by Alan Baxter
As he spoke, tiny white moths appeared from nowhere and began to flit around him in a dancing cloud. More and more until he was surrounded by a seething mass of fluttering paleness. With a two-armed gesture, like an aircraft traffic controller, Magic pointed towards the corpses in the triangle. The moths swarmed away and surrounded the dead men, flittering over their bodies. As they moved, uncanny colours slipped into the air, drifting and stretching like oil on water. More like stains in nothingness than anything tangible, the colours swam and merged, slowly coalesced into a heavy, undulating cloud of tones and shimmers. The moths winked out, one by one, seemingly consumed by the cloud of colour, and the kaleidoscope descended on the bodies. In the writhing mass of tones the dead men’s clothes shifted and danced, and the colour rose again, leaving nothing but empty suits and shirts. Even the bloodstains on the white collars had gone. Four shoes sat, hideous in their sudden emptiness.
The colour swirled within the confines of the chalked walls, rising up in a column and pressing down and out, seeking escape. Carly held her breath, hand trembling as she filmed. Magic intoned another chant, over and over. The stilted words seemed to batter the colour. It twitched and flinched, moved up and down, shifted angrily within its confines before slowly breaking apart and dissipating.
Everything was still.
Magic slumped, panting. Within moments he recovered, took the clothes from the floor. An oil drum stood in one corner and he dumped the clothes into it, doused them with petrol from a battered can and flicked a match in. A ball of orange and black blossomed and crackled as the last evidence was consumed. A minute or two with a bucket and mop to erase the carefully chalked shapes and nothing whatsoever remained of the murderous activity so recently apparent.
Carly stopped her recording, trembling. Magic was well named. She hurried into the club, determined to make good use of those free drinks.
*
Carly awoke from a half-drunk stupor as Silvio crashed home. She winced, instantly aware of the level of his inebriation from the staggering and cursing. He stumbled into the bedroom, began undressing. She squeezed her eyes shut, pretended to sleep on.
“You’re not sleeping,” Silvio slurred. “I know how much you drank and how wasted you were when you left the Volcano. Which is to say, not nearly enough to be passed out.”
Carly’s heart sped up. “I’m just really tired, baby.”
“I know everything that happens. You know that.”
“I know.”
He fell heavily onto the bed, began pawing at her hip as she lay curled on her side. Deciding it was better to get it over with than resist, she sat up, turned to face him. “You have a good night, baby?” she asked, forcing a smile.
He looked into her eyes for a moment, his own swimming in and out of focus. With surprising speed he backhanded her cheek, knocked her head to one side. Her teeth rattled together and she tasted blood along with the shock and hurt. “Go the fuck to sleep.” Almost a whisper as he fell backwards onto his pillows. He began snoring instantly.
Carly pressed one hand to her cheek, curling up tighter than ever with her back to him. She remembered the love she’d had for him, when he was a player, not the boss. She remembered the sweet, strong, take-no-shit man she’d fallen in love with. She cried herself softly to sleep, wondering where that man had gone.
*
Carly rose early, spent an extra ten minutes with her make-up to cover the flowering blue stain under her mouth, and left for the day. She wanted to be far away from Silvio for as long as possible. She wanted to be far away forever, but knew it simply wasn’t that easy. He wouldn’t let her go. And a part of her still loved him. The endless money and royal treatment had held her interest for a long time, but it got to a point where nothing was enough compensation any more.
What seemed like a position of power for so long was slowly revealed as anything but. The emperor wore no clothes and Carly was as powerless as a person could be. She was a strong, smart woman who had let herself become irrelevant. The wife of a mob boss might seem to be top of the heap, but she fondly remembered being the girlfriend of a caporegime before his rise. They both had freedom then. Now they were trapped by the confines of hierarchy. Silvio sometimes seemed to hate it even more than she did and it pained a part of her, a part that still cared, to consider the pressure he was under. The responsibility. Regardless, he had the freedom of leadership, at least, even if his life was full of expectation and duty. Her life was nothing except obeisance. For all his talk of respecting the wives, Big Silver had no time for her and no inclination to listen to her counsel. Hell, he didn’t even listen to her general conversation any more. She couldn’t remember the last time they had talked like a real married couple.
