Bad Blood

by David Bussell

  ‘Calm down. Come on, we’re just talking here.’

  ‘You think you can just kill him?’ she said, slowly rising despite her shattered ankle. ‘Think he’s just a pig you can stick and leave to bleed out? Jek will get you! Jek will make you pay! Jek will tear and rip and shower in your blood!’

  She was raving now, laughing, screaming, crying, her eyes bulging from their sockets.

  ‘Allia, stop, calm down, I’m trying to help you here.’

  ‘Jek will kill you! Jek will twist you up and find who you love and he’ll twist them too! He will, he will, he’ll kill you all—!’

  Allia was cut short as Layton stepped forward and brought down the hammer. It connected with her temple and cracked her head open like a soft boiled egg. She crumpled to the stone floor, blood pouring from the wound. She lay still for a moment then began to shake violently, a seizure wracking her body. Layton swung the hammer again, sending blood spraying up the wall, and Allia fell still. Silent. Dead.

  Layton Galoffi tutted, then turned, picked up the stool, and returned it and the hammer to where he’d collected them from.

  ‘And what was the point of that?’ I said, bitterly.

  ‘I wanted to know what she knew. Turns out, not very much, but it did allow me to blow off a little steam. I feel much better now. Thank you.’ He used a pocket square to wipe gore from his face.

  I looked down at Allia’s body, blood pooling around her. Shit way to die. Then again, there was a man in a cell a few doors down, chewing on a rat. Maybe Layton’s hammer blow was the best Allia could have hoped for.

  Busey’s Stuntman appeared at the bottom of the basement steps carrying a large alligator skin overnight bag. ‘It’s done, sir.’

  ‘And Mrs Galoffi is stable?’ asked Layton.

  ‘She’ll be kept sedated for now, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’

  Layton took the bag, resting it onto the table piled with torture tools. He unzipped and looked inside at the pale arm sat within. He stroked it with the tips of his fingers, then bent low to press his lips against its flesh. I thought about asking if he wanted a few minutes alone with a tube of lube, but it didn’t seem like the moment. Sometimes even I can read a room.

  Layton straightened up, closed the bag, and nodded in my direction. I stepped forward and took ownership of it. It was heavy and leaking from a corner that had started to fill with blood. I watched its contents drip-drop on the dusty floor and hoped I didn’t get pulled over on my way to Black Rock car park. It would have taken more than a flash of cleavage to get out of that pickle.

  ‘I’d better go make the handover,’ I said, eager to get out of that basement and leave Allia’s corpse behind. I’d just about made it to the foot of the stone steps when Layton snapped his fingers. ‘One more thing before you go, Ms Banks.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He lit a cigar and took a long, thoughtful drag. ‘Remember what I told you. Fail to return my boy and I will do so much damage to your life that it will make what happened at Sodom and Gomorrah seem like a light spring clean.’

  ‘Won’t the disappointment of failing at my job be punishment enough?’

  Layton smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘No.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  ‘Finish this, now. No more notes, no more pieces chopped off, no more mistakes. Finish this, or perhaps you’ll wake to find me stood over you, your ankle chained to the wall, a hammer in my hand.’

  I nodded, turned, and headed off with a big bag full of arm.

  13

  From the flat concrete expanse of Black Rock car park I could see the moon throwing its white shadow across the sea. The sun would be up soon, bringing with it another raw, grey morning. Before that, I had business to attend to.

  There was no sign of Sharez Jek at the designated location this time, just a note carved into a telegraph pole telling me to dump the severed arm—referred to as “the offering”—in a nearby bin, then leave to await further instructions. Even though I was alone I felt eyes on me. I scanned the area for any sign of the tattooed man but found nothing.

  I did as the note requested, dropped off the arm, and returned to my ride. I peeled away from the car park, certain I was being watched, and headed to a nearby marina, where I parked up and took out my phone. I found the name I was looking for and hit Call. My contact picked up on the second ring.

  ‘You in position?’ I asked.

  The voice on the end of the line coughed and hawked up a ball of phlegm. ‘Got him in my sights,’ said Cupid.

