She closed the grate behind her and spun a couple of nuts onto the bolts to hold it in place in case anyone tried it.
“I’ll come back for you,” she told the boy, but she thought she might have said it too softly for him to hear.
* * *
Dead rats? live rats, gargoyles, things that slither and bite maybe. But what’s the problem with a dead rat?
Around the next turn she found out. Three dead rats lay in the entrance to a connecting duct, twisted forever into a rictus of rodent agony. Their bodies appeared to have exploded outward, scattering their organs and entrails onto the walls of the duct.
The floor around each one was stained with the dried fluid that had exited their bellies and orifices in a boiling torrent. The traps the boy had warned her about started here, and since she couldn’t see what triggered them, there was nothing she could do to safely get past them.
Ariel cursed silently. She’d have to find another way to get to Mouser. In the meantime she had to get back to the arena and Bishop.
Getting back up the duct proved to be a lot harder than going down.
- 23 -
Ariel took the drink she’d been offered.
She’d come back in through the ladies room ceiling, washed the dirt off her hands and knees, splashed some water on her face, stepped back into her sexy red heels and tried her best not to look as upset as she was feeling as she made her way through a mostly deserted lobby to the entrance to her seat.
She must not have been entirely successful. As she passed one of the waitresses who ferried drinks back and forth to patrons watching the matches, the woman asked,
“You okay Hon?”
Ariel nodded, hoping to just keep going, but the woman balanced her tray on one hand and patted her on the arm.
“You’re not the only one finds that stuff in there hard to watch. I’ve seen people come tearing up that ramp and barely make it to the rest room in time.”
She rotated her tray a half turn. “I got a double Jack on the rocks here. I was about to take it inside, but you look like you need it more than the guy who ordered it. I’ll get him another.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. You take care now, Miss.” The woman bustled off.
Ariel downed the drink in one gulp and started down the steps into the arena.
* * *
“You all right?” Bishop whispered as she took her seat. Rain’s chair was empty.
“I wish people would stop asking me that!” Ariel snapped, taking her frustration out on Bishop.
Bishop held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. You were just gone for a while. I wondered.”
“I can take care of myself, you know.”
“No argument there.” Bishop gave her back her purse.
Ariel stuck the rolled up glove into it and slid the bracelet back onto her wrist.
“When does this end?” She asked, eyeing the giant metal cage that now occupied the center of the arena. Two men in overalls were inside raking the sand so there would be a smooth surface for the next match.
“Just as soon as the first three Thunderdome winners finish beating each other senseless in a final, free-for-all grudge match. That apparently determines who gets the title of meanest, most ruthless mutant on earth. I hope you brought your barf bag.”
“A waitress in the lobby made me drink a double Jack Daniels before she’d let me come back to my seat.”
“Good choice.” Bishop said. “What do you think they do with all the dead bodies?”
“Apparently they just let them lie around until they heal.”
“Not possible.” Bishop told her. “There weren’t any decapitations, but I was in the Army, and I was a cop. I know dead when I see it.”
Ariel shook her head. She kept her voice low so no one would overhear what she had to say.
“I got as far as the place they keep the fighters before matches.”
Bishop’s eyebrows went up.
“I talked to a kid from one of the early fights. He looked pretty bad, but he said he’d heal because they gave him something that makes that happen.”
Ariel rubbed her forehead. The frustration was giving her a headache. “He didn’t know Mouser, but he thought he knew where they were keeping him. I tried, but I couldn’t get any further because there are traps in the duct system set to fry anything with a pulse.”
“Jesus. What can do that?”
“Lasers, microwaves, a death ray from outer space. I don’t know. The point is that Zaki does have some drug that causes rapid healing. He kidnaps street kids and teaches them to fight each other, lets them get the shit beat out of them, then sees how fast they recover. It must work on near fatal injuries as well, at least for demons. It also makes people a whole lot stronger than normal. The question is why?” Ariel shrugged. “The kid didn’t know so I grabbed a sample of . . .”
Rain slid into his seat. He was humming.
Ariel gave him a look.
“What?” He said.
“People are getting beaten into an ugly stain,” Ariel said to him. “And all you care about is winning money.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and slunk down in her seat, disgusted.
Rain looked over her head at Bishop as if to say, This is what happens when you bring women to watch combat sports.
Bishop shrugged. When Ariel got mad, it was better to keep your thoughts to yourself.
- 24 -
Mouser sat with his back to the wall of his cell. He’d been totally stupid going out alone, hoping to impress El by showing her he could handle himself. That’s what had landed him here in this cell-- stupidity.
Fighting back had also gotten him nowhere. They just drugged him up, which meant he woke with a headache and tape on his arm with needle sticks underneath. He didn’t know if that meant they were taking something out or putting something in. He only knew when he woke up his skin itched--on the inside.
The kid in the cell across from him had been here longer than he had. When nobody was in the corridor, they talked through the holes in the glass walls, compared notes, told each other which one of their tormentors was highest on their list for revenge. Mouser said he knew people were going to come after him, get him out.
