by C. G Harris
"Operating in the shadows is my purview under the direction of Mr. Iscariot. Allowing myself to engage in open battle would ... raise questions."
"So that's it then." I threw my arms out in frustration. "You won't do anything unless Judas tells you to?"
Procel went back to his stony persona, staring out over my head again.
"Well, that's just fine. I'm no puppet. I will fight for what's right. I know I'm going to get torn apart, but I'm still going out there to stand between that clown-faced jerk and Dan's bar. At least I'll try instead of standing in a corner waiting for someone to tell me when I can eat, sleep, and pee."
I squinted back at him.
"Do you even pee? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I'm going out there alone, if I have to." I backed out toward the door, keeping my eye on the stony demon. "At midnight ... Hula Harry's ... in case you change your mind."
I paused for a second, hoping for some sort of reaction. None came. I turned my attention to Mastema and nodded in Procel's direction. "I don't know how you live with this guy day in and day out. A barrel of nonstop laughs."
I raised my arm to wave at Procel. "Thanks for nothing, big guy. Glad I wasted my time. Have fun standing in the corner, or whatever it is you do when people aren't around."
I rounded the door then popped my head back into the office unable to resist seeing if Procel had moved. He hadn't.
I sighed and walked out the door.
"Goodbye, Mr. Gantry."
Without even making eye contact, I headed past the reception desk and gave a defeated wave. "Goodbye, Mrs. Whoever."
Frustration and anger washed through me as I stomped onto the elevator. Nothing seemed to be going my way. Zoe was gone, probably for good. Alex was still pissed at me, and now I had to go up against Gastrith and his creepy clown posse all on my own. I couldn't even ask Alex for help. I didn't want to get her killed. Procel had been my last chance. Without him, there was only one thing left to do. Head down to my locker and gear up for a fight I most certainly could not win.
Chapter Forty-Three
It was almost midnight, and I stood in front of Hula Harry's like a starved coyote driven away from its pack. The Nine had no moon or stars, but nighttime carried with it a strange, reddish glow in the sky. Not like sunset, more like an angry fire deprived of oxygen. Deep and full of hunger. It changed things, made the inhabitants more primal, more evil, and the closer it got to midnight, the more intense the glow became. I made it a rule never to be out in the Blood Glow, but tonight was different. Tonight, I would use it to fuel my hostility.
I was determined to win this fight. Nothing would dissuade me. I would come out on top or die trying. There was no in between—not unless Gastrith took me captive and held me as some sort of torture entertainment. That would be worse ... way worse.
I ruminated on that thought for a moment as I stared out at the long street in front of me. Thoughts of me in a cage, guarded by mimes, made me begin to falter. Who wouldn't falter? Mimes!
I shook off the horror show playing out in my head and straightened my spine. Mime or no mime, Hula Harry's was a clown-free zone. I tightened my grip on my Whip Crack and made sure it played out free to my right. I had my Knuckle Stunner laced into my left hand. I thought about bringing more creative weaponry from the Agency, but this was what I knew. I was a surgeon with the Whip Crack at midrange, and a baboon could use a Knuckle Stunner up close. I was as ready as I was going to get. Now if the stupid clown posse would just show up before I burned up all my adrenaline ...
"Come on!" I shouted out at no one in particular.
A hand fell on my shoulder, and I spun, swinging the Knuckle Stunner around in a wild arc to hit whoever had snuck in at my back.
"Whoa," came a familiar voice. "Check your chi. The fight isn't even here yet."
Alex stood about six feet away from me. She knew I would swing on her and got out of the path before I so much as twitched. She wore her long coat with the flared sleeves and a knowing grin that only meant one thing. She was armed and ready for a fight. I didn't want to be glad she was here, but every cell in my body cheered for joy.
"What are you doing? You are supposed to be back at the Agency."
