Kings of the Night

by Mark Z. Kammell

  *****

  The house is huge, old, imposing, silhouetted against the dark sky. It’s the kind of house I could imagine living in, with my new status in life, when we’ve done a few of these missions, when I have a tidy sum in my Swiss bank account, when I can make important phone calls sitting on a lounger on my yacht. And the drive… we have to walk down this tree lined drive that must go on for a mile, with big green trees or bushes or whatever lining either side. They should provide some sort of transport, a golf buggy or a travelator or something like that so that you don’t have to walk. I mean, what the hell does the postman do every day? He must be seriously fit.

  And the porch is huge, with two giant spotlights standing over us and highlighting us like some thieves caught in the night, which I’m still thinking we are. We have had two walk past two sleek black cars. I mean these cars were gorgeous, sensual, seriously, whoever designed them must have been high on something, no way could you do that with mere mortal powers. I am weak kneed with admiration. This is the earthly definition of sex on wheels, it even made me whisper to Mr. Yellow, let’s just get these and get out of here, but he just gave me a filthy look that made me think maybe I have made a mistake about our mission. And I’m struggling to understand that because whose life wouldn’t be complete behind the wheel of a machine like that.

  “Are you ready?” he whispers. I nod. “Just follow my lead” he whispers. Right to the cars, Mr. Yellow.

  He reaches forward and touches a panel. A very soft light comes on and turns towards us. “Smile” he whispers ferociously. I give my best smile. Seconds pass, the night is hot and I can feel sweat building up on my forehead, running down and into my eye and that’s not good because I want to look my best when

  When the door slides silently open and we are stood facing with a tall, lean woman, very good looking.

  “Can I help you” she asks in a posh voice.

  Mr. Yellow is about to speak but I come out with it first. “I love your car” I say, though I think maybe it’s not a woman’s car.

  She turns to look at me. “Thank you” she purrs. “The second one is mine. Wonderful isn’t it? I could die in that car. It leaves with dreams of passion, of desire, of making love in the back seat and staring up into the stars, watching my soul drift away in perfect slow motion.”

  I’m gone.

  “Now” she looks at us again, “you both look very demure. Are you here to valet the cars? Or to feed the fish?”

  “Valet the cars” I drool

  “Feed the fish” Mr. Yellow says, slowly, uncertainly.

  “Ah, both!” she claps her hands. “How wonderful. Gary will be pleased. But it is rather late, isn’t it?”

  “Is Gary home?” asks Mr. Yellow.

  “Oh, yes, he is, but you know, he can’t be disturbed. He’s having a bath, I think.” She looks at me and winks. “Would you like me to show you my car?”

  “Yes!” I shout.

  “Er, no!” says Mr. Yellow quickly. “We need to, erm, get our equipment. And deck the place, I mean, inspect the place, I mean, eat the fish…I mean, check the fish.” Sweat’s pouring out of him like a river, I’m thinking of asking this lady for a bucket and maybe we can use it to wash the car, but she just laughs.

  “Well please don’t eat the fish, they are rather lovely, if a little dangerous. Shall I let you collect your equipment?”

  Mr. Yellow and me look at each other. We both shrug, in unison. “I guess” says Mr. Yellow

  We turn around to go, and just then there is a huge sounds that explodes in the sky, we turn and look up, our host walks out slowly and links her arm into mine and stares up with us at a huge machine, a kind of helicopter, hovering in the sky by the house.

  Slowly, surreally, a panel seems to open in the side of the helicopter and something comes out, a long pole. It hovers there for a minute and then suddenly shoots into the side of the house, breaking through the brickwork with ease and sending debris flying. Me and Mr. Yellow both flinch, try to duck, but Lady Ice stands there coolly, looking at it without moving. Dust falls onto our faces as we continue to look, hearing a lot of rumbling, shuffling and maybe screaming as the pole remains in the house. Then it starts moving again, coming out, and I am not kidding, I have not been taking drugs, the end of the pole has become a kind of giant metal claw and it’s grasping one of those Victorian baths, the ones with little feet at the bottom, and in the bath is a man, holding on, looking over the edge, panic on his face. The helicopter, the pole, the path and the man stay there stationary for a few seconds, the man looking down at us and screaming something, but you can’t hear because of the noise of the helicopter, and then without warning, it shoots off, disappearing into the night.

