by Rick Wayne
Gilbert nodded. “I dressed as a janitor. I kind of look like one in the suit anyway.”
“So, do that.”
“I’m pretty sure Pugs has his own bathroom.” He did. Gilbert had seen it. “I need something I can give him, something he really, really wants. That way I can get clos--”
“No.” Marcelline shook her head.
“You’re the one who gave me this job.”
“You’ll have to find another way.”
“There isn’t another way.”
“There’s always another way.”
“Fine.” Gilbert shrugged. “Then take me out,” he mumbled through the hood.
Marcelline squinted with her good eye.
Gilbert knelt. “I’m serious. You have a gun on you, in your purse or something, right? I’m sick of this.”
“Of what?”
“Of feeling like I’m going to be killed at any moment.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
“You drug me, kidnap me, order me to kill someone, but then you won’t share any risk. Put yourself in my shoes. What would you think?”
“All right.” Marcelline rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ll talk to our employer.”
“You mean Erasmus Pimpernel. I’m not stupid, you know.”
“I’ll be back soon.” Marcelline started for her car.
“It has to be something good, something you’re sure Pugs wants.”
“I know how these things work, Mr. Tubers.”
“And I want some of my stuff back.” Gilbert threw the words at her like putty as she walked away.
Marcelline turned in the alley. “Don’t get greedy.”
“You need me.”
“Mr. Pimpernel has a number of killers in his employ, men who haven’t set his most profitable brothel on fire.”
“Yeah, but the one who counts is out of commission, isn’t he?”
Marcelline didn’t respond.
“And Pugs knows all your other tricks. That’s why you bought me from the Hand.” Gilbert nodded and pointed at the gangstress. “I see what’s going on. You guys are trying to take over all of the Butcher’s rackets. You need to act fast before Pugs consolidates everything.”
Marcelline took a step toward Gilbert. “None of that entitles you to a damned thing.”
“I want some of my stuff.” Gilbert stood straight. “I don’t care what. I want a sign that he intends to hold up his end of the bargain. That, and something I can use to get close to Pugs, and then it’s a deal.” It would have to work. Gilbert was out of ideas.
Marcelline folded her arms. Then she turned and walked toward the street. “I hope you realize what a dangerous game you’re playing.”
(TWELVE) The Canyons of the Afternoon
“Jackals?”
“That’s what I said. A whole den of ’em.”
“You saw them?”
“I saw the bodies. They had them all laid out covered in sheets, but the cops kept coming over and lifting the sheets off to have a look.”
“Why were you there?”
“The place was a mess. Bones and corpses and shit piled up everywhere, like old ones from the cemetery. Some of them had rags and clothing and crap still attached like they were hundreds of years old.”
“Yeah, they’re scavengers. They raid the graves for food.”
“I know what Jackals do.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you were there.”
“’Cuz you won’t let me finish, dickhead. They wanted a sanitation crew to wipe the whole place clean once the crime scene guys were done.”
“City Hall is trying to hide it from the Empire.”
“Jeez. And you call me a cynic about your girlfriend. They said it was to prevent diseases or something.”
“What did they look like?”
“It was all detectives and officers. Nobody we know.”
“Not the cops. The Jackals.”
“Oh. I couldn’t really tell.”
“I thought you said you got a good look.”
“I did. But they were all skinned.”
“Skinned? You’re joking.”
“I am not, man. My mouth to Goyen’s ears. Twenty or so skinned Jackals with their pets. But that’s not the worst of it. Inside the den, like underground, there were these ropes hanging over this pit that was filled with blood.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“And there were bloody footprints coming out.”
“Man, don’t start with all that Fury business again.”
“Who else would bathe in blood? They love that shit. It calms them down.”
“I’m sick of hearing about the Fury. Everybody is blaming every bad thing that happens in the city on her.”
“Yeah, well, who could kill and skin an entire pack of Jackals?”
“All I’m saying, plenty of bad stuff happened before anyone saw a Fury.”
“True. But nobody wants to go out. I tried—hey, where were you, by the way?”
“I left early. We wanted to beat the traffic to Doubler’s Cross.”
“Why were you at Doubler’s Cross?”
“It’s a cool place.”
“You went all the way uptown to go shopping? Why not just go to the Old Arcade?”
“It’s dirty.”
“It’s cheap.”
“Exactly. It’s cheap.”
“And you were looking for something nice. I get it.”
“The point is, everyone’s taking this Fury business way too seriously.”
“The point is, you were shopping for jewelry for your ’noid girlfriend.”
“We weren’t shopping for jewelry.”
“Have you fucked her? Without paying for it, I mean.”
“We all pay for it.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“It’s not like we were looking at engagement rings or something.”
“You buy her jewelry, but she won’t fucking fuck you?”
“It wasn’t jewelry. And I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t answer either, so we all know what that means.”
“Who the hell is ‘we’?”
