The compass helped maintain my grip on the world I knew, and for that I felt thankful. Entering and searching a few dust-filled, rotted houses had me gripping the device tighter still. In my other hand, my gun felt loose in my sweaty grip. Their obvious abandonment had me wondering whether Sonia was held even further beyond Dunwich’s confines.
I hoped not, for the clock was ticking and my time was slipping away.
The village’s rundown state started to weigh even more heavily on me, so much I felt I might never leave, or if so, I would do so as a shambling, skeletal pile of rags, a victim of Dunwich’s diseased, decrepit unlife.
My knees growing weak, I walked shoulders slumped, my arms dangling at my sides as my footsteps fell heavy and leaden upon the filth-covered ground. I felt sure this place would be my end. Soon I would drop, becoming so much slimy, decaying mulch.
I turned a corner, staggering more than walking, and glimpsed something that cured me in an instant.
Conspicuous on a street of garbage stood two shiny black cars, a Chrysler Saratoga accompanied by a Ford Continental. Both were far from old, far from damaged. To be exact, they stood out like two sore, shiny thumbs.
I checked my watch. The time: one thirty-two.
My balance returning with each nervous breath, I snuck towards the house they stood before using the shadows of another, taking extra care to avoid what lay beneath my feet. My approach soon brought voices to my ears. Paydirt, I hoped. A minute later I halted before a window covered in damp wooden boards, the latter filled with knots and gaps. I used these to see just who the voices belonged to.
The room I peeked into, formed from bare plaster walls and not much else, held two men.
And was I surprised! Why, I was actually taken aback. The last of my earlier, Dunwich-fueled funk dissipated as I clasped eyes on Braces and the Ape. The latter sat with his nose bandaged from our earlier encounter. Braces had replaced his bright red pair for ones of a more sober brown.
Hung somewhere in that room, a gas lantern flickered and hissed, illuminating their ugly mugs. Sat before a long, uneven table, I’d caught the two mid-conversation.
“If we’re gonna kill the brat anyway, why not now?” Braces said, his words sending my teeth snapping down against my lower lip.
“Boy, if you wanna get along in this world, you gotta learn to follow orders.” The Ape’s voice, clogged and nasal, brought a vicious smile to my lips. “Plus,” he continued, “what if the boss calls back, wanting to speak to her?”
“Hell,” Braces replied, “I’m sure Rosie could put the kid’s voice on if need be.”
The Ape grunted in agreement and stood, pushing his chair back. Following his movements I watched him head right before he paused before a weird looking object.
Half-hidden behind it, he said, “I’d love to know how this thing works.”
The object was formed from a cluster of pale creamy cylinders of uneven height and width. Braced together by metal strips, the tallest stood topped by a thin, zigzagging metal pipe. The cylinders disappeared into a dark wooden box, this forming the base of the device. Like a radio, it had dials and switches built into its surface.
A thick black wire, trailing from the object, was connected to a telephone.
“That Frenchy sure is clever,” Braces replied.
So telephone lines just weren’t needed, here in Dunwich.
I left the scumbags to it and made my way to the side of the house. Passing the door to their room, I went in search of another.
Within a dark, cramped alleyway I discovered the door I wanted. With a slow turn of the handle, I found it unlocked.
I opened it up and was faced by sheer darkness. I dropped the compass into my pocket and cursed silently as the door continued inward. It creaked loudly, the racket filled the black air. Fumbling in the dark, I found and retrieved the handle to stop the door mid-movement. I held my breath, listened intently, and tried to hear whether my entry had been noticed.
I heard a low mumbling somewhere off to my right: Braces and the Ape talking away, ignorant to my noisy entrance.
I stepped into the darkness, making slow, careful steps while waiting for my eyes to adjust. A minute or two later I realized the scene wasn’t in any hurry to change.
A wall stood a few yards ahead of me, sheer blackness forming the spaces to my left and right. Stepping carefully, for the floor held a symphony of wooden creaks, I headed right.
