The choke collar played like hell against Ray Bright who was better named Panting Pete at this point. He was naked like the cadaver he’d hung for his party that inspired this exit from the world. And curiously his dick was hard as a rock.
“You suppose he appreciates finding out that he’s into erotic-asphyxiation at this late date?” Klepsky said.
“I’m sure it’ll add meaning to his afterlife,” Adrian said, keeping his eyes on the choking man. He kept pulling Klepsky back from trying to rescue him. One time he grabbed hold of Bright’s feet and wouldn’t let go, until it was clear that Adrian pulling him away from the dangling man was just adding to his torment. So Klepsky had no choice but to release him.
A minute or so later…
“There, it’s done,” Klepsky said, feeling for a pulse. He took out a hypodermic from his cigar case, injected Ray Bright with it. “Now, we wait.”
Klepsky kept checking his watch. “Just how long is this supposed to take?”
“As long as it takes. I didn’t exactly get the full lecture from Celine when I picked up the reworked formula from her. Didn’t have the time. We were on the clock.”
Finally, Bright gasped, and flailed his legs.
Klepsky rushed to get him down.
Adrian stood where he was.
Klepsky untethered the line from the leg of the easy chair anchoring it, evidently with enough heft to rival a Sherman tank. From there he managed to lower Ray easily, and finally get the choker off him, sit him up. Klepsky rubbed his back, then pulled him to his feet as soon as he seemed able to stand. All in all, Bright had only been on the floor a couple minutes.
As soon as he was on two feet, Adrian surprised Klepsky by tackling Bright to the floor, straddling him and strangling him with the look of a mad man in his eyes. He could only assume that was the look he had, from the pain of the constrained facial muscles and the unblinking, watery yet piercing glare he was giving Bright.
“Adrian! Adrian!” Klepsky kept shouting at him but Adrian held on with the death grip of a crazed man. Not even the much stronger Klepsky with a hand that could probably crush Ray’s skull could get him off Bright.
Instead he just retreated to the far wall. With his back against it, he slipped down to the floor. “My God, Adrian. What the hell?”
Adrian waited until the life was out of Bright’s eyes, until they looked cold and doll-like. Then he fell back on the floor panting.
“The formula only brings him back to life in a manner of speaking, Klepsky. All we had time for was to get the cellular scaffolding problem corrected. Yeah, he’d be higher functioning, more than the last golem that came back from the dead. But he’d never be a genius artist again. You heard him. If he couldn’t do what he loved most, he didn’t want to live. I’m sure we can both empathize with that.”
Restoring his masterpiece to the state it was originally in, Adrian slipped the collar back around Bright’s neck, and hoisted him back up until he was dangling from the ceiling. His body twirled slowly as if he were admiring his murals even in death through glassy, doll’s eyes.
Adrian collapsed again, then crawled his way back to where Klepsky was, leaned his back against the same wall.
Together they stared at what becomes of greatness in the end.
Bright held on to his enviable hard-on even in death. No doubt about it, erotic asphyxiation was definitely his thing.
Adrian could only bare the silence for about a minute. Finally, he said, “Coffee? They make a good brew across the street.”
“So long as it’s strong and bitter, it’ll suit me fine.” Klepsky retrieved his hat that had fallen off in his effort to rescue Bright earlier. Adrian’s was still firmly planted on his head. He found it interesting he could put such passion into killing a guy and not lose his hat. It reminded him of those old cowboy movies where the hero would fall off his horse, tumble down a hillside, but still end up with his hat on.
It was barely fifteen minutes later. Klepsky and Adrian sat opposite one another at a small table against the window of Black Fox Coffee in the Financial District. Both of them peered outside into the glistening street scene at night rather than face one another. But they were feeling more composed. Strangely relaxed, all things considered, actually.
Adrian chose to ignore the cheeky symbolism of the black fox painted on and wrapped around an elbow-joint of a wall. What a couple of black foxes they’d been in pulling off such a vicious, ugly, unforgivable murder.
They’d just killed a guy together. There was no denying Klepsky was feeling rattled. But there he sat, drinking the same double espresso, eating the same bagel and locks. The guy lived on the stuff. Ordinarily he had both with a Bloody Mary—the latter was how he got his serving of vegetables for the day. But The Black Fox didn’t serve a Bloody Mary. You’d think the guy would be unsettled enough to at least shake up his choice of items from the menu a bit. Try the lox without the bagel, say. Or maybe go for a triple espresso. He was not immune to the vicissitudes of life—he’d proven as much today by getting this torn up over Ray Bright’s death.
Adrian understood why the hermit crab had crawled back into his shell. In a brutal world it was the things that made him feel safe that were worth holding on to, the things that felt like home, felt comfortable. That was why he had his favorite foods. It was why he dressed in the same suit day in and day out, down to his favorite shirt and socks and favorite broken in shoes. For a guy who so desperately wanted to change, Adrian had never met anyone so stuck living life like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Whatever he needed to shake him loose of his fixations, Ray Bright wasn’t it.
Adrian actually begrudged Klepsky his anchors right now. Because he didn’t have any.
