Ariel straightened her blouse which had become somewhat disarranged by Bishop’s vigorous clinch. “Maybe there’s more than one of them.”
“Like clones? Kill one and another pops up to stalk me and leave death threats on my car? There has to be a way to make it stop.”
“That’s what we’re here to figure out,” Ariel said in a low voice. “Zaki’s either a demon himself or he’s helping them develop some kind of regeneration technology. They’re testing it on kids and probably some demon volunteers. The only way we can figure out how to stop it is to get into that big building where the train stops. But right now, Mouser is my priority. If I can figure out how to get to him tonight I’m going to do it.”
“What if breaking Mouser out blows the whole thing? What if we can never get to Zaki again? They could move the entire operation beyond our reach. We’d lose the element of surprise just like Cassius said.”
“Mouser is family!”
“The other kids have families too, Ariel. People who care about them. We don’t know enough yet. Think about it!”
“I did not!” Ariel said loudly.
Bishop looked up. The security guard was paying them more than passing attention.
“I was only being friendly. It didn’t mean anything, baby, you know that.”
Something in Bishop’s brain ticked over. He raised his own voice
“I saw the way you were looking at him, and I don’t like it!”
“I’m going to the ladies room.” Ariel announced. “Get yourself a drink with ice in it – you need to cool off!”
She flounced away from Bishop, down the hall, butt swaying, her skirt doing a furious fandango around her thighs. After a mutual moment of appreciation, Bishop made eye contact with the security guard. He shrugged.
“Women!” The guard said, one guy to another.
“Yeah,” Bishop agreed. “They sure are sexy when they’re angry.”
He strolled off toward one of the bars and ordered a large scotch on the rocks. The security guard seemed satisfied that all he’d seen was a couple having a jealous tiff.
But that wasn’t the reason Bishop was asking for extra ice in his drink.
* * *
Ariel ducked into a nearby ladies room, just in case anyone was still watching. She had started to tell Bishop about her plan to explore the heat ducts in the building when the little man showed up and distracted her. As much time actors on television seemed to spend crawling around in heating ducts, she was surprised how often real life security firms ignored these systems.
The grill over the duct in the ladies room was high on the wall and looked like it would be a tight fit. Ariel could imagine herself right in the middle of trying to wiggle into the opening only to have a gaggle of women open the door to be greeted by the sight of her butt and legs dangling from the wall. She needed a more private place, and she needed to leave her bracelet with Bishop so no one would be able to track where she was going.
Locking herself in a stall, Ariel removed a thin blade from the spine of her small purse and started to work on taping and cutting the bracelet. She hoped it didn’t have a heat signature as well as a contact alarm.
She applied Cassius’ strip of copper tape with just enough slack in the middle so she could cut the bracelet, slip her wrist out, but not break the contact. She dropped it into her purse, flushed the toilet for effect then fluffed her hair and applied fresh lipstick at the mirror over the sink. It wouldn’t do to ignore the appearance of her fake personality even though she had something much less glamorous in mind.
* * *
Ariel made one full circuit of the lobby before she joined Bishop and Rain back in the arena. She intended to leave her purse and bracelet with Bishop while she crawled around in the heating system. She’d worn a lot of bright, clunky bracelets on that wrist to disguise what was now missing from her arm. They, like the clothes she wore tonight, had been bought in thrift stores and garage sales when she almost stopped thinking about being a Raptor and let herself pretend she was a real live girl.
When Ariel settled back into her seat the Sumo wrestlers were still at it. Bishop’s look of pained bemusement told her he couldn’t wait until this part of the entertainment was over. Rain was counting a small sheaf of bills. He stuck them in an inside pocket and leaned over Bishop to tell her what she’d missed.
“It’s like watching two elephants run into each other,” he said. “I don’t know anything about this Sumo stuff but I bet on the brother, and the brother was good to Rain.”
