by Shan, Darren
I had to do something. The hunt for the killer would come later, but I couldn’t wait that long. Rising slowly, I tracked down Bob—Ellen’s brother—and asked if there was a pack of cards somewhere. He looked bemused by the request but fetched one. I located a spare room and asked Bob to guard the door for me.
“What’s going on, Al?” he grumbled.
“Trust me,” I said. “I want to help.”
Then I went to find Ellen’s mother. One of Ellen’s aunts was trying to console her. I pushed the aunt aside as politely as I could and took the distraught woman by the arm. “Mrs. Fraser, I’m so sorry,” I said.
She wept still, not resisting as I led her away.
“I’ve got something to show you, something Ellen would have wanted you to see.”
“Ellen?” There was painful hope in her voice, as if she believed I could bring her daughter back from the dead.
“Yes. This way, please. It won’t take long.” At the door of the room I told Bob to let no one in. There was doubt in his eyes but he did as I said, not wishing to create a scene.
I sat Ellen’s mother on the bed and turned on the light. Took the cards out and shuffled them. “I want you to watch the cards, Mrs. Jeery. I’m going to show you a trick.”
“A trick?” she echoed uncertainly.
I smiled and slapped four cards down, faces up. “Don’t worry. It’s a good trick. Now, pick a card, but don’t tell me what it is…”
She was eager for consolation and didn’t fight as I created a world of colors, followed by the connecting tunnel. There was so much unhappiness inside her, I knew I couldn’t relieve her of all her pain, but sometimes a little is enough. If she could get through the next few days, she’d hopefully find the strength in herself to continue after that.
She wasn’t quite so haggard-looking when I led her from the room, and she began circulating, thanking people for coming, offering to help make sandwiches. Bob was bursting with curiosity but didn’t push me for an answer, just slapped me on the back and let his eyes express his thanks.
After that it was back to the fire and thoughts of Ellen. I’d been able to forget her while helping her mother, but now the memories returned with a vengeance and for the longest time I sat there, slumped in the chair, staring at the flames.
Finally, mercifully, the wake drew to a close. I bid Bob and a couple of others farewell. Ellen’s mother hugged me and told me Ellen had loved me. Then I was clear, free to get down to the only thing that mattered anymore, the business of bloody, final, uncompromising revenge.
22
Bill was sitting in his excuse for a garden when I returned, drinking a can of beer, several empties scattered around him. I packed my bag, wandered outside and told him I was going back to my apartment. He wasn’t happy, but I said I couldn’t stay with him forever. He’d been great, I couldn’t have pulled through without his help, but it was time to stand on my own two feet and get on with life. He told me to take advantage of his hospitality anytime, no matter what the circumstances.
Ali spotted me pulling up and rushed out to commiserate. I thanked him for his kind words but didn’t stay to chat. He told me to call in if there was anything I needed. I said I would, then hurried up the stairs, eager to make a start.
Somebody had fixed my door. Probably Bill. Also, the fridge and freezer were stocked, the bed had been made and all the notes that had been strewn around the place were in boxes, tidied away. I threw my bag down and started pulling out the notes. I hadn’t gotten through two of the boxes when the door to the bathroom opened and Paucar Wami stepped out.
“Al m’boy,” he croaked, “you’ve come back to your dear ol’ pappy.”
I laid the box down. “How long have you been in there?”
“Most of the day.” He flopped into a chair. “I had a feeling you would return after the funeral. I was expecting you earlier. What delayed you?”
“The wake.”
“You stayed for that? I detest wakes. Everybody speaks so well of the dead. Nobody mentions the infidelities, the scams they pulled, the people they betrayed. I worry that somebody will throw a wake for me when I pass on.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that,” I replied icily.
“You might be surprised,” he grinned. “Enough beating about the bush. You have had your time of mourning. On to business. Have you learned anything new?”
I thought of the marble and sat down opposite him. “There’s something I have to ask. You won’t like it but I’m going to ask anyway.”
“Go ahead.” He looked interested.
“Did you kill Ellen?”
He frowned. “You suspect me?”
I told him about the marble, black with golden streaks, how I’d discovered it, how it had gone missing and turned up in my locker, how it had been found on Ellen.
“You think I left it on her?” he asked. “That I rolled the marble your way in the first place, meaning I’ve been fucking with you from the very start?”
“Maybe.”
Wami stared at me in cold silence, then slid a dagger out of a pocket. He pressed it into my right hand and placed the blade against his bare, unprotected throat, offering himself to me.
“If you doubt, destroy,” he hissed.
I stared at the blade and the hairless flesh of his throat. I took a deep breath. As agile and powerful as he was, he couldn’t stop me if I decided to kill him. One flick of my wrist and he was a dead man.
I started to lower the knife. Wami grabbed my hand and pressed the blade back against his throat. “Be sure,” he snarled. “I have never volunteered my life before. I will not do so again. Be sure of me or kill me.”
I withdrew the knife. He didn’t stop me this time.
“I had to ask,” I muttered.
