The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  “Who are you, Sofia Swann?” Acid frowned. “What do you know?”

  Sofia couldn’t help the involuntary smirk that tickled the edge of her lips. “Who says I know anything?”

  “Me. I say so,” Acid said.

  Before Sofia could respond, Acid had her hand gripped around her throat, pushing her backwards into the prickly bark of a thick sago palm.

  “The fuck!” Sofia gasped, grabbing at Acid’s fingers. But it was no use. She was strong. Stronger than she looked. “Get off of me, ya psycho bitch.”

  “Enough with the bullshit, honey,” Acid snarled, fixing her with a look that made Sofia’s blood run cold. “Start talking. Now.”

  She struggled a second longer. “Fine. I’ll tell ya everything I know. Just let me go.”

  The pressure on her neck intensified for a second before releasing altogether, leaving her gasping for air.

  “Talk,” Acid spat at her. “Now.”

  She rubbed her neck in an attempt to compose herself. Buy a little time. “Fine. I’ll tell you everything I know,” she said, voice hoarse, throat raw. “But not here. Like I said, let’s get settled somewhere first. Somewhere those sick fucks won’t find us so easy.”

  Eight

  The night was drawing in, the cloudless, ultramarine-blue above the eucalyptus canopy turning to crimson and then orange, and finally inky purple and black. With the night came the cooler air. Within half an hour of the sun going down the dank heat had dropped dramatically, turning the hot sticky sweat that soaked their clothes to a cold, uncomfortable clamminess.

  The three women trudged on in silence. A frosty atmosphere hanging in the air between them wasn’t just the drop in temperature. By the time they’d reached a small clearing surrounded by long trailing vines, it was so dark Sofia couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. She kicked at the ground, moving her once-white Converse in a wide arc, making sure there were no snakes or other nasties present before sitting down.

  “Should we make a fire?” Spook whispered through the darkness.

  “No fire,” Acid said. “It’s too dangerous. It’ll give away our location.”

  “No shit,” Sofia muttered.

  “What’s that, sweetie?” Acid came at her. “You got something to say to me?”

  “Forget about it,” Sofia said. “I mean, I appreciate your wariness. But I don’t think anyone’s after us right now.” She folded to the ground, crossing her legs under her.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, you got to understand, sweetie,” Sofia continued. “This weekend is a big party for these guys. A holiday. Right now they’ll all be back at the resort, safe and warm, drinking themselves stupid. Regaling each other with exciting tales of their first day on the island.”

  “You think?”

  “I know. I’m an investigative journalist. The reason I’m here right now with you losers, rather than safe and warm in my loft apartment in Clinton Hill, is that I found out about this place. And what goes on here.”

  “And what does go on here?”

  “It’s a hunt. A big game hunt. With us as the prey. People have paid millions to be here. To kill us. And my guess is, we ain’t been picked by chance either.”

  That was it. She’d got them. Acid and Spook settled down a few feet away, leaning in eagerly.

  “Go on then,” Acid snipped. “What’s the story?”

  Sofia took a deep breath and told them everything she knew. About Thomas Engel. About the two islands, and that one of the islands – the one called Pain Island (Pleasure Island being the other) – was a gigantic hunting ground. A sprawling tropical jungle where billionaire playboys could hunt the biggest game of all. Human beings.

  “I had the article written,” she told them. “I just needed to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. You write an article like that, you better make sure you’ve got all your facts checked. After that, the plan was to float it to the majors. New York Times, maybe. The Post.”

  “No way,” Spook cooed, sounding genuinely impressed. Next to her, Acid let out a soft tut. Not so much.

  “I’ve been a struggling freelancer most of my career,” Sofia continued. “I had the big time in my sights. But then two days ago I received a manila envelope. Opened it up to find a photo of my source. A young girl called Catherine. Used to work for Thomas Engel. In the photo she’s lying in her kitchen in a pool of her own blood. They’d cut her from ear to ear. I found the chick’s tongue in the bottom of the envelope.”

  “Oh shit.” Spook groaned. “What did you do?”