“Give it up, Man,” the kid said. He was a little older and had been on the street longer, past the age where somebody was going to stand up for him like El had with Mouser. “The more you fight ‘em, the worse you end up.”
“So you’re telling me to cave? Do what they want?”
“No man, I’m tellin’ you to do whatever you need to do to survive. Let ‘em think they got you. Wait for your moment, then run like hell.”
The next time Mouser woke up, the kid across the hall was gone and nobody had replaced him. He missed him. His jailers refused to talk to him. Except for shoving meals through the slot in the wall, they left him totally alone.
He tried to eat less because he was afraid of drugs in the food, but then he stopped caring. He found himself waking up, still tired, with no idea how long he’d slept. He began to wish for an end to the unrelenting presence of light.
When he wasn’t sleeping Mouser found himself pacing the small steel and glass rectangle that defined the parameters of his world. He wondered if El was looking for him. But why should she? She was a demon killer and he was just a stupid kid. Even Ez barely gave him the time of day.
Maybe both sides had abandoned him. Not worth the trouble. He pressed his forehead against the thick Plexiglas. He missed the kid across the corridor. He missed having someone to talk to. He missed coffee, he missed pizza, he missed his computer.
His mind desperately needed something to do. He found himself surfing the net in his head as he paced, fingers twitching, racing through the rhythm of the keyboard on the seams of his pants. He revisited all the conspiracy theories he believed in. What was the key to all manipulation? It was that the bad guys always messed with your head. And these bad guys were currently messing with his.
> His missing cell mate had been right: Survival was everything. You have to grab on to that. Give yourself a goal.
Mouser resolved to mess with them back. When he got tired of pacing, he lay on his bunk and dreamed of flying.
When they came for him again, he went willingly. He could tell they assumed he eventually would.
- 25 -
The final match of the day had been designed for maximum intensity. Instead of fighting in pairs, all three combatants were going to fight at the same time. Two of the three were seasoned fighters, matched in skills, strength and ruthlessness. They carried the scars of their battles like badges. The third, a young woman, was younger and less scarred but had proved to be very, very good in her previous matches that evening.
The fighters circled each other. Kicks and punches were thrown. Each one tried not to leave their back exposed to the second opponent while they were fighting with the first.
Weapons were thrown through the bars at random intervals, poles, chains, brass knuckles – nothing sharp and pointy seemed to be allowed. The attackers switched off by some sort of silent assent – these two against that one, those two against the other. As soon as someone’s energy flagged he was turned on no matter what the previous alliance had been. Finally, only two were left standing.
A halt was called while the third fighter’s unconscious, or possibly dead, body was dragged from the ring. This pause started another furious round of betting.
Ariel had been watching everything very closely. This was no carefully crafted act, no smoke and mirrors. It was savagery and pain. Like the fighters, she was glad for a few moments to catch her breath. She looked sideways at Rain.
“Not betting?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Bad odds,” he said.
“Now that they’re down to two, the odds look pretty good.”
“I mean my odds,” Rain said. He motioned to a passing waitress for another sparkling water. “The trouble with being on a winning streak is you start to feel invincible. Like no matter what you do the gods are with you. You know your luck won’t turn and that’s just not true. The odds always turn. Nobody beats that sacred rule of mathematics forever. I’ve won enough tonight. I can just relax now and enjoy the fight because I know I’ll be leaving with all my winnings in my pocket. Others won’t.”
“So you don’t think you know who’ll win this match?”
“Sure I do. I’m just not going to bet on them.”
A bell rang and the match started up again.
The male fighter chose a long pole from the weapons lying on the sand. He’d used it in the previous match but this time, with only one opponent, he obviously thought he had time to give the crowd a thrill. He began to twirl the pole around his body, circling his waist, flipping it over one shoulder and under the opposite arm, letting it spin like a pin wheel through his fingers; letting everyone in the audience admire his skill.
The second fighter watched him, head tilted, face filled with boredom and contempt, a chain hung from one hand. Suddenly it whipped out, and the pole fighter found his wrists tightly wrapped in steel links. One tug and the two were face to face, the pole angled between them.
Before the man could react, the woman grabbed one end of the pole in both hands. Her foot came down and broke it in half leaving a ragged point at one end. She twisted the point around, and thrust it deep into her opponent’s belly. His legs went out from under him and she drove him onto his back, her weight pushing the sharp stick through his flesh until his body was pinned to the sand like a dead bug.
Medics ran for the cage. The woman pushed her way through them and out the cage door.
The ring master grabbed her hand and held it over her head. “No worries, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “He’ll be fine. But here’s our winner, the fabulous Lena, Mistress of the Cage!”
The crowd went wild.
“Thought so,” Rain said as they filed up the steps to leave.
“You thought she’d win and you didn’t bet on her?”
“You ever see a kid pull the wings off flies?”
“No.”
