The Bone Triangle

by B. V. Larson

  “Shut up,” he said, breathing hard.

  “I will,” I said, “if I can get you to start talking. Did you send McKesson and me after the Beast just to kill us?”

  “You can’t pull this crap, rogue. The Community won’t stand for it. We have a pact, you know. We used to fight, but now we are all on the same side. Even Rostok won’t save your ass if you kill me.”

  I tapped his skull lightly with the bottle again. He winced. “Wrong answer,” I said. “Perhaps you don’t appreciate the power of this particular object. Let me demonstrate.”

  I aimed it toward the storm drain he was trying so desperately to get to and beamed it into molten slag. The metal glowed orange and dripped into the sewer, each droplet hissing when it struck moisture below.

  Gutter Jim craned his neck around to look at the bottle in my hand. “That’s Trujillo’s!”

  “Very observant,” I said. “Are you in a talking mood now, or do I have to cook off some spare toes?”

  He twisted to look up at me. His eyes were wide and the whites showed. He looked at me, his fear greater than before. “Did you kill him? Did you kill Trujillo? I can’t believe it.”

  I pressed the bottle against him. “Yes, I’m a killer. A new kind of Community member. Don’t make me burn you.”

  “Okay, be cool. I didn’t send you down there to kill you. I hoped you could kill the Beast, just like I said. Everyone says you’re the best. There’s no one like you, no one who can handle so many artifacts at once. Anyone else would go mad.”

  I frowned at this. His answer wasn’t what I had expected, but I thought he was telling the truth. At least, he believed what he was saying.

  “Go on,” I said noncommittally. I was still playing the bad rogue, the dangerous crazy rogue who might murder anyone and enjoy it. It wasn’t really me, but it was a part I found easy enough to play, especially after my recent experiences.

  “I thought you could do it, that’s all.”

  “I believe you, but why? What were you going to get out of it?”

  He prattled on about saving the city for a bit, until I threatened him further. The interview took some time, but no cars came down the street. There had been a few lighted windows, but the lights vanished soon enough. No one ventured out to learn what was happening in their streets. No one who had lived this long in this neighborhood had any curiosity left in them.

  “Okay, okay,” he said finally. “Can’t you figure it out? I wanted the domain. I wanted a new world.”

  Now he had my interest. “You wanted that world? Have you ever been there?”

  “No, but it’s a lot like mine, I understand. You can exit that place and come out almost anywhere, if you know how.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told him. “It’s hell in there.”

  “It can’t be worse than living in the sewer.”

  I laughed. “Your sewers are tinkling waterfalls and sweet perfume compared to the home of the Beast.”

  But at least I finally understood. He was Gutter Jim, the pariah of the Community, and he wanted to be something better. If he could take over a pocket universe that could allow you to go anywhere, not just into drains and ditches, he would be moving up in the world. He’d become cool, a prince of the air, rather than a worm that lived underground.

  “What about McKesson? How did he fit into all this?” I asked, becoming angry with his arrogance again. What was it with these people? Even the one who lived in the sewers liked to look down on everyone else.

  “Did you kill him?” Gutter Jim asked. “Or leave him in there with the Beast?”

  “I dragged him out half-dead.”

  “An unusual show of loyalty for a rogue. But to answer your question, he was working for me. He knew the game—he knew why I wanted to kick the Beast out of its lair.”

  “There was only one problem with your plans for a land grab, right? The current tenant is a nasty one. So, rather than risk your own skin, you goaded it into attacking the city. That way, you could talk a couple of chumps into going in there and cleaning it out for you? Is that it?”

  “No! No, you’ve twisted my words. I never teased the Beast. I didn’t let it loose—not originally.”

  “Who then?”

  “Take your foot off me and I’ll tell you. I give you my word.”

  I considered it. I aimed my bottle at him and removed my foot. I figured I could probably burn him before he could do anything important, anyway.

