The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  Unconventional. Unplanned. Instinctive.

  But wasn’t that Acid Vanilla all over? Unfortunately, at this present moment, all those traits were dampened somewhat by the fact she was a few thousand feet in the air, unarmed, and unsure how the hell she’d got there.

  “Put this on,” the female mercenary barked, tossing a large pack. It hit Acid on the chest and fell to the floor. A parachute. She stared at it for a moment and chewed on the inside of her lip.

  “Quickly,” the woman yelled. “Another minute and we’ll be out of range.”

  With a thousand thoughts fighting for dominance in her fogged mind, Acid reached down for the parachute and put it on. The woman checked the straps without making eye contact, yanking on them and tightening as needed. She nodded at her partner. “She’s ready.”

  Grabbed by the arm and pulled towards the open hatch, Acid’s hair whipped about her face. Her eyes streamed with salty tears.

  “You jumped out of a plane before?” the woman asked.

  Acid nodded, squinting out into the brightness. From her reckoning, they were around five thousand feet up. Give or take. Down below she could see a large island, rocky in places and covered in dense vegetation. A band of pure white sand traced the perimeter, disappearing into crystal-clear sea on all sides. As her eyes grew accustomed to the sunlight, she noticed other things. Orange blooms of various sizes, drifting in the air. More parachutes. All making their way to the island. She counted seven in total.

  “Time to go, bitch,” the woman spat, jabbing Acid in the kidneys with the end of the rifle.

  “Listen, doll,” Acid said, finding her voice at last. “I’m aware you’ve got me over a barrel here, but if you call me a bitch one more time, I’ll kill you. Okay?”

  The woman raised her chin. A slow smile spread across her face. “I’d like to see you try. Bitch.”

  Acid blew out her cheeks. “What’s down there?” she asked. “Who’s in the other ‘chutes?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” She leaned over and flicked a plastic handle hanging from the strap of Acid’s parachute. “When you leave the airplane, pull this. From this altitude you need to open up straight away.”

  Acid swallowed. “No sky dancing, got it.”

  “That’s if you want to make it down there alive, of course.” The woman sneered. “But I’m not sure that’s your best option.”

  To a burst of the woman’s laughter behind her, Acid took a half-step towards the edge of the plane, holding onto the sides of the hatch with both hands. She turned and yelled over the wind pressure pummelling her face, “Well, it’s been swell flying with you. I guess I’ll see you around.”

  With that, Acid grabbed the M16 and swung a sharp elbow that caught the woman hard in the chest. Surprised and winded, she released her grip on the rifle as Acid leapt backwards out of the hatch and squeezed off a burst of fiery rounds that peppered the sides of the plane and sent the mercenary jerking backwards into the hold. Job done.

  Acid pulled on the ripcord but the wind-pull was stronger than she’d expected. As the parachute blossomed in the sky above her, the upwards drag shook the rifle from her grasp.

  Shit.

  The M16 spiralled through the air until it disappeared, leaving a tiny foam eruption in the ocean’s vastness. She gripped the steering line tight. Something told her a high-powered assault rifle would have been valuable for whatever happened next.

  The other parachutes had all touched down by now. All in different parts of the island. Some she could see. Some were hidden by the rainforest canopy. Over to her right on the upper edge of the island, she also spotted what looked like a large hotel complex. A huge sprawling building made of glass and steel, complete with swimming pool, helipads and a large radio antenna.

  With the parachute open, Acid reckoned she had around two minutes before she reached the island. Not long to plan her next move. She scanned the horizon all around but there was nothing but ocean in any direction. This was the southern hemisphere, she was sure of that. The searing heat gave it away. The deep green of the island’s rainforest just as much. If she had to guess, she’d say Indian Ocean, but it could be the Caribbean.

  Sixty seconds until landing. She could now see the island in more detail, and a clearing directly below her. The torn, orange material of a parachute hung from a tree, but there was no one in sight. She squinted against the glare of the sun. It was low in the sky, but the high temperature told her it was setting rather than rising. Meant she was facing west, and the building complex was on the northern tip of the island.