“This is the last match,” Bishop said. “Akuma’s already the winner on points. You missed all the slapping and grunting that happened in the last round. Nioarashi is pissed and he has nothing to lose, so this bout is pure grudge.”
Ariel could see a lot of agitation in the Japanese seats. A few countrymen seemed to be getting a lot of flak from their fellow gamblers. She guessed it wasn’t considered okay to bet against a Japanese wrestler, especially if you won.
Each wrestler performed the usual ritual, throwing salt into the ring, spitting water insultingly close to each other’s feet. They squatted simultaneously, lifting one massive knee after the other to pound a foot down onto the sand.
All at once, both wrestlers lunged forward. The sound of their naked flesh coming together was like a giant, reverberating slap accompanied by an explosion of sweat in all directions. Spectators in the front rows actually threw up their arms, or ducked to avoid the splatter.
“Holy shit!” Bishop said.
“Now it’s just brute strength,” Rain explained. “One of them has to push the other out of the ring or make him touch some other part of his body to the sand.”
The struggle went on. Mountainous flesh quivered with effort, naked buttocks clenched, toes gripped at the sand for purchase, sweat rolled -- threatening each man’s grip on the other.
Suddenly, Akuma’s grip shifted. With lightening speed for such a large man, his hands plunged to Nioarashi’s hips to grip his mawashi. In an amazing feat of strength he used the wrestler’s own momentum to spin him off his feet and toss him out of the ring, over the bales of hay and onto the floor three feet below the platform.
In the moment of stunned silence that followed, the sound of Nioarashi’s body hitting the ground was almost indescribable. Ariel imagined she felt the ground under her feet heave with the impact. Nioarashi lay completely still. Akuma, the winner, stood alone on the sand inside the ring, accepting the whistles and cheers from the audience with a small, quickly suppressed smile of triumph on his lips.
Bishop’s jaw dropped, Rain was trying for sang froid, but only managed to look dazed, until he realized he’d won his bet.
“That’s what I call game,” he yelled to no one in particular.
“That’s impossible!” Ariel said.
“What? Is that some kind of foul?” Rain asked. “You mean the brother didn’t win?”
“No, he won. It’s just impossible that someone, even someone equally matched, could toss that kind of weight fifteen feet.”
Paramedics were swarming over Nioarashi. It was like watching pygmies trying to resuscitate a giant. The announcer climbed into the ring with Akuma. He was speaking into the microphone but his words were lost in the general swell of noise caused by the audience. A screech of feedback shut everyone up long enough for the announcer to call a ten minute break while they set up for the next competition.
Ariel glanced over her shoulder as she, Rain and Bishop headed up the steps toward the lobby. The paramedics had called for a fork lift to help them move the unconscious wrestler.
If that doesn’t work, she thought. You’re going to have to use a chain and a tractor.
She’s seen that once on the Discovery Channel when a Circus vet had to pull an unconscious elephant out of his stall so he could be examined and treated. It was a disturbing picture and a further humiliation for the champion of an ancient martial art who had come to compete in America with no idea of what he wa
s up against.
* * *
Even Rain seemed more subdued in the lobby. “Man,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like that. If you’d told me about it I’d say you were lying. Those dudes were as big as my mother’s entire side of the family. What do you think they get paid for that?”
“Probably not as much as those fake wrestlers on American TV get paid for acting like idiots,” Ariel said. “But Sumos are well respected in Japan because what they do is real not faked. Except for tonight.”
“You think that was faked? I heard somebody say that guy must have been attached to wires to be thrown like that.”
“It wasn’t wires.” Ariel said. “They’re taking him out of the arena on a fork lift. Aren’t you glad you bet on the right guy?”
“I guess I should go cash in,” Rain said. “Tell you the truth, this win doesn’t taste quite as sweet as I expected.”
Bishop and Ariel watched him go. Ariel handed Bishop her purse. “Take this. It has the bracelet in it.” She rattled her bangles. “No one will notice I’m missing.”
