Caesar sat back, allowing the kimono to ride up, exposing a huge flank of white thigh. “Karen Clarkson still thinks she’s killed her.”
“Well Karen Clarkson is wrong. Sir.”
Caesar closed his eyes, head rocking slowly back and forth. “So here we are. I’ll get to see it. The death of Acid Vanilla. Well done, Raaz. We’ll be back in business in no time. In fact, after this weekend I’d say Annihilation is only going to go from strength to strength. Engel has already mentioned he may have a job for us. Luther, too. Outstanding work.”
Raaz stood. “You’ll be coming to the ceremony?”
“Try and stop me. But I need a shower and a pick-me-up of some kind.” He glanced about him. “Send someone up with a jug of strong coffee and one of Engel’s special injections, will you? Have you had one yet? Absolutely spaffing marvellous. I feel like a new man. In fact, bring me one of those as well.”
Raaz frowned, clutching the tablet to her chest. “Excuse me?”
Caesar waved her away. “Never mind. I’ll see you later. Come get me before everyone leaves. We’ll travel to the ceremony together.”
Raaz clicked her heels and hurried past the seedy detritus in the room. But as she got to the door, she paused and turned back to her boss.
“We did it, sir,” she said. “I mean, you did it. Annihilation Pest Control are back where we belong. At the top.”
“That we are,” Caesar bellowed, throwing his arms over the back of the couch. “That we bastard-well-are.”
Thirty-Two
A few doors down from Beowulf Caesar’s suite, Luther Clarkson was examining the label on a well-chilled bottle of a 2009 Dom Perignon. Then, holding the bottle at the prescribed forty-five degrees, he twisted out the cork, letting the gassy build-up send it flying across the room with a satisfying pop.
Karen rolled her eyes at her brother’s gaucheness (only idiots and poor people sent the cork flying off like a pop gun) but held her glass up all the same, biting her tongue as Luther poured out the sparkling wine.
“Thanks, Luth,” she said. “We drinking to me? The undisputed champion of this year’s hunt?”
“Whatever, Karen.” Luther spat, concentrating on filling his own glass and making a real mess of it, the foam rising up over the rim. “You got lucky, that’s all.”
“Oh, dear. Jealous much?”
“Not at all. To be honest with you, I’m glad it’s over.”
“And glad those bitches are dead, right? Or will be soon.” She raised her glass as Luther did the same. “So here’s to Kent Clarkson, may he rest in peace.”
They chinked glasses and drank. The bubbles tickled Karen’s nose. She wasn’t a big drinker. Eggnog at Christmas, a glass of fizz on special occasions, that was it. She looked about the room for inspiration, something to talk about. Luther wasn’t a great conversationalist at the best of times but this morning he seemed particularly stoic. She was still grasping at straws when there was a knock on the door. Thank god.
Luther frowned. “Are we expecting someone?”
“Not me.”
“Hello,” her brother called over. “You can come in. It’s open.”
The words had barely left his mouth, when the door swung open and Thomas Engel bounded into the room followed by two female guards. They were all wearing the same long, flowing white robes.
“Well look at you, all fancy,” Karen cooed, flirting a little as she took in their host’s attire and the gold ceremonial garland hanging around his neck.
“Why, thank you,” Engel said, spinning around so they could get the full effect. He held up the garland. “This once belonged to an actual Mayan priest. It’s ceremonial. Worn when making sacrifices to the sun god. Kind of fitting.”
“Indeed,” Luther told him. “Drink?”
“Not while I’m working.”
Karen moved closer. “So you’re an integral part of the ceremony, I take it?”
“Of course,” Engel barked, clapping his hands together. “I love it. Favourite part of the weekend. You’ll see.”
Karen drank back her champagne. “And have we finalised the scores? I think it’s only right one of the Clarksons win this year. Seeing as we’ve put up most of the prize fund.”
