Trick Turn

by Tom Barber

  The girl tried to get her hand free, but his grip tightened.

  ‘C’mon. Let’s go get you fixed up. I can get you another ice cream for free. I’ve got special privileges. And you seem like a special girl.’

  She hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t talk to him, but he did work at the park and he was trying to help her; she didn’t want her leg to be cut off either. He was nice, too. And her knee and elbow were hurting bad. She didn’t want her babysitter to see she was in pain. If she did, she might take her home and the girl would hate to miss the fun. They’d only just got here.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, come with me.’ He grinned, his smile parting to show his teeth. Even with the glare of the sun behind him, the girl noticed they were yellow. ‘It’ll take thirty secon-’

  ‘Cass!’ a voice called, and the girl saw her babysitter appear, looking worried. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I fell ov-’

  ‘She took a spill,’ Gerry interrupted, still holding her hand. ‘I was just going to help her get cleaned up.’

  ‘I can do that,’ the young woman said, taking the girl’s other hand. For a second, the child felt the man hang on, but a few moments later she was free and walked off with the babysitter. ‘What did I tell you? Stay beside…’

  Their voices were lost in the noise of screams coming from a ride nearby, as McGuinness watched them disappear into the crowd. He could still feel the girl’s sweat on his hand, and saw a few blotches of blood on the ground from where she’d fallen, her ice cream cone cracked, the scoops melting fast in the hot sun.

  ‘Gerry?’ a voice called, and he turned, seeing his pencil-necked boss at the theater waving him back impatiently. Pretending to cough, McGuinness licked his palm then went back towards the theater for another bullshit show for the brats.

  I dunno know how much longer I can hold out, he thought, walking back and giving his boss a smile.

  He didn’t mean working at the park.

  Years later, darkness was cloaking Six Flags New Orleans, as McGuinness stood near the spot where he’d almost succeeded in abducting the girl that day. Tonight he’d stolen inside the park after going under the fence on the east side, which still had a gap underneath, same as the day he’d left.

  The hurricane had destroyed most people’s lives down here, but had saved his. That girl who dropped the ice cream was the closest he’d come while employed at the park to giving in to those overpowering impulses, urges that had become stronger and stronger as the months passed but which he’d fought to resist, to avoid the risk of getting arrested. He knew he’d been lucky so far in other places, but that the good fortune wouldn’t hold forever.

  Back then, he hadn’t killed anyone since the ride accident in Bilodeau, knowing he’d be caught if he kept going the way he had been, but his bloodlust had been at breaking point when Katrina had hit. It came from that same strange voice in his head, that compulsion to inflict pain that he’d always had, ever since his childhood in the carnival watching his mother have knives thrown at her and then catching glimpses of her doing other things once the show was over in exchange for money to score heroin.

  Then after Katrina hit, he’d stopped resisting and succumbed to who he really was.

  His only family member, his mother Molly, had never loved him; she’d recognised his true nature from the get-go and it had horrified her. She’d told her son once when she was high how much she’d shot up while she was pregnant.

  The sugar made you the way you are. Wrong in the head.

  Woulda aborted you instant, if Dwindel didn’t need me on the boards. Said we’d make more money with me knocked up.

  McGuinness didn’t agree. He was his own person; and he was happiest when he was hurting people. He’d got his revenge on his mother for saying that he was sick, when he’d replaced the last packet of heroin Molly would ever score with a hotshot he’d bought from a dealer himself, some cheap heroin mixed with sodium cyanide. He’d been standing in the tent when she’d injected and with pleasure, watched her start convulsing and die. A week later, he had her spot in the knife show.

  He’d managed to spend two years on and off living here in the abandoned park, giving in to his urges, with little risk of being caught. Then city-planners and insurance companies had started to show up and he’d decided it was time to go. He’d left Louisiana, ending up in Galveston where he’d been hired at Kemah, but his time murdering people in the ruins of Six Flags meant he’d started down a path he couldn’t turn back from. He’d been unable to resist killing while in Texas.

