“Hey, sugar. You on next?” Betty Davis Thighs cooed, as Davros tottered past in six-inch heels.
“Yeah, my first time onstage. Any advice?”
The ageing queen considered the question. “Enjoy it. If you do, they will. Knock ‘em dead.”
Davros Ratpack smiled. Knocking them dead was something he was good at. He moved out of the dressing room and along the unlit corridor leading to the side of the stage. From there he could hear the cheers and laughter from the sell-out crowd. Could smell the familiar combination of booze and body odour and amyl nitrite.
The compère – a young queen calling herself Kim KardASSian – glanced into the wings and gave Davros a wink. “Anyway, I’m going to shut my big gob and introduce the next act. That okay?” It was a rhetorical question, eliciting more cheers and wolf whistles from the audience. “So here she is, all the way from the US, with a terrific pair of – ahem – lungs. The tits from Texas. The one. The only. Dolly Pardon.”
Davros took a deep breath and sashayed onstage to riotous applause. The nerves dissipated as the bright lights hit him in the face, and he was off.
The next thirty minutes were a blur of laughter, lip-syncing, audience interaction and sharp put-downs. It helped to know he’d happily slay anyone in here who wound him up, who took the piss. But he didn’t have to worry. The crowd loved Dolly Pardon. By the time she got to her grand finale – dragging a weak-chinned young man onstage and acting out a stellar version of Jolene – she had the whole venue eating out the palm of her hand. Once she’d ignited the fireworks in each of her fake breasts, they were on their feet.
“Thank y’all so kindly,” Davros drawled, in his best Dolly impersonation. “I hope I see y’all again soon. Much love.” Cue kisses, tears, waves, one final hunch-up of the still smoking breasts, and then exit stage left.
“That were amazing,” Kim KardASSian gushed, slipping from her Cali-whine to a voice that wouldn’t be out of place in a Grimsby fish market. “I can’t believe that were ya debut.”
Davros pouted. “Been practicing for it my entire life.”
He left Kim and tottered back to the changing room. It had emptied while he was onstage, with most of the acts now in the wings, warming up for a mid-show singalong of Kinky Boots. He made for the chair he’d sat in earlier and slumped down in front of the mirror. Relieved. Elated. Spent.
Only one other person was left backstage. A short, slight-framed queen Davros hadn’t noticed earlier. She was sat in a make-up chair a few feet from him and wore a red sequined mini-dress with black fishnet tights. She looked the part but was too femme for Davros’ taste. He liked his queens the same way he liked his men – big and gruff and hairy. He narrowed his eyes to better take her in. A spiked scarlet wig covered most of her face.
“Good show?” Red asked, not looking at him.
He smiled. “Fucking great show. The best.” He leaned into the mirror and peeled off the fake lashes. Blinked a few times. “Are you doing a show yourself?”
Red didn’t answer.
Davros shrugged it off. He unzipped himself and let the fabulous outfit, complete with double-D inserts, drop to the floor. Stepping out of it (dressed underneath in simple black leggings and black t-shirt) he removed his wig and kicked off his heels. The plan now was to freshen up, get changed, remove some, if not all, of this war paint, then join the swarm of fevered bodies out in the main room. Davros didn’t go for intimacy too much these days. Not even casual sex. But tonight was a special night, and all this tension needed an outlet.
“What’s the act?” Davros tried again, rubbing an alcohol-soaked cotton pad over his eyes and eyebrows. He squinted over between rubs. “You look familiar actually. Do you do a lot of these?”
Red didn’t flinch, kept on staring into the mirror. “No. My first time.”
“No shit. Mine too.” Davros removed the hair retainer and rubbed at his hair. Still enough product to style it his usual way – messy with a slight Mohican lift in the centre. “It’s a real blast. You’ll love it.”
“Well, I do love a good blast.”
The words caught Davros' attention. Not what was said, but how it was said. Like it was loaded with something he couldn't pinpoint.
“Sorry,” Davros said. “What did you say your name was, kid?”
The small drag queen was silent, before turning his way and slowly smiling. A familiar smile. Sultry but cruel. Along with that recognisably arched eyebrow, it made Davros sit upright.
