by Mark Iles
To warm them, Za’an blew into his hands and rubbed them together before reaching into both pockets, feeling the stun gun in his right and the hardness of other object in his left. He slowly stroked the latter with his fingertips, a surge of excitement running through him and a cold smile playing around his lips.
He saw them then, illuminated under the street lights as they turned into the alley, and he immediately sank further back into the shadows.
The girl was young, about twenty by his estimation, and good looking too; ideal. Her long dark hair hung in plaits about her shoulders, her petite figure swamped by her balding escort’s huge and muscular figure. He grinned, she was far better looking that he’d imagined her to be. He was going to enjoy this.
As they passed him, Za’an glanced up and down the alley, to ensure that they were still alone, and then shot them both with the stun gun. The couple collapsed silently as the bright blue beam danced over them. He quickly dragged them into the darkness and, hidden by the bins, stripped them of their clothing and valuables, dumping all of it into a disposable bag and then tucked the bag into a holdall. He quickly sprayed a drug into their necks, which would awaken them but leave them unable to move. They’d also be able to feel the agony he was about to administer.
He watched as they woke, panic and fear in their eyes.
Smiling at them he said, “Mister, your wife sends her regards. She’s most upset with you, and has asked me to take care of your little indiscretions for her.” He slowly pulled a wicked looking blade from his left pocket and held it up in front of their eyes, before stroking it back and forth across the girl’s face — the metal glinting as it caught the street light. Gently he snaked the blade down between the girl’s breasts and down to her pubis, where he paused for a second before slipping it into her hilt-deep. Taking a deep breath, he dragged the blade up to her breastbone, then down to her left side and across to her right — so that he formed a figure 4 shape. Pushing his hand into her stomach he pulled out her intestines and scattered them about her, watching as her eyes bulged in agony. He did the same to the man, before grabbing hold of his penis and, with a deft snick, removed it from his body and stuffed it into the dying woman’s mouth. His customer had been most insistent about that. Then he cut off the woman’s breasts and stuffed them into a plastic bag and added that to the holdall as well. These were his personal mementoes of this night’s work, and a little snack for later. For he knew he could no longer have evidence laying around for anyone to find.
Cleaning the knife on their discarded clothing, he washed his hands and forearms thoroughly with gel and stuffed the knife back into his pocket. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he had just enough time to meet his customer, pick up his fee, and then dump his bag on the Magellan before making it to Hugo’s on time. Rising, he picked up the holdall and smirked at the dying couple. Checking that the alley was clear, he quickly left, his muscular bulk easing through the night like a hungry shark.
As Za’an turned from the alley and vanished into the night, a gaunt, bird-like figure emerged from the shadows and walked rapidly to the butchered man and woman. Arthur Jones gazed down at them before raising his spectacles to rub away the tears that rolled down his cheeks, before pushing them back into place with a forefinger.
The girl was already dead but the man was still alive and would remain so for a little longer. Sadly, he couldn’t help him because doing so would give the game away, and create all kinds of problems when the authorities became involved. Arthur Jones turned and followed in Za’an’s footsteps, leaving the man to die alone; adding this further atrocity to the mental list of the others that he knew Za’an had committed. His lips thinned and he shook his head; you’d think that Za’an’s signature of removing his victim’s breasts and other body parts, which had led to his arrest many years ago, would give the game away. Yet it didn’t, probably due to the many copy-cat killings that the publicity had wrought. Or perhaps it was because, when sentenced to the Penal Corps, the offenders were listed as dead and their histories erased. But surely there had to be those who knew, or at least suspected, what was going on?
Rubbing away another tear, Arthur thought, Two more, eh Za’an? My wife, Mira, was just another number to you, wasn’t she? It was me who found her you know, mutilated and dying in the gutter. Just like that poor girl back there, except you took Mira’s organs too. He gritted his teeth. It didn’t take me long to find out that it was you who’d killed her, because you didn’t exactly make a secret of your trade. When you were arrested they found shelves and freezers filled with body parts. I even got into the Corps deliberately, to find you and settle the score. I will have my revenge on you, Za’an. The perfect thing is, you won’t even see it coming.
