Deader Still

by Anton Strout

  “Relax, kid,” Connor said. “I doubt he’s ever excited to see anybody.”

  This seemed to grab Faisal’s attention, and he finally looked at Connor.

  “Oh, no,” Faisal said. “On the contrary. I’m quite thrilled to see Mr. Canderous.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “Because it means you’ve been in contact with your little crimson-haired friend, doesn’t it?”

  My face went red when he said it.

  “Is that Mina?” Connor asked, quietly. “I thought she was a blonde on the surveillance tapes from MoMA?”

  “So was I, if you remember,” I said. “But she’s actually a redhead. Dye job.”

  “What’s this?” Faisal said, smiling now. “Sounds like Connor’s a little out of the loop. You haven’t told your partner all about your little blast from the past? Is this lack of trust some new part of defining your precious ‘goodness’ that I’m not aware of?”

  “I can explain more about Mina later,” I said, glancing at Connor.

  Connor had been leaning back against one of the tables. Out of nowhere he stood up and lunged for Faisal. It was uncharacteristic of him and it freaked me out. I grabbed a piece of the tail of his trench coat before he could make it across the table, hoping it would hold. I pulled him back toward me.

  “Connor! What are you doing? Stop it.”

  Connor continued to struggle, trying to strip himself out of his coat to get free.

  “Why, kid?” he said, one arm free. “So assholes like him can continue to work people like you over with their lies? Forcing you to make stupid choices, jeopardizing other agents . . .”

  “He’s baiting you,” I yelled, but Connor wouldn’t stop struggling, and my arms were getting tired. I let go of him and slapped him across the face.

  Before I could pull away, the electric snap of my powers reaching out shocked me. In the anger and desperation of the moment, I forgot how easy it was to lose control of them when my blood was up. I tried to pull the power back into me, but it was no use. I caught the briefest of glimpses into Connor’s life. In my vision, Connor was in his apartment, reading that invisible letter again, this time through tear-filled eyes. The momentum of my slap broke the connection between the two of us and I was back on the prison boat, slightly disoriented.

  “You okay, kid?” Connor said, looking shocked as well. “What the hell just happened?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. “My power almost went off, but I stopped it in time.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your little slap fight,” Faisal said, “but did you come here for some sort of purpose?”

  It was my turn to ignore him for a change.

  “He’s baiting you,” I said to Connor again. “Outside of being pure evil, the guy is all about the head games. If you want to be mad at someone for the stupid choices I’ve made or for the things I’ve kept from you, then be mad at me.”

  Connor looked like he was shaking it off. “The student becomes the master, grasshopper. You’re right, kid. I know that. I never would have snapped, but this whole situation has my mind messed up.”

  I stood there in silence for a moment.

  “Can I get in on this Hallmark TV moment, too?” Faisal said, and now there was real venom in his voice and frustration. His attempt at toying with us had failed him. When we didn’t rise to it once again, he said, “I’ll assume you’re not here simply because you miss my winning personality?”

  “Finally something we can agree on,” Connor said. “Kid?”

  I recounted the mad state I had found Cyrus in below the Guggenheim, how creepy and phantomlike he had become . . . all this on top of being a cultist.

  When I was done, all humor had left Faisal’s face.

  “I hadn’t realized Cyrus had gone this far off the deep end,” he said. “It’s bad for business.”

  “I’m surprised you care,” Connor said. “I thought you two were together on this one. I’d think this type of fucked-up scheme would be right up your alley.”

  “Not when it interferes with my grander schemes, it isn’t.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Your schemes?” I said. “You want to elaborate on that?”

  Faisal smiled. “I’d rather not.”

  “Fine,” I said. I looked at Connor. “This is getting us nowhere.” I started walking off toward the guards in their surveillance room. It looked like they were playing cards.

  But the sound of Faisal’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “I hate being on this barge,” Faisal said loudly. I detected a hint of desperation in his voice.

  “What’s the matter?” I called over my shoulder. “Incarceration not as fun as you expected?”

  “Being cast adrift at sea is hardly fitting for a man of my stature,” Faisal said. “That, and I get a bit seasick. The once and future master of evil, and a little boat rocking does me in. There’s some irony for you.”

  I stopped and turned back to him.

  “You know, I had thought my Ghostsniffing operation had been where the real money was, but it wasn’t. It’s in government. Did you know that this floating prison was built at a cost of one hundred and seventy million dollars? You wouldn’t know it by the looks of it. But that kind of money . . . that’s enough to put every last inmate here through Harvard, easily. They built this nausea-inducing place to handle the overcrowding of the regular Rikers facility, but, oh, what I wouldn’t give to be serving my time on dry land.”

  I could hear the false sense of melodrama in Faisal’s voice. Connor glanced at me and I read the look in his eyes. This might be the only chance we were going to get for any real information. I walked back over to the two of them.

