Deadfall: A Post-Humans Story

by Bassett, Thurston

  “I should have. I’m using this place to help me write my thesis in psychology.”

  The woman led them to a back area that had more air. It was lined with small booths concealed by velvet curtains.

  “Here,” she pointed to the curtain second from the end. “I found him like that just before closing time.”

  Matt pulled the screen aside to reveal a muscly bodyguard sitting in the private booth in a black KISS t-shirt and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. His head was tipped back and there was a slight smile on his face. His arms hung limply with both hands face up either side of him on the velvet bench.

  Matt glanced back at Cynthia. He was silently asking her to guess where the injuries would be found. And her eyes told him that she was guessing the same place as he was.

  Matt pulled the collar of the t-shirt back to reveal the bruised puncture wound. It was the same as Johnny from the nightclub and the security guard in his home. The same killer.

  “Who runs this club?” Cynthia asked while he stared down at the corpse.

  The woman peeked around the curtain at the body and sniggered. “That guy was a wanker anyway.” She looked up at Cynthia. “Paulo Giodani.”

  She paused a moment then added, “courtesy of Mr Carlyle.”

  Matt stood and looked at Cynthia, who’s eyebrow was raised in surprise.

  “We need to leave,” Matt said as he put his hand on Cynthia’s shoulder. She simply nodded. The barmaid led the way back into the main club and followed them down the stairs.

  Cynthia paused for a moment at the door. “There wasn’t anything odd left laying around was there? Like a playing card?”

  The woman shrugged. “Not that I saw. A lot of Carlyle’s boy’s stop in and play poker and stuff, so there are cards here, but nothing left lying about. They didn’t play last night.”

  Cynthia nodded and thanked the barmaid before they both crossed the road to the car. As they climbed in Matt turned to Cynthia.

  “Did you see what I saw?”

  She nodded. “Same killer, and in another one of the Carlyle’s venues.”

  “Yeah. What has me stuffed is how our killer got our victim into a private booth and then did the deed. They would have to be very persuasive.”

  “Or a woman…” Cynthia finished.

  “We need to know how our killer and our Ace of Clubs thieves are linked.”

  Cynthia nodded and took a deep breath.

  Matt started the Honda as the sound of sirens grew louder, but they were quickly gone, leaving the barmaid to have her moment.

  Chapter 12

  What have you been doin today?

  I’ve got a thing to supervise at the

  Geisha Club, but I’d love to see you.

  Tony.

  Cynthia sat the phone down on the table next to her cup of green tea. She stared down at the message till the screen blacked out.

  She couldn’t decide what to make of Tony Carlyle. He was charming and funny and she had enjoyed his company on their date at the Ice-Bar, but she didn’t know how far she should let the relationship go.

  She wasn’t a normal person and her abilities were fairly frightening to the people who actually knew about them. Tony seemed keen either way.

  She sat her head in her hands and stared at the wall.

  The last time she was intimate with a man was during her Art course at university. It was in one of the storerooms and it was more out of curiousity than anything else.

  Cynthia had not dared to be anything more than a friend to any man; it wasn’t worth the risk of losing control of her ability.

  Her thoughts wondered and she pictured herself in bed with Tony. The thought was exciting, but it faded away as another darker memory washed it away.

  She shook her head and stood up. She couldn’t let her memories stop her from living her life.

  She threw on her long jacket and picked up the phone.

  She typed her reply to Tony.

  It’s been an interesting day.

  I’ll pop in for a drink and see you.

  The Geisha Club was very busy. Tony’s supervision was keeping the employees on track tonight. Tony told her that two new waitresses had had breakdowns tonight already.

  “The guest of honour is a big deal in pop music so I’m told. He and his entourage are hard to please and I think they enjoy being difficult.”

  Cynthia craned her neck to look around the dance floor and mezzanine for the celebrity.

  “Who is it?”