“No. But you did, and it is perhaps just as well. Now we know where we stand.” He pocketed his knife. “With the dramatics out of the way, I will ask again—anything new?”
“You first. What’s happened since Ellen was…?” I didn’t want to say it.
“Nothing much. Nobody knows who killed her. The room at the Skylight was officially vacant. The police do not know whether it was a copycat killer or the original.”
“The original,” I snapped.
“Of course. No luck on the Charlie Grohl front. I have been following young Nicholas, without joy. I tracked down the two leads of Ellen’s—I found them by going through your notes—but they knew nothing of her or Nicola Hornyak.”
“Did you kill them?” I asked quietly.
“One of them. The other was a crook with political connections. I let him live in case I have use for him in future.”
“How come you didn’t hit on Ziegler?”
“I was saving him for when you returned. We will go after him together, father and son, a proper team. Now, what news with you?”
For the second time I related the story of my underground sojourn. Wami sat through it uncommonly slack-jawed.
“I know of the tunnels and caverns,” he noted at the end. “I have explored them. But I never came across anything like that.”
“Can you make sense of what the villacs said?” I asked.
“No.”
“Flesh of Dreams means nothing to you?”
“Should it?”
“It did to The Cardinal.” His eyebrows rose, so I told him about our meeting.
“It grows more incredible by the minute,” he sighed. “The Cardinal leaving his fortress to declare his innocence. I never heard the like.”
“The Cardinal knows about the villacs and their plans,” I said.
“That does not surprise me.”
“I thought their rantings about blood streams, Flesh and Dreams were gibberish, but if The Cardinal takes them seriously, so should we.”
“Absolutely,” Wami agreed.
“So find out,” I told him.
“How?”
“Torture a few blind men. Take The Cardinal out back of Party
Central and beat the truth out of him. I don’t care. That’s your concern. My hands will be full with Nick and Ziegler.”
“Why divide? Let us pursue Nicholas and Rudi together, then—”
“No,” I cut him short. “If either was responsible for the murders—or knows who was—he’s mine. Same if you find the killer—leave him for me.”
“You grow greedy, Al m’boy,” Wami murmured. “You want all the fun.”
“To hell with fun!” I shouted. “This isn’t a game anymore. I loved Ellen. Can you understand that, you black-hearted son of a bitch? Do you know what love is?”
“Please,” Wami winced. “Spare me the pop lyrics.”
“Don’t joke,” I growled. “I’m serious.”
“How can you be serious about a little thing like murder?” he protested. “We all die in the end. She is dead—accept it and forget her. It is not like the two of you were still an item.”
“That doesn’t matter. I loved her.”
“Love,” he sneered. “It is the basest of emotions. Love owns the weak—owns, cripples and destroys.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve never loved. You can’t understand it unless—”
“But I have!” he exclaimed. “I do. I love death.”
“Hardly the same thing as loving a human,” I noted.
“It is better,” he insisted. “Death is the only mistress worth love because she owns us already. Loving one of your own is a form of slavery. Only by learning to love death can one taste freedom. By acknowledging the bonds of our mortality, we are freed to explore the loops that form the chains of life.”
“I’m not going to get philosophical with you,” I said. “Love whatever the hell you want. I loved Ellen and I’m gonna find her killer and murder him. Alone. If you’ve got a problem with that…”
“Al,” he tutted. “Sons should not pit themselves against their fathers. It runs contrary to the laws of nature.”
“Will you leave the killer to me?” I asked.
“If I do not? Will you raise your hand in anger?”
“If I have to.”
“And if I raise mine in return?”
I didn’t answer. Wami studied me, then shook his head with disgust. “So be it. The killer is yours.”
“Thank you,” I responded coolly.
“You know,” Wami smiled, “I almost envy you. It has been many years since I took a life in anger. Nothing compares with that first drawing of blood, the thrill of…” He stopped when he saw a shadow pass across my face. “Did I say something amiss?”
“Just something similar to what the blind priests told me.”
I thought about what the naked man on the platform had said. “You must take blood in anger.” Perhaps it was wrong of me to go it alone. Maybe that was what they wanted, and I was playing into their hands.
“You are having second thoughts,” Wami noted.
“Some,” I admitted.
“You want to change your mind?”
I considered it thoroughly. “No. I don’t like the idea of flying solo but this is the way it must be.”
“As you wish.” He started for the door. “If you require assistance, you know how to find me.”
“You’ll remember your promise?” I called him back. “You won’t act without contacting me?”
“Unless it is unavoidable.”
“Wait.” I stopped him as his hand was on the knob. “You said you only loved death, that nothing else was worth loving. Does that mean you don’t love me?”
He squinted as if I were kidding him. “You interest me as few other humans do. I have certain fatherly feelings for you.”
“But not love?”
“Perhaps if you were dead,” he chuckled drily, and let himself out.
The Red Throat was almost deserted when I got there, shortly after it had opened for the day. There was no sign of Nick, but I hadn’t expected him this early. I ordered a mineral water and found a corner where I could sit back and observe.
