Monster City

by Kevin Wright

  “I’m wearing a vest, and my briefcase has no handle,” Salazar says.

  “Oh balls!” Lord Brudnoy scans the dump. “Hmm, Lord Tyr hates a litterbug.” He calls down again, “Well, then take out the contract, put it in your pocket, and climb up my chain.” Lord Brudnoy holds up his chain and shakes it, thrashing garbage. He watches.

  With a key, Salazar unlocks his briefcase and, muttering beneath his breath, begins rifling through it. Over his shoulder, he glances after he buries it beneath a pizza box.

  “Tally ho, Benjamin!”

  Salazar does not look happy.

  “You can do it, old boy!”

  Salazar slips, repeatedly.

  Lord Brudnoy sits drumming his claws on a trashcan lid, occasionally glancing at his wrist, though no watch is there. The sun has long since set.

  Longingly, and every few links up the chain, Salazar casts his eyes back to the foot of the hill, to gaze upon the spot where he has hidden his briefcase. Finally, hand-over-fist, floundering like a cod, he reaches the top. A warm breeze carries mysterious scents from the nearby hills of refuse. Salazar, gasping, collapses at Lord Brudnoy’s feet.

  “Ah, the richness of the air doth make for a heady brew, eh, Benjamin?” Lord Brudnoy takes a deep breath and holds it. Then he lets it out, and his shoulders and head sink low. “Across yon city, mine eyes do see the world. And a gray world it is, a gray world it is. Once there was a time I reveled in the dusk. As the last of the pent-up heat cast by the sun, trapped within the tar and concrete, dissipated slowly.

  “Fire burned in my blood then, Benjamin. Fire and Ooomph! I reveled in the night. The coming of the leech and creeps. Defending the just by tooth and nail. I was strong, strong and fast, Benjamin, strong and fast.” He nods. “‘Let them come,’ I would call into the night wind, and it would speak to me. Like Nimrod himself, I was. No quarry could contend. They would come as hunters, for the promise of warm flesh, and warm flesh they would find, by the barrel, Benjamin, by the barrel.

  “It is autumn, though, and a chill slides through my arthritic bones. They do not generate heat as once they did.”

  Salazar sits up upon the mound of trash, next to his lord. His breath comes easier now. Lord Brudnoy looks at him and grumbles.

  “You are old, Benjamin,” Lord Brudnoy says. “I had not noticed.”

  Salazar fiddles with his glasses and places them back on. He nods in the failing light. “You have not worried yourself with such matters for a long time, Lord Brudnoy.”

  “How long, Benjamin?” Lord Brudnoy glances up. “I cannot remember anymore.”

  “About thirty years,” Salazar says after a pause.

  “And how old was I before the change?”

  “You were thirty — no, forty-five years old,” Salazar says. “You’re seventy-five, now, Lord Brudnoy.”

  They sit there in silence for a long time.

  “Seventy-five, I feel older than seventy-five. I almost died two nights ago, eh?” Lord Brudnoy says. “That has not happened before.”

  “You have been injured before,” Salazar counters. “When they first started with the guns and, what was his name? Longmarsh. Lamprey Longmarsh. He and his Nuk-toads gave you a run for your money if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Lord Brudnoy takes a deep breath. “I do not mind you saying so, Benjamin. One thing I have not minded through my long life is truth. A gem so rare must be cherished. Though my mind has failed.”

  “No! Lord Brudnoy, you are wise and hale as a—”

  “Nay,” Lord Brudnoy says, “I have seen no need ever to lie, least of all to myself. My mind is warped, Benjamin. I can feel it, my body now, too. I can’t think straight. Bones creak, crackle, crumble. My ears alone do not fail me, for still I can hear things. The night wind yet whispers to me her song. Her desires. And still, I listen. And remember, I … I remember a wife, Benjamin. A woman. I cannot remember her face, though. It is as though on the tip of my tongue, so to speak, but when I try, when I can almost see her face, she eludes me.”

  “Liz, she—”

  “And I remember sleep. Peaceful dreaming sleep. Dreams that revitalized the body and mind. Solace. When I sleep, Benjamin, I do not dream. Why?”

  “I don’t know, my lord.”