"You're supposed to be back at the Agency," she chided in a whiny voice. "I could say the same for you. I thought we were partners. First you take off to go look for Zoe, which I still haven't forgiven you for, then you sneak back here to hog a whole demon fight for yourself. You're a real jerk, you know that? Learn to share."
"How did you know I'd be here?"
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes.
I wanted to laugh. A chuckle even escaped my lips, but panic overrode the levity.
"They're going to be here any second. You need to get out of here—"
Alex flipped one of the Song Reapers out of her sleeves and had the tip of the blade resting inside of my left nostril before I could blink.
“With Zoe gone, you may have an urge to transfer that big brother I have to look out for you vibe onto someone else. I can assure you I am not that person. If you think I'm going to slink home just because you're afraid I might get hurt, you have another thing coming ... like a sinus transplant."
I held my hand up in surrender and did my best not to sneeze. "Message received. Let's save the face amputations for the bad guys."
Alex removed her Kama from my over-stretched nostril and held it down to her side while her second Song Reaper fell into her other hand.
"Actually, I think your friends are here."
I turned my attention up the street and watched what might have been the most disturbing military charge in history. At least three dozen clowns, all of different shapes, sizes, and disciplines, ambled down the road in front of us. Some wobbled, some skipped, some even did cartwheels. It occurred to me that in different makeup, this could have been a band of goblins, or evil penguins, and they would have approached the same way. Well, maybe not the cartwheels.
The good news was every one of them looked to be a Woebegone. That meant the preshow was a fight we could win. Behind them, however, came the main attraction—a twelve-foot demon all decked out in clown regalia. He wore a purple suede jumpsuit with a huge, red ruffled collar. His white head was topped with bright orange horns, and he had a big, red clown nose and a disturbingly large mouth painted from ear to ear. Despite all this, Gastrith's most unsettling feature was his eyes, or rather the absence of them anywhere on his face. It made him look more like a demonic alien than a clown.
He held a staff that was at least as tall as he was. It was difficult to see from this distance, but the top seemed to be the carved head of a court jester, and the little socks of his hat moved and jingled every time Gastrith swung it forward.
All in all, I was quite sure nothing Alex and I had in our arsenal would make a dent in this Hellion’s hide. He could flick us out of the way and get on with his demolition with little more than a thought.
He could try.
If this clown liked shows, it was a show he would get.
I marched forward, spinning my Whip Crack into a frenzy of hissing metal blades and then flicked it out at the closest clown who came into range. A mime of course. Darn things were always so quick.
I took off his arm, leaving him alive on purpose, so he would turn tail and run back to his master. The mime let out a very un-mime like scream and took off running, holding his arm at the stump. Gastrith took one look at this and shoved the butt end of his staff through the chest of the retreating clown. He may not have had any peepers, but he wasn't sightless.
The remainder of his gaggle stopped short, lining up in an offensive formation of sorts. Alex and I stood side by side, about six feet apart, giving one another plenty of room to maneuver. The least we could do was take out his entourage. Without an audience, maybe Gastrith would get bored and come back another day. Or maybe he would get super pissed and take out half the town. Either way, I could tell Alex was thinking the same way. All her attention w
as on the circus freaks ahead of us. When this thing broke loose, we were going to redefine carnage and do it in record time.
"Who dares to stand in defiance of the mighty Gastrith?"
Now this was a character I recognized. A fat, face-painted clown sauntered up from the line and stepped toward me. He wore a red and white striped jumpsuit covered in pom-poms and had a bright red smile painted over half his face. In his right hand, he bore a bundle of balloons big enough to threaten lift off. This was Pogo the Clown. John Wayne Gacy. The serial killer who lured kids with his little act when he had been alive so he could butcher them in his home. Gastrith's prize possession ... and my prime target.
"Tell your boss he's been paid in full. This place is no longer in need of his protection. Shove off, or my partner and I will turn those grins into a fist haven of missing teeth."
Pogo and the others looked at each other, and I leaned in Alex's direction.