  I’d bunged the little man some cash to hover over Black Rock, wait for Jek to collect the overnight bag, and find out which direction he took off in. With Cupid relaying Jek’s movements to me, all I had to do was tag him to wherever he was heading, jump the bloke, and find out who he was working for. He’d knocked me around like I was a six-year-old girl last time we met, but with the element of surprise on my side, I was fairly sure I could give him a kicking. And if I couldn’t, hey, I’d lived a long and happy life.

  Wait, that’s not true at all. Shit.

  ‘Which way is he headed?’ I asked Cupid.

  ‘Sure you want to know?’ he replied, wind whistling through his phone as he chased Jek’s car.

  ‘What are you talking about? Of course I am.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Cupid. ‘Sure you wouldn’t prefer one of your eaves pals to tell you instead? Razor, maybe?’

  ‘Eh? How did you know I’d been talking to him?’

  ‘Because that’s what you pay me for: to know. Or at least I thought it was until I found out you’d been going behind my back and getting the dirt from those toothy muppets. What’s the matter, Banks? Am I not good enough for you anymore?’

  Great, the winged butterball was suffering an attack of professional jealousy, just what I needed.

  ‘Can this wait?’ I snapped. ‘I’m chasing a serial killer here. I really don’t have time to stroke your ego.’

  ‘I see. So as usual, it’s all about you. Erin Banks bungs me a couple of notes and the world stops spinning. Never mind what I want. Never mind about my needs.’

  For God’s sake.

  ‘It’s not personal, Cupes, I just needed to broaden my horizons a bit, that’s all. Brighton’s a big place, and you’re only one little person.’

  ‘Oh, so now it’s about size, is it? Nice. Very nice. Old Cupid can’t do his job because he’s just a wee baby. You know what, I don’t need this, Banks. You stick with your eaves mates, I’m out of here...’

  ‘Wait!’ I cried.

  An agonising pause. ‘What?’

  Time to ladle it on thick. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. That was wrong. You’ve never let me down, and I took that for granted. Can you please forgive me?’

  I heard Cupid sigh. ‘Thank you. See, that’s all I wanted, you know, a bit of appreciation. A little show of respect.’

  ‘Uh huh. And money, right?’

  ‘Oh yeah, shit-loads of it; about double what you gave me already. The nag I bet on for the 3:15 at Chepstow took a spill on the final lap, lost me a bundle.’

  Finally, the meat of our conversation sandwich. ‘You’ll get your money. Now can we please get back to work?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied, no doubt firing off a salute. ‘Your man’s heading east on Marine Parade driving a black Ford Mustang. You can’t miss him.’

  Finally. I revved up the engine of the Porsche, put my foot down, and raced off in pursuit.

  Once I’d caught up to Jek’s muscle car I kept my distance, careful not to spook the guy. I tailed him for another mile or two as he carried on along the coast, then slowed and took a turn into an industrial estate. I parked beside the entrance and followed Jek with my eyes as he pulled up to the loading bay of a warehouse. He climbed out of the driver’s seat, swung the overnight bag over his shoulder, and entered the warehouse’s back door.

  Leaving the Porsche behind, I snuck acros
s the cracked tarmac of the industrial estate and headed after Jek. The warehouse he’d accessed was nondescript from the outside except for a weatherbeaten sign across the south side of the building. The words upon it were painted in a colour that decades of sun and sea air had turned from cherry red to a pale pink. The words read GALOFFI HOLDINGS.

  Galoffi? What that meant I wasn’t exactly sure, but I did know that the threads of this story were weaving quite the tapestry.

  I pushed open the back door and crept inside, treading lightly, keen to make it inside quietly and get the drop on my target. The warehouse was lit by a single, high bulb that threw more shadow than light. Up above me was a decaying corrugated iron roof with ivy growing through it, dangling like jungle creepers. Down below was an Aladdin’s cave of treasures, of old arcade machines and seaside attractions fallen into disrepair. A neon graveyard made up of old funfair signs and rusted cars from now defunct roller coaster rides. Walking through the warehouse felt like taking a hike through the ruins of a post-apocalyptic (and distinctly low rent) Las Vegas.

  Then the darkness tore open, pierced by the siren wail of a baby.

