The Deepest Cut

by Conor Corderoy

  Finally, it stopped and the engine died. There was more murmured talk as she opened her eyes. She felt exhausted. All she wanted was to sleep—to sleep forever. The door to the Land Rover opened and Hook leaned in. He was there, smiling, with another guy. They helped her out and between them walked her across the pavement to the entrance to the building.

  Hook was saying, “You’re home now, Maria. You’re home. Everything is going to be fine now.”

  She said, “I desperately need to sleep.”

  He put an arm around her shoulder and supported her. “Don’t worry. We’re nearly there. We’ll pack you into bed and before you know it Murdoch will be back with you.”

  She leaned against him, struggling to stay awake. “When? When will he be here?”

  Hook stroked her head. “By tomorrow evening, he should be back. Here we are.”

  The elevator stopped and they half-carried her to the front door.

  Hook was gently patting her cheeks. “Stay with us a few minutes longer, Maria. Stay with us. We are nearly there.”

  He unlocked the door and they carried her through the darkened apartment to the bedroom. There, they took off her coat and her shoes and put her to bed. The guy with Hook stepped out and switched on the living room light. Maria saw it as a halo around Hook’s head as he smiled at her.

  “You are home safe now, Maria. You can go to sleep. Murdoch will be with you by tomorrow afternoon. The boys and I have to step out for a bit, but we’ll be back in a couple of hours. You’ll be fine. You’re safe now.”

  Then he, Tom and the other guy left, and Maria drifted into a deep sleep.

  * * * *

  Rinpoche watched the men step out of the building and climb into the Land Rover, which took off at speed toward the Gate. He felt a hot jolt of excitement in his gut. It was a new feeling and he liked it. He smiled and licked his lips. “What to do?” he said to himself. “What to do?”

  He stepped into the road and loped through the traffic. There was no one in the lobby and the elevator was still down and open. Rinpoche stepped in and punched the button. As the doors closed and the car began to rise, he thought of Joanna, trying to explain to them what she had felt with Murdoch—the insatiable appetite, the hunger for feeling in her skin. He wanted to know that feeling and saw himself in the room with Maria. She would be weak and vulnerable. She was dying. He thought of her eyes looking up at him, the heavy handle of the knife in his hand and the feeling of pushing the hard steel blade into her belly. It was nice. Maybe he would hold her close as she died and try to love her, as Joanna had begun to love Murdoch.

  It was a nice thought. He would enjoy that.

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. The passage was dark. He didn’t turn on the lights. He didn’t need to. The front door opened easily. He paused. He could hear that she was sleeping deeply. They had sedated her. They didn’t know how easy they had made it for him. She would wake up. Once the adrenaline kicked in, she would be wide awake.

  He closed the door behind him with a soft clunk. The apartment was very quiet. His night vision was superb, as was his hearing. He could hear her breathing in the bedroom. It was surprisingly heavy, but the sedatives would do that.

  The curtains in the drawing room were open, allowing light from the street below to filter in. He stood in the open bedroom doorway with a pale blue and amber glow of light behind him. He had the knife in his hand, and the large blade caught the light and reflected it. He stepped close to the bed, where he could see Maria’s bulk under the quilt. He was possessed suddenly by the desire to feel her skin against his, to kiss her lips and her pink nipples—to do those things that he had watched humans do. He scanned his body for a stirring, for a passion of excitement, but the burning in his belly died, even as he searched for it, and there was nothing.

  Only the rage of frustration and the desire to kill, to rip out her entrails and eat them, devour them whole, as he had with Eva and Sally, then silence her mouth and still her heart, as Joanna—Dr. Loss—had taught him to do. Rituals were important, she had said, to understand how humans feel. To reach rupa.

  He leaned down close to her hair and whispered, “Wake, Maria. Now it is time to die.”

  * * * *

  The Sig is an awesome weapon. I had enjoyed using it. But I am not a subtle, sophisticated man. I am a brute. I know it and I don’t care. My weapon was always the Smith & Wesson 29. It’s not a hand gun. It’s a canon. And, as Rinpoche pulled back the covers to reveal me lying in my bed where he expected Maria to be, that cannon blew his Golika balls clean off. He dropped the rose and the kitchen knife to the floor for the last time. He let out a strange, whistling whine then staggered back, away from the bed, clutching his groin. I flipped on the light and watched his skin turn gray and ripple, as it had before. Long, thin claws sprang from his fingertips and a strange fan tried to rise from his shoulder at the back of his neck, but he was weak and bleeding profusely. He dropped to his knees.