“This is what you do.”
“Don’t start with me today, all right? It still hurts.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t do more than kick your head in a few times.”
“I wouldn’t call getting a boot to the face lucky.”
“Look, you owe that much god-damned money, you’re lucky they didn’t do something permanent.”
“They did do something permanent. How hard is it for you to show a little sympathy?”
“Sympathy? For what?”
“I got run over!”
“They didn’t run you over. They held you down and grazed you with a motorcycle tire.”
“Fuck you. Same difference.”
“It’s not the same difference. If they ran you over, you’d be dead.”
“I have to shave my head for the rest of my life because the hair over here won’t ever grow back.”
“Is that why you were buying her jewelry? Afraid she’s gonna dump your ugly ass? That’s it, isn’t it?”
“You know, I did what you said. I talked to Dobie. He told me about defending myself.”
“Yeah? And what did he say?”
“He said I needed to stop hanging around you.”
“What the fuck? He did not.”
“Did so. He said you’re funny as shit but you’re a fucking dick, and you’d just keep making me feel bad about myself.”
“Me? I’m making you feel bad about yourself?”
“That’s what Dobie said.”
“You got your scalp ground off because you owe money to the scariest bastards in town and, instead of paying them off, you give the money to your whore girlfriend—the same girlfriend, by the way, who won’t even fuck you unless you pay for it, same as everyone else—and when I call you out on it, I’m the fucking asshol
e.”
“I’m just telling you what Dobie said.”
“Dobie’s a fighter.”
“So?”
“So, fighters are assholes.”
“Then why did you tell me to talk to him?”
“What does your girlfriend say about the Fury?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her today.”
“Is that so?”
“Shut up. She had to work. It’s free blowjob night or something like that. They expect a crowd.”
“I heard that. What the hell? Kinda defeats the purpose of being a hooker, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re trying to bring in new business. Whatever. She said she might not be around much the next couple days, and I should wait for her to call.”
“You don’t think anything happened to her, do you? You gave her a lot of money.”
“I’m sure Dobie has it safe.”
“What?”
“Yeah. He went with us. You know, for protection.”
“You’re such a moron.”
“I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“She’s fucking with Dobie now. She ditched you. She got you all mangled up and shit, and she’s gone. Hell, you even fuckin’ introduced her to her next victim.”
“She’s not with Dobie.”
“Of course she’s with Dobie.”
“She doesn’t even like Dobie.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s idea was it to bring him to Doubler’s Cross?”
“It was for protection. We had a lot of money.”
“What were you gonna buy?”
“Like luggage and clothes and stuff. For our trip.”
“You didn’t say you were going on a trip.”
“It was Yunique’s idea. Since I’m in trouble with Pugs she thought we could get away for awhile, just get out of the Empire and enjoy ourselves. I’m telling you, she’s not what you think. She’s real sweet.”
“So you bought two tickets and gave them to Dobie. For protection.”
“Well, yeah.”
“And instead of paying back LaMana--”
“It’s Pugs now.”
“Whatever. Instead of paying back the money you owe fucking gangsters, you bought two tickets out of the Empire, neither of which are currently in your possession, is that right?”
“Why do you always assume the worst in people?”
“And she says to bring fuckin’ Dobie the fighter for protection.”
“I’m really worried about you.”
“Fuck you.”
“She doesn’t like Dobie.”
“All women like Dobie. He’s six-foot-six and carved out of rock.”
“Yunique doesn’t.”
“You’re a fucking moron. What’s that?”
“I wrote her a poem. I’m gonna swing by the club tonight and give it to her.”
“Fuck. A poem. You’re gonna try to win her back from Dobie the rock-hard fighter with a poem.”
“She’s not wit--never mind. I’m leaving.”
“Read it to me.”
“No! I’m not gonna read it to you. You’re just gonna make fun. I’m going.”
“Sit down, asshole. Read me your poem.”
“No.”
“Read it. Please. I wanna hear it.”
“Really?”
“Really. Come on. Sit down. Put your stupid jacket down and read me the god-damned poem.”
“Okay. I spent a lot of time on it. I think she’ll really like it. I saw a book of poetry in her room when I was waiting for her to finish with a client.”
“Just read it already.”
“I thought you were there.
In Parkus
In Adamour
In Old Amazonus
I thought I passed you in Doubler’s Cross,
But I turned and you were gone.
And there was the meat and the birds and plenty of empty fingers, but no you.
I got in my car and drove to all the places we were seen.
And we were seen.
We were people then,
But not anymore.
Now it’s all luck and fire and halfsies and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.
And you’re gone.
And I drove through the canyons of the afternoon and asked, Who’s there? Who’s there?
But no one’s there.
Just you and me and the city,
And I know I am home.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t get it.”
“What do you mean you don’t get it?”
“You don’t have a car.”
“I gotta go.”