  “Nor do I, nor do I.” Lord Brudnoy stretches out his back, vertebrae popping. He growls. “My wounds heal slow.” He turns his head, licks some of the stitches, then turns back, disgust etched into his wolf face. “To be taken by the leeches as the wolf, when I had escaped them as a man, and to be saved by man…” A shiver wriggles up his body. “You have the contract, Benjamin?”

  “Yes.” Salazar pulls a roll of toilet paper from his coat. He unrolls it, and by lighter, reads aloud.

  When he finishes, Benjamin adjusts his glasses and rolls it back up.

  “The Gurkha is a man of his word?” Lord Brudnoy queries.

  “As much as any man.”

  “Good, good.” Lord Brudnoy settles back in trash. He gazes up at the stars, the cold white stars.

  “My wife, Benjamin, what color was her hair?”

  * * * *

  The Venetian blinds were closed in the Chief’s office.

  “The man is dead. Very dead,” the Chief said. “In the morgue in three different pieces. There’s no one to lock up, no one to prosecute. As far as I’m concerned, all we have to do is receive accolades from the public on the great job we did, commemorate the officers killed, and call it a day. And you can move on, too, since your services here are no longer required.

  “I’m sure you agree,” the chief continued, taking a step back from his desk. He pressed a button on his phone and spoke into it, “Uh, Ronny, come in here. I’d, uh, like some coffee. Coffee?” he offered.

  Detective Winters said nothing.

  “No?” the Chief said.

  Ronny entered the room, skated around Detective Winters as though he bore the plague, and set a coffee mug down. It was steaming. Ronny remained.

  “Understand, detective,” the Chief said, “it’s time to move on, to put it all behind. You’ve accomplished what you were hired for. You’ve been paid well. So once the SWAT team is buried—”

  “Understand this,” Detective Winters raised a finger, “there will never be a time to put this behind. It is war, and last night a blow was struck. A major blow, perhaps, but not likely. More likely it was merely a changing of the guard. An oozing cracked scab stanching the flow of blood momentarily, shivering under the pressure building behind. The scab will crack into so many shards, and blood will pour forth, churning the flesh from this town’s bones. It will be worse than before, much worse.”

  “Now, hold on there,” the Chief said. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

  “As much as you know and are not telling me,” Detective Winters said. “What did you take from Gurlek’s apartment?”

  “I — nothing,” the Chief said.

  “Why were you there?”

  “I’m the Chief of police, it’s my job to—”

  “Write inane policies, sit on your fat ass all day, and powder the mayor’s ass,” Detective Winters said. “It is not your job to contaminate my scene of investigation. What did you steal?”

  “I won’t be interrogated by you!“

  “Ronnie,” Detective Winters’s eyes never left the Chief’s, “go get a cup of coffee for the chief.”

  “Uh, he has one already.” Ronnie’s eyes flitted back and forth between the Chief and Detective Winters and the steaming cup of coffee on the Chief’s desk which Detective Winters picked up and took a sip of.

  His eyes never left the Chief’s. “Good coffee,” Detective Winters said. “Ronnie, coffee, now.”

  The Chief backed himself against the wall. “No, Ronnie stay.”

  The door shut as Ronnie disappeared out it.

  “Chief.” Detective Winters snatched the Chief’s tie and yanked him forward over his desk. He took a sip of the steaming coffee. “I want to kno
w what you stole from my scene. And I want it. Now. You have it, and it would be much better for you if you gave it to me. Now. This is excellent coffee, chief, excellent.”

  “There are fifty cops in this building right now. One yell from me and—”

  “They will find their chief without half of his face,” Detective Winters finished.

  “And they’ll fucking kill you!” the Chief whispered.

  “I live on the edge,” Detective Winters said, his pale blue eyes searching. “Give me what I want, and I will leave.”

  The Chief gave him what he wanted. It was a diary, of a sort.

  Chapter 26.

  WHERE THEY WEREN’T STAINED a reddish, brownish rust color, which was just about everywhere, the tiles covering the walls and floor were a sickly green. Brass sconces lining the walls lit the room with a flickering, medieval glow. Dirt and grime, decades old, stained the grout between the tiles.

