by K. C. Finn
“That’s not the password?” Cae questions.
“The drugs don’t lie,” Kendra answers. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff those creeps said under the influence.”
“Never tell me,” he says quickly, reaching for the phone.
Cae types the number in silence, Kendra watching him, her mouth open a little in her usual ungainly way. He casts her a final glance as the receiver rings, and then a voice comes on the line.
“Yes?” The voice is the same one as before.
“Rex,” says Cae.
“What’s your poison?” Asks the voice.
“Two for the circus.”
“Location?”
“Buchanan Street.”
“2 A.M.”
The line goes dead. Cae repeats the time to Kendra, who checks her watch.
“We’ve got less than three hours then,” she says. “You sure it was wise to let them pick us up right on our doorstep?”
“They won’t recognise me,” Cae assures.
Kendra cocks an eyebrow. “And that’s because…?”
“This time I’m going to look like a real customer,” he explains. “I’ll show you when we get back to my place.”
Kendra nods, fishing two small discs out of her pocket and putting them on the desk between them. The discs are about the size of a penny. Cae reaches across his desk for a bottle of water. He hands it to Kendra first, who snaps the cap and takes a swig.
“Cheers detective,” she says, picking up one of the discs. She drops it into her mouth and grabs another glug of water before passing the bottle to Cae.
“Cheers sergeant,” he replies, then he too swallows a disc.
“How long did Spinner say it’ll take them to set up around the circus once they find us?” Kendra asks.
“Twenty minutes, they hope,” Cae answers, taking another gulp of water to soothe his throat. “I’m preparing for forty though.”
“Forty minutes,” Kendra repeats. “How do you suggest we keep our heads down for that long in there?”
“I thought I might do a bit of shopping,” Cae says, to which Kendra lets out a raucous laugh.
Spinner enters the office as her laughter abates.
“Is everything set?” Cae inquires.
The officer puffs up his cheeks indignantly. “This had better work, Rex,” he says. “Have you swallowed the satellite discs?” Cae and Kendra nod in unison. “And what time is the White Van Man coming?”
“2 A.M. at Buchanan Street,” Cae answers.
“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Spinner says in a more serious tone. “Did you get a disguise arranged, or are you just doing your mysterious leather man look again?”
Cae frowns at him. “Trust me; the clientele at the circus aren’t going to be paying attention. The only person who’d know it’s me is Jobe himself.”
“That should buy us some time,” replies the officer. PC Spinner shifts from one foot to the other. He skews his small mouth to one side. “One slight issue that you might want to know about,” he mumbles.
“What?” Cae and Kendra ask in unison.
“Angelica Lane disappeared,” Spinner answers. “Literally, actually. Nobody seems to know what happened to her, or who saw her last.”
“She’s run away before we can arrest her for aiding and abetting,” Cae supposes.
“Little rat,” Kendra sneers.
“Unless,” Cae adds, his brow furrowing as a strange instinct forces its way into his head. “Unless Damian really did want her back.”
Kendra gives him a quizzical look.
“Keep an eye out when we get in there,” Cae warns.
Kendra nods, picking up her new over-the-head mask. Cae does the same a moment later. Spinner leaves with little attempt to disguise his exasperation.
“We’re not really dressing the same as before, are we?” Kendra asks. “‘Cause that’s pretty much the first rule of covert ops.’
“Of course not,” Cae replies. “We’d be far too easy to spot. I have something planned.”
The ex-soldier catches his eye with a wicked smile.
“Can’t wait to see your new look,” she says with a lopsided grin.
29.
At 1:45 in the morning a figure all in black stands at the bottom of the stairs in the home of Caecilius Rex. The figure wears a high-collared coat and a black polo neck sweater. It flexes its hands, listening to the squeak of the leather gloves. The figure wears a gasmask all the way over its head, with eyeholes darkened like sunglasses. It shifts its manly gait back and forth for a moment, then checks its watch, revealing dark brown skin around the watch strap.
