruly hair, bright eyes. The type of kid that sucked his own blood off carpet burns and skinned knees.
Shoko didn’t talk to him the first time.
The second time, they shared a lighter. They laughed about something that time, too – Shoko forgot how easy it was to get a little worshiper.
“Hey, birdie,” Geto’s dick was splicing into a sex burn inside her, her cunt not wet enough to take all of him this way, especially with no lube. They always needed lube. “Just think about him, alright? I think he’d help us get somewhere big.”
Geto didn’t get it. There was no career in this anymore. But she nodded, moaning.
*****
Geto stopped by Toji’s block in slippers, his white undershirt tanning a little from being washed with dull socks. He’d have Shoko order a new package next week – maybe find out Toji’s size and make a gift of it.
“Hey.”
Toji looked up from a paperback he was reading – pocket-sized, though they weren’t allowed to keep books on their person. Too easy to crack heads; a tattered laminated-front of a man on a horse, a rushed paint job for a dollar paperback. Toji’s gut was out – shirt lifted, pants slacked, since they cut the air conditioning in the evenings. His stomach was pocked with hair, scratch marks on his skin. Barefoot, which Geto wrinkled his nose at. “What?”
Geto leaned against the dividing wall, white cinderblock chipped at in little dents. It almost looked like the walls were made of stacked moon, chiseled out of orbit itself – something he’d have to remember to tell Shoko. She’d like that, say something about his old self.
Your head used to work different, you know. There was poetry inside of there.
Yeah , he’d say. I’d only lost half my brain at that point.
Toji looked at him. “You do something to your face?”
“Do I look pretty?”
Toji laughed. Thank Christ. “Like a princess.”
Geto smiled, a little heartless. “Thought I’d drop by.”
Life was good if he could get Toji on their side. If the windmills outside kept turning. It was raining today – still windy, the sleet coming down at an angle. They could make it, honest to God, they could make it.
Toji fondled himself, gripping dick once he was hard enough to show form. Didn’t take his lazy eyes off Geto, tilting his head towards the bed. “You came to get this?”
“Yep.”
Toji scooted over in his cot – no roommate, since he beat the last few senseless, until they were nothing but blood clots in the face, blue around the neck. Mottled him into a fruit skin. Toji’s lawyer really looked strung-out through that one – but he got off, had a cell to himself for the rest of his stay. Something about accommodations.
Toji wasn’t a joke; he was the real thing. What was worse – he thought Geto was the joke.
“Pretty boy came to see me?”
God. It fucked his head up to hear it – the gravel of a real man.
Geto laid down, his head level with Toji’s stomach, Geto feeling his feet already start to heat up inside his socks. Fuck, Toji got under his skin.
He pushed Geto’s head down as soon as he thumbed the band of his pants away – he had to curl his legs in the bed, slack his throat to get ready.
“Love it when you gag,” Toji muttered. They actually did this on day two for the first time; some trial and error. Geto was accommodating.
The swallowing was an herculean effort – Geto mostly drooled out around the corners of his lips, felt his chin get sticky and red as it rutted on the bedsheet.
He knew, somewhere in his head, that he was a kind of girl for Toji. Maybe one he was about to lay out on some wrinkled tarpaulin, drug into a stupor, shoot without mess. Dead on plastic, bagged and tied at the ankles.
Maybe a part of him was jealous. Girls crossed the street around Toji – Geto had them in a single file, like ducklings behind him.
“Yeah, you love this,” Toji shoved him further down, Geto feeling him hit a raw spot on his esophagus. “I know you don’t treat that girl of yours right. Both of you got something real wrong in the brain. Plus your fucking tongue.”
Geto’s tongue nerves were shot after splitting it into a fork during high school with a pocket razor — he rarely tasted something sweet, fruit losing its appeal to gelatin texture. Couldn’t smell quite right either, the air always more dull in the spring, tangy when the leaves started to rot through in great wet piles.
He wrapped the split around Toji’s head, the man jumping as he felt it. “Shit. That’s fucked up.”
Geto liked being pretty. And this was as close as pretty came in here – top dog, top bitch.
Toji was squeezing his balls as he came, wringing it out with his eyes closed. No warning, since that was something couples gave each other. He laughed when Geto started the inevitable swallowing, trying to keep jizz from the creases of his mouth, soaking the back of his throat.