  “Well, that was something” Lady Ice says coolly. “Let’s go inside.”

  “Erm” says Mr. Yellow, “well we really better get going.”

  “Nonsense!” she says, “the party’s just started!”. We both try and turn to go but she’s holding both our arms, she has a grip of steel, and she steers us into a grand hallway, chandeliers and carvings, vases and old pictures and everything, all the way through to the end and into a doorway at the back. This room is very different, it’s all white, very plain, with a table in the middle and four chairs around it, other than that there’s nothing except for the huge lights at the top and the feeling that it’s very cold.

  There’s also a man here, standing at the far end, facing away from us, just looking at the wall, hands behind his back. I’m wondering what is so fascinating about that particular piece of wall when he says in a low, calm voice, “Sit down, won’t you.”

  Lady Ice guides each of us to a chair and we sit. Mr. Yellow glances nervously at me, I smile and shrug.

  “Won’t you pass me your weapons, please” says Lady Ice.

  “And why would we do that?” asks Mr. Yellow. Good answer, shame that he’s so nervous he stammers it, and it comes out more like “w-w-w-w-hy would we d-d-d-do, sorry, I mean, do, th-t-th-that, sorry…”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll shoot you.” The man turns and we see that it’s actually Gary Starr, lead singer of the teen pop sensation band Four Ways West. He’s wearing a black dinner jacket with bow tie and everything, and in his hands he’s holding a very large, very mean looking gun, more like a sub machine gun, which kind of makes our pistols look a little sad in comparison.

  “Mr. Starr!” I say, “I didn’t realize it was your house. I’m so sorry….”

  Mr. Yellow stares at me then back at Gary (I hope he doesn’t mind me calling him that). “I thought you were in the bath. I thought we got you.”

  Lady Ice laughs. “Such an old trick. Just a body double. I do my job well, you know.”

  Gary walks up to her and touches her. I feel slightly jealous, I thought we had something going for a minute there. “Miss Freighton is my personal bodyguard. She’s so good I don’t need anyone else. Of course, I’m pretty handy myself, not something that I share with my fans.” He grins.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  Everyone stares at me this time, so I think I’ll just shut up and go with the flow.

  “Now” he says, “weapons please.” He’s pointing the big mother of a gun at us. We both get our weapons out and put them on the table. A bit of a relief to be honest, mine was starting to kind of hurt.

  Lady Ice picks them up and studies them. “Hmmm, not too bad she says.” She walks over to a corner and touches the wall. A slot opens from nowhere, and she throws the guns inside. They disappear with a clatter. Mr. Yellow gulps.

  “Can I have a glass of water?” I ask.

  “Erm, no” she says.

  Gary walks up to us and stands right in front of Mr. Yellow, very close. Mr. Yellow pushes himself back into his chair as far as he can go. “Now” says Gary, pushing his gun into Mr. Yellow’s stomach, “I’d be interested in some answers. All my band mates have disappeared suddenly, kidnapped or murdered or something, and now you come for
me. I’ve protected myself because I’m a professional, but…” and I can only assume he’s pausing for effect, “I want my friends back. We have music to play! We have kids to entertain! We have a duty in life and…” again he pauses, and then says very slowly, “I am not going to allow you to stop us.”

  “But you’re poisoning them!” shouts Mr. Yellow, “you’re destroying young lives!”

  “I’m sorry?” asks Gary, looking genuinely puzzled. I must admit, so am I.

  There’s a loud noise from outside, I’m guessing the doorbell, and he turns to Lady Ice. “Can you see who that is please.” He stands back, leaning on the table, looking at us, as she disappears and we all wait, listening.

  “Yes?” a pause, “oh, you’re police officers, how lovely to meet you”

  A low voice answers, “Sorry to disturb you ma’am, but we received reports of a disturbance at this property and so we, well, we came to investigate.”

  “A disturbance… what kind of a disturbance?”

  “Well…. Two, no, three of your neighbours called in, they said that, well…” a pause, “well, that a helicopter suddenly appeared, and well, it crashed into your house, and left, well…” another pause, “well, carrying a bath with someone in it”

  “Ha ha ha, really, what a bizarre story, it must have made you laugh”

  “Well, sorry ma’am, and I do apologise for pushing, but there, well there does seem to be a hole in the side of your house. And well, it does seem to expose your bathroom, and well, the bath does appear to be missing.”

