The real problem with prison is getting out―which meant we would need to turn off the magic inhibitor. That shouldn’t be a problem with Zara. She enjoyed destroying stuff.
The rest came to me in a flash.
My foolproof masterpiece of a plan went something like:
1) General Moonbeam marches me and Garry into the prison, pretending we’re her prisoners. She hands us over to the dark elves.
2) Once we’re inside, we find Wally.
3) Zara disarms or destroys the magic inhibitor. (Probably destroy.)
4) I use a bit of magic via The Book of Three Towers and transport the three of us out of the clink.
“So once again, I’m doing the dirty work,” Zara said after I told her the plan.
“You’re the one with the hammer,” I said.
“Why don’t you turn off the machine and I find Wally? I can do actual magic.”
“Do you know what Wally looks like? Have you ever been a prisoner? Do you know the prison’s layout?”
“Do you know where the magic inhibitor is?” asked Zara
I shrugged. “How hard can it be to find?”
“I’m sure everything will work out perfectly. Are you even sure this wizard can help us?”
“He’s Pandemonium’s most extraordinary wizard,” Garry said.
“According to whom?” Zara glanced back at him.
He pointed at me.
I watched a black Rolls Royce in the rearview, which had been there for most of our trip uptown.
“I think we’re being followed,” I said. “See that Rolls behind us?”
Garry and Zara both turned.
“How long has it been there?” Zara asked.
“For at least ten miles.”
“Change lanes.”
“In this traffic?”
“Don’t be such a wimp.”
I cut to the left, nearly colliding with a demon biker. The Rolls followed, bumping the demon biker into the guardrail. The bike and the demon both went over and fell out of sight.
“They’re not being subtle about following us,” Zara said.
“They’re no longer following us. They’re about to attack us.” I sped up.
“Don’t Lucifer’s men drive black Rolls?” Garry asked.
“They do,” I said.
“And why would they be after us?” Zara glared at me.
“That’s a very good question.”
“What did you two do?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing we’re aware of.”
“We were attacked by shadow men,” Garry said.
“You failed to mention that back in Fairy Land.”
“We didn’t think it was important,’ I said. “A day doesn’t go by when I’m not attacked by something.”
Another Rolls, twice as long as the Studebaker with black, impenetrable windows, pulled alongside us. It looked like a snake on wheels.
“Do shadow men drive?” I asked.
“Speed up,” Zara said.
I hit the gas, but too late. The Rolls on our right swerved into us, clipping the back of the Studebaker. We fishtailed, but I managed to keep us on the road. I sped past the second Rolls. The first clung to my tail.
The second Rolls roared back up to my side. I swung the wheel hard to the right, slamming us into the demonic auto. It barely moved, but I was able to pull ahead.
“We have to get off the FDR.” Zara rolled down her window. “Get us close to the Rolls.”
No problem. The black luxury car had caught up to us, nipping at our tail. Zara pulled her bracer off, exposing some tattoos. She touched one by her left wrist, mumbled a few incoherent words, and a small cylindrical object appeared in her hand.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A grenade. You should go faster.”
“You have grenades? Why haven’t you used them before?”
“I like bashing shit better.”
Zara tossed the bomb ahead of the Rolls. I floored it. The grenade exploded with an earth-shaking crack that hammered the back of the Studebaker. A brilliant flash of light and smoke swallowed the front end of the black car, while the rest of it slid into the stone barrier that ran along the edge of the right lane. Vehicles slammed into the luxury car from behind, causing a massive pileup. I flew down the FDR, weaving in and out of traffic. The other Rolls gave up chase, possibly to help its fallen comrade or because the driver didn’t want to end up trapped in a pile of metal.
I took the 106th Street exit going eighty miles an hour.
CHAPTER 8: The Purgatory Island Redemption
I drove north on Third Avenue to avoid Lucifer Tower, which sat on 116th and Park Avenue.
“Anyone else after you two corpses?” Zara asked.