  As her boots skimmed the treetops Acid braced herself for landing, pulling the steering lines taut and raising her legs as high as her tight jeans allowed. A second later and she touched down, falling into a steady run to compensate for the impact. Difficult, with a hundred square feet of ripstop nylon trailing behind you. She came to a stop next to a large eucalyptus tree and leaned against it to catch her breath.

  Below the tree canopy, the humidity was already oppressive, and not for the first time in her life Acid realised she was unsuitably dressed for her surroundings. She wiped the sweat from her eyes, and removed the parachute pack, followed by her leather jacket, which already stuck to her clammy skin. She tied it around her waist, thankful she’d chosen to accompany it with a thin t-shirt this morning. Or yesterday morning. Or whichever morning it had been when she’d last got dressed. She rubbed her neck. Definitely benzodiazepine she’d been given. Quick and effective. She scanned her recall, trying to further piece together the events leading up to now, when she heard a noise behind her. Then a familiar voice cried, “You’re alive.”

  Acid gave it a beat before turning around. Enough time to stifle the relief that would be evident on her face. “Hey, kid. Good to see you.”

  Spook Horowitz hopped from foot to foot for a moment before launching herself forward and flinging her arms around Acid’s neck. “I was worried I’d never see you again,” she whimpered. “You were so out of it on the plane. I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

  Acid shook her off. Took a step back. “What’s going on, Spook? Where are we?”

  The young American opened her mouth to speak, but before she had a chance a crackle of static emanated out from the undergrowth, followed by a high-pitched shriek. The sound of a speaker system feeding back. Acid scoped the area, homing in on the source of the noise and finding a battered old horn speaker hanging from a tree a few feet away. As they listened, the feedback gave way to a loud hissing sound and then a robotic voice.

  “The island is now operational,” it sputtered. “All guests are checked in and the quarry is now in place. Repeat, quarry is now in place. Everyone to first positions. This year’s hunt is now in session.”

  Acid and Spook exchanged confused glances as the voice gave way to the tinny pre-recorded sound of a bugle. It played a tuneless refrain for a few bars, as if announcing something, then fell silent. In the distance Acid heard a familiar sound.

  “Hunt?” Spook screwed her nose. “What the hell?”

  Acid scanned the area, trying to find her bearings. Through the tall trees she could just make out the roof of the hotel complex. More impressive from this angle than it appeared from the air. It was standing atop a high mountain range, looking out over the island.

  “This way,” she yelled, already setting off at pace. “We need to head away from whatever that building is. Get under the cover of the jungle.”

  “What was all that about?” Spook gasped, skipping along behind her. “The announcement.”

  “I’m not sure,” Acid replied. “But it didn’t sound good.”

  She stopped at the edge of the clearing and raised her ear. Yes. That was the sound of gunfire all right.

  “How do you know where to go?” Spook asked. “What’s going on?”

  Acid twisted her mouth to one side. “I know as much as you do, kid.” She grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her along as another gun fired off in the distan
ce. “But I do know one thing. If someone’s shooting and you’re unarmed, the best thing to do is run in the opposite direction as fast as possible.”

  “But I don’t get it,” Spook stammered. “What did they mean, hunt? What are they hunting?”

  Acid glared back at her. “Isn’t it obvious?” she spat. “It’s us, Spook. They’re hunting us.”

  3 days earlier…

  Two

  Up to the point of being drugged and thrown out of a plane, Acid Vanilla had been having a relatively good week. That’s if you considered tracking down and torturing two of the people responsible for your mother’s murder synonymous with ‘a good week’.

  Acid did.

