“You know. Lewey,” said the first Igneon. The sound of his voice chased Dan’s circles away. “You know who Lewey is. Paid you a visit, couple of nights ago. Shornack, she ain’t heard from him since. Figured you might have something to tell us.”
“Oh. That Lewey,” Dan said.
The enforcer looked round at his colleagues. “’That Lewey,’ he says.”
“I can kind of remember him,” said Dan. “Maybe if you jog my memory...?”
Another punch made something in Dan’s cheek go crick. A nebula of stars illuminated, superimposing themselves over everything he could see.
“You think it’s funny?” the enforcer demanded. He hit him again, a powerful left cross that spun Dan the other way around the pillar.
Dan swam through the pain, trying to grab for that image. Circles? No, not all of them. The one at the bottom was… Come on. It was… He wasn’t sure. A half-circle, maybe?
The Igneon leaned in closer. “Look at my face? You see me laughing? You see me smiling, wise guy?”
Smiling.
Not circles. Not a half circle.
A face. A smiling face. A deranged rictus grin that…
That…
Oh. Oh, shizz.
The photograph of Nona’s father. His shoes. He always did that.
The image in his mind snapped into focus. The force of it hit Dan harder than any punch. Not a smiling face, a smiley face. Three of them, all the same.
One on a door.
One on a dressing table.
And one on a pair of child-sized canvas shoes in a warehouse district on the wrong side of town.
“I know,” Dan gasped. “I know where she is.”
“Who, Shornack? You just count your blessings she ain’t here.”
Dan dragged together what little moisture he could from his mouth, and spat it into the Igneon’s face. “Come on, princess. That all you got?”
The Igneon looked back over his shoulder. “Is that all I got, he asks me,” he said, then he spun, fist drawing back. Dan dropped to his knees, and the top half of the column shattered as the enforcer’s right hook punched through the stone.
Jumping up, Dan unhooked himself from the broken pillar. With his arms free, he had the momentum he needed to tear his woman’s hand through the energy cuff bracelet. The thumb dislocated with a crunch, but he didn’t care.
Roaring, Dan drove a shoulder into the Igneon, wrapping his arms around him as he attempted, with very little success, to knock him off his feet.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the enforcer asked, snorting out a suggestion of a laugh. “No way you gonna push me over, pal.”
“Wasn’t trying to,” said Dan. The elasticated waistband of the Igneon’s pants snapped back against his rocky hide. “Artur. Tradesman’s entrance,” he barked, pulling himself free just as the Igneon’s brow furrowed into a veritable landslide of a frown.
“Yer a feckin’ shoitebag, Deadman, ye hear me?” Artur shouted, his voice muffled by the Igneon’s pants. Shornack’s enforcer went tense and rigid, his eyes widening in horror as he clenched his granite ass cheeks.
“W-what the…?” he stammered, completely failing to react – or even notice - when Dan dodged past him and made a run for his gun.
The other two henchmen did notice, though. Fortunately, Igneons relied on fists and brute strength to hurt people, and didn’t much go in for blasters. Finding guns with trigger guards large enough for their fingers to fit through was a problem, for one thing, and even if the average Igneon did come across such a weapon, they’d be far more likely to bludgeon the target to death with the heavy end than they would be to shoot it.
Dan reached his gun before the Igneons were even halfway to him. He contemplated trying to reason with the thugs, now that he had the upper hand, but only briefly. He’d regret this later, he knew, but right now, there was no time to argue.
Mindy roared twice, and explosive rounds reduced both Igneons to mounds of rubble. Dan spun, expecting to find the one remaining enforcer racing towards him, but the guy hadn’t moved. He just stood there, buttocks clenched, eyes wide, the occasional whimper sobbing its way through his stony lips.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Dan said. “Not today. Tell Shornack I’ll get her money, but I need more time. If she sends anyone else after me, they’ll end up like your friends there. Understood?”
The Igneon didn’t respond. Dan thrust Mindy forwards, just a little. “Is that understood?”