“I really can’t say. I’m not very popular and neither is Garry. Right, Garry?”
“Absolutely. People usually despise me.”
I pulled into an empty lot.
“We need to switch,” I said. “Zara, you drive.”
I got out of the car, put Oswald in the trunk, and hopped in the back seat with Garry. Zara got behind the wheel.
Garry said, “Shouldn’t we be in handcuffs?”
“Where in the heck are we going to get handcuffs?” I asked. Then I remembered our tattooed lady.
“Which kind do you want?” she asked. “I have manacles, shackles, tethers.”
“I’m not going to ask why you have so many tattoos of restraints,” I said. “The plain old handcuffs will do.”
Zara got out of the car, turned her back to us, and reached into the front of her pants, touching the spot where she no doubt had a tattoo of handcuffs. The pixie/witch was full of surprises. A moment later, she pulled out the restraints and handed them to us. We slipped them on.
She got back in the car and drove us to a spot a couple of blocks from the ferry that would take us to the island. She used a glamour to hide the Studebaker, and hopefully keep any would-be thieves from taking off with Oswald.
Zara marched us to the 125th Street Pier.
No lights flickered on Purgatory Island, a dark hole in the middle of the sea across the black water.
The ferryman sat hunched on his skiff, smoking a hellfire stick. The dark elf’s wizened face resembled an overused sphincter.
“I have two pieces of scum that need to be locked,” Zara said.
The ferryman gave Garry and me the once over. “And what precinct are you with?”
“I’m General Zara Moonbeam of the Wee Free Folks Liberation Army.”
“We don’t get many generals around here. These two must be special scum.”
“You have no idea.”
We boarded the skiff, the ferryman gave his pole a mighty push, and we floated toward Purgatory Island.
The prison didn’t come into view until we reached the shore. Dirt-streaked limestone walls, decorated with gargoyles and turrets and spires, surrounded the compound. Etched in stone above the entrance were the words: “Silence Is Golden.”
The prison resembled a giant wheel with an octagonal hub at the center and seven single-story cellblocks radiating out from it. After landing on the island, a guard took us through the wall and into the eighth “spoke,” a long corridor that led to the hub.
Nothing stirred as we made our way toward the center. The guard didn’t speak to us. Somehow, even Garry remained quiet. We passed several locked doors. One had dark elves stationed on either side. I cleared my throat, hoping Zara would take notice. The guard shot me a dirty look.
A high stone desk dominated the hub, rising several feet above our heads, from which a dark elf looked down at us. Every part of his face was in the shape of a V. His bushy white eyebrows slanted toward his gray eyes and his pointy ears shot out like wings.
Zara didn’t wait for the desk sergeant to speak. “Throw the book at these two pieces of scum.”
The desk sergeant put a finger to his black lips. “Lower your voice, please,” he whispered. “We don’t want to disturb t
he inmates as they reflect on their transgressions.”
“I guess not,” said Zara in a hushed voice.
Dark elves stood at perfect attention at the entrances to each of the seven cellblocks. Other elves sat at lower desks working on silent typewriters or drinking coffee.
“Identify yourself.”
“General Moonbeam of the Wee Free Folks Liberation Army,” said Zara, “and these are my prisoners.”
“We don’t take political prisoners, and, pardon my bluntness, but you do not look wee to me.”
Zara’s eyes went wide. She leaned forward, an edge in her voice. “Is that a crack on my size?”
The desk sergeant again raised his fingers to his lips.
I stepped on Zara’s toe. She needed to stay calm.
“Your massive size, do you mean?” the dark elf asked. “Next I expect you to claim you are a pixie.” He laughed silently.
I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Zara leaped over the towering desk and tackled the dark elf.
“Do you have a backup plan?” Garry whispered.
“I don’t do backup plans,” I said.
Zara and the dark elf tussled under the desk.
“Don’t ever comment on my size or question my fairy-ness,” she said.
Something thudded off the stone, most likely a dark elf skull.