  Three men sat in the dim corridor that faded off into darkness. Two wore faded black and gray camouflage, while the other wore a finely tailored suit. The rattle of cage doors in the darkness and the occasional sob broke the monotony of the cool wet splooshes of water dripping … somewhere. They sat on metal folding chairs across from a small wooden door. Steam poured from their nostrils as they breathed in and out, waiting.

  The small wooden door opened inward and a large pair of creamy jade eyes regarded the three. Jet-black hair, lustrous even more so in the darkness, spilled down her shoulders, which were bare. The black satin dress she wore possessed a sheen in the flickering darkness. Her lips were red.

  The three men gasped as one.

  The one dressed smartly in the finely tailored, three-piece-suit recovered first, restraining his gasp to a concise intake of breath through his nostrils, located just above his prim mustache. His dark skin complemented his light, cream-colored suit. His hair was slicked back neatly with not a one out of place. A white silk scarf rested lightly across his shoulders, spilling down parallel with his lapels. Absently, he adjusted it with his gold ring-encrusted fingers as he stood to meet his host. The scent of the pomade in his hair, musky in an almost chemical way, though not unpleasantly so, was eclipsed by Lil’s soft, sweet, misty scent. He took a deep breath and met the woman’s gaze, another deep breath and she moved closer.

  He whisked a small case from within his coat, withdrew a black cigarette, and offered it.

  “Yesssss, thank you, Sanjay.” Lil leaned forward and lifted the black cigarette to her pouting lips. She poised there for a second, languid, lazy, diaphanous, her dress defying nature, gravity, barely.

  To Sanjay’s credit, his mouth remained closed, and no drool rolled down his chin. His eyes jumped, though, as they always did when he gazed at her. With a golden lighter, he lit her cigarette, snapped it shut, and it vanished within his pocket.

  Chest heaving, Lil took a deep pull on the black cigarette; the tip flared. She closed her eyes for a moment, holding it, then let it go slowly, smoke tendrils slipping from between her lips. “Come with me, Sanjay,” she said, “we have a businesssss proposition to discuss.

  “Oh, and boys,” her voice a whispered caress, “I’ll be with you in one moment.”

  Sanjay followed the smooth, pendulum swing of her hips, back and forth, through the small wooden door.

  Sanjay stepped across the threshold and into another world. It was a sheik’s harem sheathed in Goth. Almost everything was black. The low tables were black. The billowing silk curtains were black; long mesa-like pedestals were black. The stalactite-covered ceiling and stalagmite-covered floor were black. The five huge mesas rose in a pentagram on the floor, and upon each, men and women writhed amidst a tumble of hot-pink pillows. Their voices, though far away, each caressed Sanjay’s ear as a lover’s. He glanced to either side of himself, adjusted his tie.

  “Well, come on then,” Lil whispered, impossibly far ahead. “You’ll see much better from up here.” She sauntered up a smooth ebony staircase that wound around the mesa at the far end of the room. Her high heels clicked on the stone with each step. Men and women’s voices echoed in the dark. Sanjay adjusted his scarf and followed.

  “So how do you like my domicile?” Lil collapsed like a shorn daisy amidst a mass of pillows. Languorously, she arched her back, her hand stretched out like a cat above her head, toes pointed. “MMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” she said then just stared up expectantly at him. “Come, sit, relax, come.” She smiled, the tips of her white, white teeth just gleaming through parted red lips.

  Sanjay loosened his collar with his index finger and took a deeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath. He remained standing despite every cell of his body demanding otherwise. He was suddenly smoking another cigarette; he snapped his lighter shut.

  Lil stared at Sanjay for a long moment. For Sanjay it was hours, and then she sat up, drawing her legs up under her arms and leaning forward. She had long, long legs. She took a deep breath and let it out in disappointment, pouting. Men and women moaned in the distance, in Sanjay’s ear.

  “Your domicile is very, very beautiful.” Sanjay’s Hindi accent was thick.

  Enraptured, eyes glowing, Lil turned, twisted forward so she was lying on her stomach, leaning up on her elbows, giving him full advantage of her cleavage, “Why thank you, that is so nice of you to say,” Lil said, eyes ravenous. “Puss did the decorating. I thought the pink pillows would be too girly, but,” she paused a moment, playing with her lustrous hair, twirling it with a finger, but Sanjay moved not. “And how is your place of business, my dear, dear Sanjay?”

