by Mark Lingane
“It certainly sounds like that to you, doesn’t it? What if she wanted to set you up? Could be she was going to rob the place then pin it on you.”
Joshua started, aware he was about to make a monumental stuff-up.
Harman said, “Look, Richards, as far as I’m concerned the case is closed. Looking at the facts in front of me, I’d say it’s over, and at this stage it doesn’t involve you. Go home.”
“You can’t do—”
“Go home, now. Or should I make you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure the boys would enjoy the opportunity to make you go home.”
Joshua shook his head and turned to leave. At the door he paused and turned back to the police chief.
“Harman.”
“You still here, then?” Harman continued his unbroken record of stating the absolutely obvious.
“You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”
“Don’t need to know that, Richards.” He raised his arm and pointed to Joshua. “All I need to know is that you’re fast running out of friends. You been reading New Age books again or something?”
Joshua, without another word, turned and left.
Harman glared at the door and continued to glare for several moments after Joshua was out of sight. He was thinking. It was a rare moment and he didn’t know what to make of it.
Harman was an intelligent man but not clever. If he were clever he wouldn’t be in the police force, with all its safety nets, pensions, paperwork, reports, and lack of responsibility. He was intelligent enough to see that the force was for him, no matter what he dreamed of being.
Simple chunks of thoughts. Not great chains of wild ideas that might just possibly lead to crazy ends. There was a big difference between the two.
A detective came up to Harman with the weapons in plastic bags. “Got the results. Hey, chief, do you reckon if we open the case light would shine out?”
Harman, who was still looking at the door after Richards, gave a start. “Sorry?”
“We’ve got the results of the dust,” repeated the constable.
“Yes?” Harman turned to face him.
“Everything’s completely clean except for the Na’hash weapon, which has his prints on it. All in all, it looks very professional. He was shot in the back from the chair there,” he said, indicating the plush chair situated behind the even more extravagant desk, “by an unknown assailant with, at this stage, an unknown weapon.” The policeman shrugged and gave Harman a what-the-hell-do-we-do-now look.
“Just the kind of case we like,” Harman replied with more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice and shook his head. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped it in his palm. “And we’ve got no clues at all?”
“All we’ve found is a few strands of hair in the chair.” The detective held up the plastic bag containing the evidence. “They look a kind of blond-sandy color. About one and a half or two inches long. About as vague as you can get.”
Harman sagged. This was all getting too much.
“Excuse me, inspector.”
“What is it now?”
The voice had come from the young forensics technician who had been outlining the prone form of Jeff Na’hash. He was very nervous about something. “I think you’d better have a look at this.”
Harman strode over to the fallen figure. “What?”
The man indicated Na’hash. “I’d just marked his outline and was moving him out of the way and, well, it sort of came off.”
“What did?” Harman said irritably.
“This.” He held up the item.
“Well, lots of men lose hair. What’s so special about that?”
“Nothing, sir. It was what it was hiding.”
They both turned to look at the dead form. Harman gaped.
“And that’s not all. When I turned him over his eyes were still open and, well, look for yourself.”
Harman knelt down. He didn’t say anything. He stood up and walked back to the window. “What’s your name, son?”
“Swan, sir.”
“Well, Detective Swan, I want you to get this body to Clipper as fast as you can. Get him to runs his tests. Get him—”
“Clipper, sir? Isn’t he the one with the really bad aftershave?”
“You could say that, yes. Anyway, Swan, get on the move.”
What the hell’s going on? Harman thought. This just gets weirder by the day. He stared out the window onto the street below, where two figures were talking. “Damn you, Richards. What do you know that you’re not letting on?”
The figures had stopped talking and were parting ways.
Harman turned around and put the cigarette back in his mouth. “Anyone got a light? And for God’s sake, Swan, make sure no one else finds out about that, that …” He gave up looking for the right word. “That thing.”
19
JOSHUA STORMED OUT OF the building. As he strode down the street a figure loomed up behind him. As the figure closed, Joshua spun around.
“Marianne. What are you doing? More importantly, where have you been?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you. But I have something else to tell you.”
“You bet you do. You’re in a lot of trouble, lady. Jeff Na’hash is dead.”
“I know.”
“Well, for some reason I don’t find—”
“Listen, Joshua, I have something to tell you.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“Yes. But I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s up to you to find out, Joshua.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Joshua, just listen to me,” she pleaded. “Jeff isn’t important.”
“You want to tell that to him?”
“He isn’t, just trust me. At this moment there are a lot more important things at stake. Joshua! All the rules are being broken and there’s a high price to pay. Please don’t make it any more difficult than you already are.”
“Good.”
“Jesus, Joshua. Calm down and just listen. I have to go.”
“What? For how long?”
“I’m going forever.”
“What? I don’t believe this. Why?”
“Because it’s right,” she said.
“Right? What do you mean?”