Half of Purgatory Island’s guards must have come rushing into the hub. As soon as Zara stood, they converged on her. She did pretty good for a while, flinging dark elves around the room like beanbags, but finally, they hit her with a stun gun and she went down.
“Lock that witch up!” the desk sergeant shouted. The elf bled from multiple places. He pointed at us. “I don’t know what these two ghouls did and I don’t care. Lock them up, too.”
Two guards shoved us into a small room off the hub.
A bright yellow light burned in the room, empty except for a table between us and the two guards. One was short and squat with a brush haircut. The other was lean, tall, and bald.
“Strip,” the bald one said.
“You mean take off our clothes?” Garry asked before turning to me and whispering, “You didn’t say we’d have to get naked.” His bones rattled.
“He’s a bit shy,” I said.
“I don’t care what he is,” Baldie said. “We have to check for contraband.”
“He’s a skeleton. It would be awfully hard to conceal anything on his person.”
“Strip.”
We got undressed, placing each item of clothing on the table. The guards groaned when I removed my drawers. They placed all of our clothes in bins, which they tagged and catalogued.
“We’ll get them back when we get out, right?” I asked.
“If you ever get out.”
Both guards laughed.
They didn’t ask Garry to remove his wig. The dopes either thought it was his real hair or feared what they’d discover underneath it. The short guard ran his fingers through Garry’s locks looking for contraband. Instead, he found a fat maggot. He gave a scream when it crawled onto his hand. After that, he left Garry alone. Perfect. Because I hid The Book of Three Towers under his giant bouffant wig.
“Let’s just delouse these guys and call it a night,” Shorty said.
“Make sure you get all the maggots, boys!” I said. “Watch that they don’t bite.”
“You two are disgusting, and we’ve had molemen in here.”
They poured white dust from a cardboard box over us, got us good and covered like they were battering fried chicken. The powder tingled and burned. I guess that meant it worked.
They handed us prison uniforms, white pajamas with black stripes, and slippers.
“The prison’s a bit crowded at the moment,” the tall guard said. “So you two will have to bunk with someone else.” The cells, as I recalled, were small, barely big enough to fit two prisoners. “But don’t worry. Crawhook loves cellmates. We’re pretty sure he ate his last two. We never did find a trace of them.”
The guards led us back to the hub and then into the third corridor on the left. As we made our way down the granite stairs leading into the cellblock, a long, narrow hall with cells on either side, the whispers of inmates filled the air. Eyes appeared in tiny half-moon cutouts, the only openings in the wooden cell doors.
“I can smell ’em from here,” a gruff voice said.
“A couple o’ dead ones,” another said.
“Was the cemetery full?”
Garry rattled and clanked. I put my hand on his shoulder.
The guards stopped before the second to last cell in the block. “Number fifteen!” he shouted.
The distinct click of a lock opening came from the door. Apparently, someone at the top of the corridor controlled the cell door locks. I made a mental note of that.
“In ya go,” the dark elf said.
“Don’t we get a trial?” Garry asked.
“You look guilty to me.” And with that, the dark elf slammed the cell door.
Our cellmate, Crawhook, I assumed, looked huge, even lying down. His bare feet, bigger than ham hocks, dangled over the cot. His head―bald, lumpy, and scarred―sat like a boulder on a pile of pillows. He didn’t look like an ogre or orc. He might have been a cross between a blob fish and a troglodyte. Beady eyes, full of loathing, peeked out of folds of droopy flesh.
Garry said, “I guess we should make the best of this.” He stuck out his hand. “How do you do, I’m Garry. This is―”
“Where’s yer meat?” Crawhook asked.
“―my pal Dead Jack.”
I wondered where they put Zara, and if she had a bunkmate. Attacking the desk sergeant had been a pretty stupid move on her part. She was probably spending too much time with me.
“Garry’s a skeleton,” I said.
“Did someone eat him? What kind of meat was on you, bones?” Crawhook’s right hand balled into a fist and rested on the stone floor.
