Boston Posh
Page 33
Malone swung in space beneath the beast. He patiently waited for it to finish eating the airboat to decide what it intended doing next.
The boat disappeared into the dragon. The transparent monster beat the air a few times with its wings, then spun and headed toward Boston.
Dragons couldn’t see through themselves.
Hidden below it, Malone heaved several sighs of relief.
CHAPTER 71
Malone/Lucy Tang
They were coming in from the north.
Makes sense, Malone thought. That cock was the North Pole, wasn’t it?
Logan International Airport floated by under them.
Malone pondered the metal puddles below on the runways and outside the hangars and terminals. Damn, those used to be aircraft—the acme of human aeronautical engineering now reduced to mirror smears on tarmac.
During the short flight over the Atlantic, Malone had developed some control over his extended blood arm.
Now, spotting the dragon’s siblings watching from shattered airport lounge windows, he reeled himself up closer to its underbody.
Several dinos also peered inquisitively from the windows of the air traffic controllers’ tower.
On Malone’s right, a flock of pterodactyls flew through a shimmering midair Otherworld Door and vanished from sight.
He peered through the OD after them. The world it revealed looked like the Martian surface—an endless red expanse of dunes lit by two orange oblongs like demon eyes.
Malone shuddered.
***
Past the airport and off the coast, the dragon dipped once towards the water, then rose again. It headed for South Boston, a nacreous mass streaking across the harbor with the wharfs and piers as distant shoreline indentations to its right.
Thunder lizards tramped through the new coastal marshes that had arrived alongside the dinosaurs, feeding on rushes the size of bamboos. Their graceful curved necks looked like question marks asking the New Past why it existed.
The thunder lizards’ name—the literal meaning of ‘brontosaurus’—was an irony. People called them that for lack of a better term. The forty-meter-long sauropods weren’t apatosauruses, that was clear—their heads looked odd and they were much larger, but what the fuck were they? The only viable reference was to a creature once proven not to exist.
Malone lengthened his blood arm till he was skiing along the ocean surface. His heels made a furrow of spray behind him.
The dragon flew between two thunder lizards. Malone stared at the humongous twin expanses of brown dino body, muscle and bone as solid as a house wall.
The Boston City Council had begun harvesting some of the smaller dinos for their meat, but no one was yet ready to tackle the thunder lizards. Not because of their size, but because of the difficulty butchering the kill would entail. Malone had heard of a project to fit old whalers with repulsors to keep the dragons at bay during thunder lizard hunts. So far, apparently, no vessels were yet ready.
The dragon swooped in toward the Boston Fish Pier.
“Time to leave,” Malone said aloud. “I get off here.”
He unraveled his arm and dropped into an empty patch of water to the left of the platform.
He remained submerged for a while, till the dragon was gone. Then he swam the short distance to shore, and tramped up the beach amidst thatches of bamboo rushes.
Iridescent reptiles like overgrown chameleons peered at him from their perches on the oversized rushes, wondering if he was good to eat.
A large transparent catfish swished between his legs.
Malone quickened his pace. He’d not so far heard of transparent gators, but didn’t want to find out firsthand if they existed.
***
The buildings to the right of the Fish Pier were all collapsed, totally blocking off Seaport Boulevard.
Malone swore and trudged inward.
Congress Street—which also led west across the Fort Point Channel—was also obstructed, this time by a massive ancient vehicle pileup. The heap of melted cars and trucks—several with burnt skeletons inside them—formed an insurmountable barrier to any westward progress.
He shrugged, walked straight ahead, down D Street, crossing an acreage of concrete rubble towards Summer Street.
This is the second time I’m headed for the city with my stomach ripped open, he thought grimly.
The anesthetic Frank had pumped him full of was wearing off now, and pain was returning to his body.
Damn, he remembered. I’ve no fucking liver anymore.
On cue, P-Liver burped inside him.