“Cae!” Kendra calls impatiently. “We need to be outside in a few.”
“I’ll be there now,” comes the detective’s voice from upstairs. She can tell by the tone that he’s already wearing his mask.
“How do you wear these things all the time?” Shouts Kendra, flexing her fingers again in the leather gloves. “They’re driving me crazy already.”
A footstep at the top of the stairs catches her attention, and she looks up to a pair of denim legs descending. As Cae’s hips come into view, Kendra does her best to hold in the gasp she feels coming on. She sees his mottled hands come into view in the dim hallway light, shortly followed by his garish arms.
The skin is less red in this light than it was at the hospital, more of a maroon shade, apart from the white blotches that are scattered all over his forearms and biceps. The burns have tide marks, uneven lines that meet and part with no real order, as though the acid must have lapped away at them for some time. Where the folds of skin should be at his elbows, Cae only has a mass of coloured and distorted flesh. It is only when he crooks his arms that Kendra can actually see where his elbows are. He points at himself with a gnarled finger.
“If I don’t look like a serious customer for Skin Traders now, then just shoot me,” he says.
Kendra is grateful that the mask hides her whole face, because she can just laugh off his line without having to fake the smile. Cae’s loose shirt reveals his collarbones beneath the edge of his gasmask, and Kendra is equally horrified to notice that the discoloured burns are there too. His whole chest must be covered, his back too. Only a few days ago Kendra had thought quietly to herself that Cae’s back was really smooth when she took his concealed knife. Now she knows the reason why.
“It’s awful I know,” he says softly as he leads her through the clean air partition. “Just try to imagine it as a costume.”
“I’m alright,” Kendra lies as they step out of the front door. “You look good. Convincing I mean.”
Cae pauses a moment as he opens the front door, and a curl of brown smoke invites itself in, only to be sucked up by the air filters. Kendra can’t make his eyes out under the all-over mask, but she can see his shoulders arching.
“You know, there are other disguises,” she reasons quietly.
He turns his head to her a little. “I was just thinking,” he starts, opening the door full swing and stepping out into the night. “This must be the only place in the country where looking like this will actually help me to fit in.”
The White Van Man pulls up in his anonymous transport before Kendra can think of a reply. He looks out of the window at Cae, then Kendra, and then once more at Cae before he pushes the button for the doors.
Inside the van is more crowded than the last time. There are no seats, just a mass of masked faces mumbling to one another in the dim light. Cae steps into the mass first and Kendra sees the people parting, making a whole lot of space that didn’t seem to exist a moment before. As the shady people separate she sees the grimy old man who wanted to make an offer on her a few days ago.
“Move,” says Cae with a snarl.
The old man looks him over, his ancient and wrinkled brow rising in horror and fear. He stumbles to his feet and straight into another customer.
“No problem fellas,” he chatters nervously. “No problem at all.”
Kendra feels a little pang of pride at the word “fellas”, convinced now that her attempt to impersonate Cae’s usual style is paying off.
The pair sit down together in the old man’s space, and a frail looking woman shuffles away from Cae’s exposed arms as he puts himself next to her. Though their gasmasks shield their gazes, Kendra can feel a van-full of eyes travelling in their direction.
Cae rubs his raw hands together suddenly, and Kendra notices the skin has split on one of his palms. He turns to her properly, and she can see his bright blue eyes echoing out of the deep cover-all mask. They are wide, but focused.
“This is going to work,” he murmurs.
Kendra nods, but drops her gaze to his now-bleeding hands once more.
30.
Arriving at the Atomic Circus for a second time reminds Cae of the feeling you get when you enter a party that you’re not supposed to be at. There are equal parts of shame and excitement taking over his thoughts as he scans the stalls at the entrance. It’s easier to see ahead in the dark, the endless stalls are set up with neon lighting. A quick sweep tells him that the layout is much the same as before.