“Wait. It’s real good. I just don’t get it, is all. Explain it to me.”
“I’m not gonna explain it to you. Look, I gotta get ready for tonight.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Hey, man?”
“Yeah?”
“Good luck. I mean it.”
(THIRTEEN) Attack of the Venom Wasps
“Fuck, Vernal, you smell like dish soap.”
Vernal turned to the big man next to him. Then he looked at the well-endowed brunette. Then he turned back to his drink. “And you smell like a whore’s snatch.”
The woman smiled as Dobie grabbed the stunted man and lifted him off his feet. “What?”
Vernal didn’t flinch. “Gonna hit me again?”
The big man noticed people staring and dropped Vernal back on his bar stool. “Not fuckin’ worth it.”
Vernal swallowed the rest of his drink and raised the glass to the mechanical bartender in a silent request for another. “It’s not soap.”
“What?”
“I said it’s not soap. It’s lemon juice.” His grated voice sputtered the words like a two-stroke engine.
“Did you fuckin’ shower in it or something?”
“I hear it’s good for the skin.”
The bartender slid along a track at the base of the bar. He stopped before Vernal and poured another drink. His pseudoflesh had worn away, and he greeted the world with lidless eyes and a constant metal grin.
Vernal shuddered. It was creepy. “Where’d you get the girl?”
“None of your god-damned business.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Hi.” The woman reached around the hulking man. “I’m Yunique.”
“Yes, you are.” Vernal noticed one of her eyelids drooped which gave her a seductive, sinister appeal.
“I love your voice.” She giggled. “You sound like a grumpy cat.”
“Thank you.” Vernal bent to kiss her hand, but Dobie slapped it away.
“Don’t touch her. Pervert.”
Vernal smiled and bared his chipped teeth at the fighter. “Where the hell is he?”
Dobie looked at an empty chair in a corner of the bar near the window, which was heavy and reinforced with steel cross-bars. “He’ll be here.”
“That’s what you said when we got here. And again twenty minutes ago. Yesterday you said he’s here every day. All the time.”
“He is.”
Vernal looked at the chair, then around the room, then back to the chair. “Well, I don’t see him.”
It was the middle of the day and the bar was mostly empty. The TV in the corner was playing the Westheria-Japanamania game. The Giants were creaming the Imperials 214-73.
Dobie took another drink.
“So?” Vernal pushed.
“So, something musta happened.”
“Something?”
“How the fuck should I know? The guy’s here every fuckin’ day like clockwork. He sits in the corner and reads the paper and no one fuckin’ talks to him. Then he goes home and no one sees him until he comes back the next day. Been that way for months.”
“Where�
�s home?”
“What?”
“You said he goes home. Where’s home?”
“How the fuck should I know where he lives?” Dobie glanced toward the door.
It was quick, but Vernal saw it. “I’m not waiting any longer.” He threw some money on the bar and stood up.
Dobie put a heavy hand on Vernal’s shoulder. His knuckles were well-scarred. “Just wait a minute.”
Vernal brushed the big man’s hands off him and stepped toward the door without a word. He stopped as two men walked in. He took one step back and ran into the big fighter, who rested both his hands on Vernal’s arms.
“Got you, you fucker.”
Vernal looked for another exit. The bar’s few patrons stood and went for the door as the two men walked toward him.
Dobie pushed Vernal forward. “Here he is, just like I told you.”
The first man was dark skinned with thick, curly hair raised in spikes. His eyes were lean and he stared at Vernal’s bones. His voice was deep like the night. “I can see that.”
The second man was thinner and bald and wore a sneer on the right side of his face that he clearly never dropped. He was dressed in old battle fatigues and held a knife. He pointed it at Vernal. “You must be Vernal Wort. My name is Sciever. This is my associate, Rabid.”
Vernal frowned. “You might wanna have him put down, then.”
Sciever smiled and played with his knife. “Do you know who we work for?”
“Excuse me?”
“Answer the question,” Rabid growled.
“What is this all about?” Vernal asked.
Dobie smacked Vernal hard.
“Ow.” Vernal rubbed his ear.
“Mr. Pimpernel would like to talk to you.”
“Who?”
Rabid nodded and Dobie grabbed Vernal’s arms, holding him still as the two men stepped closer.
“Where’s the key?” Rabid asked.
All three men towered over Vernal. “What key?”
Rabid pointed to the bar. Dobie took Vernal’s left arm and yanked it. The stubby man pulled as hard as he could, but the fighter was a rock, and he flattened Vernal’s hand on the wood.
“Wait, I seem to remem--”
Sciever cut off Vernal’s index finger before the little man could finish his sentence. There was a crack as the knife severed bone. Vernal screamed and collapsed, but Dobie kept his left hand pinned to the bar. The bartender had disappeared. Yunique held her mouth in excitement. She stared at the blood dribbling onto the counter.