She sat in a cafe, coffee and cake tasting like sawdust and cardboard in her mouth, and wished she had some power back.
Her phone buzzed.
Dinner with Franco and Paulie tonight. Leaving at 6.
She stared at the message. No question of where she was, no concern that she wouldn’t show up. Not even a tiny ‘x’ at the end like he always used to. Just an assumption.
*
“Do I look okay, baby?” she asked.
Silvio didn’t look around. “You look a million bucks, Carly, you always do.”
She scowled at his back. What the fuck was a million bucks to him? Pocket change in his empire. “Is there a reason for dinner tonight, or are we just being social?”
He laughed, more a bark of derision than anything like humour. “When is anything just social? We have to talk about the threat from the Baccalieris. They’re muscling up too much, something’s gotta give.”
Carly chewed her lip nervously. “Gonna be a lot more work for Magic, then, eh?”
He turned to look at her, his face hard. She wasn’t supposed to talk about this stuff. She was sure he’d rather she didn’t talk about anything at all. In his ideal world, she only ever opened her mouth to put his cock in it.
“You know what it is he does?” she asked, trembling as she pressed her luck.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you know how he does what he does?”
Silvio’s eyes narrowed and Carly’s lip throbbed. He stared hard at her for several seconds. Eventually he said, “I don’t care how he does it. He’s fucking superb and that’s all that matters.”
“So you don’t know?” Carly’s heart hammered, hardly able to believe how much she was testing his patience. Clearly some limit had been reached, some unspoken line crossed.
“I know it ain’t natural,” Silvio said with a twisted smile. “And I know I’m glad he works for me.”
He eyes told a different story to his lips and Carly ran out of bravery to push any further. He did know, at least partly, what Magic Bertoli did, but was not going to share it with her. She turned away, feeling angry, impotent, and finished dressing.
*
The men discussed the threat from the Baccalieris and ignored the women in the other room. The semblance of a dinner party was a ridiculous parody, lip service to cultural proprietary ignored with every other aspect of the business. Carly tried to engage with the mindless prattle about fashion and hair, and who was fucking who in the lower ranks, but she couldn’t even pretend well. They kept asking her if she was unwell and she eventually conceded that she was under the weather, to stop them asking. She kept one ear on the conversation Silvio conducted with the other bosses. She could only catch snippets through the open door, frustratingly small details. Their allegiance went back generations, that much she knew, and this Baccalieri threat was serious, it seemed. For a moment she imagined if all the bosses were women, how different the family affairs might be. Then laughed quietly to herself. Who was she kidding, the women would be heartless bitches, too.
Silvio was sullen and angry in the car going home and Carly braced all the way, wondering when the slaps would start, be they verbal or physical. Or both. But he pulled up the long driveway to their mansion
without any attacks and sat staring at the steering wheel.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence Carly said, “Come inside, I’ll make you a drink.”
Silvio shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “You go in. Go to bed. I gotta see to some business.”
Carly didn’t move, her slow-boil rage rising again. Silvio turned to look at her and his eyes dared her to do anything, say anything, even move anywhere but out of the car. Somewhere beneath that angry, hostile surface was the man she loved, but he was gone, burned away by duty and a complete lack of respect. She ground her teeth and climbed out of the Hummer. Without sparing her a glance, Silvio turned in the huge gravel driveway and drove back to the road and away.
Carly stood still, shivering with the late evening cold, and a colder sense of purpose sank over her. That line was beyond crossed now. Something had snapped. She fumbled in her bag for the remote and opened up one of the double garages beside the house. She tapped a code into a strong box, which popped open, revealing bunches of keys. She took one at random. It said Maserati on the tag. Within minutes the sleek red car carried her at nearly double the speed limit towards the Volcano Club.