“Yes!” yelped the enforcer, although Dan would be very surprised if he’d actually been listening to a word he’d said.
“Good,” said Dan. “You be sure to pass that on.”
He turned, away, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, and I’m afraid I’m going to need my friend back.”
He raised the gun again. Despite himself, he smiled. “Mindy,” he said. “Brown noise.”
* * *
Ollie shuffled forwards in line, a tray in her hand, a variety of unpleasant smells filling the low-ceilinged room.
She wasn’t sure what this place was, exactly, but when the people in white had found her wandering the streets, they’d brought her here. The squat, stocky six-armed woman who had taken her from them seemed friendly, and had even swapped Ollie’s blood-stained clothing for the outfit she was wearing now.
None of the clothing would have been Ollie’s first choice. It was all either too big, too small, or smelled like something she couldn’t place, but which immediately made her uncomfortable. The top had a slogan on it – “I’m with stupid” – and an arrow pointing off to one side. She didn’t really understand why, but the woman had told her it was funny.
None of it was covered in Nedran’s blood, though, and that was the main thing.
There were other people in the food queue. None of them had spoken to her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to them, either. They were all women of various species and races, and she was sure she could hear them whispering about her whenever she wasn’t looking.
As well as the queue, the room contained a stand where people were getting their trays filled, and three long tables with twelve or so chairs at each. Some of the chairs were empty, but most were occupied. A few people sat on their own, but the majority hung out in groups of three or more. Very few, if any, were speaking. They kept their heads down and scooped the gray mush from the indents in their trays, eating in silence.
A couple of men in dirty uniforms paraded up and down between the tables, watching everyone eat. One of them twirled a short metal pole around by its strap as he paced slowly along the row. The other carried a similar pole. He slapped it against his palm in time with each slow step, his eyes darting left and right between the tables.
“Next.”
Ollie looked around and realized the person in front of her was gone. Something with a face made up of hundreds of little suction cups glared at her across the counter.
“Come on, come on,” the thing urged. “We don’t have all day. Tray.”
Ollie heard the whispering become a giggle somewhere behind her. Cheeks stinging, she shuffled forwards and held up her tray. A dollop of mush landed in one of the indents with a thlump, then wobbled unpleasantly for a few seconds.
“What is it?” Ollie asked.
“What, you never had fauff before?”
“I don’t think so,” said Ollie, although she wasn’t sure what this had to do with anything. She looked down at her tray again. “What is this?”
The laughter came again from the queue behind her, and Ollie decided not to wait for the answer. “Thank you,” she said, hurrying off.
It took her three attempts to find a seat. The first time, she’d sat next to a woman with long green hair that smelled of salt and dampness. The woman had hissed at her and kicked her chair, though, so Ollie had gone to sit elsewhere.
She tried joining a group of four other women, but they had all turned and glared at her until she’d found it too uncomfortable.
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Finally, she’d found a seat well away from anyone else, and sat there. For some reason, this still drew a few scowls from some of the other diners, but she kept her head down and ignored them.
Ollie looked down at the gelatinous mound of fauff. She wasn’t really sure what to do with it. It didn’t look particularly edible, and yet everyone else seemed to be scooping it into their mouths with their hands. Reluctantly, she thought, but they were still doing it.
She was giving her own helping an experimental sniff when the six-armed woman who had given her the clothes appeared, smiling cheerfully.
“Ah! There you are. Settling in? How’s the fauff?”
“I haven’t tried it yet,” said Ollie.
“Good idea. It’s better cold,” Six-Arms clucked. “Well, relatively speaking. Clothes OK?”
Ollie looked down at her mismatched ensemble. “Yes, thank you. But, uh…?”
“Yes?” said Six-Arms. “You have a question?”
“Where am I?” She glanced around the dining hall, then leaned across the table. “Am I back in the Malwhere?”
“The what?” asked Six-Arms. She waved two of her hands. “No. It’s a… center. For lost women. Like you. Those Tribunal officers found you wandering, and you had no ID, so they brought you to me. You’re lucky. By rights, they could have terminated you, but they know me, and they know I’m always looking for… new recruits. I paid them a lot of money so they would spare your life.”
