by Tim Waggoner
I remembered what Quillion had told me about a Sentinel "interviewing" Lazlo and I hoped he was simply busy driving another fare around town. I knew from first hand experience that Sentinels weren't exactly the most gentle of creatures and I feared my friend might be laid up somewhere, metaphorically – or who knows, maybe literally – licking his wounds as he recovered from the Sentinel's little chat with him.
I turned to Devona. "Looks like we're going to have to hoof it."
Her frown deepened into a scowl and I thought she wasn't going to let me get away with trying to change the subject, but then she looked past me and her eyes widened and I knew our discussion was about to be tabled.
I turned around and saw a man striding purposefully down the sidewalk toward us. He wore a long black trench coat open to reveal a chiseled bare chest and well defined abs. Black jeans and worn cowboy boots completed his outfit. He was a handsome black man with mahogany skin, a shaved head and piercing, almost startling green eyes. He appeared to be unarmed but I didn't need to frisk him to know he wasn't carrying any weapons. You don't need to when you are a weapon.
The first of the bounty hunters had found us.
TWELVE
The man stopped when he was within half a dozen feet of us and smiled.
"Hey, Matt. What's up? Nice coat. Good to see you finally got a little style going on."
His voice was deep and rich and though his tone was relaxed on the surface it held an underlying current of tension. I knew exactly how he felt.
"Hey yourself, Malik," I said, ignoring his comment about Bogdan's hand-me-down. "It's been a while."
"Since we tangled with the Incarnator, remember?"
"How could I forget? We had a hell of a time figuring out which body he was inhabiting. If he hadn't kept that habit of his regardless of which body he wore–"
Malik laughed. "Right! He always kept sniffing and swallowing, like he had sinus trouble no matter who he was possessing. How weird was that?"
"Weird but useful," I said. "We might never have caught him otherwise."
We'd kept our gazes locked on one another as we talked, only pretending to enjoy our little trip down memory lane. In truth we were gauging each other – opening feints that were merely a warm up for what was to come.
"Matt, who is this?" Devona asked.
I hadn't forgotten about her, but there was no way I was going to take my eyes off Malik. I continued to keep my gaze trained on him as I answered.
"This gentleman goes by the street name of Crossbreed but his friends just call him Malik. We've worked together a couple times when we had jobs that ended up overlapping. As you might've gathered we took down the Incarnator together."
"And we recovered the Lost Shroud of Glorian, don't forget that," Malik said.
"Neither of us got paid on that one."
"Only because you insisted on destroying the shroud when you learned what it could do." Malik's tone took on a colder edge as he said this.
"What can I say? I have a thing about handing over deadly magical artifacts to psychopaths, which both of our clients happened to be."
"Maybe so, but their money would've spent as good as any sane man's."
"Money can't buy self-respect."
"You can't eat, drink, or screw self-respect." Malik had continued smiling as we'd talked but now his smile fell away. "Speaking of money there's a pretty hefty price on your head these days, Matt. You've always had a knack for getting in trouble, but damn, son! Five hundred thousand darkgems' worth is serious even for you!"
I felt Devona's mind reaching for mine.
I can see that you two aren't exactly friends. Just how dangerous is he?
Let's just say you wouldn't want to go up against him in a dark alley. Or a lit one. Or anywhere else for that matter.
Aloud, I said, "And you've come to collect."
He shrugged. "Someone has to cash in. Might as well be me. No offense."
"None taken. How did you figure you'd find me here?"
Malik's smile returned. "Everyone else is watching your usual hangouts, but they're idiots. We may have only worked together a couple times but I know you well enough. Anyone else in your situation would've had the good sense to go into hiding, but not you. I knew you'd try to find a way out of the mess you're in and that means you need information. Since you can't make use of your regular sources, I guessed you'd go to David." His smile widened into a grin. "Looks like I guessed right."
I suppose I should've expected this. With the number of people out looking for me someone was bound to have figured out where I'd go.
"Congratulations. I'm sure this'll get you a nomination for mercenary of the year."
Malik's body spasmed from head to toe as his bones, muscles and flesh went through a rapid transformation. His green eyes turned a glowing crimson, his teeth became sharp and long, his hands sprouted deadly looking ebon claws and his skin sprouted scaled armor.
"Now you see why Malik calls himself Crossbreed," I said to Devona. "You know how Overkill has worked to make herself the ultimate human? Well, Malik has made himself into the ultimate monster, courtesy of the genetic expertise of the good Doctor Moreau."
Just looking at Malik you could pick out vampire, demon and lyke in him and I'm sure there's more than a few other less obvious monster genes in the mix as well.
Devona frowned. "I didn't think it was possible to combine the DNA of Darkfolk like that."
Malik bared his mouthful of fangs in a savage grin and when he spoke his voice was rough and guttural.