*
“Is he in?” she asked the goon at the bar.
“Who?”
“Your boss, dummy. Magic Bertoli.”
The goon pointed across the strobing, throbbing dance floor to a roped-off VIP area. Magic sat among sycophants and pretty girls, laughing and drinking. Carly strode across and caught Magic’s eye as she mounted the steps. A heavy stepped forward to prevent her access and Magic was there, his hand on the heavy’s shoulder. “Let her in.”
“I need to talk to you,” Carly said.
Magic raised one eyebrow. “I haven’t had any word from Big Sil - ”
“I don’t need his fucking permission to talk to you and you don’t need it to talk to me.”
Magic raised both hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. What’s up?”
“Can we go somewhere private?”
“Sure.”
They walked back across the club, through to the offices at the back. Carly felt exposed, obvious. Stupid. But she had to know. Inside the office, the pounding club muffled through thick walls, Magic asked, “So what’s up here?”
“How loyal are you to Big Silver?”
His eyes went wide, he looked left and right in panic. “What? Completely loyal, why would you ask?”
She sat quietly for a moment, her face impassive. “He doesn’t know I’m here,”’ she said eventually. “No one does. Be honest with me. Could you be turned?”
Magic laughed. “You got ideas above your station, little lady. Silvio will kill you when I tell him about this conversation.”
She had her answer, and a clear course. “But you won’t tell him. I’m not asking because I want you to turn. I want to know that you’ll stand behind my Silvio no matter what.” She was proud of the strength in her voice. She almost believed herself.
Magic tilted his head to one side, his universal gesture. “Oh, you’re scared for him?”
She said nothing.
“This Baccalieri threat, is it? Don’t worry about it. Big Silver is one connected capo. It’s a war no-one wanted, but it isn’t one he’ll lose. Don’t worry, I’m behind Silvio all the way. My loyalty cannot be bought. I owe him more than you’ll ever know.”
Carly nodded, smiling inside. She’d played that really quite well, even if she did say so herself. For the first time in years, she felt a sense of power returning. “Okay,” she said with a nod. “Okay, thanks.”
“Don’t you worry about Big Sil, little lady. We’ll all be fine.”
She hated it when he called her little lady. His patronising tone turned her stomach. With a smile like she felt fully reassured, she let Magic lead her back into the club and joined him in the VIP area for a few drinks. It was late when she finally excused herself, but she had no intention of going home.
*
The alleyway was cold as hell and getting damp. Carly began to question her resolve, not to mention her sanity, and was about to give up when the roller door to Magic’s warehouse shivered and began to rattle up. Please, please, please, she thought, watching intently. As the door reached the top, a car nosed out and Carly strained to see. She smiled. Magic on his own, no one else visible in the dark space behind. Before he could clear the doorway and lower it again, she ran forward, affecting an expression of panic. She waved her hands at him to stop.
Magic’s face registered equal parts surprise and concern. He rolled down the window and said, “What the fuck, little lady?” just as Carly shot him in the face.
Her purse-sized .22 cracked ridiculously loud in the confined alley and she stared in horror at Magic’s brains all over the headrest of his brand new Chrysler. She stood frozen for a moment as all the sound in the city seemed to die. With a gasp of determination she ran to the passenger side and pulled the door open, shifted the car into neutral, ran back to the front and heaved against it. Her feet slipped and skidded on the greasy alley bitumen, but with a will born of desperation she got the car moving, rolled it back into the warehouse. She struggled to regain her breath, arms and legs shaking from the effort. Maybe from shock, too. She punched the button to lower the roller door.