“Where are you going?” Bishop asked.
“I want to see if I can find a way over to the other building. I’m sure the fighters come from that direction. There’s probably a tunnel, but I’m going to see how far I can get through the ventilation system. If I’m not back by the time this is over leave without me. We’ll hook up later.”
Bishop took her arm. “I don’t want you to do this alone. These people are seriously dangerous. If they get their hands on you, who’s going to get you out?”
“Tell Ez to get Tomas. Tomas will know what to do.” She shook Bishop’s hand off and started to walk away.
“Who’s Tomas?” Bishop said, mostly to himself.
He looked down at the red purse in his hand. As usual, a woman had left him holding the bag.
* * *
Ariel made her way through the crowd in the lobby. She milled around with the rest of the guests for a bit, then a bell sounded signaling the next match, and people began to move back into the arena.
On her previous circuit of the lobby Ariel had identified a restroom located out of the traffic pattern. It wasn’t near one of the more popular entrances to the seats. It had no food table or bar nearby. It was even down a small hallway, next to a janitor’s closet.
As soon as she was alone she slipped inside and locked the door. It was clear why this one-room, facility existed. It had been built to satisfy disability requirements and offer access to those confined to a wheel chair. Since the only disabled individuals Ariel had seen since she arrived were beaten and unconscious contestants, she assumed she would be undisturbed.
The air vent over the sink was set in a drop ceiling made of large acoustic tiles suspended on a metal frame. Ariel balanced herself with one foot on a safety bar, the other on the edge of the sink and pulled at the screen over the duct. It swung down, revealing a space much too small to crawl through.
She managed to slide the tiles next to the duct aside and pull herself up into the crawl space above. There was plenty of room up there, but it was precarious. Dividing walls poked their tops above a vast sea of fragile tiles, metal ducts ran in every direction only to end at the support wall for the giant dome. If she wanted to get to the other building she’d have to find a way around the dome.
Ariel nudged the tiles back into place, took off her high heels, and set them on the nearest duct so she could find her way back. Barefoot was better. Her Raptor toes were meant to grip, something human feet couldn’t do.
She moved from wall to wall, aiming for a place at the far end of the dome where the ducts, pipes and cables all came together to disappear downward to somewhere below.
The shaft of the duct was bigger here and it had a maintenance grill. She hooked her fingers into the metal squares and pulled until it popped loose. She could make out a bit of light below, but it was coming from a long way down -- two or three stories at least. If she was careful she might be able to fit into the space next to the pipes and use the strength in her hands and feet to lower herself down the shaft.
Ariel rolled the waistband of her short skirt over several times so that it wouldn’t catch on things as she went down. Maybe a lacey red thong hadn’t been the best choice for crawling through heating ducts.
After a couple of tight squeezes, the shaft widened and the bottom became visible. The light came from a grill. It was high on the wall of a wide corridor. Under it, the duct turned again, becoming an empty, horizontal tunnel. As Ariel lowered herself to the metal floor to peer through the grill, she heard the sound of footsteps, then voices, coming along the corridor.
“Remember,” a voice was saying. “He likes to use the chuks, but he also likes to show off his flashy moves to the crowd. Go for his knees and ribs. Joints and bones are more fragile and take longer to heal than cuts and bruises. He got clipped a good one in the eye today, it may not be back to 100%. It was the left. Yeah, left is good ‘cuz you’re right handed. See if you can hit him on that side of the head. Stay away from his feet unless you’re sure you have a good opening.”
“Shut up.” Another voice said. “I know what I’m doing. If you were any good in the ring you’d be out there yourself, not carrying my towel and yapping at me like one of those little rat dogs.”
The two speakers drew parallel to the grill. One was a boy of eighteen or nineteen. Naked from the waist up, he was lean and muscular with a hard face currently set in a scowl. His companion was younger, smaller, trying to keep up with the older boy’s longer stride. His movements were jerky and one side of his face had a nervous tic that pulled his cheek toward one eye in a series of rapid spasms.
