The Secret History of Las Vegas

by Chris Abani

  Kills me?

  Yes, he said he was going to kill you.

  Sunil got up and walked over to the window.

  Why does he want to kill you, Asia asked.

  Sunil said nothing, unable to speak for the sheer rage that was burning through him. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? The e-mail with Jan’s ring should have been enough, but he thought the text was from South Africa. It never even occurred to him that it could have originated in the United States. He knew the only way Eskia could have got that ring was by exhuming Jan’s body. And because he had been there, because he had seen what Eugene did to Jan when Sunil couldn’t turn her with the drugs and mind-altering methods he was perfecting, he knew that if he hadn’t found that ring on the remains—a ring that Sunil had slipped into that anonymous hole in the ground as a kindness, as a way to make sure Jan’s spirit could find its way into the underworld—Eskia would never have been able to identify the remains as Jan’s. He wouldn’t ever have found whatever closure he was trying to create. And now this.

  Sunil, why does Eskia want to kill you?

  Sunil shook his head. Something that happened a long time ago, he said, barely above a whisper.

  Something very bad, she asked, realizing even as the words formed that it was a pointless question. She already knew the answer to it.

  Yes, he said. Something very bad.

  Did you do it?

  It’s complicated, he said.

  Did you kill someone important to him, she interrupted, impatient.

  I didn’t kill her, he said.

  She let out her breath.

  But I did nothing to stop it either, he said.

  Who was she?

  Jan, he said.

  Someone he loved?

  Someone we both loved.

  Jan. And when Asia said the name it brought an old and yet familiar ache back to Sunil and he stood there, wide open and weak, the light passing through him, refracting nothing.

  Asia got up from the couch and approached him. She stood behind him for a while, barely an inch between them, and yet it was the chasm between worlds. She stepped forward and wrapped herself around him. Her feelings confused, churning, unsure whether to be angry with him or to comfort him, but yet wanting desperately to hold on to him.

  Tell me everything, she said, afraid to ask, her breath hot on his back through his shirt.

  Are you sure, he asked.

  Yes, she said, thinking, No, I don’t want to hear about her, but knowing this exorcism was the only way forward, for her, for Sunil, for both of them. This woman she knew was still alive for Sunil.

  And so he told her.

  And in the two hours that he spoke, they went from standing by the window to sharing tea in the kitchen and then finally to intertwining their limbs in bed, where they fell into a fitful sleep.

  The shrill ring of a cell phone woke Sunil. In the dark bedroom he fumbled around for it. What, he said.

  This is Salazar.

  What the fuck, Salazar! What time is it?

  Just after six. I’m sorry to wake you.

  What is it, Sunil asked, glancing over at Asia as he got out of bed and shuffled into the living room. She was still deep asleep as he shut the door behind him.

  I need you to come.

  Come where?

  I’m out by Lake Mead.

  Bodies?

  Yes. Several bodies, and there’s one we both know.

  Who?

  I need you to come.

  How will I find you?

  There’s a car waiting downstairs for you.

  Okay. Fuck, Sunil muttered as he hung up and pulled some clothes on.

  As promised, there was a police car waiting outside. He paused, thinking how much he hated the uniforms. Thinking how impossible it was to explain the sheer terror of a Casspir rolling into Soweto, bigger than a tank, more invulnerable it seemed, a sheer beast.

  Is everything all right, Dr. Singh, the doorman asked as he opened the door.

  Why don’t you worry about doing your job so thieves don’t just walk in, Sunil snapped, sliding into the back of the police car. They were already pulling away from the building when Sunil remembered Asia was alone upstairs and in danger from Eskia should he choose to return.

  Wait, he said, stop.

  And he made the cops wait while he called Salazar. He told him about the break-in and said he would come only if Salazar provided police protection for Asia. He omitted that he knew what she might be in danger from. Salazar made one of the cops from the car stay. The guy didn’t look too happy about it, and Sunil made a mental note to come back with coffee and a snack for him. He texted Asia so that when she woke up to the cop outside, she wouldn’t be startled, and then he was off.

  As the car picked up speed, lights and siren going, the sun was coming up over the Luxor, washing the dark pyramid in gold.

  Shit, Sunil thought, I need to check in with the twins and Brewster. Not to mention he had to get a visitor’s pass for Fred. One day away from the institute and he was already behind. Whatever Salazar wanted him for had better be fucking incredible, he thought.

  He wasn’t aware he had fallen asleep until he felt Salazar shake him awake. The police car had arrived at Lake Mead and, from the looks of it, so had half the Las Vegas Police Department.

  Forty-eight

  The peacocks were screaming again and Water rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. He shuffled to the window but there were no birds in sight. He yawned and hit the Nurse Call button.

  Fire’s caul snapped back and he yawned too, breath extra funky from the heat of the caul.

  Jesus, those fucking birds! I swear if I could I would kill the entire gaggle, he wheezed.

  Ostentation, Water reminded him. Not gaggle, ostentation.

  Fuck you too, Fire said. Did you call the nurse? I would kill for a cup of coffee. Or at the very least, break a few knees.

  Babies are born without kneecaps, Water said.

