Blue Angel

by Phil Williams

  She knocked, and the metallic ring bounced into the distant valleys of warehouses. Almost immediately, the door squeaked open on rollers.

  “Pax,” Bees said, unsurprised to see her. In his filthy apron again. His grey face had taken on a little colour, the skin almost black under one eye, surrounded by purple and yellow. The white of one eye was tinged red with blood.

  “Jesus, did you nut a girder?” Pax asked.

  “No,” Bees said. “I’ve been trying to call you. Better come in, hadn’t you?”

  Bees stepped aside and Pax entered after the briefest hesitation. Something in his face, and that response, told her their assumption was absolutely right. He’d gone after Casaria and he knew where he was. Bees pulled the squealing door shut and moved towards a corridor. Pax followed cautiously. The place seemed empty and inactive. She glanced back to the door. Probably too heavy to open if she had to run.

  “You been busy, Pax?” Bees asked. “How’s everything going? With the spooks and that.”

  Pax chose not to get into it, and instead asked, “Is he here?”

  Bees gave her an appraising look over his shoulder. “Last I checked, there’s in the regions of 7.6 billion people in the world. Roughly 50.4% of whom are male. An ambiguous question like that offers an approximate 3.83 billion choices for me to answer. If you include animals and other personified objects, a lot more.”

  Pax let him talk, imagining he’d practised this speech. He led her into a room lit with the greenish yellow buzz of an ancient bulb. An ante-chamber with three metal doors and a drain in the centre, fed by gutters between the tiles. If it wasn’t an abattoir, it did an excellent imitation.

  “First off,” Bees said. He put a hand in his pocket, rummaging. He seemed huge in this tight space, with the room making threats for him. Pax cringed at his minty fresh breath, which seemed somehow worse than the halitosis his appearance suggested. He drew out a bunch of keys. Her keys, her casino-chip keyring; the set she’d given him when sending them to her apartment. She slowly took them as he said, “Sorry we didn’t deliver, you’re probably aware we had complications.”

  “Yeah. I’m hoping I can help you with that.”

  “Help me?” Bees’ eyes smiled. “At this moment, knowing me, and my talents, as you do, do you think I’m a man in need of help?”

  “Bees,” Pax said. “If you’re stepping on the toes of the Ministry of Environmental Energy, then yes you need help. If you don’t think so, then you definitely need help. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  “Not knowing,” Bees said thoughtfully, “is rather the point. I wasn’t sure you were coming back and we had some questions that wanted answering.” His eyes fixed on a door and Pax followed his gaze. It had great rusted fixings, a cell fit to cage a bull. “It might be best if you walk away, Pax. We talk much more and you’ll become complicit.”

  Christ, had they killed Casaria in this vile dungeon? She answered quietly, “Whatever you’ve done, or are doing, it’s no worse than the secrets I’ve already got.”

  Bees kept staring, giving nothing away. He moved towards the door, and Pax swallowed as he opened it. “This way, then. ”

  A waft of fresh air swept in, the door opening onto a long, cracked path that led to a single-storey brick office, tiny against the surrounding warehouses. The lights were on, windows yellow.

  “The boss is in session,” Bees said, “he’ll want a word.”

  Pax followed him across the open court, scanning the sky hoping to see the fairies, but finding no sign of them. They reached the squat building and Bees led the way inside, voices audible from somewhere beyond. He wiped his hefty boots on a mat and called out, “Mr Monroe. Got someone eager to talk to you.”

  A rough voice shouted from the next room, “Come on through.”

  It was Monroe’s broad Farling accent, Ordshaw’s answer to Cockney.

  Bees and Pax passed the desk and chairs of a waiting room. A notice board with yellowed posters. Fagan’s Falsies - You’ll Never Know They’re Not Real. A middle-aged lady grinning for England. Pax muddled through the tongue-twister. Was this an old dentists’ surgery? She followed Bees to a staff room with built-in cupboards and shallow sofas. A blond hulk lurked by a counter with a can of beer: Howling Jowls Jones, grinning at Pax. The boss put down a cup of tea – china, saucer and all – and stood from his sofa. He straightened out his woollen suit jacket.

