The Hallucigenia Project

by Darren Kasenkow

  The

  Hallucigenia

  Project

  Darren Kasenkow

  Copyright © Darren Kasenkow 2018

  The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Chapter 1

  John Richter was on his third day of no sleep. He should have been dead on his feet, should have been out cold with an absence of any knowing but a constant onslaught of amphetamines kept his muscles taught, pupils dilated and mind bouncing between utter clarity and swirling chaos. His jaw ensured his teeth were in a constant grind. Although winter reached out with her cold arms small traces of sweat teased the length of his spine, part of a solid frame that was housed in faded jeans and a leather jacket he hadn’t worn in years. A visible scar that streaked across his left cheek did little to dampen the unmistakable handsome contours of his face, and even now in the state he was in the girl behind the bar kept searching for ways to catch his eye.

  Through the stained window he could see the morning sky was dark and overcast, with the sun unable to push through the heavy drops of rain that were beginning to fall. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard thunder, but then it could’ve been his mind playing tricks. All things considered, he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway.

  A quiet sigh left his lips. Sydney in winter was a combination he hated, and always brought with it thoughts of moving north. But that’s what they always tended to be, just thoughts. It had been three years since he’d left the force, and every year he was sure it would be the last he’d spend in the city. Yet here he was, sitting at a filthy bar in the heart of the very city he now detested with two companions that made his skin crawl. With his empty stomach pulling tighter and tighter he took another sip of his drink and tilted his neck until it cracked.

  On the bar stool to his left Angelo drummed his ring adorned fingers across the stained wood. Determined to grace the world with his steroid built bulk he insisted on wearing a short sleeved shirt that was two sizes too small, and as far as personal statements went there wasn’t much in the way of confusion when it came to the badly designed flames and demonic faces tattooed across his arms. Add a heavy gold chain draped across his neck, probably fake, and he was a living breathing cliché. But, John knew, he was a cliché that was capable of serious damage.

  To his right, second companion Rick was using a battered credit card to carefully shape three lines of powder that was a mixture of coke and meth on a smeared round mirror. Although bald on the front half of his head he somehow found reason to grow what remained of his hair so that it fell greasy and dishevelled across the tops of his shoulders. He was probably in his mid forties, with a face left sagging and pale after years of drug abuse. Although physically the opposite of Angelo, John damn well knew he too was a dangerous piece of work, prompting yet another silent reminder that this would be the last time he’d take a roll in the gutter.

  The current bender had begun at a notorious biker’s clubhouse before rolling from one bar to another, with an occasional interlude at a random kitchen table to swap chemicals for cash and talk shit in machine gun spurts. John had snorted, smoked and swallowed his way along, constantly struggling to keep his mind focussed on what he had to do. Now they were in an afterhours club in a Kings Cross side street mid morning on a cold week day. His front pocket nestled just over five thousand dollars in cash that kept calling his hand from the bar to dig and caress, to assure himself it hadn’t magically disappeared. He knew there was enough alcohol in his system to drop an elephant and dreaded the fallout from the relentless abuse. Still, he had a job to do. Until it was over, there was no point in worrying about the damage his organs were bathing in.

  “So what’s the plan,” he began while tightening his grip around a fresh drink, “are we gonna sit here all fucking day or are we gonna get some business sorted out?”

  Rick paused from his line construction and gently placed a finger on a phone beside the mirror.

  “When this bad boy hums we can get the show on the road. What’s the matter, you don’t like this place?”

  “It’s a shit hole.”

  Rick laughed, slid the mirror across and handed John a solid silver straw. With a wince he leaned down and drew the mixture deep into his lungs. Instantly his heart lurched and shook against his rib cage as the inside of his nose shifted from a burning sensation to a strange numbness. He blinked excessively as his pupils began to pull even tighter. A rush of invincibility washed across his skull and the noises in the bar suddenly seemed sharp and crisp. With a wipe of his nose he slid the mirror across to Angelo and then gulped at his drink.

  “Another round here darling,” Rick declared, triggering the girl behind the bar to turn and reach for a fresh bottle. As she spun back around her eyes watched with obvious hunger while Angelo filled his nose.

  “Feel like helping a girl out?” she asked almost timidly.

  Angelo glared at her through red eyes and said nothing, his face vacant yet threatening. Instantly she regretted opening her mouth, but watched carefully as Rick leaned across, grabbed the mirror and handed it to her.

  “Here you go sweetie,” he smiled through stained teeth. “Just make sure those drinks are strong ones, yeah?”

  The rain began to fall even heavier outside, so much so that the guitar saturated music coming from the juke box was now barely audible. John shifted in his seat and looked around the room. Only one of the booths was occupied. He didn’t need to see their faces to know the type of animal they were, and whoever they were obviously had the street smarts to keep their eyes well away from the bar. Only a fool could miss the stink of menace that his companions brought with them.

  Rick didn’t worry him so much. He knew his type, knew the way his lizard like brain worked. No doubt he was as dangerous as they come but he could read his movements, could predict his behaviour to a certain degree.