  I was wrong. Slowly, painfully, he got up to his hands and knees. I saw something then, a dark stain under him. There was a trickle of liquid, which ran down the street. I squinted at it for a moment, but then forgot about it.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “You’re too stupid to have such power,” he said.

  I advanced toward him—but he dissolved away to nothing before my shocked eyes. I aimed the bottle, but there was nothing there, just a stream of liquid…

  “The storm drain,” I said, sighing. “Gutter Jim, I took my foot off you and let you go. You broke your word.”

  A voice floated up from the drain. “Find the buses. You’ll get your answers there.”

  I frowned, staring at the drain. I called to him and tried to goad him into coming back out. He didn’t even bother to answer, and I soon began to suspect he’d left. It was frustrating, knowing he’d escaped me. I didn’t dare follow him into that place, where he was the master, and he knew it.

  Someone cleared his throat behind me. I whirled around, expecting to see Gutter Jim aiming a weapon at me. But this man had a heavier build and a familiar face. I recognized him in the glare of the streetlights.

  “Cartoon?” I asked.

  “Yeah, man, it’s me.”

  “How long have you been watching?”

  “Long enough to see some of the freakiest shit I’ve ever laid eyes on. Where did your little friend go?”

  I peered at the street. “I think he pulled a trick on me. See this?”

  I pointed toward a puddle in the street. It was dark and it led from where Gutter Jim had been lying to the storm drain. Like all liquids in the street, it had followed its natural path to the nearest drain.

  “He spilled some kind of liquid,” I said. “I’ve learned the hard way he doesn’t need to step into the drain to go home. He can go down if he has some kind of path connecting him to the underworld. He must love it when it rains.”

  Cartoon came forward and knelt by the puddle. “You’ve got some loco friends, Draith.”

  “That I do.”

  “You know what? This isn’t water or soda. It’s blood. Blood looks like this on the street at night—not red like paint. It looks dark, like water or grease. Don’t ask me how I know, but I do.”

  “Blood,” I said, thinking about it. “He must have cut himself somehow to make a connection with the drain. That’s how he slipped away.”

  “The man must have wanted to get away from you pretty bad to cut himself up like that.”

  I agreed and we walked back toward the Strip together. The yards were sandboxes in this area. No one had the money to water a lawn. Even the cacti were drooping and yellowed. Most of the houses appeared abandoned. A few had scorch marks coming from the broken-out windows.

  “I haven’t seen the Beast all night,” Cartoon said. “It’s been a nice vacation.”

  “It left the Triangle and hit the Strip,” I said, briefly explaining what happened at the Lucky Seven.

  Cartoon was shocked. “They said that was some kind of explosion! The TV people always lie. Always. I don’t know what to think anymore. Are you going to explain any of this shit to me?”

  I glanced at him. I thought it over for a moment, then nodded. “I guess you’ve earned some information. Just the fact you’ve survived the Beast so many times makes you a player. How have you managed to do that, by the way?”

  “I—I feel him. I feel him coming…or her. The Beast might be a she. Did you ever think of that?”

/>   “How do you know it’s near?”

  “I get scared. For no reason. I don’t get scared by much of anything—but when the Beast is coming, I know it.”

  I told him about the Beast and its pocket universe as we walked. He gave me occasional strange looks, but I could tell he believed it all. How could he not, after what he’d witnessed? Then I filled him in on the Community and the artifacts they all searched for and horded.

  After that, I outlined a plan and his part in it. By the time we’d reached the Strip, he probably thought I was crazy.

  I followed Cartoon out onto the boulevard and toward the line of police cars, which formed a barricade near a fake lake surrounded by palm trees. Many people had died here tonight, but it still looked like a fairy-tale wonderland. The buildings were lit up in magenta, jade, and flaring orange. Wild architecture and in-your-face advertisements were everywhere. As we drew near to our goal, a screen the size of a jetliner loomed over our heads, displaying a woman’s shapely rear in a glittery golden thong.