He savoured the thought of revenge and pushed back the memory of the couple in the alley. “Soon, Za’an,” he promised, walking into the night, “very soon.”
Chapter Ten
Hugo’s was a grim place by anyone’s standards. It was located in a barren, unlit street in the back roads of the city centre. Selena had never seen anything quite like it, and suspected that few in their right minds ever visited the area. The bar itself was made from a polished rolled brass material, which gleamed like burnished gold in the overhead lighting. The low rectangular tables were secured to the floor by means of large restraining bolts, as were the deep red swivel chairs, which were made from cheap plastic but quite comfortable.
The barman, presumably Hugo, was a small and greasy, fat individual. He habitually ran stubby tobacco-stained fingers through his long, thinning grey hair. When Selena and Bryn walked in Hugo again combed that hair with his fingernails and pulled forth something tiny and wriggling. Peering at it closely, he popped it between his fingernails before slipping it into his mouth, his flabby lips parting to ask: “Watcha want?”
Repressing a shudder, Selena opened her mouth to order but Singh waved for her to be quiet, saying loudly, “Barman, give us all a Roget’s Revenge, and a second round while you’re at it.”
Hugo’s top lip curled in what could be either a smile or smirk of contempt; it was pretty hard to distinguish which. With a snort he waddled off.
Apart from Arthur, the team were now all present. Bryn and Singh had been fairly inebriated earlier but had taken anti-high pills before showing and managing to sober up, so that they could start all over again. Kes had arrived with Samantha, who was now just returning from the ladies’ room and had stopped to glare at a large marmalade-coloured cat which had the temerity to take possession of her chair during her absence. The creature leapt off with a startled yowl as Samantha slapped it on the rump and reclaimed her seat, but the cat remained to weave in and out of her legs, annoying her no end. Then Samantha’s eyes widened and she sucked in her breath noisily between her teeth, in a hissing noise. If there was one thing more she hated more than cats it was creepy-crawlies, and there was a cockroach the size of her fist climbing up the wall behind Selena.
Following her gaze, Za’an immediately made a bet with Bryn about how long it would take the roach to reach the ceiling and Bryn lost, as usual.
Samantha, desperate to take her mind off the roach, asked, “Okay, I give up, what’s a Roget’s Revenge?”
Singh smiled happily, contented that someone had fallen into his trap. “Funny you should ask that,” he said. “As it happens, Roget was a distant relative of mine on my mother’s side.”
Bryn leant over to Selena. Briefly putting his hand on her arm, he drew her ear to his lips and whispered: “You do know what he’s up to, don’t you.”
“Yeah, I get the picture — he’s making it pretty obvious; but he hasn’t a chance. I have a feeling she has the hots for Arthur.”
Bryn grinned at her and nodded. Dropping his arm back to his side, he felt a surge of surprised happiness as Selena moved closer to him, while Singh continued with his story.
“Old Roget was a pilot on the Pluto run in the Earth system, way back in the days before the big inexpensive
drives came in and opened up the universe. Basically he was a party animal and even took a course in cocktail making, during some rest and recreation on Mars.” Singh finished his drink and watched with satisfaction as his glass was refilled by an intrigued and now attentive Hugo, evidently none too bright and a lover of tall tales. “Those long runs must have been hellishly lonely, as those courier ships only had a crew of one, occasionally two — and that was only in case of mechanical failure. Roget never had a single woman in his entire life...”
“Not one?” Hugo gasped, eyes widening.
“Obviously runs in the family,” Za’an muttered, much to the amusement of Kes who burst out laughing.