  “The restaurant and club flourish, my Lady,” Sanjay said. “Thank you for your concern. We are very, very busy. Tomorrow will be a very great party.”

  “Excellent, the girls will be so pleased. They love your club, the décor, the location, the bouncer.” Abruptly, Lil slid up on her knees. “Dear Sanjay, could you unzip me?” She half-turned on her knees, offering her back to him. “It’s such a bother, I know.” She gathered that long black liquid hair within her hands and lifted it to reveal her neck.

  If the Black Mother herself had struck Sanjay a blow, he could have been no more stunned. His black cigarette stuck to his gaping lower lip. For once in his life, he did not know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, of course. Oh, he knew. Sweat beaded on his forehead as, involuntarily, he stepped forward. His cigarette fell, but he snatched it and stamped it out on his palm without a flinch. Starving, he knelt and touched her hair, lifting it out of the way of the zipper. His hand brushed the back of her neck and dizziness struck him like a hammer. Between thumb and forefinger, he took the zipper and, hands trembling, lowered it, following the curve of her back.

  “Thank you, Sanjay.” Lil turned, snuggling back into the mass of pillows. Then she was kneeling, her dress held up by one graceful hand across her bosom.

  “Ahem.” Sanjay tried to clear his throat.

  “Sanjay, I asked you here for a small business proposition,” Lil said.

  “Whatever you desire, my Lady.”

  “It’s just a teensy, weensy favor, really.”

  “Name it.”

  “I want men killed.” Her eyes were noticeably more reptilian all of a sudden.

  “Their wives weep already. Tell me their names, addresses, descriptions.” Sanjay might have been trading recipes. “When, Lady? How?”

  “Oh, almost immediately,” Lil said. “I know tonight is really short notice. You’re so capable, of course, but tomorrow night would be perfect. I will see to it that they come to you.”

  “Would there be any special instructions, method, or manner?” Sanjay inquired.

  “Oh, whatever suits you and your mother.” Lil laid back into the mass of pink pillows. She reached up to her bosom, pulled the front of her dress out, and slid her hand down within. Pulling her hand back out, and with a flourish, she held out a small gray envelope to Sanjay. “Their names and descriptions are all there.”

  Sanjay took a deep pull on his cigarette then flicked it off the mesa
into the stalagmites below. He stepped forward to take the envelope. As his hand brushed it, Lil flicked it playfully out of his reach. Sanjay just stood there perched above her, his arm outstretched.

  “One other thing,” Lil said. “One of them possesses a certain item, an antique. I want it. I’ve noted it on the list.” Her eyes glowed. “Get it for me, will you, dear Sanjay?” She held him with her eyes, which were not playful, not in the least. From all corners of the room, men started to scream in pain and fear and panic. Long, it did not last long.

  Sanjay swallowed, “I shall retrieve what you desire.” Then he took the envelope and a step back, his eyes searching the darkness around him. Upon the four other mesas, Sanjay could see nothing. Walking up the center of the room, though, between the mesas, were four women. Four women walking slowly, purposefully. Four women who could rival Lil, perhaps. The click of their heels as they started up the spiraling stairs encircling Lil’s mesa reverberated.

  “Sanjay, we have yet to discuss … payment.” Lil grinned. Her teeth were pearly, white, sharp. “What do you desire for this little … proposition?” Lil crawled forth, a tigress, her eyes flashing. Behind, the four other women strode, clearing the pillows from their path. Their teeth were pink.

  Sanjay backed up to the edge of the mesa, “I would like to leave here alive, my lady,” Sanjay said, stepping off the edge of the mesa.

  Lil paused, considered to herself, and said, “Done.”

  Through the air and onto the spiral stairs below, Sanjay fell. He sprinted through the stalagmites like a gazelle stalked by cheetahs.

  “Sanjay, one other thing,” Lil said, her voice in his ear.

  Sanjay paused, spinning around, his hand on the doorknob.

  The four ladies, cold, beautiful, stood around him. Sanjay smoothed his hair and stood up straight.

  Lil stood upon her mesa in the distance. “When you leave, send the men in, please.”

  * * * *

  At first, he thought she was an angel.

  Then he thought it was the drugs.

  Then he thought she was an angel again.

  “No,” Nathaniel Pool said to the angel. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”