Ariel wondered if he’d been hit in the head one too many times. And if they’d done that to this kid, what were they doing to Mouser? She dropped to her knees and started to crawl along the horizontal duct.
A nearby grill offered her a view into what looked like a small dressing or treatment room. A glass-fronted cabinet held bottles of alcohol, liniment, packets of gauze, splints, liquid medicines in clear vials and individually wrapped syringes. A rolling stand held the debris of someone’s recent injuries, bloody gauze, scissors, a suture kit.
A teenage boy lay much too still on the treatment table, half covered by a sheet, his face was swollen and distorted. He seemed to be unconscious, maybe dead although no one had bothered to pull the cover over his face.
Ariel’s hands explored the grill. It was fastened from her side with wing-nuts tightened down on the ends of heavy screws. Ariel loosened them, swinging the grill up on its hinges, easing herself into the room without a sound.
She knew she was taking a big chance but she needed more information. If the boy was dead at least she would know what happened to homeless kids Zaki kidnapped off the streets.
The boy’s head moved. His eyes were swollen shut from the pounding he’d taken. Blood trickled from his broken nose. His lips were mangled and split but he managed to open his mouth.
“Who’s there?” The words came out as a croak.
Ariel quickly pulled her skirt down to a more modest length and moved over to the side of the table. She grabbed a water bottle from the stand and held the bent straw carefully to the boy’s lips. “I came to check on you,” she said. “Try some water.”
The boy’s lips couldn’t manage the straw so she squeezed the bottle letting a small amount of water slide into his mouth. He swallowed and coughed, then groaned and moved one hand to his ribcage. “Go away,” he said.
“Can I do anything for you?”
The boy let out a strangled laugh, then clutched his side again. His eyes were bloody slits. Ariel knew he couldn’t see her.
“Yeah, Nurse Nancy,” the boy said. “You can get my pink and fuzzy tail the fuck out of here. I’m tired of getting beat to shit, healed up, and beat to shit again. If you can’t let me go, just put me down, okay? A common lab rat gets better treatment than this.”
“Believe me, I’d l
ike to get you out,” Ariel told him. “Maybe if you gave me more information. I’m looking for somebody.”
“In here? You’re crazy, babe. This place is the Hotel California. They check you in, but you can never leave. That means you, too.”
“His name is Mouser. About fifteen, brown hair. Do you know him?”
The boy started to shake his head, but quickly though better of it. “How long?” he asked.
“A few days.”
“He’s probably still up in the cages.” The boy’s sudden cough turned into a groan
Ariel tried to give him more water but he waved her away. “I’ll be fine in a few hours. Maybe a day the way my ribs feel. You better get out of here, they like to check in and see how fast we heal. It’s got something to do with the shit they shoot us up with.”
“Where are the cages?” Ariel asked.
“Y’all can’t get there from here, it’s like super security. Glass walls, lights always on. Cameras. It’s better when the training starts, but you still can’t get out.”
“What about the heating ducts? They seem to run--”
The boy’s hand shot out and grabbed blindly, connecting with Ariel’s arm. She pulled away from his grip.
“Don’t use the ducts!” The boy said. “A few of us tried. They got some kind of death ray set up in ‘em. It really fucks up your shit! They showed us the bodies.”
“It’s been okay so far,” Ariel told him.
“The farther you go, the riskier it gets. You’re lucky you got this far. It’s probably cuz you’re still in the arena.”
A door shut somewhere along the corridor outside.
“Go!” The boy said. “They’re checking on us.”
Ariel’s eyes went to the rolling stand. She grabbed a latex exam glove, stuffed a handful of the boy’s bloody gauze into it and tucked it into the waistband of her skirt to free up her hands. Kicking a chair under the grate she pulled herself up into it.
“Watch for the dead rats,” the boy called after her.
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 20