  I kneeled in front of him and looked him straight in the eye. I said, “You know what I did to Joanna? I’m going to do that to you.”

  He shook his head. “Get me to the Golden Apple in Mayfair.”

  I laughed, loudly. I said, “Really? Seriously?”

  He reached for me with his right hand. The claws were covered in thick blood. “They have facilities there. Don’t let me go, not yet.”

  He stared into my face, trying to make sense of what was happening, trying to give it a meaning.

  I helped him. I said, “I’ll do a deal with you, Rinpoche. Tell me where del Roble and Banks are, and I won’t kill you. I’ll even leave the phone so you can try to call your pals to come and take you back to the cabbage farm. How’s that?”

  He was nodding, still reaching for me. “They are at the Golden Apple. Please don’t let me bleed out. I am so close.” His pupils were dilating. “I felt excited today.”

  I stood looking down at him looking up and me, still reaching for me.

  “You, you and Maria, you stimulate feelings in me. Joanna felt the same. I was excited about killing her, Murdoch, for a moment…”

  I said, “Thanks for sharing, Rinpoche.” I picked up the phone from the bedside table and placed it next to him. I smiled in a way you could call humorless then said, “Be quick, Rinpoche. I think it’s time to die.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “No. You said… I have to get to…”

  I stood and stepped to the bedroom door. There I stopped. I looked back at him and said, “That’s fine by me, Rinpoche, but I think Pete and his friends have a different idea. What to do, huh?”

  As Pete pushed in with his guys, I put a hand on his shoulder. I said, “Remember, the brain. And clean up good afterward, okay?”

  He nodded. “Da.”

  I paused. “And Pete?”

  “What? I heff business…”

  I shook my head. “I never want to see you again. You understand?”

  He went serious, put a hand over my hand and nodded. “Okay, Murdoch. I will miss you but is okay. I agree.”

  I managed to get out of the building before the screaming started.

  Three hundred and forty miles away, in Edinburgh, Maria slept.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I stepped into the Golden Apple in Mayfair. I had showered and shaved then dressed in the kind of cream tuxedo Russell told me was vulgar, unless you’re in the tropics. I figured if Rick didn’t mind in Casablanca, why should I give a damn? The Golden Apple was on the ground floor of the Royale Palace Hotel. It was supposed to be the most expensive club in the UK. The idea was that by charging prices nobody would ever pay, it would attract billionaires who liked to pay ridiculous prices for things. To me, it looked like a club for self-indulgent narcissists who’d run out of thrills in their five-star Michelin lives. As I stepped through the door, I was thinking maybe I could help them with that.

  A guy dressed in a purple general’s uniform with more gold braid than Colonel Gaddafi bowed an
d asked me if I needed valet parking. I told him my chauffeur would pick me up and he bowed again and asked me to have an enjoyable evening. He made it sound like it meant a lot to him. I gave him fifty bucks just for being so good at being fake.

  I found the bar. The room was heaving with expensive people, and the mix of voices and music was deafening. There was an Australian kid in a purple waistcoat behind the bar. He leaned forward and shouted, asking me what it would be. I said it would be a Martini dry, and, for the hell of it, I told him to make it shaken, not stirred.

  While he was shaking it, I told him, “A friend of mine, a Russian guy called Yulian, said the Golden Apple had the sweetest dames in London. What do you think?”

  Like most young Aussies, he spoke in questions. “Personally? I think the sweetest chicks are Kiwis? But that depends what you’re looking for.” He poured the drink and dropped an olive in it. “If you’re looking for a wild night on the town, then maybe you need to talk to Salim? I’ve heard his girls will give you a night you’ll never forget. But he is exclusive and expensive, even by our standards?”

  “Yeah?” I sipped the Martini. It was good. “Expensive isn’t a problem. Where can I talk to Salim?”

  “Take a seat. I’ll see if he’s around.”

  Salim didn’t take long to show up. He was in an evening suit that Russell would have approved of. He sat next to me at the bar and selected a Balkan Sobrani from a gold cigarette case. I pulled a Camel from a cardboard one. He lit his with a gold Cartier. I lit mine with a brass Zippo. I felt glad I wasn’t him.