But it was the eyes that made his heart stop.
One blue.
One brown.
“You know my name, Davros,” Acid Vanilla purred, as she pulled a sharp, ruby-ended hairpin from her wig. “So wonderful to see you again.”
Two
Acid gripped the steel hairpin in her fist and launched herself at Davros, who was on his feet with surprising nimbleness for a man of his height. He grabbed a pot of powder from the dressing table and flung it in her face. She dodged around it, but it was enough distraction for him to put distance between them. Now they stood facing each other in the narrow dressing room. Muscles tense, eyes alert. Ready.
“You don’t have to do this, kid,” Davros snarled.
“Don’t I?”
The manic energy shooting through Acid’s veins was too much to bear as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“Let me talk to Caesar for you. I heard what happened in Germany. Maybe now we can all move on. Fair’s fair.”
“Fair? You killed my mother.”
Davros tilted his head to one side. “Wasn’t me.”
“You were there. You were party to it.”
Acid moved around, positioning herself with her back to the door. She raised the steel spike, ready to drive it somewhere soft and fleshy. Through his eye socket would be her first choice. Straight into the frontal cortex.
“Let’s both calm down and talk about this. We were friends. We can sort this out.”
“No,” she sneered. “Caesar wants me dead. Which means you want me dead. And we were associates, Davros – you know full well we don’t have friends in our line of work.”
She scanned the room, assessing the situation. Davros Ratpack was a big guy. Muscular too. But he wasn’t the sprightly young assassin he had been when they’d met all those years ago. She might not be able to take him blow for blow, but she didn’t have to.
“So, what, kidda? You’re going to wipe out the whole organisation?”
Acid reminded herself of the last time she'd seen her mum. Her cold, lifeless eyes, the deep knife wound that had severed her thin neck from ear to ear.
“That’s right,” she told Davros. “I’m going to kill you all. Every last one of you.”
“What, even lover boy? Mr Sensational?”
Acid cricked her neck to one side. “Not funny. But yes. Him as well.”
He laughed. “Well, I did always love how crazy you were. But you aren’t taking me out. Not tonight.”
“We’ll see.”
With a roar, Acid lunged at him again. But Davros was quick. He dodged the slashing arc of the hairpin and got behind her, shoving her into the dressing table. Her head hit the mirror with a loud crack and she stumbled to the floor. Before she had a chance to right herself, Davros had his hands around her neck. Two huge hands, complete with stars-and-stripes nails, squeezing at her throat. She kicked back, but it was no use. He squeezed tighter. She felt sick. Faint. Her nerves fizzed with energy. She was blacking out. If that happened, she was dead.
She dropped quick and heavy to her knees, forcing Davros to stumble forward. It was enough that she could twist around and stab the hairpin deep into his left forearm. He cried out in pain and his grip loosened. She seized the moment, slid backwards through his legs and kicked out, sending him staggering into the wall.
“Crazy bitch.”
She jumped to her feet as Davros spun around. He steadied himself and pulled the hairpin from out of his arm. Held it in his fist.
“You thought you could see me off with this pathetic fucking needle?” Davros sneered, holding it up to the light. “I’ll be honest, doll. I’m insulted.”
She didn’t blink. “That’s a deadly weapon. In the right circumstances.”
“Maybe. With the element of surprise on your side. Kind of fucked that bit up though, haven’t you?”
Acid breathed heavily down her nose, lamenting the lack of a firearm. She had considered concealing a SIG P938 in her garter belt, but this was a big event and they had metal detectors on every entrance. She’d never have got past security.
“So what now?” Davros snarled. “You still think you’ve got a chance here?”
She shrugged. “You know me. I always get my mark.”
“Fuck me,” he scoffed. “You’re actually deluded. Maybe once that was true. But not anymore. You’ve gone soft. Everyone knows it.”
Acid picked up a chair. “Everyone but me, I guess.”
She lunged forward but Davros grabbed hold of one of the chair legs. He held onto it as they circled each other in a dance of the damned.