Singh simply glanced at Za’an and carried on. “He began experimenting with cocktails as a form of recreation, even wrote a book about them which sold surprisingly well. Anyway, one day he invented one hell of a drink and drank a few too many of the same to try it out; sadly choosing the moment during the trip when his computers finally failed. He actually slept through the alarms and missed a navigation point. With the autos out, he ended up doing an extended tour of Earth’s solar system instead. By the time the rescue ships got to him, he’d been dead a long time. But he’d have been pleased to know that one of the rescuers owned his cocktail book and was an avid fan of his. This guy found his new recipe and, having salvage rights, claimed it as his own and then marketed it as ‘Roget’s Revenge’. He made himself a rapid fortune by all accounts.” Singh leant back and took a swig of his cocktail.
Samantha simply looked at him. “I’ve never heard such garbage in my life, Singh. You’re so full of shit.”
Hugo leapt back, expecting the worst, nearly spilling the large jug of the courtesy cocktail he held in one hand. Putting the jug down he gave a loud sigh of relief as Singh simply laughed and pointed to the jug now safely ensconced in front of him.
“Maybe so, but look where it gets me!”
Realising that she’d been had, Samantha joined in with the laughter, while a puzzled Hugo looked from one to the other and collected the empty glasses, wiped the table with a grubby cloth and then moved away, muttering to himself.
A few hours later they staggered out into the dark, dusty streets. A large black tomcat swaggered beneath a flickering streetlight at the end of the street, illuminated on and off for a few seconds before vanishing into the night. A moment later, there was a horrible screech as the feline fell victim to one of the many small predators roaming the area.
Selena stayed close to Bryn’s side as they chatted. He slipped his arm protectively about her shoulders, his bulk dwarfing her slim figure, as they strolled through the semi-silent and dark streets. She found herself leaning into him, an unaccustomed warmth spreading through her. It was the first time anyone had shown her any real affection since her mother’s death, and she tried not to show the rush of excitement. She’d had a few lovers of course, in her youth, but that was just sex. And although Aunt May had been a good woman they’d never been very close. Selena remembered that her aunt hadn’t even come to the trial. She paused to watch a falling star and made a wish, as she had as a child all those years ago.
“Where did you meet Singh,” she asked Bryn, softly.
“At the academy, when he and I were both young. We were room-mates, and we’ve stuck together since. He was brought up in an orphanage, no family at all. No idea why, he’s never talked about it and I don’t like to pry. During R and R he used to come home to Theta with me. I’ve never known him get close to anyone, except me; no girlfriends or boyfriends. For some reason women don’t seem to like him. I keep telling him it’s because he’s ugly but he doesn’t believe me.”
As Bryn mentioned his home world, Selena saw the quickly hidden pain that flickered across his face. She wondered at the similarity of their pasts, both having lost close family. They walked on, his arm slipping down to her waist, in silence.
Chapter Eleven
“Are you members?” a grating voice demanded through the battered loudspeaker.
“Sure we are. Now open the door, will you?” Singh replied wearily, moving in front of the peephole, so that they could see his uniform.
The door opened immediately and two huge security men ushered them into Dusty’s, where they had arranged to meet Arthur. The heavy, metal grilled door shut behind them with a dull thunk and the guards vanished back into the security of their booth with its array of video cameras, remotely operated stun guns and other equipment.
Chattering and laughing, the group descended the narrow carpeted stairs into a dimly-lit room. Some people were dancing in a wooden cordoned off area, while a few sat or stood around tables or at the long bar that ran the length of one entire wall.
“It’s packed here tonight,” Bryn observed.
It was too, the crowd was a mixture of soldiers, street girls and gutter dregs. There were also a few tourists, who looked as though they were wondering what the hell they were doing here and how to get out without attracting too much attention. It had a great atmosphere, what Za’an called a “spit and sawdust kind of place”.
Four robo-tenders were trying vainly to fill all the orders, while patrons waved credit slips and demanded attention. At one table next to the bar a member of staff and a mechanic were trying to repair what appeared to be a fifth tender, this one obviously badly fight-damaged.
