Wrath of N'kai

by Josh Reynolds

  Pepper blanched. “What’re you planning?”

  Alessandra didn’t look at her. “Do as I say, please.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Pepper rose. Alessandra sat and waited. She didn’t have long.

  “Went by your hotel earlier,” the slim man said, as he slid into the booth opposite her. She saw the barrel of an automatic jutting from beneath his folded copy of the Advertiser. He wasn’t taking any chances this time. “Turns out you weren’t there.”

  “I am rarely where people expect me to be.” Alessandra stirred her coffee. “Are you here to threaten me?” She heard the distinctive click of a pistol being cocked. She frowned. “Surely you wouldn’t be so gauche as to shoot me here?”

  “I’d rather not, but I will if I have to.”

  “Then what do you want?” She took a sip of coffee. It tasted bitter.

  “For us to get up and walk out of here like old pals.”

  “And why would I do that? I’m quite comfortable here. If you’re going to shoot me, then by all means do so.”

  “I’m not here to kill you. My employer wishes to speak to you.”

  “And who is your employer?” Pepper was watching from the counter, trying to catch her attention. Alessandra ignored her.

  “Come with me and find out.” He rose to his feet, weapon still trained on her. She hesitated, and then slid from the booth. He snatched her pistol from under her jacket and shoved it into his coat pocket. “I’ll take that. Now move.”

  “Fine.” She caught Pepper’s eye and shook her head surreptitiously as the cabbie made to open her mouth. Thankfully, Pepper got the hint. “I have not paid for my coffee yet.”

  He stared at her. When he saw that she was serious, he dug into his pocket for a few coins and tossed them onto the table. “Happy? Get walking.”

  They left Velma’s and stepped into the damp night. Everything smelled of rain. There was a motor car waiting for them opposite the diner. Two more well-dressed men occupied it. One in front, behind the wheel, and one in the back. Alessandra was ushered none too gently into the backseat. “Drive, Frank,” the man beside her growled. He was big and dark – Black Irish, as Americans called them. He looked at her captor, who sat beside the driver. “She give you any shite, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Didn’t give her the chance, Mr McTyre.”

  McTyre bared nicotine yellow teeth in a wolfish grin. “Good.” His dark gaze swiveled to Alessandra. “You know who I am?” His brogue was thick. No one would mistake him for a local.

  “No. Though I deduce your name is McTyre.”

  He didn’t seem upset by this. “Aye, well, I know who you are. I know a lot more than that, in fact. But we’ll get to that.” He gestured. “The docks, Frank. You know the place.”

  “I should mention that I was with someone.”

  “Who? The wee cab-rat?” McTyre shrugged. “Well, fine. We weren’t planning to kill you anyway.”

  “Were you not?” she asked, noting the look of disappointment on Jimmy’s face.

  “First rule of business – never kill someone you don’t have to.”

  “And what sort of business are you in, then?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer. She even knew who McTyre was, in a general sort of way. The number two man in the O’Bannion gang was the king of Arkham’s underworld – a fiefdom built mostly on bootlegging. But she wanted to see how much he’d say.

  Some criminals were braggarts. They liked to show off. Others would kill you with barely a flicker of warning or hesitation. It was always wise to figure out which was on the other end of the gun before you did something stupid.

  McTyre studied her. Then he laughed. “Got a set on her, don’t she, Jimmy?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr McTyre. Big and brass.”

  McTyre leaned back. “You know damn well what my business is, sweetheart. Because in a roundabout sort of way, you’re in it too.” He settled back. “Now enjoy the ride. Frank drives like a damn angel, don’t he, Jimmy?”

  “Except when he runs over dogs, like that time out near Christchurch,” Jimmy said.

  “It wasn’t any damn dog,” Frank said, harshly.

  “No, it probably wasn’t,” McTyre said, ending the argument before it could begin. “But no need to feckin’ bore our guest with that daft shite. Both of you shut your gobs until we get where we’re going.” He crossed his arms and looked out the window. At a loss, Alessandra did the same.