“You’re a bloody fool,” he snarled. “Why didn’t you disappear when you had the chance?”
Acid didn’t answer. She was feeling the pressure. Unsure of her next move. She spied a large canister of hairspray on a table a few metres away. She was about to make a break for it when the door of the dressing room swung open and two large black drag queens fell through the door, laughing heartily. They saw Acid and Davros. Saw the blood. The laughter stopped.
“What the bloody hell is going on back here?” one of them shrilled.
“Help me out, will you, girls?” Davros shouted. “She’s a crazed fan. Trying to kill me.”
The two queens (who it was clear now were two-thirds of the headline act Destiny’s Wild Child) stared, open-mouthed, as Davros shoved the chair at Acid and let go. Then he rushed past them out of the changing room.
They watched him disappear down the corridor then turned back to Acid. “Who the chuffing hell are you?”
Acid flung the chair away and picked up the hairpin. She marched up to them.
“I’m Acid Vanilla,” she said. “Now get the hell out of my way.”
Three
The airless heat of the venue hit Acid in the face as she slipped through the gap in the heavy curtain dividing the main space from backstage. She stopped and scanned the room, searching for her prey. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors covered each of the four walls, making the room appear bigger than it was. A semi-circular bar ran along the back wall, and in the centre of the space a sprung dancefloor bounced with the weight of lively revellers. Acid moved over to the bar and stepped up onto a raised platform that housed three booths. Even without heels Davros Ratpack had a good few inches on most of the clientele and she spotted him immediately, reflected in the mirrored-wall opposite. He saw her at the same time and halted. Then with a smirk he blew her a kiss and legged it out of the venue.
Acid stepped down and followed him, pushing through the crowded venue and moving with the flow of the dancefloor to reach the exit. She got to the double doors and stumbled out into the packed street. Finding him in this lot wouldn't be easy, she needed to be higher. Weaving through the crowd, she aimed for the railing overlooking the canal and climbed onto it. Up ahead, she saw a flash of bright green hair. He was about a hundred metres in front of her. But he was getting away. She climbed off the railing and hitched her dress up before running after him as fast as she could. Crossing the intersecting bridge, she saw Davros take a right down a side street. He was heading into China Town.
Acid got there twenty seconds later and leaned into the turn. The bats – her internal embodiment of the jittery, manic disposition she carried with her – screeched encouragement as she crossed Portland Street and powered along past a grand Chinese pagoda.
She was closing the gap. Another thirty seconds and she’d be on him. As she ran she unfastened the belt around her waist. It was elasticated and the large metal clasp was in the shape of a butterfly. It could do some damage. She wrapped the elastic around her hand and positioned the metal butterfly to form a makeshift knuckle-duster.
“Davros,” she shouted. “Stop.”
Up ahead, her ex-colleague glanced back at her. He was stumbling now. Fatigue and lack of footwear slowing his progress. Half-way down the next street, he doubled back on himself and ducked out of sight behind a tall building. Acid got there a few seconds later, easing her pace as she drew closer. She peered cautiously into the narrow alleyway. It was getting dark and the only light came from a pink neon sign that cascaded down the brickwork of the Legs Eleven Gentleman’s Club. The muted lighting leaked into the alleyway, casting an eerie glow over the overturned bins and rickety fire escapes.
Acid hesitated a moment. Over at the far end of the alley she could see a strip of light where it opened out onto the street beyond. But Davros was nowhere in sight.
“Shitting hell.”
She stepped into the alleyway and paused, allowing her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. Her heightened senses tingled as her awareness spread. Davros was here. She could feel him. He was waiting for her.
She carried on, raising her butterfly fist in strike position and breathing gently through her nose, consciously slowing her heartbeat. Up ahead of her was an old recycling bank for glass bottles. The nearside was warped and buckled where it had been struck with some force, but it was large enough to hide behind. She stopped. Seeing a broken bottle a few feet from her, she knelt and fingered the bottle-neck into her grasp. She got to her feet and moved around the side of the bottle bank. Three more steps. She held her breath. Listened. The sound of a low, gasping wheeze drifted from around the corner. Davros there, waiting to pounce. She had him. In one fluid movement she charged around the side of the unit, leading with the bottle and spearing at the air with the glass shards.