  “Yes, of course it is! We’re having it completely redecorated. We got bored of the Victorian look, we want something much more modern, more sleek. It will be wonderful. Why don’t you come round and take a look when it’s done, I’ll be happy to show you.”

  “Erm, and the, hole in the side of your house?”

  “Will be a huge window, allowing us to bathe whilst looking at the stars and making love al fresco.”

  A silence.

  “Erm… and… the neighbours reports?”

  Lady Ice’s voice goes low, conspiratorial. “Don’t you know? The neighbours around here?”

  “No, ma’am” the voice sounds worried.

  “All on drugs. They take LSD, ecstasy, even heroin all the time. I can’t stand drugs. Detest them. But all the neighbours, they’re too rich, they don’t have enough to do, they spend their days high, they come out with all such strange stories, it happens all the time. I mean, a flying bathtub! Whatever next.”

  “Really ma’am? They are really on drugs?”

  “Oh, dear me, absolutely. There’s a little man who comes round every day, about eight o’clock. He has a suitcase full of them, he goes to every house and gives them what they want. He doesn’t come here of course, oh no. Not a single drug in the place. He knows that if he did I would call the police straight away. But the rest of them, well, officer, it’s terrible! Simply terrible.”

  “Well, erm, thank you for informing me ma’am. That is very worrying. We will have to follow up on that. And…”

  “Oh, don’t mention it. Sorry you had a wasted trip here. Goodnight officer”

  And in two minutes, she’s back.

  Gary glanced at her, and stroked his silver beard with his free hand. Nice move.

  “Nice” he said, “but what are you going to do when they come after the little man?”

  “Oh, well, I thought I could offer up one of these two, if they’re still alive. They wouldn’t dare say anything different, they’ll say whatever we tell them, just give them a suitcase full of something and they’re behind bars for 35 years. One less body to dispose of.”

  “I like it”

  “Now hang on…” says Mr. Yellow (I think I’ll call him Mr. Y from now on)

  “Yes, back to you” says Gary, poking the muzzle of his gun into my friend’s stomach. “Tell me where my friends are… if you want to live” I must admit I admire the cool, calm way he delivers this. I bet he’s good on stage.

  “I don’t know!”

  “Not good enough. Miss Freighton, please get me the instruments.”

  “Oh great” I say, “what you going to play?”

  Everyone ignores me this time, and from nowhere Lady Ice produces a small, black, leather pouch and unzips it. Oh, that sort of instrument. There are tweezers, needles, blades, lots of shiny silver stuff.

  “Now just wait…” says Mr. Y.

  “Why? Why should I wait? You can’t just go round making whole bands disappear. Well, if they’re awful, maybe. I mean, if you made Phil Collins disappear, say, that would be a start…”

  “Yeah, good point, Phil Collins is awful” I say

  “Listen to your friend” says Gary, giving me a friendly nod. That was good of him. “I don’t know what you have against us. We make sweet, heartfelt love songs and ballads, and catchy pop tunes, and people dance and smile and kiss to them, and they make love and they get married and they grow old happily together and what is the fucking problem?”

  Mr. Y is almost spluttering with anger. “What is the problem? You’re seriously asking me what the problem is. I mean, for God’s sake, listen to some of your lyrics. I mean, this is my favourite one…

  You say your heart is a block of ice

  Let me breathe on it, touch it, melt it

  To be able to love you, that would be nice

  And join ourselves in an everlasting kiss”

  He spits out the words, his rage increasing with each line and he’s left panting at the end. I hope he’s OK.

  Gary’s shaking his head. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong with it? I mean, I really don’t know where to start. Firstly, it doesn’t scan.”

  “Yes it does!”

  “No it doesn’t! Second, I mean, it’s got the word nice in it. God, what a horrible word. You should be banned from ever singing again just for that. And then, an everlasting kiss. What is that? What sort of example does that give to our kids? Kisses aren’t everlasting, you’d choke for a start…”

  “And who…” says Gary slowly, deliberately, “are you to be the judge of what my lyrics do to the hearts of our children. Who are you to deem what’s right or not?”