  So flick back to three days earlier and you’d find her weary but excited on the sixth floor of a disused tenement block in Vauxhall, South London. She was weary because she’d spent the last hour dragging the unconscious bodies of Ethel and Doris Sinister from the back of a stolen Transit van, through the boarded-up yard, past the signs announcing the building’s imminent demolition, and up the six flights of stairs. She was excited because all that effort was going to be worth it.

  Acid smiled to herself as the harridans’ eyelids flickered. The grim reality of their predicament would soon be apparent. She watched as their heads lolled, their arms bracing at the cable ties fastening them to the chair. Acid had to hand it to the Sinister Sisters, they were always well turned out. With their sour-puss demeanour and pale, watery eyes, you wouldn’t call them good-looking, but despite being knocked out and shoved in the back of a van, they’d maintained that air of malevolent cool. Even now, the matching bobbed haircuts were immaculate. Not one hair out of place. Although Acid had noticed whilst dragging Doris up the stairwell that her roots needed doing.

  “Wonderful. You’re awake,” she purred, hitting them with the sweetest smile as they opened their eyes. “Now before we begin, I apologise, you might have a bit of a headache after the Propofol. But don’t worry, it won’t last long.”

  The Sisters stared at her without speaking. As was their want. They did however manage to twist their wizened mouths into hateful sneers.

  “Now I’m aware neither of you are too fond of talking at the best of times.” Acid sniffed, sidling up to Doris’ chair. “But if anyone knows where I can find Caesar, I reckon it’s you two. So, here’s the deal. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make it quick. Otherwise, the next few hours are going to be pretty bloody horrific.”

  She glanced from Doris to Ethel and back again. They were tough old birds. Despite a combined age of well over a-hundred-and-thirty they were still the best clean-up team in the industry. Add to that their silent stoicism and extremist loyalty and anyone could see why Caesar valued them.

  Acid leaned back on the heels of her Dr Martens. “I should also warn you, ladies – keeping shtum won’t help the big man as much as it’ll hurt you. I’m closing in, you see. With Spook’s help it’s only a matter of time.” She leaned into Doris. Close enough she could smell her rose-scented face cream. “And I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’ve got The Dullahan on my team now. He’s been helping me fill in a few blanks. Helped me find you two, as it happens.”

  She straightened up, gauging the Sisters’ reactions. Ethel in particular had a look on her face like she’d just tasted something rather unpleasant. Still neither of them spoke.

  “So, as I say,” Acid went on, walking over to a small metal table on which she’d laid out a selection of surgical knives, pin-wheels, gauging devices. “You can tell me where Caesar is now, or I can find out myself in a week or two. It means zip to me. But to you girls it’s the difference between a quick send-off, or hours – and I do mean hours – of pain and torment and agony. I’m talking real horrorshow stuff here, ladies. I’m in the mood for it.”

  Doris stuck her nose in the air. “You’re bullshitting,” she said. “You know nothing.”

  “Bloody hell,” Acid drawled. “She speaks! I honestly don’t think I’ve heard you say that many words at once in all the time I’ve known you.”

  Doris turned her mouth down. “Words aren’t important. Actions count.”

  “That they do. Which is why I’ve had Spook do a little digging for me.” She produced a piece of note paper from her back pocket and held it up to the light, giving the paper a flourish as she read. “‘Ethel and Doris Sinister. Otherwise known as The Sinister Sisters.’ It’s funny, I used to call you ‘Silent but Deadly’ when I first met you. Not sure if you knew that.” She peered over the piece of paper and shot them both a big shit-eater. “Anyway, I digress. As you know, your real names are Diane and Enid Barker. Twins, born twenty-fourth of January, nineteen-forty-four in Ealing, West London.”

  Acid raised one eyebrow, delighted at the surprised looks on the faces of the two harpies.

  “I’ve seen pictures too. A real couple of honeys and no mistake. Good work, girls. It says here, Enid Barker even went out with Mick Jagger for a few months in sixty-three. You dark horse, Enid. Sorry… Ethel.”