  “Pax, right?” he said. He had a round, rugged face with a receding hairline buzzed short. Deep lines of experience lined his brow and cheeks. “We played together at The Grand?”

  “Once or twice,” Pax said. The boss offered his hand and Pax noted he was barely taller than her. His firm, businesslike squeeze reminded her his personality made up for his height. The sort of old-school criminal who considered it gentlemanly to use darling and love as pronouns. His palm was damp.

  “Sorry,” Monroe gave a warm smile, patting a handkerchief to a sweat bead on his forehead. “Afraid we’ve been busy.”

  “Getting some exercise, I swear,” Jones laughed, then rubbed his square jaw like it hurt. His skin had taken on new colours, like Bees’. Casaria’s doing?

  “Yeah,” Monroe seemed to guess her question. “We’ve got you to thank for this particular situation, ain’t that right?”

  “I didn’t mean for…” Pax started, cautiously. They definitely had him. They were men capable of kidnapping a government agent. This was real.

  “It’s alright,” Monroe said. “Been a pleasure, if I’m honest. I could use a man like him, in other circumstances. Got a lot of fight for a civil servant.”

  “He’s a bit more than a civil servant,” Pax warned.

  “Indeed.” Monroe picked up his tea again. “Where’s our manners? Three ugly men and a pretty young lady and we ain’t even offered you a cuppa? What’ll it be? Got a feeling you don’t take sugar.”

  Pax frowned, not sure what that was supposed to mean. “No, thanks, I’m fine. You know what this is about?”

  “Not exactly. These boys had their theories, but they always do, don’t they? Shit, you know them. Your tight-lipped pal, he’s not been particularly helpful either.” Monroe took a sip from his dainty cup, a crack of culture in his otherwise boorish facade. Pax watched his little finger, hoping he’d stick it out like royalty. He didn’t. “You want to enlighten us?”

  She didn’t want to tell them anything, now that he asked. It would hardly help her case with Lightgate and the Fae if she opened the doors of the Sunken City to more violent humans. But his boys had their theories already; her best bet was playing on their paranoia. “I crossed paths with this Ministry of Environmental Energy a few days ago. They’re shady bastards. The resources they’ve got at their fingertips – city-wide surveillance, phone tapping, satellites, heat sensors. All to protect the tunnels I told your guys about yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” Monroe said. “The tunnels. I thought these boys were shooting the moon. Should’ve taken it seriously, shouldn’t I?”

  Like kidnapping a government agent over it wasn’t serious? Pax said, “The tunnels are real, the MEE’s power is real, and they defend this kind of knowledge with a vengeance. I need to get the Ministry to back off, and Cano Casaria is my best option.”

  “Hear that, boys?” Monroe turned a look to his goons, and Pax realised how quiet both of them were. Possibly the longest she’d seen either of them hold their tongues. “She’s looking to back off a government ministry. All by herself?”

  Jones broke his silence, “Pax is a sprite, boss. First time I met her you know what I saw? She folded second nut to that florist fuck from Wong’s Tuesday Hold ’Em game. Lost a pot that’d make your nose bleed, folded second damn nut. She took this guy’s needling for two months of games before making this monster call and busting his arse.” Jones whooped. “I swear. It was, what, King, Eight –”

  “Cute,” Monroe murmured, to avoid the full details. “So you’re a girl who plays the long game. Who thin
ks she can back off the government.”

  “Yeah,” Pax said. No sense in being shy about it. “Minus the girl bit.”

  “Pax?” Jones laughed, loud, eyes wandering to her crotch. “I had no idea. How –”

  “She’s talking about respect, moron,” Monroe said. “I apologise, darling. Anyone can see you’re a lady.” Pax gave a slight smile. The important thing was he thought it was an improvement. “Respect is why we’re here right now. Your tunnels, all that aside – this government agent, he showed up my boys. That’s bad for my business. My men” – he nodded to them each in turn – “look visibly worse for wear, don’t they?”

  “You’re concerned about losing face? To the Ministry? They’re a government –”

  “We’re at war, Pax,” Monroe explained. “Not one you regulars hear about, but a war all the same. It’s bloody. You know what it is we do?”

  Pax shook her head, thinking she’d really rather keep it that way.