“What kind?” asked Garry.
“Was it savory, salty, fatty, lean?”
“I’d like to think I was sweet.”
“Ever taste yerself?”
“Can’t ever recall.”
Crawhook shifted his attention to me. “What about you, ugly?”
“What are we talking about here?” I asked.
“Regular prison talk, pally. Just a couple of inmates chewing the fat.” Crawhook laughed. He sounded like a man dying of lung disease.
“Sounds sexual to me.”
“Does it now? Nothing sexual about eating another creature’s meat. It’s survival. Do you like to cuddle after you take down a juicy meat bag?”
“See, that sounds sexual.”
“You’re screwy. Listen to my pal Johnny. We’ve double-teamed on eating plenty of creatures together.” Crawhook knocked on the wall to his left. “He’s a werewolf. Johnny, is there anything sexual about eating some guy’s meat?”
After a long silence, Johnny said, “I’m not speaking to you.”
“Don’t be that way, you hairy beast.” Crawhook gestured with his thumb at the wall. “He’s just mad because―why are you mad at me, Johnny?”
“You know why. Now go and play with your new friends.”
“Oh, I see,” Crawhook said. “He’s jealous.” He shouted, “These guys don’t mean anything to me! I’ll show you!”
Like a cobra, Crawhook sprang from the cot and gazed covetously at Garry’s bones. He stood at least seven feet. “I could make a nice shank with the collar bone and that skull would be a boffo mug. Strip! I want to see the rest of your bones.”
“Are you serious?” Johnny growled from the other cell.
“This is all getting a bit too out of hand,” I said.
“I wasn’t talking to you, corpse blocker.” Crawhook yanked Garry’s prison shirt off. The skeleton reflexively covered his breast bones.
“Garry’s spoken for,” I said.
“Is that so?” Crawhook pushed Garry aside and stood before me. I nearly fell ba
ck from the stench, a mix of beef stew and dirty feet. “What are you going to do about it?”
He jabbed me in the chest, shoving me back against the cell door.
“This isn’t my first time in lockup, pally,” I said.
“So we’ve got ourselves a repeat offender.”
“You don’t want to mess with me.”
That hoarse dying man laugh again. “Did you eat your pal’s flesh? I bet you did.”
I ran a finger over Crawhook’s bicep. It was like iron. Then I put the finger to my lips. “I’ve eaten my fair share of Pandemoniums.”
“Eat this!” Crawhook fed me a knuckle sandwich. I cushioned the blow with my teeth. My head slammed into the door and it swung open. I fell on my arse outside the cell, just as all the other cell doors began to open.
A tall human ran from door to door waving his finger at the locks and shouting, “Open sesame!”
The prisoners rushed out of their cells and swarmed to the hub.
The lunatics had gotten loose in the asylum.
“Zara!” Garry shouted. “She must have destroyed the magic inhibitor.” That wasn’t part of the plan, but neither was Zara getting arrested.
Garry tried to push past Crawhook, but he blocked him with an arm.
“You two ain’t going nowhere.”
“You’re free to go, dunzy,” I said after getting to my feet. “What’re waiting for?”
“Why would I leave? I have my heart’s desire right here.”
“Again, that sounds very sexual to me.”
Crawhook bounded out of the cell, grabbed me by the throat, and lifted me. I tried kicking him, but I was like a baby trying to swim away from a shark. The bastard spit out a thick green tongue and licked me from forehead to chin. “Smokey.”
“You’re giving off a real creepy vibe,” I said.
Garry emerged into the hall clutching his breastbone, as Johnny came tearing out of his cell. The werewolf’s ribs pushed out of his flesh. Bite marks covered his body. Looks like Crawhook had been chowing on his next-door neighbor. Johnny leaped in, clamping down on the creep’s throat with his slavering jaws, knocking him to the ground. The werewolf ripped and tore out the creature’s neck.
Dead Jack and the Soul Catcher: (Volume 2) Page 5