  Easttown gave way to Rivertown and finally to the Merchant District. The car slowed when they reached the docks. The night was wrapped in cotton. The light from the headlamps barely made a dent in the evening fog. When they stopped, Jimmy opened the door for her. “Out,” he said.

  “Show some feckin’ courtesy, Jimmy,” McTyre said, as he climbed out the other side. “She might come out the other side of this yet.”

  “I’m not putting money on it.”

  McTyre laughed. He adjusted his coat as he strode through the mist. “Follow me,” he said, without looking back. She hesitated, wary.

  “You heard him,” Jimmy said, giving her a tap on the shoulder. She turned and gave him a considering look. Wisely, Jimmy stepped back, hands spread. She smiled and followed McTyre. He was waiting for her a short distance away, at the edge of the docks. The smell of the river hung heavy on the night air, and she could hear the faint groan of a foghorn in the distance. The mist rolled over Riverside in waves, obscuring nearby buildings. Soon, the car was lost, save for the soft radiance of the headlights.

  “I feckin’ hate this time of night,” he said, looking out over the river.

  “Then why bring me here?”

  He looked at her. “Would you rather I have Jimmy there cut your throat and throw you in the bog, then? Naw, I didn’t think so.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  He turned his gaze back to the river. “You’re pretty feckin’ mouthy for a poacher.”

  “Poacher?”

  “What else would you call a person who comes onto someone’s hunting preserve and starts pilfering?” He pulled a silver cigar case out of his coat and opened it. “I read up on you, didn’t I?” He noted her startled look and gave another lupine grin. “Aye, you heard me. O’Bannion – my boss – has deep pockets; deeper than you might imagine. And when I sent your name up the chain, a lot of noise came back down.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  “Naw, grateful.” He selected a cigar and tapped it on the case. “My boss told me to scare you off. And if I couldn’t scare you off, I was to pay you off.” He glanced at her. “You can imagine my surprise.”

  “Why pay me off at all?”

  “My boss is the pragmatic type. If you can’t be scared, that means you got reasons to stay. Why waste a bullet on somebody who might do the job for you?” McTyre laughed and lit his cigar. He offered her one, and after a moment’s consideration, she took it.

  “Very well. I am listening.”

  The cigar was cheap and foul, but she let him light it for her. “It wasn’t sanctioned,” he said. “You know what that word means?”

  “I do. They acted without your permission.”

  “Too bloody right they did.” He looked at her. “Sometimes, the lads get ideas above their station. Mostly, when I find out, I take my cut and let it slide. This time…” He shook his head. “Not this time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s all gone arseways.” McTyre looked out over the river. “You can find that out for yourself.”

  “I thought you said you were going to give me information.”

  “I just did.” McTyre paused. “Thing you got to understand about Arkham is we ain’t the only game in town. Donohue neither. We’re small potatoes, in the grand scheme of things. We do what we do, and we stay out of the rest. Keep to our side of the street, as it were.” He spat into the water. “Only sometimes them others ain’t so accommodating. You understand?”

  “Poachers,” she said.

 
He tapped his nose. “Got it in one. Gomes and the others, they’re working for poachers. Been doing it for a while now, apparently. Double-dipping, I call it. That’s a bad business, that. Shows a lack of common sense. I don’t like it when my lads do foolish things. Draws too much attention from the wrong people.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

  He peered at her. “Wind yer neck in, why don’t you?”

  “No. I agree with you. Too much attention can be a bad thing.” Alessandra watched a distant fishing boat slide through the fog. She wondered who fished at night. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

  McTyre was silent for a moment. “Finding Gomes ain’t a problem. That’s why Jimmy was at the Tick-Tock earlier tonight, as a matter of fact.”

  “Ah. My apologies.”

  He waved the apology aside. “Aye, well, like I said, finding him ain’t a problem. I want to know who he was working for.”

  “You and I both.”