  “Calls himself Mike Sound. Dickhead if you ask me.” Tony shook his head and picked up two of the empty glasses off the bar. “Half of his people are just kids.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Nope. It was his request. He was adamant. Apparently they won after party tickets or something. We aren’t selling them drinks, but they look pretty tipsy to me.” He gestured to a group of teenage girls that were pole dancing on the dance floor.

  Cynthia laughed out loud. She had never been that kind of girl. She had always been too shy to go out dancing. She was the quiet girl that would rather not be noticed. When she discovered what she could do with her skin she shied away even further from human contact. When she was eighteen she bought long silk gloves to cover her arms. She was an art student at the time and the other students thought she was just exhibiting her own style. It was easier then.

  Cynthia was the pretty blonde with the long black gloves and loose fitting, figure hiding blouses or long sleeved shirts.

  Her fashion hadn’t changed much. She was happy with the long black jackets and suit pants.

  “It suits you.”

  Cynthia looked back at Tony who leaned on the bar admiring her.

  “What?” she blushed.

  “Your style. I like it. You rocked up to a Japanese themed nightclub dressed like a secret agent. And your gloves just make you that much more mysterious.” He grinned.

  Cynthia smiled at his infectious grin.

  “I have to get back to work Cynthia, but I’d like to hang out with you again as soon as I can.”

  Cynthia pushed some loose strands of her golden hair behind her ear. “Alright.”

  “What are you doing on Friday night?”

  She shrugged.

  “If Dad will let you loose for a night I’d like to steal you.” Tony fixed the hair that Cynthia had missed sliding it gently behind her ear. Fearlessly brushing against her bare skin. Shiver ran up Cynthia’s spine as she looked into his sparkling brown eyes.

  “What is it about you?” She said, barely audible over the din of the club.

  ***

  Cynthia opened the door of the hotel where she had been staying with Matt. As it swung open it revealed Matt slipping his long black jacket over a dark grey waistcoat and navy shirt. He was ready to work.

  “Matt?” Cynthia asked. “What’s happening?”

  “We are heading to Ballarat. Bronson just texted me. He said that we needed to meet with Ron Clarke.”

  “Ron Clarke? He’s been on Bronson’s hit list for two years. Ron and Bronson have been at odds in the Ballarat territory since Ron expanded his distribution to the Western District. Why would he be speaking to Clarke now?” Cynthia stepped quickly to her room and grabbed some things.

  “He’s not talking to Clarke. Clarke spoke to him. He knows something and he wants to share it.”

  Cynthia listened from her room while she changed her shirt and collected her work things. “Something about our ace of clubs gang?”

  Matt called back while he checked and loaded his gun. “He didn’t say. Bronson just said it was about ‘recent activities’ that he had got wind of. He’ll meet us at the botanical gardens personally at ten tonight.”

  Cynthia raised her eyebrows skeptically and pulled her customised Kevlar vest out of the draw.

  ***

  The drive to Ballarat from Melbourne was especially grueling tonight. They usually had a system of music selection that kept things interesting on th
e long drives, but unfortunately Matt had left his Mp3 player at his home before he moved to the hotel. Now all they had to do was talk about the mysterious case and stare out at the black night. After two hours of driving they saw the glittering lights of the rural city amongst the rolling black sea of hills.

  The botanical gardens were not very well lit at night and it was filled with shadows. As they pulled up they could see the moonlit surface of the Wendouree Lake through the massive Norfolk pines that lined the bank. The botanical garden was opposite, marked by the black towers of pines and oak.

  Cynthia pulled her jacket close around her and buttoned it up the front. The weather was always cooler here somehow compared Melbourne. It had a reputation worldwide for its unpredictable and often bad weather, but tonight wasn’t that bad. It was a clear sky with a sharp chill.

  Mat took his gun from under the drivers seat and slid it into his leather holster. It was one of the holsters cops use in crime shows and detective movies. You wear it over both arms and the gun is nice and snug under your left arm. Matt bought it online and it made him feel like a real detective.

  Cynthia only had her little toolkit and long black silk gloves hiding her deadly skin.