Not pausing to think about it, she ran to the office and accessed the closed circuit TV that watched everything. It only took a moment to locate the camera watching the alley. She wound back the digital recording, eyes widening as the brains left the back window of Magic’s car, the flash retreated into her revolver and she staggered back into the darkness of the shadows. She kept the recording going backwards until the roller door closed again, Magic alive and well in his car about to leave for home. She stopped rewinding and hit record, then wiped the machine of all her prints. The time stamp might be out, but there would be no evidence here of what had happened. She smirked, proud of herself. She’d learned a thing or two from her old man over the years.
Back in the warehouse, lights on, she stood for a moment, staring at the car. She still shook, stunned by what she had done. Would this ever work? Swallowing hard, she pulled open the driver’s door. Magic sat there, his face still wide with surprise, a seemingly innocuous red hole right beside his nose, just under the left eye. The top and back of his head were another story. Grimacing, swallowing bile, Carly dug into his shirt and pulled free the heavy chain and figurine. Thank fuck he wears it all the time! It was even heavier than it looked, carrying a burden of ages. Its dark, carved surface bore an intricate design, a hideous, twisted thing, swollen body with wings and tentacled limbs, a face hard to conceive. It nauseated her to look upon it.
There was blood on the chain and on her hands and arms from where she had retrieved it. Wincing against it touching the back of her neck, she dropped the vile statuette over her head.
The phone video was far from perfect, but it was enough. It had to be enough. She found chalk in Magic’s office and began to copy out the strange markings. They were simple enough, really, but even then, a job that had taken Magic mere minutes took her nearly an hour before she was satisfied. A dull panic began to set in that she wouldn’t be finished before people began arriving again - cleaners, or boys with jobs, whatever. She pushed the worry away, kept working.
Her circle was easier. It still took a long time, but nothing like the first design. She stood in it and watched the video on her phone once more, listening hard. Just to be sure. With a nod, she pulled the icon out and held it up. Before fear could stay her hand, she began to recite the chant.
The words poured out of her, popping free of her mouth like soap bubbles. As each one emerged, a tiny, white-winged moth burst softly into view. Electricity or static crackled through her, a sensation not entirely unpleasant. Her muscles began to vibrate, her mind buzzed, and more pale moths emerged from nothing and swarmed around her, tickling and fluttering. With a sudden gasp of panic she realised the hideous colours were forming too. A prickle of burning crept acro
ss one cheek, another across an eyebrow.
“No!” she screamed. “Him! Take him!” She cast her arms forward, mimicking the action she had seen Magic perform, thought only of Magic and the car, her mind focused on the inside of that triangle. With the mental equivalent of canvas tearing, the cloud of moths surged forward across the gap, sucked into the other space. The disconnection as they passed in was a moment of freedom from incredible power. With it came dizziness and nausea. She shared the gluttonous frenzy as the swarm swirled around the car, pulling the harsh entity of impossible colours and shades from wherever it lived. It consumed the moths, dusty and savoury, and sank over the vehicle, squirmed in through the open door and smothered the corpse inside.
Carly whimpered at the metallic tang of blood, the flavour and scent of still warm human flesh and bone as it was devoured, sharing the hideous sensation as the entity fed. She sobbed as bile rose. The thing slid all over the car, sought out every last molecule of anything human. And then it turned, suddenly crashing up against the invisible barrier of the triangle she had drawn. That she had drawn none too well.
The boundary stretched and flexed. Like paper trying to hold back a wave, it would burst at any moment. She recited the second chant, over and over again, getting louder and more desperate with every repetition. Her will crashed up against that of the entity and they fought as her badly drawn barrier cracked and failed. Wanting nothing more than safety, desperate for success, Carly thought only of sending the hideous thing back to wherever it had come from. As it burst free and crashed up against the circle around her, Carly screamed the chant, staring the writhing mass of colour down, refusing to be beaten. With a sensation like air being sucked out of the room, the thing began to fold in on itself. Its rage was palpable, its hunger all-consuming as it was drawn away by the sorcery she clumsily wielded.