Rain went on as if she hadn’t answered. “Nobody likes the fly, but it’s such a cruel thing to do, it just doesn’t seem fair.”
* * *
Rain offered to drop Ariel off at her apartment, where ever that might be, but she insisted on going back to The Caf’. When they stopped in front, Bishop told Rain he’d be right back knowing, hoping anyway, that Rain wouldn’t want to leave the Queen all alone on the street in a neighborhood like this.
“Two minutes,” he said.
When they got inside he asked Ariel, “How are you planning on getting home?”
“What are you, my mother? I can. . .”
“. . . take care of myself. I know. Just don’t tell me you’re planning on flying home in that outfit. I don’t think my imagination could take it. And you’re not taking the subway dressed like that either.”
Bishop shoved a twenty-dollar bill into her hand. “Take a cab,” he said gruffly.
“Make sure she does.” He pointed at Ez. “I’m making that your responsibility.” He left before El could give him an argument.
“Nice girl,” Rain said as Bishop got back into the Dowager.
“Thanks, Dad. Does that mean I can borrow the car next Saturday night?”
Rain snorted. “Fat chance. My Queen don’t drive for nobody but me.”
- 26 -
The cab dropped Ariel at her apartment building. She was greeted with a low whistle as she sashayed up the walk. It wasn’t her fault she thought, embarrassed, it was the way her fancy shoes made her hips swing.
Juke was sitting on the top step of the porch having a smoke. His tattered denim jacket hung open and his elbows rested on his knees. He took one last drag and flicked the cigarette toward the curb.
“Hot date?”
“Just work,” Ariel said, sitting down on a lower step. She pulled her shawl closer around her. The nights were getting cooler. The moon was starting to fill the sky with harvest light. Autumn was almost here.
“You seem to spend a lot of time out here after dark.”
Juke shrugged. “I’m in the shop all day. Lots of engine noise, customers wanting to shoot the shit about their bikes. I like having some quiet time.”
“Night’s the best part of the day,” Ariel said.
A sudden alteration to the way the light was hitting the walk made them both look up. Three winged shadows crossed the moon and dove straight out of the sky toward the building.
Juke and Ariel jumped to their feet. The biker pulled an old, wide bore revolver out from under his jacket and pointed it at the lead shadow. He pulled the trigger unleashing a series of huge bangs and two gargoyle bodies exploded less than ten feet from the ground. The third one lost a piece of wing but kept coming. Its injury forced a crash landing, but didn’t slow the small beast down. It scrabbled forward, straight for Ariel.
Ariel threw off her shawl. She had no weapon, except . . . She snatched the shoe off her left foot and smashed the three inch spike heel straight down into the top if the gargoyle’s head.
The animal’s eyes rolled up in their sockets. It let out a soft, eeeping whistle like the sound of air escaping from a punctured tire, fell over onto its side, twitched once, and died.
“Nice work,” Juke told her. “I’d love to see what you could do with an actual weapon.” He looked around to make sure nothing else was coming at them before inserting his gun between the waistband of his jeans and the small of his back.
Ariel reached over and pulled her shoe out of the gargoyle’s head. All the red leather surrounding the spike heel had been eaten away by the creature’s acid brain matter and the back of the shoe was starting to blister.
“Damn it!” she said. “I really liked these shoes.”
“We better get these little mothers off the lawn before somebody calls the cops.” Juke said.
>
He went into repair shop and came back with a pair of heavy leather gloves and a shovel. Inside Ham was rolling an empty oil drum up to the open garage door.
“Any idea how these guys knew where to find you?” Juke asked, grabbing one of the gargoyles by the wing and dragging it over to the drum.
Ariel limped over to the porch steps on one shoe and dug around in her purse. She pulled out the two halves of the tracking bracelet. “I thought this had stopped working when I cut the connection. I was going to show it to a friend of mine.”
“Ham?”
Ham took the bracelet and motioned Ariel inside the garage. He switched on a bright tensor on one of the workbenches and held the bracelet up to the light. In addition to wires there was a small chip embedded in the plastic tongue where the bracelet locked on.
Ham lifted a small sledge off its hook on the wall and smashed it down on the chip. He threw the rest of the bracelet into the drum with the three dead gargoyles.
“Their acid’ll take care of the rest.” He looked at her one bare foot and motioned her to sit on an old wooden stool by the bench.
“Thanks,” Ariel said, a little dazed by the matter-of-fact way Juke and Ham were dealing with the gargoyle attack.
She heard the sound of a truck starting up.
“Dingo’s bringing the pick-up around,” Ham announced. “Better move these guys as far away as possible.”
“Can he drop me off downtown?” Ariel asked. “I’ve got to get something to a friend before it goes bad.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out again tonight.” Juke told her. “Somebody sent those ‘goyles after you. Maybe something else is still out there.”
“I have to go. It’s complicated. I have to find a guy, who can take me to a guy who can get what I have to somebody else. And I have to buy a pint of Beam on the way.”
“You looking for Old Bill?”
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 21