I was forced to follow the wall like a blind man, my fingers trailing damp plaster as I followed the muffled sounds. They grew louder as I walked, and I was beginning to discern words when my hand fell through nothingness.
I reached out my foot, finding one elevation, followed by another. I’d come upon a staircase. Sonia was somewhere up there, my gut said in a whisper.
I paused, briefly, then went for it, making my slow way up and towards a light source.
When I got top I found that the light issued from somewhere to my right. I went into a crouch and turned to discover an open doorway. Within, an uncovered window provided the illumination.
This was the first decent light I’d seen in an age. My excitement grew as I heard a voice that sounded like Sonia’s, a child-like humming from beyond the doorway.
Still I crept, slowly but surely, calming my breath to stem my excitement. Eddie’s little sister was still far from safe.
I reached the doorway with barely a creak and bent to my knees, taking a sneaky peek inside.
What I witnessed there both gladdened and pained me. Ahead and to my right, in a room of bare plaster walls and uncarpeted floorboards, sat a little girl in her nightgown, cross-legged upon a pile of grubby looking mattresses. The dirt-stained window lay directly behind her. I recognized the humming girl playing with the corn doll as Sonia instantly.
Seated on a stool before Sonia was a blubbery whale of a woman, in a gaudy, flowery dress that probably would’ve made a fine two-man tent.
She sat leafing through a magazine, but stopped to stare at Sonia’s sad little form. “Child,” she said, in a pleasant tone that betrayed her ugliness, “if you don’t pipe down you’re gonna get another slap.”
Sonia froze up and began to sob quietly.
I’d seen enough, and with the whale’s loud, asthmatic breathing masking my entry, I sneaked in towards her. Sonia, noticing my approach, looked down again as I placed a finger to my lips. Quickly behind the whale’s heaving form, I put her out with a crack to the head, easing the monstrosity to the floor in case her fall alerted the two downstairs.
Hah. Maybe if I’d let her fall she would’ve gone right through the floor, crushing the two bastards.
With the whale bested, Sonia jumped up off the bed and shouted, “Uncle Trevor!”
I hushed her, leaving the girl stood confused, the little doll dangling limply from her hand.
“We have to stay quiet for now, hon,” I whispered, grunting as I lowered the woman to the floor. Still on my knees, I beckoned Sonia towards me. She hugged me hard enough to crush the breath out of me. Tears formed at the hell those bastards had put her through. And not forgetting Boss Logan, now there was a bastard I wouldn’t be forgiving anytime soon.
“Now listen honey,” I said, taking hold of Sonia’s tiny chin, “you’re gonna have to cover up your ears while I go downstairs. I need to frighten those nasty men away with my gun.”
“But...”
“No,” I interrupted, “I do this and soon you’ll be back home with your mamma.”
Sonia smiled and nodded in understanding.
The happy little tyke even helped me tie Rosie up, grabbing me a pair of fallen, raggedy curtains to use on her flabby arms and legs.
Then, leaving Sonia stood with her hands over her ears, I headed back downstairs, to go “frighten off” those nasty men.
I took Braces out with one to the head, putting two through his chest for good measure. The Ape, crafty in his jungle ways, got a bullet off before expiring. But, with half his face missi
ng, he found aiming difficult. His bullet hit the table, smashing out two of that fruity contraption’s cylinders.
I checked the phone but it didn’t work, which meant giving Barnes and Eddie the good news would have to wait until I could get back to Arkham.
We left the whale still bound and gagged, escaping in their very own Ford Continental. Little Sonia sat grinning away beside me as I drove. Her day had definitely taken a turn for the better. Mine too, as it happened.
I checked my watch. It read one fifty-two.
I mopped my brow with a less than white hanky and screamed at Eddie McCoy. “Have you got mud in your ears, kid?”
He glared at me and mumbled something derogatory which might have hurt my delicate feelings were I not so worried about the whereabouts of Towers and Eddie’s kid sister, Sonia.
It was necessary to scream over the noise of the fight crowd—most of them stewed—and even more necessary to convince Eddie to stay away from the devastating power of Noah Whately’s iron right hand.