  The two walked through the short damp grass under the shadows of mighty Norfolk pines and cypresses. The only thing that was visible was a bright gravel path that snaked its way around beneath the trees.

  “Where?” Cynthia whispered as she stared out in the still night and the dark rustling shadows.

  “The message said ‘the sensory garden’. The one with all the herbs I think. I went there when I was a kid.”

  Cynthia followed Matt’s lead and walked on the shadow-covered grass to avoid the audible crunch on the gravel path.

  The sensory garden was at the far end at the back, surrounded by some open lawn, but out of sight from the road.

  As they got closer, they saw the orange glow of a cigarette and then a second one. Four figures came into view. They were leisurely sitting on the low brick walls that elevated the garden beds. They were speaking to one another in hushed voices.

  Cynthia spoke from behind the trunk of an oak tree. “You Clarke’s men?”

  “I’m Clarke. These lads are with me. We aren’t packin heat.”

  Cynthia stepped gingerly out of the shadows and the four men remained stationary.

  “We aren’t here to start a fight. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. That’s why we wanted to talk.”

  Matt slid his gun away into its holster. He had been ready if they had tried to open fire on Cynthia.

  The two stepped out of the dark and came to stand in front of the older man. He was tattooed and had a long beard, but he only wore a singlet in the chilly night air.

  Cynthia had heard only a little about Ron Clarke. He had started as a mechanic and managed to get involved in the cultivation and distribution of marijuana and from there his enterprises grew to into illegal imports of vehicles and narcotics and small time brothels that would change location every time the authorities caught wind of them. He was a rough man who had come from a rough neighbourhood. In his world he had made something of himself, but he was the worst kind of criminal. He didn’t hide behind legitimate business or laundered money like Bronson. He just hid.

  Ron Clarke sized them both up as he took a long drag on his cigarette. “Deadfall, yeah?”

  Cynthia clenched her jaw and nodded slowly.

  “A pleasure. Really, it is. When I heard about you, the first thing that came to mind was that you’re the person Carlzy would send to off me.” He glanced at Matt who was standing there in his long tan jacket. “Inspector-Fucking-Gadget, uh? You must be the dude with the girl’s name. Fuckin’ Carrie or somethin’.”

  “Claire,” Matt said with a straight face, not breaking eye contact.

  “Yeah. Claire. I know. I’m just shit stirrin’. You’re the one with the good eye, eh? Carlzy said you two was the ones coming.”

  Ron rubbed the butt of his cigarette out on the garden. He clicked his fingers and one of his men brought him a can of bourbon and cola, which he opened and started drinking. Cynthia looked at the men around the sensory garden they were dressed in old leather jackets and t-shirts with skulls and other imagery on the fronts. They gave the impression of a biky gang.

  Ron sat casually sipping at is drink while he looked at the two strangers.

  Cynthia had been working around these kinds of thugs for long enough to know that he was making them wait while they watched. It was a tactic some people used when they wanted to assert power, especially people in the criminal line of work. It was an animal hierarchy of different thugs that all thought they were the alpha while the bigger dog wasn’t around. Ron’s bigger dog was Bronson Carlyle.

  Cynthia sighed. “Cut the macho shit Clarke. Do you have something for us or are you just going to ogle us?”

  Ron laughed and looked at his men who joined in. Cynthia’s clenched jaw told Matt that she was losing her patience.

  “Look. You called us…” Matt began.

  Ron Clarke nodded and his expression grew serious. He gave an order to his boys and they wandered off leaving Ron at the mercy of Matt and Cynthia.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” he rubbed at his grey beard then scratched his chest. “When you are in a position like mine you gotta’ act a certain way in front of ya mates. It’s the way it is.”

  Cynthia blinked. She didn’t care about his social status.

  Ron took another swig and looked at the ground. “I saw the news. I saw them murders on TV. I know who did it.”

  Cynthia raised her eyebrows and looked to Matt who shrugged and sat on the garden edge opposite Mr Clarke.