Nick turned up a couple of hours later. He looked rough, as if he hadn’t had a lot of sleep, and was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He stumbled to the bar, ordered a drink and looked around. Frowned when he saw me, then came over.
“My old friend Al,” he commented, running the cool surface of the glass across his forehead as he sat down. “More questions?”
“Feel up to them?”
“Not really. I went on a bender last night. Still, if you ask nicely…”
I stood and nodded toward the toilets. “Want to do it in there?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve come over queer,” he snorted suspiciously.
I forced a smile. “Afraid not. I just want to talk in private. It won’t take long. Will you come?”
He laughed. “Be careful with your words, Al.” He set off ahead of me, hips swaying, smirking over his shoulder. I grinned bleakly in return.
The room was brightly lit and empty. “You know,” he said as I closed the door, “this isn’t the first time I’ve been in here with a friend, but the management really doesn’t like—”
I was on him. I jammed his mouth shut, grabbed his left arm and jerked it behind his back until he screamed into my palm. I stopped short of snapping the bone, rested the arm, then jerked it up again, harder, not releasing the pressure until I heard it break. I held him in place, muffling his screams, then swung him around and unleashed a flurry of punches to the walls of his stomach. As he doubled over, I grabbed the back of his head and slammed him face-first down onto the floor, not hard enough to knock him out, but with force enough to smash a few teeth.
He slumped when I let go, groaning pitifully. I let him get his breath back, then kicked him cruelly, stomach, thighs, the soft parts of the arms. I steered clear of the groin, saving it for later.
When he was whimpering softly I took a break. I washed my hands in one of the basins, studying my face in the mirror, barely recognizing the vicious, hateful image. I didn’t like what I was doing and what I had yet to do, but a quick mental fix on Ellen as she lay in the coffin set me up for round two.
Nick was sobbing, trying to stanch the flow of blood from his mouth with his unbroken arm, building up his breath to scream for help. I took out my gun and tapped it against the side of the basin. His breath caught. I dried my hands and turned to face him.
“If you scream, I’ll have to shoot you.”
“What is this?” he asked through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. “Taken up gay-bashing?”
“Gay’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Then what?” He spat out a couple of teeth and began crying. “Christ, Al, what the fuck—”
“I want to know about Ellen.”
He stared, bewildered. “Who?”
“Ellen Fraser. My ex-wife.”
“Don’t know her.”
“You heard about the copycat killing at the Skylight?”
He stared. “No,” he whispered.
“I want to know who killed her.” I pointed the gun at him.
His eyes were wide with terror. “I don’t know anything about it,” he spluttered.
“I’ll shoot you in the leg first,” I said. “Your left. Then the right. People will rush to investigate when I open fire, so I’ll have to work quickly. That means moving straight to your groin. Ever seen someone shot through the balls? Not a pretty sight.”
“It wasn’t me,” he moaned.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, crouching to give him a better view of the gun. “Tell me what you were doing in the Skylight when your sister was killed. Lie once and I shoot.”
Nick stared at the gun, gathered his wits and began painfully. “It was meant to be a joke. We’d done it before.”
“Done what?”
“Swapped partners.” He wiped his mouth with his good hand. “Nic arranged for rooms with interconnecting doors. Both our guys were into bondage. The plan was to tie them up, then swap places and…”
&nbs
p; “You mean you’d screw Nic’s guy and she’d get off with yours?” He nodded. “Seems like hers was getting the worst of the bargain.”
He showed his broken teeth, all bloody. It might have been a grin. “She had a dildo…”
“Cute. Go on.”
“I got there before Nic and went into action. About half past ten, I looked in her room. She wasn’t there. I kept my guy going another hour, then I put the mask on him and went to see if Nic had turned up.”
“Why the mask?” I asked.
“To protect his identity. I left him tied to the bed, slipped into 812 and…”
I waited for him to continue. He didn’t. “And? ” I snapped.
“I saw the state of her back. How still she was. I thought she was dead. So I ran.”
“She was still alive then,” I roared. “You might have been able to save her.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” he replied bitterly. He was crying, but not from the pain. “I should have checked. I should have gotten help. But I panicked, fled for the stairs. I stopped on the third floor, ducked into a bathroom and cried till I was dry. Then I went back—the longest fucking climb of my life—and got my clothes. I should have let my guy go, but I just left him there—I wasn’t thinking straight. I took an elevator down and slipped out. Nobody noticed. That was it.” He looked at me with scared, small eyes, awaiting my verdict.
“Who was the man with Nic?” I asked.
“I don’t know. And she didn’t know who I’d be with. That’s how we always did it.”
“Did you see anyone or hear anything?”
“No.”
“Any chance the guy you were with—Charlie Grohl—knows more than you do?”
“He was tied up,” Nick said quickly. “Gagged.”
“Maybe later, after you left,” I suggested.
“No,” he insisted, but there was something in his denial which jarred. For the first time I got the feeling that he wasn’t playing straight.
“Remember what I said I’d do if I caught you lying?”
“I haven’t lied!” he yelped, scrabbling backward.
“Did Charlie Grohl say something to make you suspicious?”