  Really, Fire said. This early? Fuck, I’m too old for this shit.

  “Senectitude” means old age, Water said.

  And shut up or I’ll fuck you up means shut up or I’ll fuck you up.

  We shed skin particles as we get older, Water continued, as though Fire hadn’t spoken. We shed two pounds a year and by the time we’re seventy, we’ve shed one hundred and five pounds of dead skin.

  Jesus, you fucker. I’m trying to think about breakfast.

  The food that is digested in your stomach is called chyme.

  Fire took a swing at Water’s face, but his arms weren’t coordinated and it just looked like Water was swinging a puppet around.

  Good morning, gentlemen, the nurse said, responding to the call button. How can I help?

  Coffee and some food, Fire wheezed.

  It’s too early for breakfast, but I’ll rustle up some coffee and see if I can’t find a couple of cookies.

  Do you all have special courses in talking to patients in a condescending tone?

  In 1670, Dorothy Jones of Boston was granted the first American license to sell coffee, Water said.

  Why can’t you be nice like your brother, the nurse asked, smiling at Water, before shutting the door behind him.

  And where the fuck is the doctor, Fire asked. He’s been gone a whole day. How are we going to get out of here?

  Water smiled. Fred is coming for us, he said.

  Forty-nine

  The crucified horned figure stopped Sunil.

  I know, Salazar said gently, handing him a cup of coffee. It’s pretty grim.

  Naked except for white boxer shorts, the horned figure was nailed to a rough wooden cross, his tattooed arms spread like wings. His throat had been cut nearly through, so that the horned head dangled dangerously close to falling off.

  The
cross itself was rising out of a heap of corpses.

  What the fuck! Sunil said.

  Are you going to be okay?

  Yes. Is that Horny Nick?

  Yes.

  Why would anyone want to do this?

  I don’t know. You’re the expert on sick fucks, Salazar said.

  Sunil shook his head, watching as the forensic unit took photos and collected samples as though they were inspecting an elaborate movie set. Shit, he said.

  I know, right, Salazar said.

  Shaking his head, Sunil tried to focus, forcing himself into damage-control mode.

  I’m not sure this killing is related to the ones from two years ago. For a start, those body dumps weren’t ritualized like this; neither was the most recent one you saw two months ago, right? This is so radically different. Completely different pattern, different signature. Serial killers are very fixed in their patterns. If this is a serial killer, then you have two different people, Sunil said.

  Don’t tell me that, Salazar said. I don’t want to have to think that there may be more than one.

  Sunil wanted to allay Salazar’s fears, to tell him that the killings from two years earlier, as well as these, were the work of the institute. His work. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again. This wasn’t Brewster’s work. At least, Horny Nick wasn’t. There had to be another killer. Probably the same one who killed that girl two years before.

  Anything you want to tell me, he asked.

  At least we know the twins aren’t the killers you’re looking for, Sunil said. They’ve been locked up.

  Why do you think the killer targeted Horny Nick?

  I don’t know. Are the other kids safe?

  Yes.

  Good, Sunil said, not knowing why.

  Salazar was watching him closely.

  What is it, Detective, Sunil asked.

  Salazar shrugged. Nothing, he said.

  Sunil turned his attention to the crucified kid. Poor devil, he muttered.

  Listen, I looked into your situation on your way here.

  What situation, Sunil asked.

  You know, your concerns about your apartment and your worry about being targeted. I mean, normally I wouldn’t do that, but you asked me to assign protection to your girlfriend and I needed to know. Anyway, turns out several apartments in your building were vandalized too, so I don’t think you are the target. It was just random. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.

  You have to trust me on this one, Detective.

  See, now, that’s the kind of crazy talk that just sends up red flags to old policemen like me. I don’t even trust the evidence half the time, so why should I trust you?

  There are things I can’t tell you.

  As they spoke, Horny Nick was taken down from the cross. Sunil watched as the coroner and his officers stood on the other bodies to get him. He was laid out on a stretcher, and slowly the other bodies were laid out too. He and Salazar watched the men work, the careful attention to detail as they dismantled the rise of corpses, as though solving a puzzle, each step carefully photographed, each body systematically mined for evidence. It was slow, the work, and it took nearly an hour for the bodies to be separated. Sunil counted twelve lying there, with Horny Nick making thirteen.

  Twelve bodies, Sunil said out loud.

  What’s that, Salazar asked.

  The twelve bodies match the twelve apostles, with the crucified Christ making thirteen. Except this was no Christ but a horned figure, a devil on a cross. The devil and his twelve apostles.

  Fuck, that’s some dark shit, Salazar said. You have to give me something.

  Sunil shook his head. I’m not a profiler, he said. You might need an expert from the FBI. I’ve given you all I have.

  I don’t trust the fucking FBI. You helped me two years ago, and I need your help now.

  No, I didn’t help two years ago. If I had, we wouldn’t be here today.

  We have to try, Salazar said. He grabbed Sunil by the arm and dragged him over to where Horny Nick lay. Look at him. That kid didn’t deserve to die. Look at him! Now, tell me, do you think you might know who did this?