  “She’s one of them different ones. People with… abilities. Not many people have heard of ‘em.” He looked up at Cynthia. “You probably should’ve. You are one aren’t ya?”

  Cynthia nodded and looked at the ground between them.

  “She’s only a kid. Her name’s Mirage. At least that’s the name she gives herself. She is dangerous, man. I met a guy who was runnin’ a pretty dodgy show, if ya know what I mean. And he said this kid came out of nowhere and offered to steal shit for him.” He took out another cigarette. “He said he laughed so hard he nearly wet himself, then this chick transformed into someone else.”

  “What do you mean?” Matt said leaning forward.

  “Lemme’ finish, Claire. So this crazy bitch transforms into someone else. He was shit scared for a bit, but give her a job, I don’t remember what, and she pulled it off. No alarms, no cops, no nothin’, so he gives her another one, and another. Then he told me that the chick got bored. The gig was too easy, so she kills some woman and her husband.” He gestured with his hand, cigarette between his fingers. “Now, I’ve done some bad shit, but I ain’t killed anyone for shits and giggles. This chick liked it. Me mate was shaken, but his boys cleaned up. He was too scared to get rid of her then, so he keeps givin’ her jobs. But she just kills the occasional person along the way. He eventually said to her that her skills are wasted where she was and that she should offer her services to high rollers. For the big coin, ya know? Well, she took to it to heart.”

  “Who is this man? Can he lead us to this ‘Mirage’ girl?” Cynthia asked.

  “It doesn’t matter who he was.” Ron shook his head.

  “What do you mean ‘was’?” Matt said standing.

  Ron shrugged. “Cause I killed him two weeks ago. He was gonna split with some product and go off the grid. He was a business associate. I didn’t hear the details of them murders till Monday.”

  “Monday?” Cynthia and Matt looked at each other. “The first murder was on Tuesday night.”

  Ron Clarke looked up at their faces. “No, the first was on Friday. A big Melbourne lawer, Jamie Fischer.”

  Matt rubbed at his temples. “What links this guy’s death to the others?”

  The man’s grey moustache stretched into a grin. “You guy’s missed it didn’t ya?” he
took a drag of the cigarette. “This guy was killed by a punctured heart. Entry wound at the collar. It was a closed case. His wife got life in prison.”

  “His wife?”

  “Yeah, too many witnesses saw her walk outa’ the building after leavin’ his office. The wife fell to bits. She was never there, you could tell when she was on the news. It was Mirage.” He nodded, sure of himself.

  “How do you know about her MO?” Matt crossed his arms, “Did your friend tell you that as well?”

  “Yeah,” he raised his eyebrows and stared at the glow of the tip of his cigarette. “Plus I met the guy that made her bloody pins.”

  “The murder weapons?”

  “Yep. Guy that used to work as the black smith at Sovereign Hill made ‘em for her. He used to by weed off me before he got a job doing weapons for movies in New Zealand. His name’s Damian. He called those things pins. Strong steel, folded Japanese style. They are tough and sharp. He had made a few weapons and stuff for drugs before he went big time.”

  Matt paced and rubbed at his smooth chin. “Her name is Mirage. She can walk in and out of any establishment and kill with these steel pins. It all fits together. But I can’t understand how a person can transform into someone else.”

  Cynthia shrugged. “Most people wouldn’t understand me.”

  Matt gave her a half smile.

  “Food for thought.” Ron said as he stood up and tossed his empty bourbon can into the garden. “Give Carlzy my regards. I’m as shit scared of this crazy bitch as everyone else should be. The fact that this chick can walk in anywhere and do what she wants makes me uneasy.” He picked up a leather jacket that he had been sitting on and pulled it on over his singlet. “And do ya know what the scariest bit is?”

  Cynthia slid her hands into her pockets. “Someone is paying her.”

  “That’s right. Someone’s payin’ her. And it ain’t me and it ain’t Carlzy. That’s the scary part. And if Carlzy goes to war on this, I just need him to know that it isn’t me. Any one of us could be next.”