  Sofia placed her hands on the ground behind her and looked up. Above them the moon had taken its place in the sky, shining down through the leaf cover.

  “I shit my pants. Obviously. I mean, I knew I was putting myself in the sights of some seriously dodgy people. But I’d been so careful. Catherine and I had only ever talked via a secure messaging site. The article didn’t mention her. Just an unnamed source. No clues as to who she was.”

  “There’s always a way to find out,” Spook said.

  Sofia lowered her head to take in the young woman. So full of panic and rage earlier, she hadn’t really taken much notice of her, except the trope-ish accoutrements. The oversized glasses. The boys’ jeans and little girl plaits. Seeing her up close now, illuminated in the moonlight, she seemed more intense and intelligent than Sofia had given her credit for. Nervy, yes. A little odd. But worth listening to, perhaps.

  “You know what you’re talking about?” she asked.

  “Yep. I’ve been a coder and a hacker since I was seven years old. White hat stuff mainly. But hire the right person, pay the right price, nothing is secure anymore. So what happened then?”

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Sofia continued. “Eventually I called the police, but I knew they didn’t believe me. They said they’d send someone to interview me, but they never got a chance. To be honest that was the worst thing I could have done. Should have backed off. So stupid.” She looked away, emotion gripping her throat as if from nowhere. She closed her eyes, fought the tears. This wasn’t like her. She was tough. Street-tough. A deep breath and she continued. “I’m still a little hazy with what happened next. I remember hearing the door. Thinking it was Mike, my fiancé, arriving home from work. I called out to him, but he didn’t reply, so I went through to the kitchen. There were two men there. One grabbed me and stuck a needle in my neck and that was it. I woke up with a parachute on my back and a gun in my face.”

  “Similar stories here,” Spook said. “Do you think there’s a pattern? A reason they took us specifically?”

  “I have my theories,” Sofia said, before locking eyes with Acid Vanilla, who’d been gazing at her the whole time. Normally when you met someone’s eyes in this way, societal norms had them look away. But not this one. Sofia swallowed. Held her ground. There was something about this Acid Vanilla that unsettled her. Sure, she was a grade-A bitch who clearly thought a lot of herself, but it was beyond that. Sofia was good at reading people (an empath, Marcy, her yoga-teacher-slash-life-coach had told her). But for whatever reason, Acid had her baffled.

  She sat upright and hugged her knees. “So what about you?” she asked her, keeping the tone light. “What’s your story?”

  Acid Vanilla held her gaze a while longer, a smirk forming across her full lips. “You don’t want to know about me.”

  Sofia ran her tongue over her teeth. “Let me guess then.”

  Acid’s shoulders dropped a little, and the smirk twisted into the hint of a genuine smile. She peered through her bangs. Flirtatious suddenly. “Go on then, Miss Hot-Shot-Investigative-Journalist. Let’s see what you got.”

  Sofia scanned her up and down, taking in her shapely but firm body. Clearly she worked out, but she had the air of someone with a penchant for decadence. Her long thick hair was unwashed. It said ‘rock chick’ in a way that was a little obvious, but it worked for her. Coupled with the leather jacket tied around her waist, and black jeans,
and the obvious guess would be someone in the music industry. But there was more to her than that.

  “I couldn’t help notice your eyes earlier,” Sofia said, dampening the coquettish smile inadvertently playing across her lips. “Very striking. Very unusual.”

  “Yes, so they tell me.” Acid sighed, but looking away as she did.

  “It’s called heterochromia, isn’t it?” she went on. “Something like that. I bet people always tell you they’re like David Bowie’s, right?”

  Here Acid’s diffidence turned into a smirk. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sofia got in first.

  “But obviously you know that’s not true. Bowie had one pupil bigger than the other, which only made them look different colours. Whereas you really do have one blue eye and one brown eye. I’m guessing it kind of pisses you off when people get that wrong. Yet you also get off on correcting them. You like to be right.”

  “Very impressive,” Acid said. It was sarcastic, but her smirk had faded.

  Sofia tilted her head, buoyed by the reaction. “Okay, wild guess, I’d say you’re in PR.”