But he wasn’t there. No one was there. She straightened, considering her next move, when something hard and heavy smashed her in the ribs. The force of the blow knocked all the wind out of her but she stayed upright. As she spun around she was met with the unmistakable silhouette of Davros Ratpack. He held a rusty piece of railing in his hand.
“Looking for me?”
“Bastard.” She held up the bottle. “I’ll destroy you.”
Davros shook his head. “Give it up, kid. You’re done. Don’t make me kill you.”
“You’re going to have to. I won’t stop.”
Davros raised the metal bar and Acid sprang at him. She had speed on her side and was able to swerve his swing. She side-stepped away, slashing the broken bottle across his shoulder as she did. Davros quickly turned around to face her and raised his weapon but she was unrelenting. Taking advantage of the momentum, she lunged forward, pummelling the jagged butterfly belt buckle into Davros’ kidneys. Stepping back, she slashed the broken bottle up the length of his right triceps.
He yelled out and grabbed at his arm as blood spurted from the open wound. “You snide bitch,” he gasped. “After everything we’ve been through.”
“You deserve everything you get,” she gasped back.
Blood gushed over Davros’ hand. The gash was deep and it would slow him down, but he still had the fire in his eyes. He stepped towards her and raised the metal bar in a fighting stance.
“You broke the code, Acid,” he said. “So tell yourself whatever you want, but we both know this is on you.”
Acid wasn’t having that. She let the belt unravel to make a crude whip, with the metal butterfly at the loose end. Then they were back to circling each other, only now with the swaying swagger of two heavyweight boxers six rounds in. Exhausted, broken, but still with plenty of fight in them.
Davros pitched towards her, brandishing the twisted point of the metal railing. As he closed in, Acid side-stepped away and swung the belt around the end of the spear. She got purchase and yanked it towards her. But Davros held on tight. He grabbed the metal bar with both han
ds and thrust it at her.
“Ugh.”
Her legs buckled as the metal spike pierced deep into her abdomen. She stared down at the rusty old weapon penetrating her side. She felt no pain. But in these situations, she rarely did. That was for later. If later ever came. She stared up at Davros’ sneering face as he let go of the bar and stumbled away.
The world spun.
The bats screamed.
Acid fell back and slid down under the steps of a metal fire escape. She hit the wet ground with a pathetic slap.
Davros stepped over her. “What did I fucking tell you?” he snarled. “You should have stayed dark, Acid. After what happened in Berlin we thought you’d realised you were no match for us.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah, mate.” He shook his head mournfully. “I never thought we’d be here. Seriously. But you broke the code, kid. Broke Caesar’s heart as well if you ask me.”
She gritted her teeth. Gripped both hands around the metal bar. “That assumes he had a heart to begin with,” she rasped. It hurt to breathe. “So come on then. What are you waiting for?” In the darkness, the fingers of her left hand touched something cold and hard. Some sort of brick.
“You know what? I don’t know,” Davros said, straightening. “I think your lame ways are rubbing off on me.”
He leaned over and pulled the metal bar from her side. She screamed out in pain and felt a rib crack. But the movement exposed him. She grabbed up the heavy piece of rubble and flung it at his head. It caught him hard above the left eye and he staggered backwards. It wouldn’t be enough to stop him though.
Holding her side, and driven on by pure adrenaline and chaotic energy, Acid grabbed the metal bar and scrambled to her feet. Davros was still reeling as she leapt at him, aiming the end of the metal bar at his prominent Adam’s apple.
But Davros Ratpack wasn’t number two at the most elite and sought-after assassin network in the world for nothing. And he wasn’t going out without a fight. He saw her coming at him and grabbed hold of the bar with both hands. He held onto it. Her at the other end. More dancing. They were both injured, both weary. It was a battle of wills as well as strength. But Acid knew in situations like this it was the one who cared least whether they lived or died who won out. In that respect, she had this. The two assassins glared into each other’s eyes, each gaze glinting defiantly in the moonlight. This was it.
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 26