“I’m thinking the artillery bit will be dead centre like it was last time,” Cae says into the earpiece of Kendra’s mask. “When the squad gets here you need to lead them straight to it and shut it down.”
“Agreed,” Kendra adds. “There’s enough guns around already without giving them a whole stall’s worth to shoot at us with.”
“And remember,” Cae continues. “Be me. Nobody knows that I’m not myself in here.”
It’s strange to look at the haunting figure nodding back at him in his clothes, particularly with Kendra’s eyes blacked out to hide the difference in their skin shade. A few passing people cast them nervous glances, but Cae knows it’s not her they’re looking at. He glances down at his gnarled hands, the raw-looking skin still glows in the dark venue. The neon lights highlight every seared crevasse in his fingers.
“You’d better head up there,” Cae says sharply, looking back to Kendra. “Go and do a little browsing around the weapons area until the Pandas get here.”
Kendra nods again. “Is it strictly illegal if I buy something pretty?” She inquires. Cae can almost imagine her lopsided grin under the cover-all-mask.
“I think I could find it in my heart to turn a blind eye,” he says dryly. “Now go.”
“What’re you going to do?” She asks.
“Scout for Damian,” Cae answers.
But when Kendra is out of sight, Caecilius Rex makes a decision. Listening out for the familiar call of the seller, he finds the stall he’s looking for in a matter of moments. Customers part like an ocean as he makes himself known.
“What could you do in about twenty minutes?” Cae questions.
The rough-faced thug in charge of Skin Traders looks Cae over with hard, beady eyes. The thug doesn’t flinch at the sight of his mottled skin. He’s seen worse, Cae supposes.
“Tall order,” he observes. “Could do a hand, or the topside of a shoulder.”
Cae smiles under his mask. “A hand’ll do fine. How much?”
“Three grand,” is the reply, and the thug is already pulling back a dirty surgical curtain. Behind it sits a red-haired woman with a needle, and behind her are stacks of glass panels containing freshly preserved skin. “Any colour preference?”
Cae unfurls a wad of banknotes from his jeans, rubbing his forearm against the spot where a gun is holstered under his arm. “Something pale,” he replies.
The money is exchanged as the redhead fishes out a few plates of skin for Cae’s approval. He nods at them, and he’s gestured into the chair beside the woman. “Right or left?” She asks jovially.
Cae puts his right hand forward, and the needle pierces his hand without so much as another word exchanged.
“Not seen you around here before, love,” says the woman, opening up the first lot of skin from the pile.
“I’m usually more covered up,” he answers. The woman laughs childishly. She puts on a pair of gloves and grabs a bottle from under the desk.
“This is a light acid mix, it helps the skin take,” she explains. “I don’t suppose you’ll mind the sting?”
She says the last with a giggle in her tone, like she thinks he was burnt in some great criminal caper.
“Not at all,” he answers. She pads on the acid, and thanks to the needle full of anaesthetic, Cae only feels a tingle. The woman picks up a needle from a tray of fluid and threads it with surgical string. “Can you answer me something?” He asks.
“I can try,” the redhead answers. The woman begins her work on his hand, her blue eyes focused hard on the area. For a moment Cae almost appreciates the diligence, until he remembers that doing a bad job here probably means getting shot in the head, or something worse still.
“I hear there’s an important guy in the police comes to the circus sometimes,” Cae begins, “he’s involved with the chemical people?”
“Oh sure,” says the woman flippantly. “He’s a big influence down here. He sent a message round just now. These stitches’ll go black for a while afterwards, that’s okay right?”
“That’s fine,” Cae says, though he’s thinking very little about the needle tearing through his numb flesh. “A message about what?”
“A wanted man,” says the woman. “There’s a reward for taking him to the chief alive. Are you into that line of work?”