Malone ignored the organ. He kept his focus on the piles of charred rubble everywhere that once been South Boston.
My quest is over; no way I’m getting eaten by a fucking dinosaur at this stage.
***
At the D Street/Summer Street intersection, Malone paused and looked around for a working car. Most lining the road were wrecks. The few that weren’t had deflated tires.
He grimaced. I can’t believe I’m gonna have to walk all the way.
Then he saw the three repulsor-studded cars parked outside the Barnes Building. A red Corvette, a Lexus and a pink Porsche GT.
Malone recognized the Porsche as Sookie’s.
He heaved a massive sigh of relief and stumbled towards it.
Then the Barnes Building front door opened, and Lucy Tang walked out pulling a white suitcase after her, her beautiful face set grim as death.
Malone knew Lucy as one of Sookie’s girls.
He waved to her. “Hi Lucy, is Sookie here?”
Lucy noticed Malone. “Hi, baby,” she said coquettishly. Then she winced in pain. Malone now noticed that her left arm was bloody and in a sling.
She shook her head. “No, Sookie ain’t here, baby.” She let go of her suitcase and reached into her purse with her good hand.
Malone grimaced on seeing her pull out a gun and point it at him.
Lucy smiled coldly, her flirtatiousness all gone. “I no longer work for Sookie Ling.”
Malone nodded back. “Okay. But why are you pointing your gun at me? I don’t work for her either.”
“You’re a friend of hers, she might have sent you to kill me.”
Malone winced. “Lucy, your arm looks broken, but you aren’t blind, are you?” He indicated his wet clothes, pointed to the hole in his belly. “Do I look like I’m out hunting anyone?”
She frowned. “I don’t know who to trust at the moment, Malone. Best to be safe.” Her brown eyes appraised him. “You’re not Chinese—have no dragon protection, so how did you get out here? You must have come along with Gorgeous and Bulldog.”
Oops, Malone thought. This is bad. Where are Gorgeous and Bulldog?
Outwardly, he forced a smile. “Lucy, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you where I’ve been today, trust me.”
“I’m sorry, Malone,” the beautiful transvestite replied. “I can’t trust anyone at the moment. I’m in too much danger.”
Malone nodded. “Okay, that’s fine. Just don’t get trigger-happy. I’m not here after you. I’m looking to go home, that’s all.”
Malone looked up at a familiar noise.
A dragon was swooping down low over Summer Street toward them.
The monstrous firebreather studied the pair—who from overhead looked like pawns on a charred chessboard—for a moment, then lost interest in them. It floated away in a clash of iridescent wings.
Malone repressed an instinctive shudder.
He looked back at Lucy Tang.
She gestured to the Porsche with her gun. “Get in. You’re driving.”
Malone dallied.
“I’ll shoot you if you don’t comply.”
“Lucy, I’m fucking injured.”
A beautiful replying smile. “So am I. Must be the day for it. Get in, Malone.”
Already on the driver’s side, Malone opened the door and got into the Porsche. He dully noted that the key was in the ignition.
He started the car. “Where are we headed?” he asked. Wow, he thought momentarily, she looks so perfectly female, its hard to believe she’s a guy.
Lucy grimaced as a stab of pain sheared through her arm. “Where are you headed, Malone?”
“North End. I’ve a delivery to make.”
“Not my way. Drop me off on South Street. I need to get my arm fixed.”
Malone nodded. He spun the Porsche around and headed for Summer Street Bridge.
***
Lucy had Malone park the Porsche in front of an old apartment building.
Her arm was hurting her so bad now that he helped her carry her suitcase up the steps to the front door.
Lucy rang the buzzer. The door was opened by an elderly Chinese woman.
Lucy turned to Malone. “You can keep Sookie’s car—for me, it’s an instant giveaway.”
She frowned. “It’s pointless telling her you dropped me off here. I’ll be gone before anyone arrives.” She indicated the old woman, who’d retreated into the house, laden with Lucy’s baggage. “You’ll only get old Jiang Quing here into trouble.”