“Some things have to be the way they are. This is one of those things. All for the sake of drama.”
“You know your timing sucks.”
“I’m sorry, so, so sorry. More than you can understand. But all of this is beyond me. I was never meant to be involved. But because I was, we stole this moment from them. It was our victory, and they can never take that away from us no matter what they say. It’s happened, and it was never meant to. We, you and me, will always remember until nothing is left.”
“Stop being so enigmatic.”
“I’m sorry, that’s all I’m allowed to be.”
“Well, when are you going?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“But that’s so soon.” He felt like pulling his hat down over his head.
“Yes. But I want to see you before I go. I’ll meet you one final time down by the docks. At the jetty. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, of course I know where it is. As a matter of fact—”
“I’ll meet you there at eleven tomorrow night.”
“But what about tonight? And tomorrow day, come to think of it?”
“I need to be by myself. Until then.”
“By yourself? What for?”
“I have to prepare myself.”
“Prepare yourself. For what?”
She put her finger to his lips. “Until tomorrow.”
He closed his eyes as she gave him a long and lasting kiss that hung in the air and burned in his memory. She turned and vanished into the shadows of the night. When he opened his eyes she was gone.
By the time the Blind Duck was within shouting range Joshua was feeling a little calm
er. Police lines surrounded the Blind Duck. The crowd surrounding the police lines stared silently. There was a hush that was inhuman. The people looked cold and withdrawn, eyes glowing in the night-lights like evil beasts looking at weak prey.
“What’s going on?”
A policeman turned towards him. He wasn’t one of Harman’s men and was reasonably polite. “There’s been an accident, sir.”
“What’s happened? Has anyone been hurt?”
“I can’t tell you that, sir.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“Chief Inspector Harman, sir.”
“Could you get him please? Say that Joshua Richards is here.”
The policeman nodded and trekked off toward the hotel. He returned a few moments later and pulled aside the barrier.
“Could you come with me, sir?” He motioned for Joshua to enter the crime zone.
He led a worried Joshua Richards toward the front doors of the Duck. An ambulance with its lights ablaze stood next to the door, its engine off. The red lights cast an eerie aura on the hotel, the neighboring parking lot and surrounding people. Several dozen people were watching from the barriers, their pale faces turned red by the emergency lights, looking like demons. Officials in suits and white jackets were milling around, giving notes to each other.
The policeman opened the doors, and stood back. Joshua noticed that a potted plant next to the door had been knocked flat toward the roadway. Probably caused by someone leaving the venue in a hurry, the detective portion of Joshua’s mind noted. The rest of it went into crisis management.
“After you, sir.”
Joshua went through into a brighter than normal Blind Duck. It was the first time he had been inside when all the harsh lights were on. It looked remarkably plain.
The policeman gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder. “You’ll find Inspector Harman over there.”
He pointed to the other side of the room where a group of figures was milling around. Off to one side was a stretcher supporting a body covered with a white sheet. Seeing that Joshua was still not in full control, he led him directly to Harman.
“Inspector Harman,” said the policeman. “It’s Joshua Richards, as you requested.”
Harman was looking over a clipboard and didn’t look up. “Thank you, detective.” He finished browsing the notes and handed the board back to a white-coated scientist standing nearby. “Thanks, Steve. Knock up a report with the results in by morning. Thank you.” He wiped his brow and rubbed his palms into his eyes. “What a night it’s been,” he said more to himself than anyone else.
Harman turned to Joshua. “We meet again. How come wherever you turn up there’s a dead body? I’m not inviting you around to dinner.”
“Someone’s dead? Who?”
“The owner. Sorry, the ex-owner. Hey, there’s a pun for you, Richards.”
“Pete. You’re telling me Pete is dead?”
“Seems so, although he didn’t have any ID on him. So if we can get a visual identification from you we can all go home. Odd circumstances. It seems he was having a drink with one or two other people and one of them poisoned the drink.”
“Poisoned the drink?”
“Yeah. Huge dose of cyanex. It would’ve been instant. You could say he was dying for a drink.” Joshua shot him a dark look. “You can smell it on him and on the glass. Take a look for yourself.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
“You think you have a choice in this?” Harman said in a not unkind voice.
Harman grabbed Joshua by the arm and led him farther into the hotel. The place was empty except for two medics hovering around a stretcher covered by a white sheet. They walked over to the stretcher.
“OK, boys, stand back,” Harman said. He pulled back the sheet. “That him?”
Lying on the stretcher was a gray face that had belonged to Pete.
“Yes.”
Harman pulled the sheet back over Pete’s prone form. “And have a look at this.” He steered Joshua’s unresisting body to the bar. There were three glasses on the counter. Two were half empty and the third was empty and dry. “What do you make of this?”
“That’s my glass,” Joshua said.
“Your what?”
“My glass. I used to come here so frequently that Pete had a special glass he always served my drinks in. He said it was my lucky glass.”