“Let’s not talk money,” Engel purred, his face crumpling around the edges. “But I do hope you and your brother know how grateful we are you’ve joined us this weekend. It’s been an interesting year for the hunt, but with your input especially, Ms Clarkson, it has once again been a triumph.”
“Well, all right then,” Karen said, her cheeks burning as Engel threw a wink her way. “You’re very welcome. Isn’t he, Luth?”
Her brother, ever the petulant middle child, shrugged. “I suppose. I got my fair share of hides out there too, you know. I’m not sure it’s entirely fair Jenny Come-Lately here is allowed to take part.”
“Ah, save it,” Karen scolded, but smiling for once. “We’ve all had a good time, and we achieved what we wanted from the weekend.”
“Exactly,” Engel beamed, raising his arms in a self-conscious Christ-pose. “So why don’t we now vacate to the arena basin and take our seats for the final act of the hunt. The closing ceremony.” He placed an arm around Karen, sliding his hand down to the small of her back and guiding her out of the room.
“Did your men get confirmation on Acid Vanilla?” she asked him.
“Please don’t worry,” he told her. “All is taken care of.”
But the way he said it, followed by a pensive glance at one of his guards, made Karen uneasy.
“She’s definitely dead?”
Engel swallowed, his face melting into a colossal grin. “Absolutely,” he told her. “Couldn’t be more dead.”
“Well, good. Make sure she’s added to my score.” Karen turned around so Luther could hear. “I want it on record it was me who took down both of Kent’s killers. Both bitches.”
Luther screwed his nose up at her. Mouthed, Fucking loser.
Karen turned her attention back to Engel, the unease dropping away, revelling now in the attention. “You know, Tommy, I was a little tired earlier, but I’m really looking forward to this ceremony of yours. I’ve heard good things about it. Very good things.”
At this Engel stopped and turned to her, taking in Luther as well. A supercilious smile curled his full lips. “Oh, my dears,” he whispered. “You have no idea. No idea at all.”
“What, it’s really that special?” Luther asked.
Engel smirked. “All I’ll say for now is, if you thought the hunt was fun, if you thought it pushed certain… boundaries, shall we say – then just you wait until you see what’s coming next.”
Thirty-Three
“So you’re really an FBI guy?” Acid asked.
The question hung pointedly in the air, breaking the hour-long silence that had fallen between her and Welles as they climbed the uneven stone steps leading up to the resort complex.
“FBI Guy?” Welles mused. “I like that. Sounds like the title of an old disco track or something.”
Acid rolled her eyes at the blue sky above. Nice reference. Shame it was fifty years out of date. Behind her Welles began singing to himself, the way he thought FBI Guy, the disco song, might go. From Acid’s reckoning it was pretty much The Village People’s Macho Man, but with the different lyrics.
F-B-I-I Guy…
She huffed loudly and made a show of shaking her head. Thankfully it had the desired effect. Welles shut up.
“Just trying to lighten the mood,” he told her. “But to answer your question: yes, I’ve been at the Bureau for twenty years now. Before that, I was a detective. Downtown LA, mainly.”
“I see. I suppose you’ve been in worse situations than this then?”
He gave a gruff chuckle, but there was no joy to it. “Let’s just say, Lincoln Heights in the late seventies, early eighties, wasn’t the nicest of places. Lot of drug use, people killing each other. And that was just the cops.” The laughter grew louder, t
urning into a wheezing cough.
Acid turned to face him. “Do you need to rest for a minute?”
Welles regained his composure and shook his head sternly. “No time for rest, miss. We gotta get up there.”
“You can call me Acid, you know,” she told him, carrying on up the steps. “I don’t really respond to miss.”
“Apologies, old habits, like I say. Not sure I’ll get used to calling someone Acid, though. That your real name?”
She tensed. “It wasn’t the name my mother gave me, if that’s what you mean, but it is now. The person I was died a long time ago. Acid Vanilla is all that’s left.”
“I see.”