  “Doesn’t matter. What matters is there’s others that want to take over from us. Heard of the Seventh Street Regulars? Yardies. Jamaican kids with attitudes and guns. We didn’t ask for any of that shit in Ordshaw.”

  “You’re losing me,” Pax admitted. The last thing she needed was another secret war on her conscience. “What’s a gang war got to do with the Ministry? With Casaria?”

  “We’re not violent people,” Monroe said, perhaps the least believable comment Pax had heard in a week spent learning about fantastic monsters. “They forced this on us, the Yardies. We gotta protect what’s ours, don’t we? You ask me what it’s got to do with your pal Casaria – that’s twofold. First, those tunnels of yours, if they exist, they’d help us avoid violence. Imagine us operating under these Yardies’ feet.”

  “Can’t fight us if they can’t see us, can they?” Jones contributed.

  So it wasn’t just smuggling contraband they wanted the Sunken City for. They had more enemies than the law. But that wasn’t all.

  “Second, these Yardies get wind of my boys taking a beating, especially if they hear it was some skinny suit that did it, that’s gives them a laugh, doesn’t it? They think to try their own luck. A message needs to be sent, Pax.”

  Pax exhaled, wishing that at least one step she took would lead to simplifying her life, rather than making it more complicated. “This message…is it something Casaria can walk away from?”

  “You want him to?” Jones said, grin returning. Pax gave him an unimpressed look.

  “It might’ve been,” Monroe said. “He escalated this situation. We saw his place, we got what we needed. Didn’t even want him to talk. We only needed to return, in kind, what he did for my boys.”

  “You got what –” Pax started. They already knew something about the Sunken City?

  Bees interrupted, “He’s one of those people you hear about that takes pleasure in bad things, I reckon. Tendency to escalate things unnecessarily.”

  “Son of a bitch wanted a fight,” Jones said. “Left us no choice.”

  “Wherever that’s left you,” Pax said, “you don’t want to provoke this Ministry.”

  “I believe you, Pax,” Monroe said. His eyes hadn’t left Pax, unsettlingly steady. “With this talk of tunnels and things shaking up the city today, we kept a careful eye on the news. Don’t take a genius to see your Ministry pals might actually control a certain amount of power, putting out what, ambiguous explanations at best. No, we didn’t want a part of that party. But we had a little brainstorm about that, didn’t we, boys?”

  “Certainly did, boss,” Jones said, proudly. “And Bees came up with a pretty fine idea, if you ask me. Pretty fine indeed.”

  Pax gave Bees a concerned look. “Don’t underestimate these people. They have –”

  “I always put stock in what you say, Pax,” Bees said, flatly. “I had an idea these people were dangerous. You say it, we’re all listening. Doesn’t have to be a bad thing, though.”

  “No?” Pax asked, dreading the answer.

  “We’ll kill two birds with one stone,” Monroe said. “We make this man answer for his actions, saving face, and we invite his Ministry to return fire. Only, not in our direction.”

  “You want to hurt Casaria and blame the…Yardies?”

  The room was quiet, confirming she’d reached the right conclusion. Gravely. Jones put his beer can down, no sign of a smile now. Monroe watched Pax, and she stared back. Looking away showed weakness, Christ knew she’d learnt that enough times in poker games, and here the stakes were much higher than a pot of cash. These people were as bad as Lightgate – did everyone solve problems around Ordshaw by sparking conflict? Pax said, “That’s a hell of a risk. However good you are at covering your tracks, the Ministry could figure it out. They’re thorough, they’ve got ways of…” Killing you that would make you shit kittens came to mind. It didn’t seem appropriate. “They’ll come for you, no matter how well you think you can pin this on someone else. Please tell me you haven’t already gone too far to call this off.”

  “How’d you define too far, exactly?” Jones asked.

  “The point at which Casaria can’t be convinced to let it go. The only way you walk away from the Ministry is if one of their own says so.”

  The silence returned as the men seemed to be questioning whether or not to believe her. It gave Pax a second to appreciate her own statement; she needed Casaria for exactly the same reason, didn’t she?

  Bees said, “Their whole purpose is keeping secrets, isn’t it? I’d say we’re well beyond negotiations there.”