Singh led them towards a wall recess in a corner of the room. The alcove was already taken but at a growled command from Za’an the occupants fled, leaving their drinks behind. Kes and Bryn ordered from the bar and when they returned Singh and Za’an rose and immediately went to get another round. Selena sighed, she could tell it was going to be a fun-filled night. Then Sam produced a few joints and they lit up, sat back and began to relax.
“I don’t believe it,” Samantha said in disgust, as another feline appeared out of the darkness and brushed against her. “Another bloody cat. Fuck off, kitty!” She prodded the persistent black-furred beast away with one foot, and then tried in vain to ignore it.
They were well into their fifth round and quite enjoying themselves, each coming up with humorous anecdotes about their past, when two men in smart business suits entered the club. They swaggered down the steps and lurched over to the bar, obviously already slightly the worse for wear. They flashed their credit cards at the robo-tenders and loudly demanded attention. The people standing next to them drifted away, leaving them in the only empty space at the bar.
The larger of the two men grinned and nudged his companion, before trotting over to the tourist group. He sidled up to a buxom blonde standing next to the couch and slipped his hand back and forth over her backside, whispering something in her ear. She blushed furiously and tried to push him away, but he only laughed and repeated the gesture. The girl said something to the tall wary looking man next to her but he turned away slightly and didn’t reply.
The suit called his friend over. Suddenly the first man pulled the woman closer to him and lifted his other hand to her blouse, pulling it forward slightly and peeped down the top. Then, roaring with laughter, he let the woman go and with a shriek she fled, followed by her man and the other tourists in the group. Everyone in the room laughed, having watched the scene and knowing the suit had done it deliberately, to teach the tourists a lesson they wouldn’t forget and to get them out of the nightclub. This wasn’t a place for them; it was for the dregs of this society. Still laughing, the two men sat at the vacated table.
Selena felt no pity for the mauled woman. Simply put, if she couldn’t handle herself then she shouldn’t be here and, as far as she was concerned, the woman had gotten off lightly. Worse things often happened and made the tabloids for a day or two, and it appeared those responsible usually got away with it. “Silly bitch,” she muttered. Then she noticed Za’an wasn’t saying anything and was keeping a very low profile. “What’s up with you?” she demanded, peering at him over her glass as she sipped her cocktail.
Za’an shrugged. “Nothing much. I just know th
ose two jokers. See Casanova over there, the big guy who grabbed the woman?”
“What of it?”
“Well, we go way back, to when I roamed the streets as a kid. He was there too and his name is Bred-An Shaw, a real evil son of a bitch. We worked together for many years but he got too big for his boots and in the end he got caught.”
“Didn’t we all?” Kes observed dryly.
“Yeah, but this guy really bears a grudge. He escaped and went after the policemen who’d caught him – which is a kind of tradition where I come from — and fed him through a butcher’s mincer. He forced the butcher to make the meat into pies and then drop them off at the police station early the next morning, in time for breakfast. He got caught a short while after, dealing with the cop’s partner; chopped off the guy’s fingers and threw him down a drain. I heard that he drowned in the sewage, can’t have been a pleasant death.”
Selena was surprised. Anyone who put the slightest semblance of fear into Za’an was well worth watching. She glanced furtively at the two men and they all remained silent for a while. Then Samantha, somewhat tipsy by now, saw another cockroach climbing up the wall beside her and with a loud shriek stood and slammed her fist into it. Not only did she kill the luckless creature but also managed to crack the brickwork underneath it.
Hearing the noise, the two thugs looked over and Bred-An’s eyes widened. He turned and instantly whispered into the other’s ear, while the people at the table next to them cast a look in their direction, then stood up suddenly and left.
“I hate to say this, Za’an,” Singh observed, “but I do believe your two friends over there have seen us, and by ‘us ’ I mean you, Za’an. And they don’t look happy at all.”
Bred-An was staring at Za’an and spitting words into his friend’s ear. With cruel grins, the two men rose and walked towards them.