Silently she cursed herself as she went on with the climb. It was one of those moments when you experienced yourself through the eyes of someone else and realised you sounded like a complete wanker. Or a pretentious weirdo. But then again, maybe Acid had already made peace with the fact she was both those things.
“So can I ask you – as an FBI Guy – you ever heard of Annihilation Pest Control?” She glanced back over her shoulder, but Welles’ face was blank.
“Doesn’t ring any bells. Should I have?”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
It always surprised her how clever Caesar had been, keeping the organisation off all law enforcement radar for the past twenty-five years.
“So I take it Sofia was right?” Welles asked. “You are a hit man. Sorry – hit woman.”
“She told you that?”
“Is it true?”
Acid tensed. Spook’s voice in her head. Trust people. That old shit again.
She looked Welles up and down. He was getting on, and life had clearly toughened him, but he still had a twinkle in his eye. She liked that, and he seemed a decent enough guy, but what the hell did she know about decent guys? And he was a Bureau guy after all.
She threw her gaze back up the mountain side. They were almost at the point where the steps crumbled away.
Sod it.
In the current situation, what the hell did she have to lose?
“I was a hired killer for sixteen years,” she told him. “Since I was eighteen. Until six months ago.”
“What happened six months ago?”
“I met someone who made me see there was a different way.”
She swallowed down a sigh. The thought of Spook up there scared and alone rocked her. Poor kid. She could be annoying as hell sometimes but she was good to have around. Acid didn’t tell her that enough. And now she might not have the chance.
“I’d been wanting out of the game for a while,” she went on. “But I don’t think I’d really articulated it to myself properly. Spook made me realise I could take control over my future.”
She moved aside as Welles joined her at the last step. They stood in silence, considering the three ledges they’d need to scale to reach the summit.
“We’re going to get them back,” he whispered. “Don’t you worry about that.”
Acid nodded. “You going to be okay making this jump?
He raised his head. “Piece a cake.”
“You want to go first or second?”
“I’ll go first.”
Acid was surprised and rather impressed with the old guy’s agility. After over-egging the first jump and almost stumbling off the far side, he took the next two in his stride and made getting up the final six feet look like a walk in the park.
She, of course, knew the pitfalls already and followed his lead as swiftly as possible, much easier now without the addition of that toxic sow and the boot to the face. Once on the final ledge she grabbed for Welles’ arm and he pulled her up onto the headland.
“Over there,” he said, pointing to a small door in the side of the complex, half-hidden behind a cluster of rocks and a row of decorative fig trees. “Looks like a staff entrance. Hopefully means it’s unlocked.”
They moved over to the door in haste. Welles got there first and waited for her before trying the handle.
“We need to do this as stealthily as possible,” she whispered. “The last thing we need is the entire security team bearing down on us.”
“Agreed,” he rasped, gripping the door handle and easing it open. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Acid held the AK-47 to her chest and slipped through the door, followed close behind by Welles. Once both inside, he gently closed the door, plunging the long steel-wrapped corridor into darkness. Acid blinked into the gloom, aware at once of how cool the air was in here. A shock to the system after the heady, sticky heat of the island. Moving together, they got to the end of the corridor and found another door. Welles did the honours once more, Acid leading with the assault rifle. Through the door and they were in what looked to be an entrance hall, a large white room with high ceilings and enormous windows placed at intervals along the wall opposite. There was no one in sight. Slowly, tentatively, Acid moved into the space, keeping her aim high.
“It’s clear,” she whispered.
Welles was beside her in a moment. “Okay, first step. We need to find me some firepower.”
Acid agreed. Over by the far wall in front of one of the windows, a small lounge area had been set up comprising of two cream leather couches, which were so huge in scale they could have been modern art pieces. Beyond the couches, in the right-hand corner of the room was another door. Without a word they made their way over there, Acid walking backwards as they got closer, covering them.
“Looks like stairs. Going up,” Welles whispered, peering through the glass panel half-way up. He eased open the door and she hurried through, taking the steps two at a time.