  Sunil stared at the lifeless eyes of the teenager and the jagged line where his throat had been cut.

  No, Sunil said. No, I don’t know who could have done this.

  Fifty

  Asia was gone by the time Sunil got back. She had left a note saying she was going home. In that moment he had to confront the fact that he had no idea where Asia lived. It was true that she had always deflected his attempts to come round, but still, in retrospect, he could have tried harder.

  He called her. It went straight to voice mail.

  Asia, he said. You aren’t safe on your own. When you get this, ditch this phone—it can be tracked—and then pack some things and come stay here with me. It was stupid and he knew it. She was no safer with him than at her place. Fuck, he said, and hung up. He had to get to the institute, but first a shower and change of clothing.

  On the way out, he stopped by the doorman’s desk. There was a new guy, which he didn’t mind since he hated the last one.

  Good morning, Dr. Singh.

  Could you arrange for a reliable service to clean my apartment?

  On the way to the institute he called Sheila’s cell. It went straight to voice mail.

  Sheila, it’s Sunil. Call me, he said, trying to sound casual—no need to cause any panic.

  Good morning, Dr. Singh, the receptionist said as he walked in, a little too cheerfully.

  Sunil smiled. Brewster on the warpath?

  The receptionist nodded, her smile frozen.

  Good, Sunil said.

  And it was good. Dealing with Brewster, and the twins, would be a welcome distraction from the events of the past twenty-four hours. He was about to walk away when he remembered Fred was coming.

  Listen, Janice, he said to the receptionist. I’m expecting a visitor today. Fred Jacobs. I’ll just fill in this visitor request form with all her information. Please make sure she is shown to my office when she comes.

  Of course, Dr. Singh.

  Brewster was waiting in Sunil’s office, pacing back and forth, taking deep drags on the oxygen canister stuffed into his lab-coat pocket. Sunil stood on the threshold and watched him, thinking it would be relatively easy to kill Brewster. All one would need to do would be to substitute liquid nitrogen for the oxygen.

  Dr. Brewster, Sunil said, shutting the door behind him and crossing to his desk. To what do I owe the honor?

  Where have you been?

  On my day off?

  You have no days off until the twins have been dealt with. I thought I made that clear.

  No, no, I don’t remember us agreeing to that. Still, no harm done, eh? They were busy getting an MRI anyway, as I remember.

  Your tone is more confrontational than usual, Dr. Singh, Brewster said, sitting down suddenly.

  Are you okay, Sunil asked, wanting to, but not saying: You look closer to death than usual.

  Tired, Brewster said.

  There have been more body dumps. Another teenager among them. Throat slit. Plus twelve men, Sunil said.

  I see. Well, we have the MRIs back, Brewster said.

  Sunil sat behind his desk and turned his computer on. With a few clicks, he had accessed the images from the MRI. Did you see these yet, Sunil asked.

  The MRIs? Of course.

  Doesn’t look like they are joined by much. They don’t seem to share any vital organs.

  No, they don’t. We could probably separate them very easily.

  Not very easily, no, Sunil said. It’s still a risky operation given how long they’ve been conjoined, and at their age, a separation has never been tried. They could die.

  I’m just pointing out that we could if our
research depended upon it.

  I can’t imagine why it would, Sunil said.

  Well. It’s worth noting, Brewster said.

  Did you notice that although Water’s brain lights up pretty well, Fire’s stays mostly dormant, Sunil asked. That’s very strange. These results are accurate, right?

  Yes, they are accurate. I noticed that too and I thought it was strange since Fire is the animated one. Of course, since he is smaller they could have overdosed him with the anesthetic.

  That wouldn’t explain why his brain looks dead, like the only things alive are the instinctual circuitry—like respiration.

  I told you these twins would be fascinating for our study.

  About that, Sunil said. I don’t think I want them in my study. I’m thinking I should just let them go. Let the police and county deal with them. Tomorrow is Tuesday anyway, which is the last day we can keep them without admitting them.

  Then admit them.

  For what? I don’t need them in my study and I don’t think they are crazy. Odd, eccentric even, but not crazy.

  I wasn’t asking.

  Sunil looked at Brewster for a minute, sizing him up. We need to talk, he began.

  Do we? Think carefully before you speak, Sunil.

  I think you’ve started the trials up again.

  That’s a serious accusation, Sunil, Brewster said.

  And yet you’re not denying it.

  You’re right. I have been running live tests again. Your research is taking too long, particularly the control dose. The military contract that funds you moved the timetable up and I knew that I couldn’t depend on you to do the tests. You aren’t the risk taker I had hoped for. You are far too deliberate, even for a scientist.

  Are you responsible for the dead homeless men?

  No, Sunil, Brewster said, smiling. It’s your research, your doing, so I would say you are responsible.

  I can’t believe you would be this irresponsible with my work and my reputation. Do you know this could damage me irrevocably if it gets out, Sunil said, his voice higher than he meant for it to be.

  Stop being so excitable. I’ve made you a very rich man. Not bad for a black from the slums of Soweto. The army likes the tests so far. I told them you could have the antidote ready in a month. They’re ready to begin tests on their soldiers.