  “Do you know what I miss most about the mainland?” Faisal said. “The comforts of home. There’s nothing here. At least Rikers Island has educational facilities, medical clinics, ball fields, chapels, workout equipment, grocery stores, a decent barber, a bakery, a laundromat, its own power plant, a runner’s track, a tailor shop, a print shop, even a car wash. Amenities. The little things that make life livable . . . you know, things befitting a man of my stature.”

  “Why don’t you paint us a little picture, then?” I asked. “I’m sure we can arrange a transfer or something, depending on how valuable what you have to say is. That is why you gave us your little laundry list, isn’t it?”

  Faisal remained silent.

  “But let’s make one thing clear,” Connor added. “You’re not getting free. We can put in a good word for you with the administration, but you’ll still be serving your time, either here or there.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of trying to escape,” Faisal said with mock sincerity. He smiled. “Okay, well, maybe I would dream of trying to escape, but I would never try it.” He sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Where to begin?”

  “If you say ‘at the beginning, a very good place to start’ or start singing The Sound of Music, I’m going to have them put you in solitary,” I said.

  He thought for a moment, then turned to Connor.

  “You know what I love about your new recruits? The naiveté.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?” I asked. I snapped my fingers to get his attention back to me.

  “Here I am, in jail . . .”

  “We caught you,” I interrupted. “We put you out of business.”

  “Oh, yes,” Faisal said, smiling like the cat that got the canary. “I forgot. Of course you did. That’s what I’m talking about. Here I am, in jail, and you think because I’m on this floating hellhole that you’ve put me out of the evil business?”

  “What is Cyrus up to?”

  Faisal’s eyes narrowed and he stared at me. “When you crashed our party at the museum, literally, you merely set back the course of the Sectarian cause. You didn’t stop it. Yes, you put me in here, but you forget Cyrus was the one who had been heading up the Surrealist Underground, the other, more artistic arm of our fund-raising. And he’s the one that got away. He’s been running thing
s on the outside. I didn’t know about all this necromancy of his, though. I’m pleased to hear he’s taken up a hobby.”

  I ignored Faisal’s happiness about Cyrus’s Zombiepalooza. “So this whole Para-lyzed thing is just an extension of your original plan?” I asked.

  “A reboot of sorts,” Faisal said. “It was Cyrus’s idea to go with this more artistic/sadistic route where art would turn into revenge against our enemies, all at a profit to our evil little patrons. That all seemed a bit over the top to me. I’m more subtle. But once I met your old friend Mina in here and saw how obsessed she was with you, well, I couldn’t help but get on the vengeance bandwagon. I had told Cyrus to have you killed after you had helped Mina with the heist, not before. Apparently, in his demented state, he couldn’t wait to try, could he?”

  “Meaning what?” I asked.

  “The Oubliette,” Faisal said. “When he told me he had sabotaged it, I was furious. Still, I would have thought Mina could have finished the job. Very disappointing.”

  “I’m glad to see that I can bring like-minded psychos together,” I said, glum.

  “Cheer up,” Faisal said. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? Despite my best efforts. If anyone’s got a reason to be depressed, it’s me. Seems you can’t send a homicidal redhead off to do a man’s work these days. So much for equal opportunity.”

  “Even with her freedom at stake, Mina couldn’t make herself kill me for you,” I said with pride, even though I could still feel the ache in my jaw from my last pistol-whipping.

  “Cyrus and Mina were only the beginning. I’ll have every cultist at my disposal gunning for you. Only a matter of time before someone gets to you, my boy,” Faisal said. “Only a matter of time.”

  “Could we stick to the madness at hand?” Connor said. “You were saying how Cyrus’s plan didn’t really jive with your worldview or something.”

  Faisal nodded. “I understand what goes in to turning a person to our purpose, and that type of thing takes time and subtlety. I know the wheels of change are going to grind slowly for the world to fully embrace evil openly, but Cyrus is out there, and being in here, my choices on how we went about what’s best for the Sectarians in the long run were somewhat limited. So I encouraged Cyrus to go forward with Para-lyzed. All that mattered was that it would raise cultist-rights awareness and keep revenue coming in while I planned out what to do next.”

  “But we’ve put a stop to that,” I said. “Cyrus knows we’re on to his little paranormal freak show. He won’t dare return there. That phase is over. So the real question is: Do you have any idea where we can find Cyrus now?”

  “You could ask a little nicer,” Faisal said. “You catch more flies with honey . . .”

  Faisal went quiet for several minutes and the two of us waited him out.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “First, you took away the Sectarian Defense League, which I had worked so hard to build . . .”

  “On the blood of others,” Connor added, but Faisal just kept talking.

  “Then you took away my freedom by incarcerating me, and you took away my right-hand woman, Jane . . . I’ve given you the bulk of our plans, and you’re still not satisfied?”