They reached a small L-shaped landing with another set of stairs on the far side and a door with a small metal sign, top centre: Main Vestibule. Attached to the wall to the left of the door was a bright red fire extinguisher.
Acid waited by the door for Welles to join her and gestured for him to take it. “Might come in useful,” she added.
“You want me to drown them in foam?”
“If you want,” she replied. “I was thinking you’d use the blunt end to smash someone’s skull in, but either way.”
Welles shook his head but took the extinguisher all the same. He held it with two hands, like a battering ram. “Through here,” he told her. “I reckon this will give us access to the rest of the building.”
Acid put her back to the door. Holding the assault rifle in one hand, she pushed down on the door handle and leaned against it. The door eased open no problem and she spun around, her trigger finger taut and ready, but once more the space was deserted. Over to her left she noted the main entrance. An impressive cut-crystal chandelier hung down over the space whilst on either side of the enormous doorway, two fire pits burned aggressively, encased in elaborately carved marble surrounds. In the centre of the room lay an expansive white fur rug, doing its best to soften the hard marble floor. Off to one side, two more modern-art-sized couches were positioned in a U-shape around a low table, on top of which was stood a large antique vase, spilling over with stark white lilies and pink orchids. Opposite this seating, at one end of the room, Acid spotted a steel-fronted elevator and a wide, open doorway with brightly decorated urns standing guard on either side, each one as tall as Welles and twice as wide. Through the doorway, a wide corridor rendered in cream marble led off from the main space before disappearing around to the right. Thomas Engel, it seemed, was a real fan of marble. Which was lucky for Acid and Welles, as it carried the sound of distant footsteps down the corridor long before whoever it was came into view.
“Over here,” Acid rasped, hurrying over and positioning herself around the side of one of the urns. Welles copied her on the other side and they waited, poised with fire extinguisher and assault rifle.
The footsteps grew louder. Female, it seemed. The distinct click-clack of heels on a hard surface. Acid sucked in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs for a three-count before releasing. Next she did the same with the muscles
in her arms and legs, tightening for three, then releasing. It was a way of grounding herself in her body, readying herself for action. She placed the assault rifle on the floor by her feet, careful not to make a sound. She’d meant what she’d told Welles. This was a stealth mission. No need to get messy and chaotic if she didn’t need to, no matter how much enjoyment it might fleetingly provide. She closed her eyes, listening as the click of the heels fell out of time with the clack. Meant there was two of them. Behind the urn on the other side of the doorway, she could make out the top of Welles’ head. Could she trust him to do what was needed?
She pressed herself against the cold porcelain urn as two women marched past her into the main space. They were each well over six foot, with icy blonde hair dragged back into a tight bun. Guards on patrol, although the uniform of white flowing robes was an odd choice. As they shimmied into the room, the soft silk hugged their athletic frames, revealing the unmistakeable shape of a holster and pistol strapped to their hips. Jackpot.
Staying low, Acid crept out from behind the urn. A glance to her right told her Welles was following her lead as she padded towards the nearest guard, approaching in a semi-circle and not taking her eyes off her. The woman had a good few inches on Acid, but that wasn’t a problem. She’d taken down bigger and uglier many times before. A quick nod to Welles and she went for it, leaping up onto the guard’s back and wrapping one arm around her neck. The woman clawed at her, tried to scream, but Acid was applying enough pressure on her throat it came out as a confused grunt. At the same time, Welles was on the second woman choking her out the same way. Most people (civilians) think a choke hold is all about cutting off the person’s air supply, but that’s a messy way of doing it, and can take up to a minute to render someone unconscious. You want to knock someone out in under ten seconds, then you go for the carotid artery in the side of the neck. You get that right and you cut off vital blood supply to the brain. Acid held on tight, riding the tall guard and applying more pressure. One last gasp and she collapsed to the floor. Acid jumped free in time and composed herself before rolling the fallen guard onto her back.
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 68