Toji touched his head as he finished — a bald spot, a small oval on the top of his head. Thumbed it for a second before moving to Geto’s ears.
He had wide ears.
“These things,” Toji mumbled, petting now, digging a nail into cartilage. “You got some ears on you, huh?”
It was hard to teach Toji how to handle him after being with Shoko so long. You had an understanding after that kind of time, knowing the upsets, the angers.
He loved Shoko. Loved her when she stabbed two groupies with a pocket knife, threatened to burn off their eyelashes with a gas station lighter, told them their eyes would blacken over like marbles under the heat. He loved her when they started stealing condoms, dropping boxes of pre-lubbed rubbers into her patchwork bag smelling of weed and smoke, knowing pretty quick they couldn’t afford to have a kid together. Not until they got older, when it fit the image. Then again, a picture of young punks with an infant wasn’t bad – and Suguru could be gentle enough. Shoko would be able to flash her tits for breast-feeding, too.
Anyway, his ears were off-limits. Toji should know by the way he huffs, swats at him when Toji gets grabby. He wondered if he treated girls like this, too – touchy, assuming access. Broke their fingers when they started to scratch. Geto could picture it – thin little bands falling off their knuckles, rings from their recent confirmations, one of their mother’s hand-me-downs.
There were rings in Shoko’s bag, with the condoms. Ones she found, because she was always finding rings like upside pennies.
He hated her a little, now.
He’d learn to live with it eventually – when Shoko agreed to the whole thing, when he explained that Toji was just another Utahime, Gojo. For some reason the bitch thought Toji would break them – he’d probably be the last invite, the one they put out to pasture when he got too old to be anything but a cult god.
Besides, not all bad came from them. Utahime and Gojo were happy together. Or at least they were together.
Toji came to pick him up from enrichment time — today was oil pastels, Geto’s hands chalky and greased. Sticky with claying wax, heavy dye.
“You came to pick me up?”
Toji snorted. “You’re not my kid. Suck my dick.”
It came fast like that, sometimes.
He could only breathe in Toji’s pubes, feel the acidic burn at the base of his throat from swallowing bile in a routine flex. Treating his mouth like a cunt, Toji slapping his hips up into Geto’s face, Toji’s thighs squeezing out his throat. He felt the round of Toji’s knee somewhere against his sternum, knocking a blackening knot into his chest.
It felt good; alive. So what if he was being a bitch. Every girl just wants another bitch to be with. Maybe that was what Shoko saw all these years.
“What’s your girl’s name again?” It was like Toji knew – even with the belittlement, treating him more like a pedestrian girl than a shooter – he was on mail duty this week, dropping a letter over the low wall in Suguru’s cell. “She gave this to my kid to pass along. Couldn’t stay for visiting hours.”
She had a job interview, he knew. Hospital receptionist, going through files, making copies. She’d go crazy being around all those locked drugs all day, he fucking knew. The bitch almost deserved it, skipping out on their trailer time.
“Shoko,” Geto didn’t mind him knowing. Toji didn’t seem the type, but he was nosy – probably some past in stalking, information gathering. Probably before he started putting holes in little girls’ heads for money.
He grunted. “Kid said they shared a diet Coke. Tell her to cut that shit – he doesn’t need the germs.”
Shoko’s backwash was sweet – her spit was always tinged with something citrus. But it clicked, then – Shoko seeing Toji’s kid in the waiting room, linking up. Megumi, Geto thinks, from the time Toji was a little high off a blunt Shoko had snuck in a new pair of folded socks for Geto.
Geto grinned. “Oh. She likes him.”
Toji turned, blinking. Shifted his weight to make his left side heavy. “What?”
“Shoko loves giving treats to her crushes,” Geto spread his legs on his bed, leaning over his knees. Fuck Shoko leaving early, skipping out on his weekly delight. Whatever. It was for the best, with the bills, the lawyers, anyway. Hopefully Toji would knock his head back, maybe finally put it in him. “She probably asked for his number. She’s got this talent for memorizing strands of digits like that.”
Toji was inside his cellblock in an instant, gripping his hair, pulling scalp up off his skull. Geto could feel the nerves start to die there, just as Toji let go, a long stream of air coming from his nose. Pressurized.
“You’re lucky I’m on mail duty.” Toji hit the back of his head until it bent over the bed, Geto going down face-first. “Control your bitch.”
That was still fresh the next few days, when they were lined up for rollcall.