  James?

  I shook my head. Leo. That’s what I’d meant.

  Forgoing stealth, I picked up the pace, taking the shortest route through the junkyard clutter to the crying infant. The baby continued to mewl and howl, rattling my bones, making me think of my brother, hanging impossibly in the air, kicking his pudgy legs. I pushed through a big yellow arch studded with dozens of popped light bulbs and found myself standing in front of an open-topped wooden crate. The crying was coming from inside, from beneath a square of oily, folded-up rag. I scanned the area looking for Jek, expecting to see him leering out at me from the shadows, but saw no sign of him.

  ‘Hey, baby, I’ve got you,’ I peeled back the cloth, revealing a baby boy, legs kicking the air, crying like a wounded animal. He wasn’t wounded though, at least not as far as I could tell in the warehouse’s semi-darkness. Which was the first weird thing, hadn’t they sent his ears through the post? The answer to that was the second weird thing. I reached into the crate to scoop the boy out and get a better look, and that’s when I realised what was off.

  The baby wasn’t Leo.

  The baby wasn’t even a baby.

  The baby was a living tattoo of a baby.

  The demon spawn’s lips shrunk back to reveal two rows of fish hook fangs, which it sank into the meat of my hand. I cried out, thrashing my arm and trying to dislodge the thing, but the creature clung on. With tears stinging my eyes, I slammed the little shit into a support column, causing it to relinquish its grip with an ear-splitting screech. For a moment, I felt an inexplicable sting of guilt as the lizard part of my brain registered the baby striking the floor, then I saw the half-broken creature go crawling away like something from Trainspotting, and the sober part clicked right back in again.

  I darted forwards and swung a toe at the evil thing. ‘Come here, you little shit.’ But my foot connected with air as it rolled out of the way and scooted away from me at speed.

  The baby’s host awaited its return, sat cross-legged on the floor in a half-lotus position. Sharez Jek lifted his hoodie and welcomed the creature to his bosom, where it was absorbed into his flesh and transformed into a drawing inked upon his chest.

  How did he know I’d been following him?

  Sensing my confusion, he used the tip of a finger to drum his temple. ‘Don’t you know I have eyes in the back of my head, girl?’

  Jek stood and turned his back on me. Inked upon the rear of his skull I saw two tattooed eyes, which bored into me like hot drill bits. The sight of them caused me to stagger slightly to one side as I backed away, and as I did, the pupils tracked my movement.

  ‘A baby on your chest. I like that. Humanises you. I mean, a violent, gibbering psycho with a baby on his chest can’t be all bad, right?’

  ‘The first life I took,’ he replied, resting a hand on the image of the baby. ‘I had him etched close to my heart so I would remember him always.’

  ‘Okay, that’s fucked up.’

  ‘Every new life I take earns a new mark upon my flesh.’

  I looked over the skin he had on show, which bustled with image after image, some overlapping others.

  ‘So what happens when you run out of space?’ I asked.

  ‘Then my work will be done and I can finally rest. Finally have some peace.’ Jek closed his eyes and smiled, sending a tear running down his cheek.

  ‘Yeah, I’m calling bullshit on that.’

  Jek began to laugh as he opened his eyes and rose to his feet. ‘You got me. No peace. Not ever. I am pain made flesh. Born to forge screams and freeze hearts. It is my calling. My duty. Come to me, child, and let me lay my gift upon you.’

  This fucking edgelord.

  Jek cracked his knuckles in a way that told me what followed wasn’t going to be some slick Jackie Chan fight. This was going to be messy, short, violent and bloody; dirt in the eyes, clumps of ripped-out hair, broken bones and busted teeth. If things went Jek’s way, the walls were going to be painted a distinct shade of Erin.

  I put up my dukes, but before I could even raise them, Jek closed the distance between us. In a cocaine heartbeat a fist connected with my face, leaving a fat lip hanging off me. A second blow into the side of my skull shook my brain, sending a gush of pain jolting through me.

  I tasted my tongue, marinated in blood. My face burned and my tattoos came alive, punching a hypodermic full of adrenalin into my heart. An animal growl clawed its way up my throat and I went at Jek with a big right. He ducked my swing and drove the top of his bald head into my chest, slamming me into a wall.