“Oh,” said Ollie. “Oh. OK. Well… thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Happy to help. It’s what we do here,” said Six-Arms. “Help each other. I do you a favor, and you do me a favor. One good turn deserves another, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ollie nodded slowly. “I guess that seems fair.”
Six-Arms’ smile widened. “Excellent. I knew you’d get it. I knew you’d understand.” She gestured down to the fauff, while at the same time beckoning over one of the pacing men. “Come back to that when it’s cold. Trust me. We’ll have Morrin give you the induction first.”
Morrin appeared behind Ollie in a cloud of sweat and cheap cologne. Even once he’d stopped walking, he continued to slap his metal rod into his palm without missing a beat.
“Ma’am,” he said. His eyes, which were a couple of inches further apart than seemed strictly necessary, flicked downwards. “Want me to…?”
“Please, Morrin,” said Six-Arms. “Show her what we do here.”
The tip of Morrin’s pointed tongue darted briefly across his lips, and he let out a low whisper of a moan. Something about it made Ollie’s skin crawl, and her pendant grew warm against her chest.
“With pleasure,” the guard said, then he caught Ollie by the arm and hoisted her to her feet. “This way,” he said, showing his yellowing, scum-coated teeth. “You and me are going to have us some fun.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Despite the odds being hugely stacked against it, the Exodus made it all the way to the warehouse zone without dying.
Dan shuddered into an empty car park, just as the engine coughed to a halt. He rolled it the final few feet into one of the few empty bays, and came to a stop when the wheels bumped the curb.
It was the same car park he’d abandoned the car in when he’d been here last time. He’d stopped that shizznod, Erron, from unleashing Kalaechai’s entire domain on Down Here then. He’d met Ollie, too.
And he’d seen the shoes outside the door. One adult pair. One child-sized, a smiley face drawn on the fabric.
And now they were gone.
“Fonk,” Dan hissed, his hand tightening around Mindy’s grip.
Too late. Too slow. Too stupid.
Dan raised a leg and sent the door crashing into the darkened industrial unit. The smell hit him before the lights could click on – a rank, sulfurous odor that made its presence felt even via his barely-functioning nostrils.
“Ugh. Shoite. What’s that? Something’s stinking,” said Artur, gagging loudly in Dan’s coat pocket.
The lights flickered on and off, strobing over a scene lifted straight out of a horror movie. An operating table stood in the center of the room, blood pooling atop a plastic tarp that had been spread out on the floor beneath it.
The table had been fitted with a variety of straps and harnesses, as well as a couple of industrial-looking metal clamps, the purpose of which Dan didn’t want to even guess at.
Beside the table was a rusty old trolley with a range of tools laid neatly on top of it. Some of them were surgical, while others looked more suited for use in a large scale DIY project.
A wire mesh cage stood in the corner, most of it covered by another plastic sheet. Dan had no desire to look under the covering, but knew that he had to. He approached it slowly, his footsteps crackling on the plastic floor covering. If his heart had still worked, it would have been crashing like a drum in his chest.
When he reached the cage, he stopped, listening for any sound coming from the other side of the tarp. A whimper, maybe. Or a breath.
But no. There was nothing.
He inhaled pointlessly, gritted his teeth, and used Mindy to nudge the covering aside.
Empty. The cage was empty.
Dan deflated, unsure whether he was disappointed not to find the girl there, or relieved. Based on the rest of the room, had he found her in the cage, she was unlikely to still be in great shape, or even one piece.
“Any sign?” asked Artur, popping his head out of the coat pocket.
“She’s gone,” Dan said. “They’re both gone. I was too late.”
He picked his way across the floor, his boots splashing and sliding through the blood, until he reached the operating table. As well as the straps and clamps, three different pumps had been set up at the sides of the bed, all designed to push fluids into the occupant.