“I could be, for a reward,” Cae answers, his fears for Kendra’s safety now confirmed. Half the circus will be searching for a gloved man all in black. But now he knows that Damian’s here too somewhere, at least. “How much longer will you be?”
“We’re about half-applied. I’d say ten minutes,” the woman replies. “Your skin’s taking it really well. Wish I had customers like you every day.”
“Great. So what does this wanted guy look like?” Cae asks, though he can already guess what’s coming.
“Pale skin, black hair, blue eyes, dressed head to toe in black. And gloves.” The woman moves on to a new sheet of skin, and Cae notices the blood on the fingertips of her glove. “Apparently the gloves are important,” she adds.
“Where do you take him when you’ve got him?” Cae presses, trying to keep his tone level.
“Eager much?” She observes with another giggle. “I’m liking you more and more, mister. There’s a red light path outside of the marketplace. You know about light paths?”
Cae’s eyes narrow under his mask. “Like the ones that lead to, say, side-buildings?”
“That’s right love,” the redhead says with a nod. Cae feels her turning his hand over at the wrist, but he daren’t look down at it as the realisation of what he’s let her do starts to sink in. “Six red lights and you wait there. I should only be another five minutes here,” she continues. “A quick sterilisation and you can go find your man.”
Cae smiles under his mask.
“That I can.”
31.
As Kendra browses the impressive array of knuckle-dusters opposite the artillery stalls, her thoughts drift inevitably to her detective ally. It’s hard to say whether Cae will ever tell her how he became so horrifically scarred, but now, having seen the extent of his gruesome injuries, she wonders if she even wants to know. Whatever happened to Caecilius Rex is a dark and guarded secret.
Kendra can almost laugh at their chance pairing now that she sees where it has led them. To have found a neighbour with a past as bleak and damaging as her own is one hell of a coincidence. Or perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps the cynical and the damaged will always find each other, like seeking like. Perhaps she and Cae would always have ended up together.
Soldiers of the Special Brigade do not often think about fate; they are usually much more occupied with such menial tasks as running for their lives and saving innocent bystanders. Kendra had always stayed true to type and was not especially fond of deep thinking in the past. She had been adept at clearing
her mind of complications, until her turbulent career in the forces was cut suddenly short.
Since then, complications are all she’s known.
“Well look who it is,” says a voice so close that Kendra leaps a hundred and eighty degrees.
She sees the gun pointed at her head before the face behind it. It is an ugly face, but it is grinning profusely. And she knows to whom it belongs.
“Hello detective,” says Leroy.
Kendra dares not reply; she doesn’t know how much of her accent the mask will disguise. She simply gives a nod to the man, raising her hands to the level of her shoulders to be clear of her weapons. Leroy looks her over happily.
“The boss-man’s really looking forward to the second attempt,” he says.
From somewhere nearby several other gun-toting goons appear, until a tightly-organised circle has formed around Kendra.
“Let’s go,” says one man, jabbing his gun into her shoulder blade.
The group walks slowly through the crowds of people, who continue their shopping experience happily. Kendra supposes that it isn’t unusual to see people being led around at gunpoint at the circus. For a moment she thinks that they are heading back in Cae’s direction, but after a short while the group breaks out into the smoke-filled expanse beyond the marketplace.
Red lights lead the way.
“So how do we split the reward, Leroy?” Asks a man who is somewhere to Kendra’s left.
“I’m taking my cut, and I don’t care what you guys do with the rest,” he answers sharply. Leroy is watching Kendra’s face carefully; he is trying to look into the darkened sockets of her cover-all mask. She tries to keep focusing ahead into the darkness to obscure his view.
It is then that she sees a figure waiting by the second red light. After a split second the figure steps backwards into the darkness. Kendra can hear the other men muttering and attempting the division of figures around her. She can feel Leroy still studying her head, growing more suspicious by the moment. No-one has noticed the figure but her.
When they reach the second light the figure is nowhere to be seen, but Leroy calls the men to a halt.