  Cartoon was nervous. He had several good reasons to be. First, he was approaching a line of cops, many of whom wore riot gear. They weren’t happy looking—not even for cops who were on duty after midnight in riot gear. As I’d assumed, Cartoon hadn’t had a lot of friendly dealings with the law. But he understood my plan and why he was the right one to ask the questions.

  The second reason for his nervous behavior was me. I walked along with him, pacing him quietly step for step. But I was invisible. He kept glancing in my direction and, worse, glancing down at the sidewalk, looking for my shadow. I’d told him about the shadows and cameras just in case I needed his help to get away.

  The police might not have been looking for me, but as far as I knew, I was the only witness who’d not been eaten or loaded onto a shiny black bus. I didn’t want to be captured and forced to participate in their plans, so Cartoon was going to do all the talking.

  “Sir? Officer, sir?” Cartoon asked the first cop he met who wore his regular uniform. We’d targeted one of these guys, rather than the riot squad. Maybe they were unaffected by whatever had a grip on the others.

  The cop wore the traditional khaki uniform with a six-pointed silver star on the left side of his chest and a microphone clipped to his shirt. As Cartoon approached, he frowned and stepped forward with his hand extended, palm out.

  “No one is going past this point.”

  “Yes, sir, I know that, I just wanted to ask you for some help.”

  The cop’s face softened. “What is it?”

  “My sister was in the Lucky Seven. They say she’s been taken somewhere—on a bus.”

  The cop was frowning again. “Yeah?”

  “Do you know where I could find her, officer?”

  He heaved a sigh. For my part, I was impressed by Cartoon’s acting. I imagined he’d fed bullshit to many cops in the past. He was a natural.

  “Yeah, okay. I heard that they were taken up to some hospital.”

  “Which one? Could you find out for me?”

  “Sunset, I guess.”

  Sunset? A chill ran through me. All those people—busloads of the injured—being taken out to Sunset Sanatorium? I didn’t like the sound of that at all. I felt a pang of remorse for McKesson. If they really did take him to Meng’s lair, I was going to feel bad if he ended up inside one of her little rubber rooms. He was a bastard, sure, but as far as I was concerned, he didn’t deserve that. No one did.

  “Where is that place, officer?”

  “I don’t know the address. Look it up.”

  Cartoon backed away. “Sure thing. I thank you again, sir.”

  He walked away quickly and turned into the first side path he could. It was a bridge lined with palm trees and Roman columns. On top of each column stood a statue of an alligator, griffin, or Roman-looking soldier.

  “Draith? Are you here? I can’t see your shadow.”

  I appeared beside him and he jumped. “Damn, I hate that.”

  “Sorry. The cop said Sunset. Do you know what that is?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s a sanatorium.”

  “A what?”

  “A nuthouse, but in this case it’s full of people who don’t belong there. It’s the domain of Dr. Meng, the member of the Community who hates me the most.”

  “I don’t like hospitals,” Cartoon said. “And I hate hospitals full of crazies.”

  “You don’t have to come.”

  He looked at me strangely. “Have you ever been in there, Draith? Inside, I mean?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a bad place.” I told him briefly about Meng and her ability to cloud the minds of others. His frown deepened as I kept talking.

  “Man, I need out of all this.”

  I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  He hesitated, leaning against the concrete railing over the fake lake. It was lit up with brilliant colors. The splashing filled the air with a pleasant pattering sound.

  “Just tell me one thing,” he said. “If I help, will I be helping to stop the Beast? I hate the Beast—it’s eaten most of my friends, you know.”

  I nodded. “I think we are on the right trail. Gutter Jim told me to find the buses. We know where they went, and I know the woman who runs Sunset. She’s mean—mean enough to let this thing loose and not care about the death toll.”

  “Okay then, I’m in. I’m down for the Triangle. Somebody’s got to stop this thing.”