"You know, because they have smiles painted on their faces." I hissed out of the side of my mouth. "I've been waiting to use that one."
"Shut ... up ..." Alex drew the response out into two sharp words, and I straightened again.
"Sheesh, surrounded by a bunch of clowns, and no one has a sense of humor."
"Stand aside," Pogo said, "and you may survive."
"You know, I expected a serial killer to be a little less formal. Maybe even a little simple. What's with all this stand aside and who dares to? I think maybe you’re trying too hard. Just relax and let things happen. I promise to keep you right in the middle of all the action."
I meant for that threat to unnerve him, but a wry grin grew on his face. He looked at me with predatory eyes that had me on my heels instead.
Without saying another word, Pogo held up a finger and then pulled out one of his balloons, offering it to me. When I didn't take it, he shrugged and let go of it anyway. The balloon floated up, and I noticed all the clowns followed its path with a little too much eagerness. You could have heard a pin drop as it floated over our heads then dropped back down outside one of the far automotive bricked walls of the bar. The single balloon stopped there for a moment, as if driven by remote control, then it exploded with a boom that shook the ground beneath our feet. The crushed cars flipped, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. I turned back to see that Pogo was smiling, offering me yet another balloon.
Chapter Forty-Four
I moved first, sidestepping Pogo and his bouquet of exploding party favors, putting some distance between us. I saw Alex do the same. I wanted more than anything to cut Gacy down right there, but he was too close. If he decided to detonate his balloons in our face, this hoedown would be over before it started.
I had planned to roll out away from him and then cut away a few of his more necessary appendages with my Whip Crack, but I found the mini Clown army more formidable than I expected.
These jokers were not the usual Woebegone thugs Alex and I ran into. At first, their movements seemed erratic and unorganized, but it only took a few seconds to see there was a method to their madness. Jugglers snaked inside while acrobats worked to flank our position in rapid tumbles and flips. The visual representation looked like total chaos, but within a few breaths, the circus freaks had Alex and I isolated and way too busy to interrupt Pogo's demolition balloon act.
I started to flip my Whip Crack out at one of the acrobats who had managed to sneak in behind me, but I stopped as he tore one of the Pom-Poms off his jumpsuit and hurled it in my direction. I slipped to the left, letting it whiz past my thigh. Behind all that fluffy fringe was a miniature spiked ball. It stuck into the ground, and noxious gas erupted from the tines as well.
As if poison Pom-Poms weren't enough, a pair of jugglers who shared what looked like a hundred balls between them, began hurling them at me with the ambidextrous ease of two-armed big-league pitchers. I managed to sprint a tight arc around them, leaving a trail of explosions in my wake. The second they ran out of ammo, I returned the favor, snapping my Whip Crack out to remove their launch mechanisms altogether. Let's see them try out for Lucifer's Little League with no arms.
The jugglers headed off in a torrent of screams, but I was still outnumbered almost fifteen to one. I stole a quick glance at Alex to see that she was doing considerably better than me. Scores of the painted juggernauts littered the ground around her as she worked her Song Reapers like an acrobatic scorpion. The clowns didn't stand a chance. Next to her, they looked like the bumbling, pie-faced sideshows they really were.
I turned my attention back to my own Big Top Troop and swept my Whip Crack out to disrupt their attempt to regroup. I took out another set of jugglers and four of the flipping Pom-Pom throwers. Their noxious fumes rose into the air in a sick, greenish-yellow haze all around me, and I did my best to avoid it. I'd never run into poison gas in The Nine, but you could bet if they had it, breathing in a lungful would be like swallowing a razor blade value-pack. I closed my eyes and held my breath as I dove through another sickly cloud and took down two more jugglers before they could launch their barrage of colorful hand grenades at my head.
I had just finished off that last set of face painted freaks when another set showed up behind them. These guys had to have one of those crazy cars spitting out clowns somewhere. This next trio ambled up on oversized shoes, waddling like hobo penguins. When they got within range, they all nodded their over-grinning faces and leaned their lapel flower in my direction.