Adrian’s phone was ringing.
He picked up.
“We should meet,” came the voice at the other end. It was the voice of their killer.
“I saw that look in your eyes when you were strangling him, Adrian. Marvelous. Simply marvelous.”
That look in his eyes? Either his security people had an angle on that apartment with one hell of a telephoto lens, or, appraised of where he was heading, had flown in some mosquito-cams, making sure to have one or two land on Ray Bright. The tiny robots that looked very much like actual mosquitos could also draw blood for DNA analysis and listen into conversation. They were another of Adrian’s toys, a gift to the bureau, along with the in-ear surveillance device.
“You’ll forgive me if I need a moment.”
“Not at all. I relish basking in the afterglow myself. I’ll text you a meetup time soon enough.” The line went dead.
Not any deader than Adrian felt.
He’d possibly just saved the world from a future no one would have wanted. Unkillable people fighting unending wars. It would have given the Buddhist hell world a run for its money. And the price had been small, really. At least for Bright. He just had to give his life.
Adrian had to give his soul.
TWENTY-FOUR
Rory Bateman couldn’t believe he was finally sitting across from his hero, Adrian Maslow. He appreciated that there wasn’t much to distract. Katz’s deli was one big room for serving customers at tables that could seat four, and the rest was the deli counter itself and the butcher behind it, who hid nothing about the fact that he did the butchering. He was working that leg of lamb with his hatchet like he was the serial killer.
Rory appreciated the opportunity to upstage Meg Ryan’s performance in When Harry Met Sally that had gotten Katz’s nicknamed The Orgasmic Deli.
This time of day, the customers were mostly business types in suits. For a second Rory forgot that “stiffs” was originally supposed to refer to dead bodies, not guys and gals in suits.
Seeing the butcher wielding his kitchen hatchet took Rory back to fonder times, when he was carving up Spiderman, a.k.a. Puzzle-Piece-Paul as Adrian had nicknamed him on the spot. What a kidder, that guy!
After a brief scan of the surroundings to make sure they weren�
�t about to be challenged by anyone the two of them couldn’t handle, Rory leaned in and said, “So, how did it feel, huh? How did it feeeeeel, man? Put me inside your skin.”
***
Adrian stared into the eyes of one Rory Bateman. The last time Adrian heard that surname it was in the movie Psycho. He hated to say it, but Rory just didn’t have the same flair as that guy. The eyes, though, the eyes were lit. You could snort a bag full of coke and not end up with eyes like that. Hand it to these nextgen kids; they knew how to ride an adrenaline spike like nobody’s business. If it didn’t feel soooo good you weren’t on cloud nine, they didn’t want anything to do with it. Adrian felt that was a good sign they were finally headed in the right direction for the future. The world should be filled with people high on life like that. Freed to pursue their passions to such a degree that the slings and arrows of life, that there was no getting away from, just bounced off them. Now, Rory, granted, might be the exception that proves the rule. His compass was a bit broken, but on balance, he had it right. Chase. Your. High.
“I’ve never felt rage like that,” Adrian confessed. “Like a purifying fire. It burnt everything off me. The dross of my very existence. There was just the moment. It felt all-encompassing. It felt eternal. I didn’t need to breathe. I read that about Christ one time. Hanging on the cross like that. Balanced between life and death. Nothing but his spirit to feed him. Witnesses say he was alive for the longest time without breathing.”
Hanging on his every word, it took a while for Rory to start breathing again. “God, I’m so jealous,” he finally gasped. “I didn’t get anything like that kind of release when I did my kills. Yeah, they were a rush, sure, but there was always something missing. Now that you’re by my side, you’ll get me there. I know you will.”
Adrian smiled. He glanced at the butcher whose axe always seemed to fall on the more telling lines coming from Adrian’s confession and shouted, “Hey, can we get some beers over here!”
The butcher missed the beat. And the next. Finally. “Yeah, sure. Coming right up.” He said it like the only thing he wanted to do with those beer bottles was shove it down their throats.
Adrian took his and smacked the head against the edge of the table just so to get the cap to pop and a minimum of beer to froth out the top before settling down and guzzling the rest.
His disciple tried to ape his actions, ended up breaking the bottle. Adrian laughed. “That’s okay. It takes practice. Bring my friend a few more beers.”
The butcher gave him a look reserved for a young hoodlum looking to date his daughter, but ultimately waddled off to get Rory a six pack.
Rory was still trying to get the trick right with the beers when he asked, “So tell me, you picked Adrian Maslow as a name in honor of the famous psychologist, right?” The question was followed by a quick “Damn!” as he broke beer bottle neck number two against the table.
“Yes,” Adrian said, “only the world has changed since then. If he were alive today, he’d have to invert his pyramid, make self-actualization the first step. In such a competitive global economy, there’s no way to secure any of your other needs if you don’t succeed doing what you’re best at, which comes of what you love most, what you find the most fulfilling. Even if you’re a genius, how long do you think you can last giving a career your second-best because your heart just isn’t in it, when your competitors are giving it everything they have?”