  This provoked a loud scoff from the two women.

  “You can fuck right off,” Acid said, but hitting her with a playful look. “PR? Bloody hell.”

  A shiver ran down Sofia’s back that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She hugged her knees tighter.

  “Are you cold?” Spook asked. “Acid, why don’t you lend Sofia your jacket if you aren’t wearing it?”

  The question provoked a stern look from Acid. She eyeballed Spook, trying to convey her displeasure via those intense, different-coloured eyes. Sofia saw it. Spook not so much. Or was pretending not to.

  “Just for now,” she went on. “If you aren’t wearing it…”

  “Fine,” Acid snapped, untying it from her waist and flinging it at Sofia. “But I want it back.”

  Sofia held the old thing up in the moonlight. Up close she smelt a heady stench ingrained in the leather, a cocktail of sweat, spilt alcohol and expensive perfume. “Gee, thanks,” she said, putting it on. A perfect fit.

  Spook grinned and elbowed Acid. “She looks just like you. Same hair, same build. Same jacket.”

  Acid chewed on her lip. “I mean it, I want it back. There’s a lot of sentimental value there.”

  Sofia straightened the cuffs. “I see. Gift from an old flame?”

  “You could say that. You could also say it was a trophy. Of sorts.”

  “A trophy? Geez, you sound like a serial killer.”

  The two women exchanged a weird look.

  Sofia frowned. What the hell was this?

  “Did you hear about all the business with Cerberix last year?” Spook asked, her face serious.

  “Who didn’t? Deserved everything they got, you ask me. I saw the keynote. Saw what those two evil bastards had been up to.”

  “Well, that was me,” beamed Spook. “I was the one who made the recording that exposed them.”

  “Woah. Heavy,” was all Sofia could say. Wasn’t often words failed her, but she hadn’t been expecting this. Though it made sense now. She waved her hands, gesturing for Spook to continue.

  “Long story short,” Spook went on, “the CEO, Kent Clarkson, found out I had that recording and hired an assassin to take me out. A company called Annihilation Pest Control. You heard of it?”

  She shook her head.

  “No one has,” Acid said. “Unless you’re in the business of having someone killed. Caesar, the boss, he runs a tight ship.”

  “Sorry,” Sofia asked. “How do you fit in to this?”

  Acid threw up one eyebrow. “Best you don’t kn–”

  “She was the assassin sent to kill me,” Spook cut in.

  Sofia gasped. “Woah. What the fuck?”

  “Yeah, Spook. What the fuck?” Acid spat, viciously. “You’re telling this to a journalist? Really?”

  Spook looked down. “What does it matter now?”

  “It matters. Sixteen years I’ve been a shadow. Anonymous. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Now words really did fail Sofia. She glanced from Acid to Spook and back again.

  Was this for real?

  “We’re all screwed here, Acid,” Spook went on. “The only way I see us getting off this horrible island is if we trust each other. That starts with telling the truth. About everything.”

  Acid sighed pointedly into the trees. “The truth. Fu-ck-ing hell.”

  Sofia held up her hands. “You’re actually serious? She’s a hit man – woman – whatever?” Spook nodded. Acid kept on sighing. “I don’t believe ya.”

  “It’s best for you that you don’t.”

  Sofia kept on glancing between the two women. Acid’s face was heavy with rage. She glanced at Spook like she wanted to smash her face into the nearest tree.

  “Okay, so say this is true, you didn’t kill her in the end?”

  “Nothing gets past you, does it?” Acid said, still not looking at her.

  “But why not? If that was your job?”

  Acid met her eyes and pouted. “Let’s just say I was already questioning my prescribed career path. Spook here helped me see I had other choices.”

  “But you kill people. For money.”

  “I did. Not any more.”

  “Don’t worry,” Spook told her. “Acid has put all that behind her. She saved my life. Many times. Got a price put on her own head while she was at it.”

  Sofia didn’t move. “So, what? You just turned good all of a sudden?”

  Acid shrugged. “I’d say the term ‘good’ is a rather subjective term, wouldn’t you?”