  McTyre tossed his cigar into the water. “Aye.” He spat into his palm and held it out to her. She hesitated a moment before copying him, and clasping his hand. His grip was strong, and he gave her a warning squeeze as he pulled her close. “Don’t play me false, lady, or I really will have Jimmy dump you somewhere you won’t be found for feckin’ yonks, savvy?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, I assure you. How long do you think it will take?”

  McTyre shrugged and wiped his hand on his coat. “Not long. Arkham’s big, but not that big. There aren’t that many places to hide.” He pointed at her. “When we find him, we’ll let you know.” He turned back to the car.

  She made to follow him, but he stopped her. “Where the feck you think you’re going?”

  “I assumed you’d be polite enough to give me a ride back.”

  “You assumed wrong.” He grinned and snapped his fingers. Jimmy tossed him her pistol. McTyre handed it back to her. “Just in case. Be seeing you, countess.” With that, he left her standing there in the mist, her only company the slap of water against the docks. She heard the growl of the car’s engine, and saw the swoop of its lights as it pulled out.

  Something metal rattled a moment later. That was followed by another sound. It was soft at first – so soft, she wasn’t sure she’d actually heard it. A slow, scuffle-scrape, subtly furtive. She started away from the river, towards the street. The sound pursued her. Someone or something was following her.

  She picked up the pace, and felt for her pistol. She considered stopping and confronting her pursuers, but something told her that would be a mistake.

  “You disappoint me, countess.” Zamacona’s voice slithered out of the fog. Alessandra turned, but could not determine which direction it was coming from.

  “I thought we had a deal, Zamacona.”

  “So did I. But you are not looking for our property.”

  “I am.” She raised her pistol.

  “Liar.” A hand caught her wrist, and squeezed. She yelped, and the Webley clattered to the ground. She whirled, fist snapping out. Her attacker avoided the blow, and she was left punching at shadows.

  A moment later, a hand thrust through the mist and clamped around her throat. She was propelled back against the wall of a warehouse. Zamacona leaned towards her, smiling lazily. “Very good. But not good enough.” He whistled softly. The shuffle-scrape grew louder as hunched, broken forms appeared out of the mist.

  Alessandra recognized the man in the slouch hat as one of them. He was not alone. There were others. The mist made it impossible to discern just how many, but it was more than a handful. She looked at Zamacona. “Why are you here?”

  “You think we are not watching? You think we do not see?” Zamacona tightened his grip on her throat as he peered out of the mist. “If you are looking, where is it, countess? Why do you waste time going to clubs and diners? Why do you talk to gangsters?”

  She scrabbled at Zamacona’s wrist, but couldn’t break his hold. He was far stronger than he looked, and faster as well. “I’m close to locating it,” she wheezed, forcing the words out. “I swear!”

  Zamacona lifted her off her feet with ease. “Where?” he growled, his eyes shining with an ugly light. “Who took it?”

  “I… I don’t know yet,” she gasped. Blackness clawed at the edges of her vision. “But I’ll find out – I’m close…!” Her words flew fast and desperate. She knew with terrible certainty that Zamacona would snap her neck in an instant if he doubted her.

  Before he could reply, however, the air was split by the sudden wail of a car horn. Lights blazed through the mist, scattering Zamacona’s followers. Zamacona himself released her and turned, an animal snarl on his features.

  When the car hit him, his snarl turned into a scream. It was swiftly followed by a splash as the impact sent him into the river. Pepper leaned out of the cab. “Get in!” she called out. Alessandra snatched up her Webley and hurried around the cab as the shuffle-scrape of Zamacona’s followers sounded all around her. One lunged out of the mist, malformed face twisted in a bestial grimace. Alessandra gagged on the stink of unwashed flesh and rotting meat as pale hands slammed her back against the side of the cab.

  She hit him – or her? – with her Webley, breaking the clammy grip. As the creature staggered, whining, she reached for the door. More hands erupted from the mist, grabbing at her from all sides. She fired wildly, trying to drive them back. She heard cloth tear as she hurled herself into the backseat of the cab. “Go! Go!”