  ‘I was only six when I murdered the child,’ he said. ‘I rested my knee against his soft skull and pushed and pushed and pushed.’

  ‘I’m guessing you weren’t hired for any more babysitting gigs after that?’

  Jek buried a flurry of punches in my torso, striking me in the sternum and deflating my lungs. I slid down a wall, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish, trying to make words that wouldn’t come.

  ‘I fed his brains to the family dog. The mother came home to find a stain on the carpet and a sinkful of remains. When I’m feeling blue, I revisit that night in my mind. I call it my happy place.’ Jek gave me an Ed Gein grin. ‘I wonder what I’ll do to you once you’re dead.’

  I launched myself at him and scored an uppercut to his chin that snapped his head back, rattling the tattoo on the rear of his skull like a pair of googly eyes.

  My moment of triumph wasn’t to last, though. Jek fired another fist my way, but not to land a punch this time. Instead, the snake tattoo on his arm came alive, shot out from his skin, and seized me by the wrist. Jek hauled me off my feet, whipped me around, and sent me flying across the warehouse. I landed halfway up a giant neon sign and crashed down under a shower of shattered glass.

  If it weren’t for my magic tattoos I’d have been needing some serious stitches. As it was, the runes were already working on closing my wounds. That didn’t mean Jek couldn’t score some fresh ones though.

  The painted serpent shot out from the darkness and latched on to my ankle, dragging me across broken glass and hurling me through the air in a wide arc. I smashed head-first into another glass sign, which branched like a spider’s web before erupting into icy fragments and choking the air with neon.

  Somehow I managed to roll on to my feet and come up fighting, but Jek was ready for me still. He delivered a broadside to my ribs that capsized me into another sign, which shattered like the ones before it.

  ‘The screams, the screams, can you hear them? They are the music of the universe.’

  ‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

  I took a couple of loose swings in Jek’s direction, but I could barely see him for the blood stinging my eyes. I was useless against him. Fighting Sharez Jek was like fighting the wind.

  I staggered about sluggishly, barely able to maintain my bal
ance, then I felt a kick to the rear that left me splashed on the ground like a beached flounder. After that came a rain of blows, pummelling me, tenderising me, splintering my bones. As he went to work, I realised he was whistling. Whistling like a retired grandpa working on a watercolour.

  I toppled on to my back and looked up to see Jek towering over me, his knuckles dripping with blood. With my blood. I was his punching bag. A lump of meat to be batted to and fro. I remembered what Parker had told me about the unfortunate who’d made the mistake of cutting in on Jek’s joke, and imagined a boxing glove wrapped in barbed wire lying beside me on the glass-strewn ground.

  I heard the rasp of tearing fabric as Jek grabbed a fistful of my vest and hauled me to my feet. The penile head of his snake tattoo slithered around my neck, constricting my windpipe, suffocating me. I tried to gun my own tattoos into action so I could break free, but they were burned out, their red glow cooling like dying embers. Jek’s snake tightened its coil some more and a flock of shadows swept into the corners of my vision. Framed in the encroaching darkness I saw Jek’s leering skull face.

  ‘Just tell me one thing,’ I managed to squeak, legs dangling, feet kicking air.

  ‘There you go talking again,’ he said. ‘Talking and talking.’

  ‘Who are you working with? Who hired you?’

  Jek loosened his snake slightly, just enough for me to breathe but not to escape. ‘Ah, now that would be telling.’

  ‘Was it a Red-Eyed Man? I need to know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tell me,’ I croaked. ‘We both know I’m a dead woman anyway.’

  He smiled and nodded in agreement. ‘You are that. You always were. But there are always more of you. Always more to kick and make cry. I kill two of you and three more sprout up in your place.’

  ‘Tell me about the Red-Eyed Man!’

  Jek laughed and licked his lips. ‘I have no idea who that is.’

  Was he telling the truth or he was playing coy?

  ‘Who was it then? Galoffi? Did he hire you?’

  ‘He?’ Jek replied, focussing on me fully. ‘No, not he. She.’