“Geto, Fushiguro.” A guard called them in. “Visitors.”
“Lucky us.” Geto looked up at Toji in line beside him, couldn’t fight the grin. Toji glared, eyes like dirty glass.
“Hey,” Shoko smiled, offering a loose hug before sitting at the table, Geto’s slit tongue pressing into her cheek in an old-fashioned greeting, back when they were against the marriage institution. When they thought love was for suckers.
Looking up at Toji together, who was hovering.
“I gave the kid a ride,” Shoko smiled, the same smile they practiced together in the girl’s bathroom mirrors in high school; smoke above the stalls. Easy smile. Cheesy smile. I-fuck-around smile. “Suguru told me how handsome he was in the face,” Shoko crossed her ankles under the table as she sat down; the only one. Making her smaller. “I just couldn’t believe it.”
Megumi looked away, beet red. The kid couldn’t be past his sophomore year, looked embarrassed just to be alive, let alone have a grown woman talking about him.
Toji moved his eyes to Geto, the scar on his lip flared into a diamond. Showing teeth.
Suguru knew then: love was for absolute suckers.
“Freaks,” Toji muttered, putting a steering hand on Megumi’s back, leading him to a corner table.
“Why’d you do that?” Suguru asked, linking their feet under the table. Sometimes he forgot how short Shoko was – he could yank her chair in with his ankles. Put her calf tendon on a meat hook and watch her swing.
She shrugged. Her eyeshadow was white today, with long dark lashes. She looked good, dammit – French New Wave. Sixties pixie. “I think he’ll beat the shit out of you now.”
Of course. Shoko could be a bitch, too, when she wanted. “Why are we fighting, birdie?”
Shoko itched under her eye – acrylics. Fresh, the plastic down to her cuticles. Money spent. Geto tried not to think about all the shit he would buy on a grocery run right now. Twinkies. Flossing picks. Fuck. “We’re not. I think you need a little more excitement in your life.”
Suguru leaned in. Tapped the table with his fingers to make a point – he’d fed Toji the suspicions, but he had his own. “I’m not the one fucking a kid.”
Shoko shrugged again, sighing a quick one, probably wishing for a smoke. “He’s pretty,” she looked behind her, tapping a foot – Toji was talking to Megumi, his neck bent low. Jabbed a finger at the two of them when he caught the stare. Shoko waved, Suguru feeling his scalp start to peel again, Toji’s fingers in his brain matter. “Besides, you took the older model.”
Geto felt his cheek twitch. Laughed. “It’s not screwing, lambie. He won’t even put it in me.”
Shoko met his eyes. “He will now.”
Geto leaned back. “Sweetness, what’s gonna make this stop?”
“Ditch the grandpa. Get transferred to another county, something small.” Oh, so she’d thought about it. Worse than he planned. Shoko breathed out. “Gojo’s willing to front some more money, but we can’t have them along. They’re too much of a liability.”
“Them?” Geto asked, because he was petty. Because the kid was just her type, a little empty, sad, looking for someone to latch onto.
Okay. Suguru and the kid looked pretty close if you lined up yearbook photos. It freaked him out.
Shoko rolled her eyes. “The kid obviously comes with. He’s attached to his dad’s thigh like a slug. I’m just saying, Gojo is willing to work with us, but he knows how it is when we have a third around.” Shoko lowered her voice. “You get obsessed, and then bored. We don’t need the public seeing that in any way. Not now.”
It was true. It still pissed him off, that she was trying to take the lead. Like she had ever known how to speak up in her life ever before. Like Geto didn’t save her from fucking old men at casinos for gas money. Like he didn’t love her, didn’t marry her when they were still children.
He was the face. He was.
“Remember when we fucked in that driveway? Some party, I don’t know.” Geto cut her off. Shoko needed to be cut off, sometimes – always in her head, always pulling at loose strings. “Everyone wanted to watch my dick go into you. No one cared about your face, your tits, even when you were shirtless. You took it so good, they couldn’t fucking imagine watching anything else but my dick sink in.”
Shoko looked young, suddenly. Powder make-up, a little messy. Some top that showed off her pencil neck. Surprised was the word.
She was only twenty-eight. Geto could go easier on her.