Malone nodded. “I wasn’t thinking of telling Sookie anything. I’ll just drop off her car for her, say I found it down in South Boston.”
Lucy turned to follow the old woman into the house.
“Hold on a minute,” Malone said.
She turned back. “Yes?”
“What happened to Bulldog and Gorgeous? I’m assuming they drove Sookie’s car over to your place.”
Lucy Tang smiled coldly. “They’re both dead, Malone. A room ate them. You can tell Sookie that for me. Tell her also that I’ll be seeing her again . . . soon.”
She entered the house. Malone walked back to Sookie’s Porsche.
He fired it up, turned it around, headed north.
***
While driving, Malone did some thinking. Now his quest was over, he pondered how it had been coordinated, worked from riddle to riddle.
He suspected that Frank—bloodthirsty for revenge—had coerced the Forks into setting up his obstacle course, under threat of destroying Jefferson Lincoln’s liver if they refused. That would also explain how the blasted white robots had kept turning up everywhere he did like they were adhering to a schedule.
He also suspected that the Forks had tried to give him an edge by sending Glass Horse to help him.
He figured Sara would be able to confirm/fault his hypothesis.
CHAPTER 72
Malone, Sara, Posh
The Fischer Mansion was the same as Malone remembered it: Rich HQ.
Malone agreed that Sara’s repulsor-studded home was fortuitously situated: Skyscraper beetles didn’t breed up in North End.
He scowled, Maybe the fucking bugs are allergic to the rich.
Inside him P-Liver was grumbling again.
“Shut up, you’re almost home.”
“I need a drink.”
Malone ignored it. He parked the car some distance from the mansion house and stared wide-eyed at its new addition—four raptors chained by its front entrance, two on each side.
Malone shook his head at the audacity of the gesture.
Security dinosaurs? You’ve got to be shitting me!
The quartet of raptors were restrained by thick metal collars around their necks and shackles on their rear legs. Thirty foot chains ran from each of these into six holes on either side of the entranceway.
The dinos eyed Malone hungrily. He smiled, waved nicely at them. In response they began growling like tigers.
He pressed the car horn and kept it pressed.
“Stop making that damn racket,” Jefferson Lincoln’s liver grumbled inside him. “My hangover’s bad enough as it is—I don’t need your stingy teetotal ass aggravating it. I need a really stiff scotch to chase it away now. Hey, economize on the ice, bartender, you son-of-a-bitch.”
In response, Malone reached inside his belly and pulled P-Liver out. He hung it out of the car window and pointed to the raptors, which had begun salivating on sighting it.
“You don’t fucking shut up and I’ll toss you to those dinos. Your owner was a crap president, you’re a crap liver—shut your yap!”
He dropped it on the passenger seat. P-Liver burped in horror and quit moaning.
They waited.
Shortly after, the front door opened, concurrent with the chains restraining the raptors being winched into the wall.
The dinos growled their frustration as they were pulled away from the mansion entrance.
Sara Fischer appeared in the doorway. She smiled granny-sexily at Malone and waved him over.
Malone waited till her dinosaur sentries were each fifteen feet from her front door before getting out of the car and walking over to her, P-Liver tucked beneath his arm like a sheaf of office work he was in a hurry to dispose of.
***
Sara hugged Malone.
“I’m delighted you made it back alive,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his.
Then she pushed him away and looked him over—his damp clothes, his harried expression. She winced at the rip in his belly. “Frank again?”
He nodded. “Bastard ate the rest of my liver. He won’t be eating anyone else’s though.”
Sara’s eyes widened. “You killed him?”
He nodded. “He won’t be missed.”
“And Rachel’s head? Were you able to . . .” The words failed her.
Malone shook his head. “Frank says he buried her—I believe him.” He smiled sadly. “The son-of-a-bitch really did love her, Sara. Too bad he was such a shithead. He’d have made a fantastic son-in-law.”