“Lay off the kid,” grunted Eddie’s corner man, Max Brandywine. “He’ll make it up in the next round.”
“It won’t go past the next round,” I growled. “Not if he don’t box from the outside and work his jab instead of trying to slug it out with the creep.”
The sixty-second rest period was ticking down and so was my patience.
Slapping Eddie on the shoulder, I tried my best to grin. “You got to trust me, kid. Towers won’t let anything happen to your sister. So please, just dance around this ogre until he gets here. And don’t even think about taking a dive for that scum Logan unless I give you the word.”
My efforts to get through to Eddie were stopped by the clang of the bell signaling round two. Across the ring I spotted Logan and a couple of his monkeys take their seats at ringside. I guess he was determined to see the results of his handiwork in person. Well, fine. If Eddie had to toss the most important fight of his young career then I’d make damn sure he wasn’t the only one going down.
I watched the two fighters approach the center of the ring and cursed. Eddie didn’t stand a chance unless he took my advice and finessed Whately. The crowd cheered as Eddie snapped a couple of stiff jabs to Whately’s chin and then danced away. Whately grinned as if to say he ate such punches for breakfast and tried to unload with a powerful right cross that caught nothing but air, causing him to stumble awkwardly and look foolish. The crowd jeered derisively and a dark expression of rage settled over the larger boxer’s face.
“Good job!” I bellowed. “Stick and move... just stick and...”
Someone tugged at my sleeve and I turned to read them the riot act. It was one of Logan’s boys who quickly raised both hands in a don’t be alarmed manner.
“What the fuck you want?” I asked, gripping the cold steel in my jacket pocket.
“The boss says he don’t care how long the kid drags it out just as long as you’re clear on what happens if he don’t eat the canvas.”
“Oh, we ain’t forgetting,” I said. “I promise you that we ain’t forgetting a damn thing about this.”
“Well then, see you around, Barnes,” he replied, heading back to his seat.
“Yeah,” I whispered to myself. “You’ll be seeing me all right.”
I turned my attention back to the action and smiled at Noah Whately’s feeble attempts to cut off the ring on Eddie.
“Looking good!” I yelled as Eddie again peppered Whately’s face with jabs and then danced out of range.
It was impossible for Eddie to put a hurt on Whately while the red-headed behemoth was protected by the Frenchmen’s spell. On the other hand, there wasn’t much that could happen to Eddie as long as he followed instructions and boxed at long range. The big problem with this strategy is that Eddie’s a scrapper and prefers to mix it up with an opponent rather than win a dance contest. I can’t say that I faulted him for that but my main concern was keeping him in one piece until Towers returned and until Geoffrey could hopefully work his magic and counteract the Frenchman’s hoodoo. Even if the spell on Whately remained in effect it was still possible for Eddie to win on points once it was clear that Sonia was safe.
Now this was all good and well as long as Eddie stayed cool and didn’t try to make like the knock-out artists he worshiped. During the remainder of the round he kept his poise and easily outpointed Whately. That left eight rounds or roughly thirty-two minutes for Towers to show up like the cavalry and save the day. Barring that, I was afraid I might be looking at Barnes’ last stand.
Three more rounds flew past and Eddie was looking good. He continued to out-box his larger and stronger opponent without getting himself too banged up. At the end of each round he returned to the corner and looked to me for word on his sister’s safety. I could only encourage him to have faith in Towers while trying not to show my own concerns in the matter. I muttered a quick prayer under my breath and then watched as things turned to shit during Round Six.
Things were going according to plan for the first third of the round as Eddie hammered Whately with a continuous barrage of punches while remaining untouched in the process. Then for reasons known only to himself—pride would be my guess—the kid decided to go toe to toe with his magically protected opponent. The crowd was on its feet as the two fighters traded a series of heavy blows that echoed through the smoke-filled arena. During this exchange Eddie was staggered and the only thing saving his bacon was the fact that Whately was so blown from chasing the kid around the ring that he couldn’t press his advantage to a conclusion.