"It's not – for anyone else, that is. Dr. M told me that every time he tried it before the subject died. But the procedure worked for me." His smile grew wider, making him look something like a shark in humanoid form. "Guess I'm just that tough. So, Matt… what's it going to be? You going to make this easy and come with me peacefully, or are you going to give me trouble? Please say it's the latter. It'll be more fun that way."
"You know, Malik, finding me isn't the same thing as catching me."
I can't draw a gun as fast as I could when I was alive, but what I now lack in speed I make up in technique. I had my .45 out and aimed at Malik's chest before he could react. At least, that's what I told myself. But then he laughed and I knew the only reason he hadn't attacked was because he didn't consider my weapon a threat.
"You can't hurt me with that thing," he said, sounding half amused, half insulted.
"You know the kind of ammo I pack is tailor-made to put a hurt on just about any creature walking, stalking or sliming its way through the streets – and that includes you."
"Ordinarily that would be true. But you're carrying a .45 instead of your usual 9mm. My guess is your regular piece – along with your homemade ammo – was taken away before you were tossed into Tenebrus and what you got there is a replacement. Besides, you forget who you're talking to." He sniffed the air a couple times. "I can smell that the bullets are normal."
"Oh, well. Can't blame a guy for bluffing." I raised my gun barrel several inches and fired, emptying the contents of my weapon into Malik's face.
Greenish-black blood splattered into the air and Malik staggered backward, though he didn't fall and he didn't cry out, though the injuries he suffered had to hurt like hell. I aimed for his head because brain tissue is complex and takes more time to regenerate. It would be a few moments before Malik regrew enough of his brain to get his shit together and attack, giving Devona and me a few precious seconds in which to act.
As Malik leaned over, hands on his face to hold as much of it together as possible while he healed, blood streaming onto the sidewalk, I quickly glanced at the oncoming traffic and saw what we needed. I sent a mental image to Devona of what I wanted her to do and she stepped forward and grabbed hold of one of Malik's arms. Devona may be short and slender, but she packs a lot of muscle into her small frame and she hurled Malik into the street as if he weighed no more than a child.
As I said earlier, traffic was light that night, bu
t "light" doesn't mean "nonexistent," and Malik landed directly in the path of a silver Volkswagen Beetle covered with long sharp spikes. He still hadn't recovered enough from the gunshot wounds to his face to think clearly, and instead of getting out of the car's path, he rose to his feet and just stood there bleeding onto the street, and the VW slammed into him at full speed. Malik let out a – pardon the pun – piercing shriek of agony as he was impaled on the VW's hood spikes. The impact caused the car to swerve, but it didn't stop. The driver – who was completely hidden from view due to the spikes – managed to straighten the VW out and zoomed off with Malik still pinned screaming to its hood. One thing Nekropolitans can always be counted on for – wherever they're going, they're in a hurry to get there and they don't let anything slow them down. Certainly nothing as inconsequential as a body stuck to their car.
I started to reload my gun while we watched the VW speed away, carrying Malik with it.
"Nice throw," I said to Devona.
"Nice shooting," she said. "That won't stop him for long, you know."
"He won't be able to heal fully until he pulls himself off those spikes. We'll be long gone by then."
"He's not going to be too thrilled with you when he does finally get free."
I sighed. "At this point, what's it matter if I make one more mortal enemy?"
"True," she said.
Just then a vehicle came swerving erratically down the street toward us and Devona and I automatically stepped back from the curb. When we saw the vehicle was Lazlo's cab we stepped back a couple feet farther, just to be cautious. Good thing, too, because when Lazlo pulled up he parked halfway on the sidewalk. The cab's windows were rolled down and he leaned out to speak to us.
"Sorry I'm late. You wouldn't believe how many people have been tailing me since Quillion announced the bounty on you. Even with all my considerable driving skills it took me a while to shake them."
Lazlo might have had an easier time of it if his cab wasn't one of the most recognizable vehicles in the city. But I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I didn't say anything.
"You're sure you managed to shake them?" I looked up and down the street, but since no vehicles roared up to the curb, bounty hunters hanging out of open windows with their guns blazing, I figured we were safe enough for the moment.
I turned to Devona. "What do you think?"
"I think we're going to have people gunning for us whether we walk or ride. Riding's faster."
"Good point."
Devona and I climbed into the back of Lazlo's cab and I told him to take us to Nosferatomes. I'd barely gotten the words out of my mouth when Lazlo tromped on the gas and his vehicle surged away from the curb. The sudden acceleration threw Devona and me against the back seat.
"I'm all for speed right now, but can you take it a bit easier?" I complained.
"Sorry about that," Lazlo said. "My cab's kind of jittery after playing tag with so many other vehicles tonight – Dread Rider, the Chopper, Velocicide… It's a wonder she hasn't had a nervous breakdown by now." Lazlo patted the dash and the cab's engine – which up to this point had been running at a high-pitched whine – began to purr and the vehicle slowed to a slightly less than lethal speed.