  “Not without handing us Cyrus,” Connor said. “With the art show shut down, we would have figured out most of what you’ve told us once we went through all the evidence. All you’ve done so far is save us some time. I hardly think that’s grounds for transfer.”

  Faisal looked pained.

  “Well, there was one thing Cyrus had been talking about,” Faisal offered, “but I can’t promise you it will lead to anything. Either way, I want your word that you’ll attempt to get me transferred. My word may be sketchy, but I know you do-gooders. You keep to what you say.”

  “Help us out,” I said. The idea that there might be something out there larger than this Para-lyzed madness filled me with a sense of dread. “I promise we’ll do what we can.”

  “I’d also like to be clear on something here,” he said, “because I do have a reputation to uphold. I’m only telling you this because if Cyrus does what I think he’s going to do, it’ll be even worse for business. While we share the same cause, we do not share the same ideology. I’m a pragmatist. I understand that for every little cause, there is an effect. But Cyrus? He’s an idealist. He’d rather get caught up in the doing of things, the means of it, to get to an end. I’ve never agreed with it, but people like him can prove quite useful in their own way. There was a time when he could be reigned in, controlled, but he’s just kept marching forward, reckless with his ideology, fucking up everything I worked so hard to put in motion.” Faisal cleared his throat. “You see, boys, timing . . . is everything. All these grandiose displays will be too much exposure too soon, and instead of winning people to our cause, we’ll be condemned. He’s so driven that he wants the world to know about us now, by any means necessary. I can only imagine he’s feeling a bit desperate right now, and desperate men are not to be trusted.”

  “Then tell us what he’s going to do,” I said.

  Faisal cocked his head and looked at me.

  “How do you feel about reality television?”

  38

  “Do you ever get the feeling Faisal was bullshitting us about Cyrus going off the deep end, even by cultist standards?” I asked. Twenty-four hours later, Connor and I stood outside the big white tent that covered the entirety of Bryant Park just behind the main branch of the New York Public Library. He was still dressed in his usual trench coat, but I was busy tugging at the lengthy coat of my tuxedo, making sure it concealed my bat.

  “You mean are we really supposed to believe that Cyrus is planning a very public attack during Fashion Week?” Connor asked back.

  I nodded.

  “Well,” he continued, “it does mix together a lot of what we know of him—his madness, his greed, his artistic desires for taking their message public with as much damage as possible . . .”

  “I can’t really imagine anything going down here during Fashion Week,” I said. “Other than some best- and worst-dressed lists.”

  “Sounds like a perfect place to get some notice, kid,” Connor said. He grabbed my arms and brushed them down. “Stop fidgeting. It’s fine. Think about what’s going on here tonight. Every year the park gets converted into the home of all the biggest fashion releases for the year. The surrounding streets are mobbed with people dressed in outfits more valuable than your apartment.”

  “And there will be cameras everywhere,” I added.

  Connor nodded. “Besides, why would Faisal Bane be lying at this point, aside from being a filthy lying cultist? He’s got too much to gain by being honest with us. You saw how sick he looked at sea. He desperately wants to be on land. He knows that if he’s bullshitting us, we’ll pull the plug on them moving him to the mainland facility. Right now, it’s a win-win situation for him if he’s honest. I only wish he knew exactly what kind of spectacle Cyrus is going to try to pull here.”

  We had brought the entire situation to the attention of Inspectre Quimbley. He and as many people available from every other department had been gathered to surround the nexus of activity in front of us. No matter what went down, we were prepared. At least, I hoped we were prepared.

  “You ready?” I heard from behind me, and I turned around. Jane was standing there and she looked gorgeous. I was used to her hair being up in a ponytail, but tonight it cascaded over her shoulders in delicious blond waves. Her long black dress sparkled like crazy and was slit up one leg. I stood there speechless.

  Jane mimed bending to scoop something up. She held her hand out to me like she was holding something.

  “I believe this jaw belongs to you,” she said.

  I grabbed it and pretended to shove it back into place.

  “Don’t mess your tie up,” she said. She reached over and pushed my arms out of the way as she straightened it. I smiled as I watched her concentrating on getting it just right.

  Co
nnor coughed beside us and the two of us snapped out of our moment.

  “Are you two ready for prom?”

  Jane thwapped him on the arm with her handbag. “Don’t hate.”

  “Now listen. There’re going to be television cameras and photographers everywhere in there, so we need to keep this low-key,” Connor said. “You two call at the slightest hint of something funny going on in there, alright?”

  Jane and I nodded.

  “Yes, Dad,” we said in unison.

  Connor sighed, then shook his head. “I can’t believe the fate of the Big Apple lies in the hands of the world’s cutest and most nauseating couple. You’d better get going. If you need me, I’ll be along the south side of the tent outside with the rest of the White Stripes.”