“Right now, everyone is watching me,” Geto pointed to himself. “And no one is watching you. It’s a freakshow to the world, who fucking cares. Do you see him? He’d play guard dog. Support tank. Whatever we fucking want, because we’ll show him where the money is at in this type of thing. He’s only done private work, lambie, he doesn’t know how insane this all can get when the going’s good. Just like we had it, but better.”
It was Geto’s turn to be cut off. Toji had Megumi by the upper arm, leading him like a mule. Suguru was almost sure the kid suffered nursemaid’s elbow near constantly with Toji as a father, the dragging and yanking around.
He stopped at their table, nudging the back of Shoko’s chair with his knee. “Give the kid some money for a lift, girlie.”
“Why?”
“You’re not driving him back.” Toji pushed the bangs off his face – he really needed to dole out for a haircut, but the louse spent his allotment on single cigarettes and communal betting pools for televised racetracks. “You and snake-eyes stay the fuck away from me and my kid.”
Shoko pulled out a two twenties – rolled up in a cigarette. “Keep it, kid, buy some juice. I’ll take you back.”
Toji smacked the back of Megumi’s head. “Don’t fucking listen to a thing they say. Cult sons of bitches. Did your parents fuck in front of you, or what?”
Shoko stayed cool, hands on the table. “He’s good at math. Did you teach him?”
Geto could tell when Toji saw red – unnaturally bright, the shade of roses when they separate their first morning alive.
Megumi left with Shoko, her car’s air conditioning on full blast, the music loud enough to be heard through two sets of glass doors.
Toji kept his rage bottled until they were alone, clearing out the area with a shout. “Fuck off,” his voice bounced off the white concrete, the blocks and tile an amplifier.
“You tell your girlfriend to touch my boy?” Toji’s voice was low, like they were outside a confessional booth. Twenty Hail Mary’s – Suguru wished that was all it took nowadays. “You’re both fucked in the head.”
“I don’t tell her anything, I swear.” Suguru could shoot her right now. Pick up the fucking gun she scattered and put a staggered round in her chest. He should have – she wasn’t committed. Never the way he was. “She’s fucking crazy.”
“Nah,” Toji steeled himself. “The way I see it, she’s the man. You’re the chick. With this,” Toji reached out, brushing Suguru’s hair, scary gentle. “And the neediness, my god.” Toji laughed, pushing back his hair with a carded hand. “You’re ten pounds short of sitting in her lap.”
The first slap was blinding – like a discard pile, the slap of aggravation. Not the right number. The second told Suguru his face was going to bloat, the sting ringing in the space between his eyes.
He felt something inside his mouth, swallowed without a thought, trying to clear his tongue. Seconds later, he realized it was a tooth – bottom row, front center. Felt around for another loose piece of enamel, flicking back and forth, barely set in gum.
It’d take months to get fixed. He wouldn’t talk. Couldn’t grin, open his mouth without shame. He lived off his smile before – this would ruin him.
“I don’t care if it hurts,” Toji was speaking like nothing was happening, like Geto wasn’t drooling blood from his cracked jaw. “But it’s going in.”
Toji had lube, a thin bottle with the label peeled off, some of the sticker backing spread over the side like a white lichen. Of course he had lube — Suguru didn’t ask, didn’t breach how his only visitor was his kid, usually dumping a bag of dollar burgers and fries onto the visiting table. How it was almost certain Megumi was the one to pass it along, slip it inside Toji’s pocket under the table.
Maybe he was territorial. Maybe guilty.
Toji held him down, pressing an angled palm in the center of his anterior ribcage. Applying pressure like he was a baby being patted to sleep, his brain wanting to knock out. Soothed to stupidity. Poured enough lube to be gross, the cold wet hitting Geto’s nervous system like an onset of septic shock.
He felt Toji’s cock rub between his ass — he was long, some of his curve resting on Geto’s balls.
“Have fun fingering this out,” Toji pushed, Geto straining his feet up, arches shot. “I bet your girl usually does that for you.”
Condoms. He would buy condoms at the store. Swear to Christ, he wouldn’t steal another box of ribbed latex as long as he lived.
Toji wasn’t the type to nudge and shove – he rutted, keeping a loop of fingers around his dick as he thrust up into Geto, forcing his hole to get loose, get open. Pouring more lube, too, Toji’s hands smearing it across his ass cheeks, letting it dribble down his backside.
“I’d like it if you cried,” Toji could get his head in, at least half of it. Geto was already going numb, feeling dry muscle start to wane. “I bet your eyes get red as your tongue.”