“It wasn’t too lucky for him. It was the one with the lethal dose.”
Joshua was looking pale.
“Go home and sleep,” Harman said, again not unkindly. “We’ll be in contact with you shortly.”
“I can’t believe it. He was going to go to a better place.”
“All we can hope is that he has.”
Joshua went home in a haze. So much so that the obvious facts didn’t hit him until late the next day.
Clipper looked at the body from behind troubled eyes. He knew it was dead, if anything like this could ever have had life. He didn’t really want to touch it after what had been happening lately. All those bodies Harman had brought in had been weird. This was possibly the weirdest. It had those eyes like the others. They were wrong in themselves. The pupil was almost … animal. There was no other way of describing it. And the head. It looked human, sort of. In this dead state it was easier to notice parts that betrayed origin.
Cyber-genetics had been around for a while but only as a cosmetic enhancement. Fingernails, bio-plugs. Nothing functional. Nothing neuromancer-like. That was just science fiction. After the book there had been a big push into bionic body parts. Science tried to follow fiction. Then it all stopped.
Did life imitate art, or did … He let the question hang in the air, not wishing to complete it. He bit his lower lip.
What happened to that William G-thing author person anyway? Didn’t he suddenly just disappear? It was all so long ago. What if he’d found out something like this or dreamt it or something and it was the truth? What if people came looking for him because he found out weird stuff like this?
What if …
Clipper looked uneasily around the room. It seemed unnaturally dark. The shadows hung within striking range. Silence smothered everything, leaving only the pounding of his heart.
He turned his attention to the body lying on the table in front of him. It wasn’t there.
In a blur where time seemed to slow to a crawl, the body reappeared, standing, two inches in front of him. He gasped in horror. Again something moved so fast it was a blur. A hand was around Clipper’s neck and squeezing hard.
The half-machine, half-man said, “WHAT IF…”
Clipper became aware in his half-crazed state of mind that the shadows were creeping closer. Then bolts of light erupted out of the shadows and leaped around the room. Sharp tools scattered around the room, some stabbing into the two bodies. Clipper tried to cry out but no sound came out. The autopsy table buckled and crushed flat. Mirrors and glass flasks shattered in shards across the room. The flashes of light began to circle around the room in an anticlockwise direction. They gained in speed and there were sounds. The tornado of light contracted toward the two figures.
Na’hash’s head started looking around frantically.
On the edge of his hearing, Clipper heard a hiss like a million voices whispering. A message rang out that seemed to say: There are rules.
Na’hash’s body began to dissolve but still refused to let go of Clipper’s throat. The body was dragged toward the ceiling, taking Clipper with it. Skin and matter was ripped away from the creature, revealing a combination of machine and the human beneath. In accordance with the other bodies, this too had more “force” in it. Blood spurted out and organs exploded. Clipper was covered with remnants of the creature, adding a further level of fear to his ordeal.
Na’hash’s body had nearly all but dissolved. All that was left was an eye and the fingers clutching at Clipper’s throat. The eye stared back at Clipper, full of fierce vengeance, and the fingers tightened their grip. Clippe
r had nothing left to fight with and his body went limp. In a final explosion that destroyed what remained of the room, the fingertips vanished and the eye winked out of existence.
Clipper collapsed to the floor, unconscious, sprawled out among what was left of the ruined and now empty room. Echoes at the edge of hearing, whispered “WHAT IF …” and faded from history.
20
“HOW CAN IT FAIL? It’s the serpent. It can’t fail. We’ve had the Understanding for millennia. It does what it needs to do so we can do what we want. Jesus. This is bad. This was meant to be about our survival, and now we’re out to destroy everything. I’m beginning to think we should destroy everything and start again. Why has it all gone so wrong? This is really bad. We’re really running out of ideas. You got any ideas beyond what’s next?” The person radiated anger of such intensity he nearly glowed in the dark room.
The other person shook his head.
The first character sighed. “Well, this is it. This is our last desperate throw of the dice. Last-chance saloon. Who’s left?”
“That we can trust to do the job? It’s just the four of us.”
“Well, then, we all go. We cannot fail. This really is the end of days for someone, and it’s either them or us. We fight for the future. Send everyone in, and for Christ’s sake, kill him!”
The first person stormed out of the room, meekly followed by the second. Silence settled over the empty room.
“The serpent price will be great. He was not ours to interfere with,” said the first voice.
“In the end we didn’t,” said the second voice.
“But our actions led to that. There will be trouble. We won’t be allowed to walk away without paying a price.”
“Yes, I knew that before. I know the price. But there was no choice.”
“For us, there’s always a choice. Let’s hope we’ve made the right one.”
There was a moment of silence as the two reflected. Was the price worth all of this?
“So it comes to this,” said the first. “We’ve stood for an eternity, and now no more.”
“They’re all going to be after him now. What do we do?” she asked.