  I smiled and we walked back out onto the Strip. I had an army of one with me now. We stopped at an all-night eatery and filled up on junk food. I needed food to stay alert. I didn’t know what Meng’s next move would be, but I wanted to stop her before she made it.

  At length, we took a taxi and had it drop us off a block from the Sunset. I found a dilapidated building full of empty apartments nearby. From the look of the place, it should have been condemned years back. Most of the tenants in the creaky hallways fell silent and melted back into their doorways when they saw us coming.

  On the fifth-floor landing, we met a working girl. Her dress barely made it over her hips and looked like it was made of latex. She had a pale, pretty face with a circle of black hair around it. A thick black nose ring completed the Goth look.

  I watched her consider asking us if we needed any of her services, but she changed her mind as we walked by, giving her a better view of us. I guess anyone in this part of town could tell by the look in our eyes that we were in a businesslike mood.

  We brushed past the girl and went to the door at the end of the hall. I knocked softly.

  “There’s no one in there,” the girl said behind us.

  I looked back at her, and ran my eyes over her. Her breasts in particular had a way of popping out at a man. I guess that was good for business.

  “I know,” I said.

  “Don’t be looking at me like that!” she said. “A look like that costs money. You got any money?”

  I snorted and shook my head. I did my trick and let myself into the apartment. The girl craned her neck in the hallway, staring after us until the door closed.

  “That’s a nice trick, Draith,” Cartoon said. “I wish I could do that. Can you open any door you want?”

  I glanced at him. “It’s not for stealing. I use it to help me get to where I’m going. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  From the back window of the abandoned apartment, we could see Meng’s tower. It was as Goth-looking as the girl out in the hallway. Unlike most of Las Vegas, it was built with concrete blocks and the tower was five stories tall. We discussed different ways of getting inside unseen, but none of them appealed to me.

  “The obvious thing to do is go invisible and walk inside,” I told Cartoon. “But there are cameras everywhere. I’m sure we’ll be seen. We wouldn’t fool anyone.”

  “You say she’s up there on the roof? In that tower?”

  “When she sleeps, yeah,” I said.

  “Maybe we could clim
b up. I don’t see many cameras on the outside.”

  I considered his idea. I liked it, but thought it was too risky. “There are bars on those windows. All of them.”

  “I’ve seen you melt metal.”

  I nodded, knowing I could do so in more than one way. I still didn’t like it. “There’s got to be a sneakier approach than just blasting our way inside.”

  Cartoon rubbed his face. “Gutter Jim could get you in there,” he said. “But I don’t think he’s in any mood to help you right now.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. We aren’t friends anymore. But I like your idea. I think I know someone who could get us inside.”

  I pulled out my cell and dialed Gilling’s number. It rang and rang until I frowned. There was no answer, no voice mail. Nothing. I tried several other cultists who followed Gilling. Many were my friends, and we’d worked together successfully in the past. None of them answered.

  “Maybe Meng got to them first,” Cartoon said.

  I frowned. “I’ve got another way to contact him.” I dialed Jacqueline next. She answered on the second ring.

  “About time you called me! Do you need me to come pick you up? ’Cause if you do, you’re screwed. I gave my ride to that detective guy. You know what? I bet he stole it. You tell him that, if you see him. After a couple of days, borrowing turns into stealing. Just the way you stole my candy cane.”

  Apparently, our time in the desert had just been a lark to her. Maybe she’d gotten what she wanted from me.

  I apologized for not having called sooner, and after she was finished scolding me, I quickly filled her in on McKesson’s status. She was sorry about his injuries.

  “I’m so glad you’re back in the city,” she said. “Mom’s got another car, you know. It’s a Jag. She hid the keys, but I know where they are. You need a ride, or not? I’m bored.”

  “Maybe later,” I said, smiling. “Right now, I want you to go dig out the book we used to communicate with Gilling. He’s not answering his cell again.”