  So children, his favorite victims, had started vanishing from the boardwalk area.

  Once Kemah got too hot with State Police attention and he got fired for negligence, he picked a random spot far away on the map, which happened to be Boston, and after working at another theme park there, found it paid a hell of a lot better hiring himself out to do what he enjoyed most. The mob scene in that part of the country meant there were always people who wanted others killed, and McGuinness was fearless, offering his services to some very dangerous groups, not caring who the targets were. His reputation was built fast, and he learned to have fun and get creative with it, using all the talents he’d learned in the carnival to torture, maim and kill, often drawing the deaths out for his own pleasure and creating fear, all serving to build an unparalleled reputation.

  But tonight, he was back home. He knew most of Six Flags NO as well if not better than the architects who’d designed it. He’d heard and seen the firework go off, and with a smile, knew it spelt the arrival of the Baltimoreans. Already serving their purpose as a distraction for him to finish this.

  Chase this strangely elusive child down, and kill her, once and for all.

  He cut a shadow into the kid’s theater, and went to a floorboard, which he cranked up quietly in the darkness. He felt around inside, and his pulse quickened when he felt two boxes of unique knives in there. The first were sliding blades he’d carried since he left Bilodeau, a treasured set that he’d stolen from Dwindel, the original thrower. Holding three in each hand, they allowed him to use the no-reload technique, slinging all six knives in less than three seconds, like firing a semi-automatic gun.

  The second box contained a carefully-selected set he’d bought himself, and which he’d used to torture most of the junkies here with, the blades twelve inches long and eight ounces in weight, with a finger ring on the end of each to aid with drawing and control. The stainless steel edges were still razor sharp. He’d cleaned the blades before he’d left all those years ago, but hadn’t taken them with him, wanting to move on and leave this place where it belonged, in the past. He was glad he had.

  With the two sets of blades back in his hands, he stayed where he was for the moment. The cops from New York were smart, he admitted to himself. And they’d been here for hours, knowing he was coming. They’d have something planned. The girl’s escape from his clutches in Oxford had impressed him, same as the fact she’d survived the knife throw, the flytrap and even the attack in Chelsea.

  But now, she was in his theater. He fastened the two sheaths for the second set of knives onto his belt, four blades into each, then held the sliding set in each palm.

  As he heard movement outside, he stepped back into the shadows.

  He waited for a few minutes, then hearing nothing more, he stole out and began to move.

  For one final night, Gerry McGuinness was back on the boards.

  FIFTY TWO

  Stefani and two of her men were approaching from the east side of the park, having slid under the fence, the moonlight providing enough light for them to see their way. One of the pair with her, Marco, was talking on his cell.

  ‘Yo, we’re at Six Flags,’ he said quietly, keeping the phone pressed against his cheek to minimise any possible screen glare, a Galil assault rifle in his other hand. ‘If they stood McGuinness up and the kid isn’t here, kill the woman. Head’s up in thirty.’ He glanced at Stefani, who nodded in confirmati
on. ‘Anything coming through on the radio?’

  ‘No,’ the man called Paulie replied, from the docks in Baltimore. ‘Your Yankee detectives are staying quiet. Right now, anyway. McGuinness show yet?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him.’

  The three of them were surrounded by swampland, and could hear some strange noises coming from the bayou around them, serving as a warning not to get too close. As Marco ended the call and put his cell away, Stefani gripped her pistol tight. Having got this close to eradicating the last of Carla’s family, she had no intention of getting dragged off by a stupid alligator. She noticed her two guys were watching the swamps nervously too, and she moved between them, using the pair as protection.

  They were walking deeper into the park itself when Marco stopped and caught her arm.

  ‘Check it out,’ he whispered, looking to their right. ‘Up top.’