  “Well someone has to!” shouts Mr. Y. “Someone has to take responsibility for what’s going on. I mean, I lie awake at night, I have nightmares, I toss and turn, I can’t get those lyrics out of my head, I mean, they are literally driving me crazy. And it’s not just me. There are lots of us. Mark here, I mean Mr. Green, sorry, for a start. There’s a whole army of us. You should see what people really say about you, the parents, the responsible ones at least. I mean, what about this….” And he almost sings it this time

  And when we touched I thought my heart would break

  You’re sweeter than a piece of chocolate cake

  “Yeah, that’s pretty bad” I have to admit. Lady Ice looks away. Even Gary looks a little embarrassed.

  But he calms himself down. “Enough” he says. “Enough. Look… either you tell me where the rest of my band is, or I will take this pair of tweezers and start…” and he leans forward and whispers something into Mr. Y’s ear. “You have ten seconds to decide.” He steps back, and walks to the back of the room, holding his machine gun casually in his left hand.

  “Are you all right?” asks Lady Ice.

  We all look at Mr. Y who has turned completely white and started coughing. Foam even starts coming out of his mouth. Maybe he has rabies? I can see Lady Ice is thinking the same thing, she wraps her arms around herself and looks round, searching for rabid dogs I expect.

  “M… my…” he splutters.

  “What?”

  “My pills… my heart pills…”

  Gary and Lady Ice glance at each other, and Gary nods. “Yes OK you can have your heart pills, we still need to talk to you. Where are they?”

  Mr. Y is writhing on his chair. “Po... pock… pocket”

  “I think he said pocket�
�� I say helpfully, but they ignore me again.

  Gary nods at Lady Ice who reaches over to Mr. Y and searches both his pockets, producing a small silver container. As if by magic she has a glass of water in her hand, she opens the container and shakes a small white pill into her hand. “One pill right?” she says and Mr. Y nods. Gary paces around the room, stopping in the far corner to look back at us. I wonder if he’s checking for dogs too.

  She reaches forward, places it into his mouth and then forces some water in. Mr. Y continues writhing. We all wait. The foaming stops. Then the writhing stops. Then Mr. Y sinks back into his chair and the colour returns to his face. He wipes his mouth.

  “Thank you” he says with a big grin. There’s a flash of uncertainty over Lady Ice’s face, then suddenly Mr. Y springs up, grabs her and throws her across the room. Me and Gary both flinch though I’m sure he wasn’t aiming at us, as Lady Ice literally flies over the table and smashes into the white wall behind, leaving a hole in it, and slumps to the floor, immobile.

  I’m sitting there, looking stunned at Mr. Y. “Adrenaline pills” he winks at me and gets up, walking slowly towards Gary. But Gary’s recovered from the shock and lets out a cry of rage, aims his gun at Mr. Y and starts firing, round after round, into him, until the machine gun stops and he drops it on the floor, looking at my friend’s inert body. Maybe I should have got up and hidden, but it’s a bit late now. I watch, stunned, as Gary walks over to the table, picks up my pistol and stops in front of me. He studies me for a second, then he raises the pistol to my head and smiles.

  “Time to die, my friend” he says. I blink. “Erm” I say.

  “That’s all you can say?”

  This isn’t any good. What’s the point of a new body, a new mind, all this secret society stuff, a girlfriend, yeah well, need to sort that one out, if it all ends here. I have to get out of this.

  “Erm” I splutter. Then I shut my eyes. There’s a loud explosion right in front of me, so loud it feels like my ears are going to bleed, like my eyes are going to be crushed. Then there’s a crash. And a cry. And a voice that says “for fuck’s sake”. I open my eyes.

  Standing in front of me is Mr. Y, and he’s standing over the body of someone. Gary, in fact. Who seems alive. By the fact that he’s groaning and writhing and clutching his head.

  Mr. Y turns to me. “Get up” he says. I get up and look at him. “You’re alive” I say.

  He winks. “Bullet proof vest.”

  “Oh cool” I say, “like mine, right?”

  “No, yours is just normal. Luckily he didn’t shoot you.”

  “But…” I start to say, and stop. Well, maybe he didn’t shoot me. Maybe that explosion was something else. Whatever it was, I’m still alive, that’s the main thing.

  “Well that went well” he says, smiling. “Of course, I knew it was a diversion all along. I played it well, don’t you think, made myself look quite uncertain. Don’t you think?”

  “Er, yeah, I guess” I say.

  He shrugs. “Come on now, we need to be quick. You tie him up, I’ll find us some transport.” He hands me some string. “Don’t ask where I got it from” he says.

