by Anton Strout
“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 things 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 Paralyzed 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 Paralyzed. 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 Paralyzed 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 poi
nt, 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.
Connor 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.”
I motioned for Jane to give me a moment alone with Connor. After kissing me on the cheek, she stepped out of earshot.
“You sure you don’t want to come inside instead of Jane?” I asked. “I’m sure no one in New York would bat an eye at two men walking into a runway show together. It is Fashion Week, after all.”
Connor shook his head.
“After all the juvenile jealous crap you’ve put her through to alleviate your own guilt over working with Mina? I think you two need the on-the-job bonding time more than you and I do.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re a pal.”
I walked over to Jane and took her arm on mine.
“Hey, kid,” Connor called out behind us. We turned. His face was deadpan. “Try not to die on any of the gowns, okay?”
“Will do,” I said.
“That goes for both of you,” he shouted as we crossed the street and left him behind.
The line to get in snailed along forever, but it gave us time to locate mayoral office liaison David Davidson in the crowd. Camera flashes were going off left and right. I waved him over to us.
“Nice to see you under more pleasant circumstances,” he said, flashing that winning smile of his. His tuxedo was impeccable, but then again, he always was.
I thought back. The last time I had seen David Davidson was over the body of late Dr. Kolb in Central Park.
“Well, more pleasant for now,” I said, shaking his hand. “You remember Jane?”
Davidson took Jane’s hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Of course I do,” he said. “Charmed. May I say you look lovely tonight?”
“Thank you,” Jane said with a toothy smile. “And, yes, you may.”
Davidson reached inside his suit coat and pulled out a handful of identical envelopes. He thumbed through them. “Mr… . Canderous, there you are … annnnd … Ms. Clayton-Forrester.”
He held them out and I took both of them.
“I just want you to know,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “tickets to this were harder to arrange than setting up a visit for the president to the United Nations.”
“We appreciate it,” I said. “The whole Department does.”
“Should anything actually happen here, though,” Davidson continued, “the mayor would appreciate your discretion in handling the matter. He would prefer there not be as public a display as that last one back at the Met, especially given the media coverage here.”
“We’ll do our best,” Jane said, surprising me with the return of that boundless optimism and cheer that had been lacking these past few days.
“Exactly,” I said, “but I don’t know how subtle we’ll be. It’s hard to deal with extraordinary affairs by ordinary means. But like the lady said, we’ll try our best.”
Davidson gave a nervous smile. “I guess that’s as good as we can hope for,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. “I suppose I’d better have emergency services at the ready just in case …”
With that, he wandered off into the crowd, his cell phone already at his ear.
I looked over at Jane, only to find her looking back at me, smiling. Dressed as we were, it was hard not to relish in the strange fantasy of it all. I could feel the electricity in the air, and for once it wasn’t my power … or Jane casting spells through a junction box. It almost made me wish we were a normal couple out for a night on the town, rather than out to stomp the forces of evil.
The fashion plate bouncers manning the entrance to the giant tent stopped us when we arrived. After having our tickets examined to the nth degree, we were finally allowed inside. The interior of the tent was lit with a wash of cool colors that complemented the clean, crisp look of the whole Fashion Week affair. A white runner stretched down the center of the main aisle, presumably the catwalk for the show. It was flanked by hundreds of black wooden folding chairs that were quickly filling with the cream of the New York fashionista crop.
As we made our way across the transformed park, more of the staff checked our tickets and led us to our seats. We sat in two of the four unoccupied seats at the end of our row, and I looked over at Jane, who was still beaming. She squeezed my arm, and for a split second it felt like an actual date.
After a moment, I turned and looked out over the arriving crowd.
“Let me know if you see anything,” I said.
The two of us looked around the tent, which was filling up. I recognized a few of the faces in the crowd from television or film, but I was more interested in the camera crews that were busy setting up their equipment. I pointed them out to Jane.
“So it looks like tonight’s going to be televised,” she said. “Good thing I spent some time on my makeup.”
“You look beautiful,” I said without hesitation, “no question about that, but with those cameras here, it pretty much means that if anything paranormal goes down, we’re screwed. That’s not just local news. It’s national television. And Cyrus Mandalay wants to go large scale with evil.”
Jane’s eyes danced as the lights went down and the music rose. The fashion show started, and all we could do was keep vigilant while ignoring the pageantry before us. My head pounded from all the lights and from peering into the darkened crowd for signs of anything paranormal. My phone, my third one in as many days, vibrated to life in my pocket. I discreetly pulled it out and checked the display.
The Inspectre.
I tapped Jane on the shoulder before flipping it open. I held the phone up between the two of us and we leaned our heads in.
“Anything out there yet, sir?” I whispered into it.
“Negative,” he said. “There’s been nothing reported on our end. How are things in there, boy? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Other than anorexics walking up and down the runway in flamboyant outfits? No, sir.”
“Da
mn and blast,” the Inspectre swore. “If Cyrus was going to do something, I would have expected him to make his move by now. There’s simply no activity out here, so keep your eyes sharp … and keep an eye on the girl, too, my boy.”
The fatherly concern in his voice nearly broke my heart.
“Will do, Inspectre.”
As I flipped my phone shut, a couple approached and I assumed it was for the two unoccupied seats next to us. I rose to let them in.
“I’m sorry …” I started, but stopped when I saw who it was. “Godfrey?”
It was Godfrey and he nodded curtly, shushing me.
Gone were his pristine suit and tie. He was dressed in a tuxedo far more fashionable than mine, and he looked nervous. When I saw the woman on his arm, I could see why. She was dark-haired and gorgeous. I definitely knew her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place her.
“Hello, Simon,” he said. “Hello, Jane.”
The two of us were speechless and all we could do was nod hello.
Godfrey seated the woman with him and then sat down next to me, the nervous look still on his face.
“Godfrey,” I said. “Are you okay?”
He looked a little breathless, but gave me a thumbs-up. “Just … nerves …” he said between breaths.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I had already gotten myself into a little bit of heat with Connor over the poor guy, and now he was here in potential harm’s way.
Godfrey pulled off his glasses and cleaned them. This seemed to calm him a little. He slid them back on his nose. “It’s funny. The other day in the café, there was a Village Voice open on one of the coffee tables when I sat down. This one personal ad caught my eye and I responded to it, and well, turns out that Mandi here was looking for an escort to this event at Fashion Week. She was in last year’s show but her modeling shoot in Thailand conflicted with the week leading up to it so she couldn’t participate this year.”
“So you answered a personal ad in the Voice and you ended up with a supermodel on your arm?” I said. No wonder she looked familiar. I had probably seen her on a cover somewhere.