  The Sisters exchanged glances, the same shock and confusion in their eyes, but something else too. It was there in the twitching mouth and furrowed brow of Doris. Bitterness. Deep-rooted envy.

  “Must have been a blow for you, Dor?” Acid sighed. “Couldn’t bag yourself Keith? Or Brian? Or even Bill? Pretty shitty for you.” She went back to her notes. “Then in seventy-one you both joined up with MI5. Had a good run, too. Until Doris got overly involved with a Russian agent. Deary me, girls. You were a real couple of goers, weren’t you? I mean, I can’t talk, can I? But just saying. Always the quiet ones.”

  It was Ethel’s turn wearing the jealousy hat, looking daggers at her sister, who surprised Acid by allowing a thin-lipped smile to spread across her sour chops.

  “So instead of waiting around to be discharged and dragged through the system, you went underground. Changed your names. Became special contractors. Cleaners. Met Caesar at the same time he was setting up Annihilation Pest Control. And here we are.” Acid put down the notes and looked at the women. “You can tell me if any of that is wrong, of course. But from the looks on your faces, I’d say we got it bang on.”

  Neither Ethel nor Doris met Acid’s gaze but eventually they acquiesced, giving just the slightest of nods. A blink and you’d miss it confirmation. It pained them to admit it. But there it was.

  “You see, girls, it might take me a little longer to find Caesar, but I have the tools now. Which returns us to the million-dollar question. Do you want to save yourselves a lot of suffering?” She walked back over to the women, carrying a surgical knife prominently in front of her, letting it sway from side to side. “Obviously I still have to kill you both for your role in my mother’s murder, and because, deep down, I’ve always despised you and can’t think of anything I’d like more. But I will be fair. You give up Caesar now and I promise I’ll do it quick, painless. But if not…” She held up the knife and pressed her thumb onto the blade tip, grimacing dramatically at its sharpness, then following up with a manic grin. “I’ll take your eyes first. Then we’ll work our way down. Slowly. Methodically. By the time we get to your toes, golly, can you imagine what we’ll all look like? Good job I’m wearing black.”

  She laughed. The Sisters didn’t. But they were taking her seriously now. Their breath sharp and shallow.

  Acid gripped the cold steel of the knife handle. “I’m out of the killing business these days. You know that. Hell, I’m even trying to go straight. Whatever that means. But I’ll be honest, I’d rather you didn’t tell me anything. I want you to suffer. I really do. After what you did to my mum. So you keep your little cat’s-arse mouths shut. Because I’m more than happy to make this a long, painful, drawn-out affair.”

  She glanced at her watch. It was just after 6 p.m. She’d give them one minute to decide. Then the carving started. Doris pulled at the plastic cable ties that strapped her arms to the chair. A pointless action. She sniffed, her eyes roaming the floor.


  “We don’t know where Caesar is,” she whispered, something phlegmy stuck in her throat. “Since operations went global, only Raaz Terabyte has access to operatives’ whereabouts. Even Caesar. Especially Caesar.”

  Acid flinched at the name. Raaz Terabyte. The ‘In-field Analyst and Communications Officer’ at Annihilation Pest Control. Though, Acid had always thought ‘tech-nerd’ was more on the nose. The flinch was because she’d heard that name too often these last few weeks. Spook had been on at Acid non-stop. Trying to convince her that Raaz should be taken off her kill list.

  It had become increasingly irksome to Acid to hear the young American’s protestations. Saying how Raaz wasn’t really to blame for her mother’s murder. That she herself hadn’t actually ever killed anyone. She was an IT boffin, she said. Like her. Only doing her job. As though that excused it. Just following orders? You could ask Joachim von Ribbentrop or Hermann Göring how well that argument went down.

  Acid glared at Doris. “Where can I find Raaz?”

  A sniff. “No comment.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Acid yelled. “You’re going all procedural on me?” She leaned in close, holding the steel blade against the bone of Doris’ eye socket. “I’m going to slice you open if you don’t tell me.”