No way.
I dove to the side only to see bouts of a sticky, yellow liquid hit the ground in a bubbling, steaming hiss. The acid cut deep lines in the dirt and left the air smelling of metallic rot. They coordinated their shots, trying to hem me in, but I rolled again, putting me just out of range. They shuffled forward over the bubbling ground and set themselves up to fire again, but I surprised them by launching myself forward rather than trying to retreat. When they shot their acid flowers again, it went over my head and I swept my Whip Crack in a wide arc, taking out their legs. Their acid supply must have been somewhere between their thighs because the second my blades cut them down, the streams went limp, and the trio fell into a pool of their own melting makeup.
"Gabe, the balloons!"
Alex's voice pulled my attention away from the gooey mess, and I looked toward Hula Harry's. A slow, methodical line of Pogo's floating party demolitions headed straight for the establishment's walls. He continued to lay them out one at a time into the air, beaming with his serial killer's grin. I reached down and picked up one of the spiked Pom-Poms at my feet and hurled it at the lead balloon. It exploded on impact, taking out the one behind it as well.
Pogo laughed and clapped as if this were the most exciting thing he had seen all day, then released another balloon from his fingers.
I had to do something to stop him, but what?
My remaining clown posse had regrouped and were closing in. There were only a few left but enough to keep me busy. Then I got an idea. I sidestepped, putting myself between Pogo and the advancing clown front. I used my Whip Crack to cut down a wayward acrobat seeking to hit me from the side with one of his spikey poison surprises, but I left the final acid spraying trio in front of me for last. As soon as they launched their face eating spray, I sidestepped to watch the show.
Unfortunately for me, the show had been canceled. I had hoped the spray would hit Pogo and his balloons, destroying them all together, but while my back was turned, something else had gotten in the way. Something horrible and unthinkable—a mime. And somehow, he had stopped the acid from reaching Pogo.
The acid trio recognized my ploy, and instead of endangering Pogo again, they drew meat cleavers, cleverly disguised as rubber chickens, and charged. This was the sort of attack I was used to, so I made quick work of them with the Whip Crack, leaving them in rolling chunks long before they got to within a few steps.
With all my attackers disposed of, I turned my attention back to Pogo and his bodyguard mime. I didn't understand how he had warded off the acid attack ea
rlier, but I doubted he would do as well with my hungry blades.
The mime looked at me, keeping up his act. He had his lips pursed into a tight O of surprise as he played the whole I'm stuck in a box and can't get out routine.
"Here, let me help you crack that thing open," I shouted, then snapped my Whip Crack straight at his head.
I was disappointed a second time by a lack of impact. Instead of striking the beret-wearing irritation, my Whip Crack hit something solid about twelve inches in front of him and bounced off.
You've got to be kidding. A mime with a real forcefield?
The ground shook with another explosion, and I saw Alex hurling more of the spiked balls at the balloons. Pogo had laid out more than two dozen of them in the air. She had disposed of her clown assault force, and so far, we had kept Pogo's floating demolition parade from reaching the bar, but sooner or later, we were going to run out of those spiky balls and then ... boom. No more Hula Harry's.
I pounded on the Mime’s shield again and again with my Whip Crack, but nothing happened.
"See if you can hit Pogo from the other side," I shouted.
Alex launched one of her Song Reapers almost before I finished speaking. It sailed to within about a foot of Pogo's pudgy head then bounced off and landed harmlessly on the ground. The mime responded with mock surprise and completed a lap around Pogo's back completing his invisible box routine in irritating silence.
"Now what?"
Alex picked up another of the spiked balls lodged near her foot and threw it at the furthest balloon, destroying it before it could get to the bar.
I searched the ground for one I could throw. At least we would buy a little time while we came up with an idea. I found one a few feet away and snatched it up. I drew my arm back to launch it forward, then paused, considering for a moment.