  The same couldn’t be said about Angelo though. John knew he was fucking volatile, a psychotic spring that could unwind in the blink of an eye. For the three straight days he’d been with him there hadn’t been a moment of complacency. Unlike his conversations with Rick, John chose each and every word carefully with Angelo, who even now still looked at him with a deep set suspicion. But there was no getting rid of him, not for the moment anyway. The only thing to do was keep his cool, watch what he said, and ride the storm to its uncertain conclusion. The point of turning back was long gone.

  “What don’t you like about it?” Angelo suddenly asked with a bass heavy voice.

  “What don’t I like about what?” John replied, staring into his glass.

  “About this place. You said it was a shit hole.”

  Here we go, John thought, time to tread lightly. “It’s okay I guess. I’ve got people waiting on me, that’s all. Just wanna get the show on the road.”

  “Shit, there’s no such thing as hurrying in the fast lane.” He took a moment to stare at John and then slid from his chair. “I’m gonna take a piss, add a bit of class to the joint.”

  John let the air locked in his lungs ease back into the room. With a fresh chemical jolt kicking his adrenaline levels up he tightened his grip around the glass and forced the anger that was burning up through his chest back down to the pit of his stomach. There was no making it to the finish line if he started to lose control, even if a lack of control had become the story of his fucking life.

  “You know,” Rick announced as if he were about to reveal a secr
et, “I’ve got another source we can go through. Might even be a bit cheaper too. It’s a little further out of the city but I reckon they’ll be hot to trot right now if you want me to make a call.”

  John almost laughed out loud but managed to maintain a tough guy sneer. The last thing in the world he needed was for the plan to crumble at the last second over a logical but none the less stupid offer. He clenched his teeth, reached out and gave a quick slap on Rick’s shoulder.

  “I appreciate the offer, really I do, but this has already been sorted out. Anyway you know how it all goes. If this shit’s as good as it’s supposed to be then we can start moving towards some serious business. If it’s worth doin’ it’s worth waiting for.”

  Rick nodded slowly. “Just thought I’d offer as much, that’s all. And you’re right, this place is a fucking dump.”

  For a moment they sat in silence as the girl used the bar mirror to make sure her nose was clean. Suddenly the mobile came alive with the crappy audio of barking dogs. John felt blood surge up along his neck. Maybe, just maybe, things might be starting to work out. He watched as Rick answered in a low tone, barely speaking two words before placing it back down on the bar.

  “Well mate,” he said with a crocodile smile, “sounds like you’re in business. As soon as Angelo stops playing with his dick we can make a move.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” John laughed.

  Angelo appeared at the edge of the corridor that lead to the bathrooms and looked across the room. Even from a distance his bloodshot eyes almost seemed to be glowing. Rick, noticing his return, twisted in his chair and tapped the phone.

  “It’s on,” he stated. “Time to get going.”

  “Just a second,” Angelo replied with eyes scanning the shadow covered booths. Rick shook his head with knowing and began stuffing the phone and drug utensils into his jacket pocket as Angelo stepped up to one of the booths, his thick ink fingers rubbing the back of his neck. Seated either side of the graffiti stained table were two guys barely out of their teens, both junky skinny and both now forced to acknowledge the sudden presence at the edge of the booth. The glance they found was a gut twisting case study in the art of the silent promise of doom.

  Back at the bar John swallowed what was left of his drink, tapped the money in his pocket and traced the edge of his car keys. Then he turned and watched as Angelo placed both palms on the table and leaned forward. Great, he thought, just when my window of opportunity popped open. There was a scent that the young and vulnerable gave off, a scent that was easily picked up by sociopathic predators who found some form of entertainment in creating fear, and there was no doubt Angelo had picked up on it. John knew the sick dance that was inevitable, had seen it more times than any man should.

  At the booth, Angelo focussed in on the guy to his left. The kid had small scabs across the bottom of his chin where he’d picked at sores that may or may not have been there to start with, and a glass with barely a mouthful of beer left that was being nursed by his thin hands.

  “You got a reason to be eyeballing me and my friends?” Angelo demanded while leaning in even closer.

  “Na man, we’re just minding our own business. Nobody was eyeballing nobody.”

  “Bullshit. You and your fucking boyfriend here haven’t stopped watching since we got here. Best you tell me what your fucking problem is right now.”

  “Let ‘em go man,” Rick called out, “we got places to be.”

  “Hold tight,” Angelo yelled back before pointing a finger in the kid’s face. “Like I said, tell me what your fucking problem is before I lose my patience.”

  “No problem man, no problem at all. We’re just having a quiet drink is all.”

  “Stand up.”

  “What?”

  “I said stand up.”

  “Listen,” the kid stammered as his hands began to shake, “we don’t want any trouble okay? We just came here for a beer while we’re waiting to score.”