  Stefani stared up at a large undulating coaster looming out of the darkness to their right, and saw the outline of a huddled figure on the upper walkway, a black silhouette in the moonlight.

  The figure wasn’t big enough to be an adult.

  There was a pause. Then, not saying a word, Stefani shoved her pistol into the back of her waistband and took the Galil from the other mobster next to her. She sighted the outline, and without hesitation, drilled it with her second and third shots, the reports echoing around the park.

  The figure tumbled backwards and fell to the ground out of sight.

  ‘Was that her?’ the guy she’d taken the rifle from said.

  ‘Why would she be up there?’ Marco asked, continuing to track the space around them with his own weapon.

  ‘Maybe they left her there for us to find.’ He laughed quietly. ‘Didn’t wanna hang around.’

  ‘That was too easy, but we check it,’ Stefani snapped, shoving the gun back into his grip, suspecting a trap. But maybe the boys were right; they’d staked the kid out for McGuinness and left. She’d have done it in their position.

  The three of them moved forward slowly, the men checking around them continuously as they headed over to where the figure had fallen, assault weapons at the ready. When they reached the huge frame of the wooden coaster, the group circled around the back and saw the figure had landed in the bog and weeds, the swamp now only ten or fifteen feet away.

  The trio edged forward carefully, their footsteps squelching through the edge of the swamp.

  They kept their weapons up, but the shape wasn’t moving.

  Bellefonte had heard the gunshots, and slowly lifted his head just above the line of one of the water rides, the Spillway Splashout, which was almost directly in front of the Zeph.

  In the moonlight, he saw the three figures moving around the back of the coaster, towards where the body had fallen. He, Archer and Vargas had suspected people might come in from that side, where there was a gap in the fence.

  He took out his cell phone, covering the light, and ducking back down, selected a number he’d saved as a contact less than two hours ago.

  ‘Step on up,’ he whispered, calling it.

  Stefani and her guys reached the figure who’d been standing on top of the ride.

  It was an old mannequin of a child lying on its back, the blank painted face staring to the side with lifeless eyes.

  But Stefani wasn’t looking at its face, she was staring at its chest.

  The center had been opened and duct taped back up again.

  At the moment Bellefonte’s cell phone connected to the burner phone attached to the blasting cap of the ANFO inside, Stefani realised the play. She grabbed one of her guys and ducking behind him, used the man to shield herself from the resulting explosion. The doll had been packed with some pellets of ammonium nitrate and loose shards of plate china from across the park, and the blast spread out in a 360 direction.

  Thrown backwards and landing in the boggy water with a loud splash, Stefani felt the liquid go into her nose, ears and mouth and just managed to wriggle her way out from under the man before his weight pinned her down and drowned her. Coughing and spluttering, she retrieved the weapon he’d been carrying and the spare mags in his pants pocket then crawled towards the grass, her legs and arms burning like fire.

  The man she’d used as a shield hadn’t been so lucky. He turned his head slowly to look at her.

  ‘Boss,’ he croaked, trying to lift his hand, what was left of his face a mask of red. ‘Hel-’

  Spitting out blood, she staggered back to her feet, lifted the rifle and put him out of his misery. Her other guy, Marco, had been knocked further back into the swamp and wasn’t moving. She left him as gator food.

  ‘Archer, I changed my mind!’ Isabel called out from the top of the Ferris wheel, the Big Easy. ‘Let me down!’

  ‘Isn’t she answering?’ one of the remaining Baltimore Italians whispered below the ride, looking at the man with him who was trying to call their boss. They’d heard gunshots, an explosion, then another gunshot, echoing out into the bayou from across the park. ‘The kid’s right here!’

  He shook his head and gave up trying to get an answer, looking up at the Ferris wheel cabins instead. The calls for help had changed into some quiet but distinct sobbing and crying, coming from an upper cabin of the wheel.

  The two men looked around, unsure what to do without Stefani’s instructions.

  ‘Think it’s a trap?’ the man who’d tried to call the boss asked.