Rory got it right this time with the fourth beer bottle and held it up in triumph. He laughed and his chest inflated. “Now you know why I had to save you,” Rory said with another proud smile, pointing the bottle at Adrian and taking his first celebratory sip.
Adrian’s smile was a bit more forced.
“So, I’ve been thinking, we should stick to artily rendered kills,” Rory said. “Me, I go in more for the paranormal motif myself, keeps things nice and other-worldly. Be a shame for things to get too real. But I can tell you have the soul of a true artist. Be a way to honor your friend, Ray Bright. I can tell you liked him.”
Adrian took a swill and then said, “Yeah, I did.” He probably put a little too much heart-felt emotion into that line, risking giving himself away. But he pulled off the save. “Why can’t the kills be both, artsy and paranormal?”
“Yes!” Rory held the beer bottle up like the torch in the hand of the statue of liberty. “Yes, yes, yes!” he said, pumping the symbol of freedom.
The bell rang at the door.
A young couple tried to enter.
Every suit in the room stood up in sync and pointed their guns at the couple. “Ah, we’ll try back later,” the male said feebly, as the two ducked back out.
“Shiiiiit!” Rory said laughing. “Forgot about your entourage. Thought they were Wall Street goons, not FBI goons. They don’t mind us killing people?”
“Probably relieved we’re just doing them one at a time. They don’t get hot and bothered unless you start talking pandemics, contagions, creating an EMP blast above the city, dirty nukes, that kind of thing. Actually…” Adrian took a closer look. “Yep, these are the guys assigned to the Futurist Division of the FBI. So if you were still about creating the unkillable man, yeah, they’d take you in, find some Guantanamo-themed place to roast your ass over hot coals for a very long while.”
“Nah.” Rory waved the bottle in his hand dismissively, spilling just a tiny bit of beer. “That was just to get your attention. To help you see yourself as you really are. You’re no Futurist. You’re a psycho-killer like me.
“Psycho killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away”
Rory couldn’t resist singing the refrain from his favorite Talking Heads song. He was belting it out to the back row too.
They laughed together a while, Adrian’s laughter growing more shallow and fake sounding, despite his best efforts to stay in character.
Rory was past noticing. He leaned in and said, “So I’m thinking for the next one we’d sneak into the BODY WORLDS exhibit, currently touring New York City, and swap out all the bodies with America’s hundred and forty oligarchs, the multi-billionaires responsible for pulling all the strings, the ones who own everyone in government, Congress, the Senate, the Judiciary, the Presidency, everybody. I’ll set it so they all come to life at the same time, if only long enough to confess their crimes against humanity. I know how you hate how corrupt our government has gotten. I read up on you, Adrian Maslow, I profiled you real good.” He tipped the neck of his beer toward Adrian as he said the last part.
Adrian chuckled. “Sounds positively inspired. Part of me hopes you get free to pull it off. Investigating that case will likely be the highpoint of someone else’s career though, being as it doesn’t fall under my mandate. You can bet I’ll pay retail price for the tickets to the show all the same.”
“What do you mean?”
Adrian gave the nod to the guys. They closed in on Rory, handcuffed him and dragged him away. “Adrian! What’s going on? Is this some kind of joke? Adrian?! Adrian?!” He kept saying Adrian’s name more and more desperately as they dragged him out of the diner.
Adrian took a deep breath and finally let it out. He felt like a deep sea diver hitting the surface finally and breathing his first breath of unpressurised air in eons.
Klepsky came out from the back room behind the counter. He must have been hiding himself out of sight, though that couldn’t have been easy, considering his disposition. Adrian wondered how many walnuts he’d managed to crush in those trench coat pockets listening in to the conversation being taped at the other end. As if reading his mind, Klepsky upturned the pockets and sent the shrapnel flying. The shards were cutting into his meaty palms. He took a napkin and wiped the blood from the nicks off his hands.
He must have been “bleeping” himself in honor of Adrian, who rarely swore.
“I don’t know, Klepsky. Something smells fishy.”
“Nonsense. You’re just feeling the come down now that the chase is over. Perfectly natural. You’re just there ahead of us, that’s all. In a few days I’ll be feeling the same way and I’ll be praying for some turn-the-world-upside-down asshole to wander into our office.”
“I’m telling you…”
“That’s enough, I said! I won’t have you ruining this for the rest of us.” He checked his watch. “You want me to drive you in? Or you want to make a fashionably late entrance?”
Adrian snorted. “Fashionably late it is. Give the boys a chance to celebrate themselves before being forced to celebrate me yet again. Make sure every one of those bastards gets a shout out for something, Klepsky. I don’t care if all he did was pick up a stray hair from the dirt floor of that barn that just turned out to be a rabbit hair.”
Klepsky did a little drum roll off the desktop. “That I will, Adrian, that I will.”
He donned his fedora and headed for the door, excited about catching a cab uptown. He must have left his car back at the office to avoid sending up any red flags for Rory.
Adrian craned his head to Fishburne behind the counter. “You too, Fishburne! You kept everyone fed all this time. An army marches on its stomach. None of us could have done it without you.”
Unkillable (The Futurist Book 1) Page 23