  “Well,” Angelo laughed, “I gave you the chance.” Quick as a snake’s tongue he grabbed the beer glass, smashed the top half against the table and struck with three quick slices across the kids cheeks. With the blood having barely enough time to begin to flow he grabbed the back of his hair and smashed his face down hard upon the table. Even the sudden cry of pain didn’t hide the sickening sound of his breaking nose. Seemingly happy with his performance Angelo laughed and took a step back, watching as the kid began to moan and crawl his way back against the wall with hands against his face. Across the table, his friend was as still as a statue.

  “You finished now?” Rick asked as though bored already.

  “Fucking junkies,” Angelo hissed, “they give the city a bad name.”

  John could taste bile at the back of his throat. There was a time, long gone now, when he wouldn’t have had a choice but to step in and stop the kid from having a real bad fucking day. Hell, taking down assholes like Angelo used to be one of the reasons he got out of bed in the mornings. Times had changed though, and now here he was forced to ignore the mess in the booth and smile as though the violence was nothing more than fun and games.

  “Okay let’s get rolling,” he announced while pulling the car keys from his front pocket. A quick final glance at the bar and he saw that the girl had now retreated against the far wall with eyes open wide. He doubted that she’d call the cops, but still the smart money was on getting the hell out of there.

  With a hard shove the front wooden door pushed open and they were instantly greeted with icy winds and relentless rain. Regardless of the fact that it was already late morning, the overhead sky was nothing but a deep black expanse of swirling cloud bands that shook with cracks of thunder. The winter was proving to be especially harsh, and John had just about run out of any tolerance for the bitter temperatures. If and when the season came to a close he was determined to somehow make it his last. For now though, there was nothing he could do to combat the chills that raced across the surface of his skin as he led his newfound friends across the water soaked road to where he’d parked the car.

  He unlocked the doors and they piled in as the wind rushed the interior. As quick as he could he started the engine and checked his mirror to see if he’d guessed wrong, watching for any flashing lights that could turn the day upside down. There was nothing but the falling rain and faint glow of the street lamps. He shifted into drive and headed into the storm.

  On the back seat Angelo wiped the water from his face. “Well that motherfucker’s in for a fun morning.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got anger issues?” Rick asked with a sneer.

  “It was just a bit of fun.”

  John pushed the wipers as fast as they could go and did his best to find the line. “You need to tell me where the hell I’m going.”

  “Take the next right,” Rick replied, “don’t worry I know the way.”

  John kept his hands firmly on the wheel and tried to ignore the bullshit banter as they made their way to the northern edge of the city. Slowly but surely the rain seemed to begin to ease, allowing him to increase his speed while being directed deep into the suburbs. Just as he was beginning to wonder if Rick actually knew where the fuck he was going he pointed to a large gated property that was nestled at the end of a dead end street. John parked up on the curb and switched off the engine. The sound of the rain hitting the windscreen grew louder.

  “Just be cool,” Rick offered, “cause these guys don’t fuck around.”

  “It’s all good,” John confirmed, brushing his hair back with his fingers.

  Together they stepped from the car and made their way to the towering front gates. On the brick wall to their right was a monitor and series of buttons, one of which Rick depressed for several seconds until a voice crackled through an unseen speaker.

  “Nobody’s home.”

  “It’s me,” Rick declared.

  After a brief pause that left them motionless beneath the cold rain the large steel gates unleashed a s
oft groan and began to open, slowly revealing a two storey home with a circular driveway housing several late model cars. There was a strange lack of trees or plants on the property, and where John expected lawn there was only slab after slab of polished concrete decorated with statues of creatures he couldn’t identify. Although the area was high end the aesthetics were cheap and nasty, a fact he found hardly surprising as he followed Rick and Angelo to the rear entrance.

  Stepping through a glass sliding door the first thing he noticed was the humidity. It took a second or two for his eyes to adjust. The entertainment area was huge, the centre piece an oval shaped heated pool that shimmered beneath rows of bright lights. On the wall to the right there was a large screen that showed two boxers doing their best to annihilate each other. On the left of the pool was a sofa that stretched the entire length of the room and was covered with tasteless cushions that appeared battered and stained even from where he was standing. He watched as a young girl dressed only in a pair of panties jumped from the offensive furniture and dived into the water, sending small waves to slap against the black mirrored tiles. Another two girls wearing next to nothing seemed content to lie back amongst the cushions, expressions of boredom doing little to hide their beauty. Beside them sat four sour faced men, three engrossed with the boxing match and one staring intently in John’s direction.

  “What’s going on fellas?” the man asked with a wave of a hand that appeared heavy thanks to the silver rings that covered each finger. “You look like drowned rats.”

  Rick stepped forward and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s pissing down out there in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “It’s been raining for three days now. I would’ve thought a smart man like you might have invested in a new invention called an umbrella.” He stood from the sofa and walked along the edge of the pool until close enough to extend a hand out to John. “I’m Max. You don’t need to know who the other guys are. And those are my girls. You don’t need to know who they are either.”