  Hands reached for her, clawing at her legs and feet as Pepper threw the cab into reverse. One of the creatures gripped the sides of the door, half-in, half-out of the cab as it careened backwards away from the docks. It bared black teeth at Alessandra. Milky eyes rolled in deep sockets as a face out of a mortician’s nightmare thrust itself towards her. He – it – hissed like a serpent as it fumbled for her.

  She leveled the Webley and fired until the cylinder clicked empty. Her attacker sagged backwards with a groan, and slipped out of the cab. “Get the door – the door,” Pepper shouted. Alessandra awkwardly slammed the door as Pepper hit the gas. She was thrown into the seat as the cab bounced along the street.

  “What the hell was that? What did I hit?”

  “My employer.”

  “Zamacona?” Pepper squawked. “That was him?”

  “Yes,” Alessandra panted.

  “Is he dead?”

  “While it would please me to no end if that were so, I doubt it.” She rubbed her throat. “At best, we have made him angrier than he already was.” She turned, looking back the way they’d come. There was no sign of her attackers. Only shadows and mist.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Leaving Town

  Alessandra drank her coffee without tasting it. There were some benefits to being tired. She was at the diner she and Pepper had eaten at the day before. Visser was supposed to meet her this morning, before she paid another visit to Professor Freeborn. She wasn’t planning to take no for an answer this time. To that end, Pepper was keeping an eye on him, while Alessandra talked to Visser. She didn’t want Freeborn vanishing the way Ashley had. At least not until she’d spoken to him.

  She yawned and dumped more sugar into her coffee, stirring it half-heartedly. She was still wearing the clothes she’d worn the night before. Unable to sleep after the excitement of the previous evening, she’d spent the hours before dawn puzzling through all that she’d learned. Trying to put the pieces together, as Pepper had put it. Unfortunately, few of them seemed to fit. She was missing something, and she couldn’t see what. It was clear that Gomes and his fellow thieves were working for someone. Whether that someone was Ashley or not was as yet undetermined.

  All she knew was that until McTyre’s men ran down Gomes, Ashley was her best chance at finding the mummy. But to find Ashley, she would need to talk to Freeborn and possibly Orne as well.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d do, once she knew who’d arranged the theft of the mummy. Perhaps use it to bargain
with Zamacona. Either way, it would mean her time in Arkham was done. “Maybe Florida next,” she murmured. “Or California.”

  “I’m for the latter, myself,” Visser said, as he slid into the booth opposite her.

  “Tad, you made it. How are you?”

  “In a hurry.” Visser looked nervous. He jolted slightly as the waitress came over. This time, Alessandra was ready. She’d quizzed Pepper on the proper slang the previous evening.

  “Chicks on a raft, please,” she said, proudly. The waitress nodded.

  “Eggs on toast coming up. Something for you, sir?”

  Visser shook his head. “No. No, thank you.” He twitched as someone entered the diner. Alessandra glanced towards the door, but it was no one she recognized.

  “Why are you so nervous?” she murmured, when the waitress had departed.

  “One of my friends called,” he said quietly, shooting a wary glance around as he spoke. “He knew where I was, thought I’d be interested that one of my fellow investors is dead. The police apparently wanted to talk to both Matthew and myself.”

  “The police?”

  “He was murdered,” Visser hissed.

  “When?”

  “They didn’t say and I didn’t ask.” He looked around again, head lowered. “I think it’s time I returned to the big city – any big city, so long as it’s not Arkham.”

  She sat back. “What are you frightened of, Tad?”

  “A murder isn’t enough?”

  “Not for someone as self-involved as you.”

  He frowned. “Was that an insult?”

  “Focus, Tad. Answer my question. I might be able to help.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I… I think I’m being followed.” He said the words quickly, as if afraid that someone might leap to silence him at any moment.

  “The police?”

  “Maybe.” He shook his head. “I don’t think so, though. I think – I think…” He trailed off. “I don’t know what I think.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Something has gone wrong. Do you understand?”

  “No. Explain it to me.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. Matthew wouldn’t… I thought maybe you’d join us. When I saw you at the exhibition, I thought it was fate, maybe.” He laughed, and there was a brittle edge to it.