  “He told you something about the tunnels?” Pax shot him a look, this idea again.

  “Didn’t need to,” Monroe offered a proud snigger. “Thank fuck. We got his measure pretty quick, he might never talk. But the moron’s phone was full of GPS locations. A Google Maps history with half a dozen frequently visited back alleys and dead ends.”

  “Entrances to your tunnels, right?” Jones clarified.

  They already knew. They could go down there, it was already too late.

  Pax’s mind was racing. They’d be torn apart at best. At worst, unleash the monsters on the city, encounter the Fae – so many opportunities to cause chaos.

  “The beauty is,” Jones continued, “he doesn’t know we know. All the time we’ve spent tenderising him, setting up our story, he’s been thinking it’s because we want him to talk.”

  Pax blurted out, “They’re not safe. You can’t go down there.”

  Monroe replied slowly, “Come again?”

  Pax closed her eyes. Had to come up with something fast. “You want to know everything? I’ll tell you. But you can’t go down there. There is a tunnel network running all over Ordshaw, like a disused train-line. These guys ran experiments down there – in the sixties, seventies, something. Now it’s like – dead, and deadly at the same time. The Ministry contain it, they’re monitoring every access point, hiding all evidence of it. Like an underground Pripyat.”

  “A condom?” Jones contributed.

  “Pripyat, not prick hat,” Bees said. “The city by Chernobyl.”

  “Oh that. Sure, I know it. Evacuated the afternoon of –”

  “Alright,” Monroe said. “These tunnels are radioactive?”

  “Worse,” Pax said. “I don’t know what it is, and that’s the point. They don’t either, not exactly. It’s totally unmanageable – their best bet is to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  Disappointment set into Monroe’s face. Buying it. He glanced at Jones. “It’s always the same shit with you two. Bloody 28 Hunters Drive all over again.”

  “28 Hunters Drive looked stable,” Jones protested. “You got to imagine it with a bit of work, I swear you could’ve –”

  “Enough!” Monroe snapped, making Pax jump. He countered the outburst with a much smoother tone. “Hunters Drive was lined with asbestos. Head to toe. The things we did to secure that deal, before I found out. Fucking property investment 101 there. And now it’s nuclear tunnels? Nucl
ear fucking tunnels?”

  “I know a guy,” Bees proffered, “can get us Soviet grade hazmat suits at a discount. Built to withstand anything.”

  “It’s not nuclear –” Pax started.

  “Save it,” Monroe said. “Nuclear, gaseous, leprous, whatever. I get it. A lesson in the old too good to be true, right?”

  “Stay away from them,” Pax asserted, “for your own good. You do that, no one needs to know you’ve had anything to do with the Ministry – you said Casaria doesn’t even know you got those locations. No one will come after you.”

  “Love,” Monroe sighed. “I appreciate the warning, but you think I’ve been telling you all this for no good reason? We’re already in motion, we’re not going back.”

  “Let me talk to him. Please. If I can persuade Casaria to go along with your story, he could take it to his people himself, it’d be that much more convincing. He’ll do it, if you let me talk to him. If you let him walk away. We all win, don’t we?”

  Monroe eyed her warily. He screwed up his face for a moment, the turning cogs behind his eyes practically visible.

  She threw in some icing: “All except the Yardies, I guess?”

  That got the start of a smile. “Fuck it. You can have a shot.”

  22

  The lock noisily turned and Casaria struggled in his restraints. Again he was held fast, and again the effort shot pain through his whole body. He twisted his head from side to side, trying to see the doorway as light poured into the room.

  “Jesus Christ,” a woman’s voice. Pax? It couldn’t be.

  “He’s alright.” The cocky blond guy, with the punchable face. Footsteps came into the room, a big shape blocking Casaria’s vision. “Only a little superficial damage. Not all our doing, even, truth be told.”

  “Fucking hell,” she said, suddenly close, breath hot on Casaria’s face. Her hand closed on his shoulder as she looked at him. Her big eyes filled with concern.

  She cares. Of course she cares. He knew she did.

  “You came for me,” he tried to croak, but phlegm caught in his throat and made him cough. She reeled back, avoiding the spit.