  “Erm” I reply, “maybe I could look for the transport and you tie him up?”

  He shakes his head. “What’s the matter with you?” he asks. “Tie the fucker up, and I’ll get the transport” he says, brusquely, and walks out of the room.

  I glance at Gary, still moving slowly and groaning on the floor, and I shrug, kneel down and get to work with the string. First his hands. I bind them really tight, I’m not really sure why, digging the string into the wrists until red lines form around it and he starts jerking from the pain. One wrist and then the other and then together behind his back, kneeling over him, he tries to protest a bit but he’s too weak and dazed to do much. Then the legs, just above the ankles, I pull his trousers up and bind his legs, with the same intensity, he kicks up a little bit but again I just ignore him until it’s done. I get off him and then with an effort turn him over so he’s facing me. His face is contorted, in a grimace, his eyes open briefly, they’re red, bloodshot, they try to focus on me but then he closes them again.

  And so I stare at him. And I don’t know why but something makes me. Pick up the pistol from the table and kneel over his body, so I’m resting on his chest, so I can nuzzle the pistol into his face. His body stirs again, his eyes flicker open and wander aimlessly for a second, then manage to focus. They look at me, they glance downwards and see the gun. They look at me again and they trickle. I can feel myself smiling, feel my finger on the trigger, feel something that I haven’t felt for a while, something like power, something like passion, something like the ability to do something. He starts to make a slow gurgling sound, and I put one finger to my lips. And very slowly I start to squeeze the trigger. I close my eyes in anticipation, in excitement, in

  “Right…. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  And it’s gone. I let out a breath, drop my hand to my side and turn. I feel tears welling in my eyes, I don’t know why.

  Mr. Y is next to me, shaking me, “Mark, come on what’s going on. Alive. We need him alive. Get up.”

  I shake my head slowly. “I, erm, I don’t know, I don’t know what…”

  “Look, I can understand you’re angry but we have a plan. Remember the plan. Always remember the plan.” He grabs hold of my hand and helps me to get to my feet. Hurriedly I wipe my eyes. Back to normal. Fine.

  “I could use a drink” I say.

  “No time. We’ll do that later. Come on, I’ve got the transport sorted. Help me get this bastard up.”

  I reach into my pocket and find my cigarettes. That’s something at least, I light up and breath slowly.

  “Didn’t know you smoked?” I offer the packet to him but he shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

  We grab an arm each and hoist Gary up. He’s kind of heavy, with his head slumped forward and his body trailing behind. “Doesn’t look like so much of a pop star now does he!” laughs Mr. Y and I can only nod.

  “Hey, don’t look like much of a pop star now do you!” but Gary isn’t replying. We leave the room and go back through the main hallway and then through a small door on the left, and down a small flight of stairs. The lights come on automatically as we enter a huge underground garage, concrete floor, concrete walls. You’d think they could have painted it, all the money they have.

  There’s just one car parked in the centre of the garage, but it’s enormous, some huge 4x4 which seems to have been doubled in length. The boot is open, it’s more a doorway than a boot, and we climb in and yank Gary inside. It’s a huge open space, it must run fifty feet to the end, and it’s tall enough for us to stand up in. There are two settees, a coffee table, a huge television with a curved screen and a bar in the corner. Even the floor is fitted with really thick carpet, you almost sink into it.

  “Wow” I say as we both drop Gary, and I walk over to the bar, seeing a bottle of JD behind a glass screen. The screen slides open as I reach forward and gratefully I take the bottle.

  “Mark, come on for God’s sake”

  “I’m fine now” I smile as I follow him back out. The back door folds shut and we walk to the front, getting in. I make myself comfortable in the passenger seat, light another cigarette and put the bottle to my lips.

  “I told you, later” scowls Mr. Y but I ignore him and take a long drink, feeling the warmth seep to my stomach. “Let’s go” I growl

  Mr. Y laughs and we start moving, heading towards a roller door that lifts automatically, and going up a ramp. As we get closer to the top the ceiling just seems to fold open in front of us and we find ourselves on the drive outside the house.

  “Impressive” whistles Mr. Y. There’s a short rumbling from the back, but we ignore it. We move forward slowly passing the sleek black cars.

  “Could we…” I ask

  “Forget it” says Mr. Y and he acc
elerates away up the long drive.