"Some heavy hitters there," Devona said, sounding worried for the first time since breaking me out of Tenebrus. I wanted to reassure her that everything was going to be all right, but as I was starting to have major doubts myself, the best I could do was take her hand and give it a squeeze. It wasn't much but she gave me a grateful smile anyway.
Lazlo glanced at us in his rearview mirror. "I like what you've done with your hair, Devona. And Matt, I love the new coat! You finally look like a real PI, you know what I'm saying?"
Right then I vowed that I was going to find a way out of this mess no matter what, if only so I could celebrate by burning that goddamned coat to ashes.
Lazlo went on. "I saw you tangling with someone when I drove up. Who was it?"
"Crossbreed," I said.
Lazlo let out a low whistle. "He's a tough customer. Looked like you managed to get the drop on him, though."
"We were lucky," I said with no false modesty. I didn't like relying on luck, but I figured I was going to need a few tons more of it before everything was over.
"Speaking of lucky," Lazlo said, "I was sitting in Skully's when Acantha's surprise broadcast came on. Everyone in the bar immediately started making bets on how long it'll be before you're recaptured. Most people figured you'll be back in Tenebrus within twenty-four hours."
"Their confidence in me is underwhelming." I changed the subject. "I'm glad to see you hale and hearty. Quillion led me to believe one of his Sentinels worked you over."
Lazlo didn't say anything to that. He just kept driving. After leaving the House of Mysterious Secrets he drove us to Sybarite Street, the Sprawl's main drag, and we headed toward the west side of the Dominion, where Nosferatomes was located. When he eventually spoke again his tone was subdued.
"A Sentinel did question me and it… wasn't gentle. I healed OK. I mean, I am a demon, right? But it hurt so much that I…"
I knew what Lazlo was trying to say. He'd told the Sentinel I was at the Foundry, which was how Silent Jack had been able to hunt me down.
"Don't worry about it," I said. "They'd have found me eventually no matter what. I'm just sorry you had to go through that on my account. I'm glad no permanent damage was done, though."
Lazlo said his next words so softly I wasn't certain I'd heard them at all. But it sounded like he said, "Not to my body anyway."
Lazlo looks so monstrous that it's sometimes too easy to forget that he has feelings like anyone else. He might be a demon but that didn't mean he wasn't human too – at least, in the ways that mattered most. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but before I could think of anything the ratcheting sound of automatic weapons fire cut through the cab, followed by a metallic pinging as rounds struck the outside of the vehicle.
Lazlo's cab screamed then, and of all the horrible sounds I've heard since coming to Nekropolis, that's one I hope to never hear again.
The cab swerved wildly and Lazlo fought to maintain control of his vehicle.
"We're under attack!" Devona shouted.
That part I'd figured out for myself. What I didn't know yet was by who. I turned to look out the rear window and saw a midnight-black Cadillac with glowing red headlights and a hood mounted machine gun riding our tail.
"Damn it, it's Carnage!" I shouted.
Lazlo's cab made a noise that sounded a lot like a terrified whine. I knew exactly how she felt.
There are any number of possessed, haunted or living vehicles traveling the streets of Nekropolis – Lazlo's cab among them. So many that once a year the Screaming Wheels tournament is held, a cross-Dominion road race whose course traverses the entire city. But of all the supernaturally animated cars, motorcycles and trucks, none are as powerful or deadly as Carnage. As legend has it the Caddy's owner died behind the wheel of his vehicle and his spirit – instead of going on to its final reward – merged with the car, bringing the vehicle to malevolent life. Standard stuff, really, but what made Carnage different to the average possessed car is that it – he? – didn't want to exist as a haunted vehicle and so over the years he had consulted any number of magic-users and exorcists in the hope that one of them would be able to remove the spirit from the Cadillac and set it free. But for some unknown reason no one had ever been able to draw the human spirit forth from the vehicle. Even Papa Chatha had taken a crack at it and failed. But Carnage was determined to find some way to become free of his cursed existence. Rumor had it that Carnage had attempted suicide numerous times, but as is so often the case with supernatural vehicles, all damage it suffered was magically repaired. So that left Carnage with one option: keep trying to find a magic-user powerful enough and skilled enough to set him free.
Trouble was magic doesn't come cheap in Nekropolis and Carnage needed money in order to cont
inue hiring witches and warlocks and so the living vehicle had become a mercenary, taking on high risk, high reward jobs to make enough darkgems to afford the cost of exorcism spells. And if a job was so dangerous that Carnage was finally destroyed during it, well, that was OK too. Just as long as the spirit trapped within the Caddy's metal body was free in the end. Of course, in order to do his work more effectively, Carnage had used some of his profits on upgrades like a high performance engine, a steel reinforced suspension system and his oh-so-useful machine gun. After all, as the saying goes, you have to spend money to make money.