Geto laxed himself for a moment – Toji took advantage, pushing in, getting an inch further. Keeping it there, fucking the tip over and over inside Suguru, trying to break a ring of muscle without breaking the band.
“You are the bitch,” Toji had rough lips against his ear. “I bet she treats you like a seat.”
There were the tears. Toji laughed when he heard the first sob – reached around to grip Geto’s jaw under the lobes, pulling down, taking bone out of place. Spit sapped onto Toji’s pillow as he forced his mouth open, Toji’s fingers hooking to the back of his palette.
He shoved in the rest of the way while Geto sniffed, Toji’s dick pushing lube past the base of his spine, somewhere on the side of his liver.
He’d have to piss sitting after this. His dick might be broken forever, dribbling cud like he was an old man.
Toji was too busy fucking him to notice the panic – grating his dick on a patch of muscle that felt tectonic, the under curve of his dick settling heavy on his organs. Using them like a footrest.
Geto realized what Shoko felt like after an anger-spell. Used up. Unwashable.
“Make some more noise,” Toji prompted, yanking his lower face back into the mattress, his chin slick. “I know you’re thinking about your princess, but you can’t run to stick it in her now. Take what you get.”
Toji somehow got to it. The heart of it, pulpy and alive.
Geto only took the beating, let his limp dick flip on the bedspread, get dragged back and forth. Toji pet him a little when he was getting close, gripping his arm in a lock. Keeping him steady, cumming as far as deep as he could like he was at a helm.
Geto was crying. Toji let go of his face, pat his swollen cheeks.
“You’ll be fine. Go take a nap.”
His face cleared up the next few days – the swelling, the smalt blue on his jaw. The teeth were gone – Geto was half-relieved it didn’t tear up his intestines on the way out, but the boys were already having their day making fun of his gaps.
Toji was nicer afterwards. Gave a look when they went too long.
The next day, Toji made a low sound as Geto passed his corridor, Geto’s hair tied into a knot at the base of his neck. He wasn’t feeling pretty today — not after finally getting what he wanted.
Toji was reading a romance novel. Jacket of a woman in a red dress, a man at her back. Jesus.
“Desperate times?” Geto asked, mostly bravado. Airy lisp.
Toji shrugged. He was half-hard in his pants, his dick lifting up the softened duck-cloth. Geto came inside the block anyway, sitting on the edge of Toji’s bed.
The weird thing was that they understood what it took to get here. What it would be like going forward.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with pretty boys like you,” Toji mumbled. “Messed up in the head.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Toji laughed, all wind. “I thought there was no way that kid could turn out like me. Too soft. Felt too many emotions. Loved animals — that type of shit.” Toji looked at Geto. “He started acting like a fag in high school. I’m waiting on the phonecall that says he got his ear cut off or some bullshit.”
“I was pretty bad back then,” Geto confessed. “But I had Shoko.”
“That long, huh?”
“She’s the one,” he said, the words spoken through him like a mystic.
Toji looked at him. “You haven’t been out to the trailer in a while.”
Geto shrugged. “It’s like that sometimes.”
Toji laughed. “It’s never been like that for me.”
He was right – things probably didn’t go that way for him. Geto didn’t know how many bodies he could fuck when he was killing in the daytime, looking at the same parts dead and alive. Looking at the parts like they were anything but pieces of someone’s someone.
Shoko met him in the trailer the next day after a call, waiting against the back wall, fully clothed. Shoes on. Maybe he could pity a dress out of her, even though Shoko hated to wear that type of stuff. A long skirt, little top, maybe. Something easy to pull off and keep her shoes on – that would be hot, like old times in gas station restrooms. She smiled light, showing teeth for once, petty. Gorgeous. “How’s our convict?”
Geto laughed. “He’s a real father, I swear.”
Shoko opened his mouth, touched the spaces of lost teeth. “Looks like he punished you for being bad.”
It was like lightning struck twice. It all clicked – he’d hand over Shoko soon enough, let Toji take that for what it was worth. Work on calling back that film crew that wanted an inside camera, some wiretaps. They’d make cash apparent, keep the brute around for next season.
“Hey,” Geto smiled with his mouth closed. “Learned my lesson well.”
And he did. He wanted to be the girl on the plastic cover, the heavy tarpaulin, Toji doing the killing
and Shoko doing the rest.