He looked away as tears welled in Sara’s eyes.
Sara dried her eyes. She pointed to P-Liver. “It looks worse than last time I saw it.”
Malone wrinkled his nose in disgust. “It drinks like a fish.”
“I need some booze,” P-Liver said. “If I don’t get it, I’m going to—”
Sara gaped at the talking organ.
“I told you to fucking shut up,” Malone growled. “Those raptors are still hungry.”
P-Liver shut up.
Sara overcame her surprise. She laughed. “Now there’s a way to keep it quiet.”
She indicated the raptors, all of which were straining at their chains in an effort to reach Malone and herself.
“How’d you like my new security staff?”
“I don’t. Is it a new rich trend?”
Sara giggled. Nah. It’s just to keep away other creeps like that Frank. I’ve got them on all the other doors as well.”
Malone nodded. “Is Posh okay?” His expression turned concerned. “She’s here, right?”
Sara nodded back. “Yes, she is.”
An odd expression came over her face. “She’s fine, but there’s a slight . . .” She smiled. “Best you see for yourself.”
Bemused, Malone followed Sara inside.
***
Lord Tav and Lady Yaz were in the living room.
“He’s back,” Sara announced.
Both Forks rotated to face them.
“Thank you, Malone,” they said in unispeak, floating P-Liver out of his hands. “We’re greatly in your debt.”
They levitated the grumbling organ over a center table, then caused a tray to appear beneath it.
“I need a fucking dri—”
A bottle of brandy appeared in P-liver’s vein-mouth, stoppering it. The sound of loud glugging filled the room.
“Where’s Posh,” Malone asked impatiently. Sara’s choice of words, her odd reticence to say more than ‘there’s a slight . . .’ had him worried.
“Ah, yes,” Lord Tav said. “She’s upstairs. We’ll fetch her for you.”
Posh materialized in the doorway.
“Baby!” she shrieked in delight on sighting Malone. “You’re back!”
Damn, I’ve been
screwed. Malone gaped in shock-horror as Posh flew across the room at him.
Posh was still a dragon. White Porcelain painted with roses; clearly strung out on dragonreich like . . .
But then he saw the incongruity: Posh on reich never recognized him; all she had on her mind then was roasting and eating him.
This Posh-dragon however was smiling at him. She reached him, landed, and massive wings fluttering behind her, gripped him like she intended breaking him in half. She slobbered him with kisses, occasionally pulling back and regarding Malone with love-filled reptilian eyes.
He held her, not understanding. Her body was cold kitchen chinaware. She was Posh; dragon transformed, only different.
He turned to Lord Tav. “I asked you to cure her ass, not mess her up worse. What went wrong?”
The Fork vibrated a tuning fork laugh. “Nothing, she is cured. She’s no longer addicted to dragonreich.”
“We asked her what she’d like to be,” Lady Yaz added. “She said she wanted to be a porcelain dragon. So we got her high on dragonreich, and cured her addiction while she was in that form.”
Malone grimaced. Oh yes, that sounds like Posh all right. “Can she change back?”
“No, she’s fixed like this for good.”
Posh stopped snuggling up to him for a moment. She stepped back. “It’s okay, baby, I’m still your woman.” She lifted her left leg Karate style, so its shin touched her forehead. Malone saw what she meant: at the split of her thighs, she had a very pretty vagina. Flesh and blood and with a cute clitoris. Moist-looking too.
She dropped her leg, snuggled in close again. “We can make love all day long. I’m so happy.”
Malone shrugged mentally. At least she was cured, wouldn’t go cannibal behind his back anymore. Also, this was a million times better than his being an eternally double-fucked worman in Traven.
He turned back to the pair of shimmering forks. He pointed to the room’s center table, to P-Liver, who’d now half-drained the brandy bottle upended in its ‘mouth.’