  “Ah, shit, Acid,” Spook yelped, animated suddenly. “I never asked. How did it go with the Sinister Sisters?”

  “The Sinister Sisters?” Sofia asked, but then shut up quick when she noticed Acid’s expression turn dark.

  “It’s done.” Acid rubbed at her palm with the thumb of her other hand. “I didn’t have chance to get any intel out of them, but they’re off the list.”

  There must have been something in Sofia’s expression Spook clocked, because she went on to explain. “Acid has been searching for her old colleagues the last few months.”

  “Oh yeah? And what does ‘off the list’ mean?”

  She knew full well what it meant, just couldn’t believe it. Or didn’t want to. A goddamn assassin. In the flesh. Talking like killing people was nothing.

  “It’s a long story,” Acid said, still looking at her hands. “After I met Spook and defected from the organisation, they killed my mum. Their way of sending me a message. You don’t get to choose when you leave.”

  Stone-cold killer or not, there was something else there, something more to Acid Vanilla. Sofia sensed it even if she couldn’t quite catch it beneath the tough talk and the hard jaw. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  “But it makes sense now.” Acid’s head came up, eyes piercing even in the dim light. “Ever since I woke up on that plane I’ve been confused as to why Caesar wouldn’t just kill us both when he had chance. We’ve been a pain in his side since Spook and I met. But from what you’ve told us, Sofia – and the way those two pricks were talking – I get it. He’s sold us to Engel.” Acid got to her feet and pulled a leaf from a nearby rubber plant. She split the stem down the middle and picked away at the leafy web. “You know, I got to hand it to him. He’s clever. This way he gets rid of us and gets paid for it. The sly bastard.”

  Sofia kept her eyes on the enigmatic assassin as she paced about in the clearing. Suddenly she seemed unhinged, wired, like she’d snorted a big line of Colombia’s finest. She carried on, speaking fast and without breath. Telling Sofia her life story. How she fell into killing people for a living. Poor chick had a rough time, it seemed. But hadn’t everyone? Was that a good enough excuse to turn to a life of death and destruction? Taking fathers from sons, husbands from wives? Sofia listened but kept her emotions in check. There was something about Acid made her real uneasy.

  Eventually
she finished pacing and sat back down. “We should probably get some rest,” she said, turning to Spook and then Sofia, nodding. “At first light we’ll move towards the shore. See what we can find.”

  Spook yawned. “Shouldn’t we keep watch? Take turns?”

  “No point. I agree with Sofia. This really is a hunt, isn’t it? A game. So they’ll be tucked up in bed right now. Probably won’t start again until late tomorrow. There might even be another announcement. Think about it. To them we’re sitting ducks. They’re in no hurry. But we can use that to our advantage.”

  “Yeah? How?” Sofia asked.

  Acid lay back. “I haven’t figured that part out yet. But don’t worry, toots. I’ll think of something. I always do.”

  Sofia settled down herself, snuggling as best she could into the collar of Acid’s leather jacket. Which had once belonged to one of her victims, she was now certain. She closed her eyes, sensing sleep on the horizon. Whether she could trust Acid Vanilla and Spook Horowitz, she wasn’t yet sure. But if she was going to survive this island and get back to Mike in one piece, a clear head and a revitalised body was the first step. After that, it was anyone’s guess.

  Nine

  Acid opened one eye and groaned. In her initial waking moments, still basking in the haze between benign slumber and total awareness, she’d wondered if it had all been a dream. A silly dream (probably alcohol-induced), where she was being hunted by a group of shadowy billionaires. The top prize in a grisly game of death where there were no winners and so many losers.

  But it was no dream.

  She propped herself up on one elbow and rubbed at her eyes. A few feet away, sat on a low rock, Spook was examining one of the hunting rifles they’d taken from those pricks yesterday. They’d had that girl tied up. The journalist. Sofia. Sofia Swann.

  Shit.

  Acid sat bolt upright as her awareness swam into focus. She glanced around, her breath catching in her chest. “Spook,” she said. “Where is she? Where’s Sofia?”

  Spook placed the rifle down. “Please don’t get angry.”