Dan tore off one of the pumps and examined it. A trickle of liquid sloshed around inside it, but it was otherwise empty. He sniffed the dispenser nozzle, but either the stuff had no odor, or not enough for his reduced sense of smell to pick up on.
Along the back wall of the unit was a little makeshift lab. Unlike the rest of the room, it was meticulously tidy, with rows of neatly lined test tubes and beakers, most of which contained a range of colorful liquids.
“Ye know what this place needs?” said Artur. “One of those things with the two wires that goes fzzt. Ye know? Like in the movies. All yer mad scientists have one.”
Holstering Mindy, Dan picked up one of the test tubes and studied the label. The name printed on it was so long he got bored halfway through reading it, so set it back down in the rack again.
“Any clues?” asked Artur.
Dan turned and surveyed the room. “Hundreds, probably. But I’m fonked if I know what they are.”
“Come on now, yer a detective, ain’t ye?” Artur said. “So feckin’ detect.”
“I’m not a detective,” Dan said. “Never was.”
“Well, the sign on yer front door would beg to differ,” Artur replied. “Why did ye get that stuck on there, if ye’re not a detective?”
Dan moved to pull his hat down on his head, then realized it wasn’t there. When had he lost that? Back at the Igneons, he guessed, although it may have been the bar.
“Because…”
“Because why?”
Dan scowled. “Because people are idiots. They see ‘detective’ and they think I can help them. I needed a job. I needed money. That’s why.”
“Me bollocks. There are plenty of ways of making money, that don’t involve getting the shoite kicked out of ye on a regular basis,” Artur said. He climbed out of Dan’s pocket and hopped onto the lab bench. “Fact of the matter is, ye can’t help but help. It’s who ye are. That’s why ye put up with me. That’s why ye’re feeling guilty about kicking Ollie out, even though ye’ll never admit it. And don’t waste yer breath trying to deny it. Ye act like ye’re a big heartless dead bastard who couldn’t give a shoite about anyone else, when really ye�
�re the opposite.”
Dan shifted uncomfortably. “You’re way off,” he said. “Way off. But even if you weren’t, what good does it do?”
He gestured around at the horror-show room. “She’s gone. She was here the whole time, and I didn’t find her.”
“Maybe not, but ye’re the only one who bothered to look,” Artur pointed out. He put his hands on the hips of his cocktail dress. “Now quit moping, ye big ugly bastard, and finish the job. Bring that girl home, whatever state she’s in.”
Dan felt a surge of something like adrenalin, although he couldn’t be sure. Finish the job. Bring the girl home.
He looked around the abandoned room and the surge spluttered, then died. How could he finish the job? He couldn’t even keep track of his hat.
“I’m not a detective,” he said. “I’m just a scary guy with a big gun.”
He held open his coat pocket. Artur peered into the dark chasm of the fabric, then crossed his arms defiantly. “I’m staying where I am. I’m not giving up so easily.”
“Suit yourself,” Dan grunted. He turned and walked away, the stench of sulfur and blood and failure pushing him towards the door.
As he passed the operating table, he stopped, the crimson puddle lapping around his boots. Tentatively, he reached out and laid his woman’s hand on the bed’s padded material. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. A token gesture of sympathy. A final farewell to a girl he’d never met. The girl he couldn’t save.
He walked on, trailing his hand along the table until there was no more of it left.
Two steps further on, Dan stopped again. He raised the hand and stared at it, as if seeing it for the first time. It was in bad shape, and the nerve endings had mostly all died off, and yet…
Spinning, he darted back to the lab bench and snatched Artur up. “Hey, what d’ye think ye’re playing at?” Artur demanded, before he landed on the operating table and rolled into an undignified heap.
“Feel there,” Dan told him, pointing to a spot near the foot of the bed.
“Ye what?”
“Feel there. With your hands.”
“Well what the feck else would I be using?” Artur asked. With a sigh, he bent and placed his hands flat on the padded surface. “There. What am I meant to be feeling?”
Dial D for Deadman: A Space Team Universe Novel (Dan Deadman Space Detective Book 1) Page 19