Eddie was in bad shape but managed to stay away from Whately until the bell ended the round. His left eye was badly swollen and his handsome face was bruised and battered.
“Jesus Christ, kid!” I yelled as he collapsed onto the stool. “You trying to ruin everything?”
“What’s the use?” He mumbled as Max Brandywine and Nicky Spitz the cut man worked on the kid’s face with icy bars in a desperate attempt to alleviate the swelling. “If I got to lose to save Sonia then I at least want to go down swinging. I’m tired of running away from Whately.”
“Look kid,” I growled, “Just play it safe a couple of more rounds. There’s still plenty of time to get yourself killed if that’s what you’re wanting.”
I glanced at my watch and wondered if Towers was going to make it. There were a whole lot of things that could’ve happened and most of them weren’t good. Still, my partner was an unstoppable force and I had to believe he would show no matter the odds. With that in mind, I spent the remainder of the rest period beseeching Eddie to keep boxing and not get himself kayoed for nothing.
The bell sounded for Round Seven and Eddie rose from his stool with determination. I just hoped he would follow my instructions and play it safe for as long as possible.
The first few seconds of the round quickly dashed such hopes. Hell, nobody else ever listens to Riley Barnes so why should Eddie McCoy be any different?
I watched in frustration as Eddie went straight toward Whately. He threw the by-now obligatory jabs which had scored so many points for him through the first six rounds of the fight. But instead of moving away as instructed, he bobbed and weaved in front of his foe, avoiding some big punches and generally frustrating the hell out of Whately. The angry lummox tried to land some haymakers and succeeded in only looking foolish.
The crowd was clearly behind Eddie, hooting and jeering at each flailing attempt by Whately to land a solid blow. The kid seemed energized by the vocal support and moved in close to land a wicked combination of hooks and uppercuts that would’ve floored a normal opponent. And therein lay the problem.
Noah Whately was incapable of being hurt while protected by sorcery. So instead of going down he shrugged off the punches and fired back with an uppercut of his own. The crowd gasped as the punch literally lifted Eddie off his feet to deposit him on his ass half way across the ring.
The referee moved in at this point and started the ten count.
Max
Brandywine, Nicky Spitz and an arena full of fans screamed for the kid to rise. With no sign of my partner, I started to think maybe it was best if Eddie stayed down for the count in order to avoid the beating that was sure to come if he made it to his feet. Though glassy-eyed and unsteady, Eddie McCoy just managed to make it to his feet before the Ref reached ten.
The official allowed the bout to continue and the crowd roared its approval.
Even a lug like Whately was smart enough to go for the kill with a dazed foe in front of him. He moved forward like a tank and threw a punch that while only grazing Eddie’s shoulder sent him careening against the ropes. He came off them like a drunken ballerina and managed to retain his balance by sheer luck. Only due to the merciful slowness of Whately was he able to survive the remainder of the seventh round.
The kid collapsed onto his stool between rounds and looked accusingly at me. He didn’t have to ask the question because I’d been wondering the same one myself.
Where was Towers and Sonia?
I didn’t know what to tell the hurting young kid in front of me. I’d grown so used to Trevor Towers doing all the larger than life things he set out to do that it was sort of a shock to find myself contemplating getting out of this fix on my own. Truth be told, I didn’t plan on getting out of it. I planned on payback. If Towers wasn’t back with Eddie’s sister in the next few minutes then it meant they weren’t coming back.
And that meant that Logan and anyone standing between him and me was going to die. I could give Eddie McCoy that much. And that glorious bastard of a partner, Towers, I damn sure owed him that.
“Look kid,” I said, “don’t quit now. You can still win this fight on points but you got to box. Win the damn fight and let me take care of Logan!”
He looked right through me and refused to acknowledge any of the pleading instructions given to him by his corner. The bell signaled the start of Round Eight and the kid took a beating but somehow managed to remain standing. There was no reasoning with him and he was probably behind in the fight on points after sustaining two knockdowns.
Arkham Nights Page 24