  In reply, the other man took aim, and started giving each separate cabin hanging on the wheel rounds from the assault rifle he was cradling, reloading quickly halfway through, the gunfire echoing out into the night. The other man turned to cover his fellow mobster’s back with a pump action shotgun, just in case the cops who were protecting the kid had set this up.

  Once his friend stopped firing, they listened as the sound of the shots faded. The voice had stopped crying out.

  ‘Gotta check it,’ the other holding the twelve gauge whispered. ‘Boss said she wanted her head in her hands. Just the head.’

  ‘So get up there.’

  ‘Why me, asshole?’

  ‘Why not?’

  The one who’d been covering him swore, then swapped weapons, the rifle having a strap which he could sling over his shoulder. He walked forward and tested the integrity of the old ride.

  He jumped, catching hold of one of the metal spokes, and pulled himself up before shimmying along the Ferris wheel, and looked into the first of the cabins.

  As planned, Bellefonte had come down from the Splashout and was on his way relocating to another spot when he became aware of a figure standing in the shadows to his left.

  Something glinted in the stranger’s hands.

  The instant after that thought registered, Bellefonte was dropping as two knives hissed through the air just above his head. A follow up two seconds later buried itself in the back of his shoulder as he turned to run, and he shouted in pain, another hitting him in the hamstring.

  Twisting around, Bellefonte stayed on one knee to avoid pressing the knife further in as he hit the floor and started firing at McGuinness, who had cut for cover behind an attraction the moment the fourth knife had left his hand.

  He’s here, Bellefonte thought, in searing pain from the knives jutting out of his rear deltoid and leg as he scrambled to find cover.

  But how’s he throwing so fast?

  The man climbing up the Big Easy heard the shots in the distance but ignored them, as he checked each of the cabins.

  He got to one near the top, and once again held out his cell phone, having already activated the flashlight. He shone it in.

  ‘See her?’

  ‘No,’ he said, looking into the empty, dusty cabin, tiny little holes in the base now from where he’d shot it up from the ground. Keeping the flashlight activated, he put the cell in his pocket and hauled himself up to the next cabin, then looked in, not seeing what he’d hoped to find, the body of an eleven year old girl.

  The ride creaked and groaned as h
e climbed, the rusty cabins swinging slightly as he rattled the spokes of the ride with his movements.

  The realisation that she was highly unlikely to be hiding in the Ferris wheel in the first place was starting to dawn on him. And why would she break her cover by crying out? Feeling increasingly uneasy, especially being so high up, the mobster was about to abandon the search and start making his way down, but then the knowledge of how Stef would react if she discovered he hadn’t checked all the cabins stopped him. He clambered up to the next cabin, and shone the light in. No kid. He moved on to the next, but then stopped.

  ‘What do you see? She there?’

  He saw the shot-up pieces of a small voice recorder.

  He stared at the fragments, then twisted to look back down at his friend.

  Seeing him on top of the ride from her hiding place nearby, Vargas repeated Bellefonte’s action when watching the Zeph. She called a cell phone, which moments later detonated the ANFO pellets and blasting cap at the base of the wheel.

  It knocked the man on the ground back and killed him instantly, but the explosives had also been placed so the Ferris wheel dropped towards the swamp; it collapsed like a felled tree. The guy on top who’d emptied the rifle rounds into the cabins screamed as he went down with the giant wheel, tipped off just before it hit the water. It meant some of the frame landed on top of him, pinning him underneath.

  Once again, the noise of the explosions echoed around the park, but quickly faded to be replaced by the usual night-time sounds. Roberto, the keen new recruit from Stefani’s crew who’d told her about Isabel that first day she’d returned to Baltimore, had been patrolling near the front entrance of the site, with orders to make sure the people from New York didn’t try to smuggle the kid out.

  If the little shit is even here, he’d thought, just before he’d heard that first blast behind The Mega Zeph.