  He watched me a moment with expressionless black eyes and said, “You are a friend of Yulian’s?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. We’ve met. We were introduced by Russian Pete. You know him?”

  He nodded. “The billionaire club is a small one. I know Pete.”

  “I told him I was coming to London on business. He said Yulian could put me in touch with some girls who wouldn’t be worried by my…special tastes.”

  That made him smile. “Special tastes are expensive.”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “May I ask what line of business you are in, Mr.…?”

  That made me smile. “No, Salim, you may not. My name is Smith. John Smith. And what I do pays far too much for me to talk about it. Are you going to introduce me to some nice girls?” I held up my Amex Black and added, “I’d like to tell Pete you were very accommodating.”

  He spread his hands. “Any friend of Pete’s is a friend of mine. Please…”

  He gestured with his hands toward the back of the club. I followed him through the press of dancing, laughing bodies to a door padded in burgundy leather. He opened the door onto a silent stairwell with a burgundy carpet and wood-paneled walls. Nobody had frisked me yet, and I wondered if they would.

  We came to another leather-padded door at the top of the stairs and Salim punched a code into a pad by the jamb. I was either into the inner sanctum or I was dead.

  We went through to an elaborate, over-luxurious lounge, like something out of the Belle Époque in Paris. He closed the door behind us and pulled a tasseled cord.

  He said, “Drink, Mr. Smith?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve had a drink. I’d like to get down to business now.”

  An Asian woman in an expensive black cocktail dress came in from a passage at the end of the room. She smiled at me but didn’t say anything.

  Salim said, “Our purpose is to give you a night you will never forget, Mr. Smith. What, exactly, are you looking for?”

  I dropped the butt of my cigarette into an ashtray on an occasional table. I watched it smolder a moment and said, “I want a bitch I can slap around.” I watched her for some reaction. There was none, but she didn’t meet my eye. I said, “But I don’t want some dame who’s used to it and enjoys it. You understand me? Yulian told me you had new girls on a regular basis. I want a girl who’s never experienced this. I want to see real fear in her eyes.” I said all this to the woman, who was staring at the floor and smiling. I knew why she was smiling. She was going to be watching, and she liked the sound of the movie.

  Then I turned to Salim. “I’ve seen real fear, Salim. I know what it looks like. And I know a fake. Can you deliver?”

  He smiled. And, like the Asian woman’s, it was genuine. “Oh, yes, Mr. Smith, we can deliver.”

  The woman said, “Please follow me,” then led me down the corridor from which she had appeared. It was a dogleg with half a dozen doors. She led me to the last one. Just beyond it was another, smaller lounge. It was less luxurious, and there were two big guys with tattoos drinking beer from cans. They watched me go into the room. The Asian woman said to me, “Please wait. Your lady will be here in a moment.”

  The room was luxurious in a way Russell would call vulgar. It was all reds, purples and pinks—and over-stuffed. There was a big bed, a drinks cabinet and a bucket of ice with a bottle of Cristal in it. I poured myself a Scotch single malt and waited. After three minutes, the door opened and a pretty young girl stepped in. She was maybe twenty, blonde and slim, with a nice figure. She was wearing a white milkmaid blouse and tight jeans. She had a pearl choker around her neck. She seemed terrified, and it was real.

  I said, “Hi, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

  “Whatever you want it to be.” She was English, middle class. Up till a few weeks earlier, she had likely been naïve and young. Now she was old and scared. Her voice shook when she spoke.

  I said, “What did your mother call you?”

  She struggled a moment with her feelings and said, “Emma.”

  “Come here, Emma.”

  She stepped up to me. I took her face in my hands and kissed her gently on the lips. I felt her tremble and I buried my face in her neck, like I was kissing it, but I whispered to her, “Don’t react. You’re terrified. Stay terrified. I’m here to get you out. Play along…”

  I let her go and smiled at her. I said, “You like intense experiences, Emma?”

  She was trembling. She said, “Yes…if you want me to.”

  I laughed. “I am going to take you to heights of intensity you never dreamed possible.” I went to the drinks cabinet and poured her a whiskey. I handed it to her and said, “Drink it, babe. You’re going to need it.” She drank and I started kissing her neck again. “In a minute, I’m going to throw you on the bed, face down. Then I’m going to get on your back. I’m going to ask you questions. Scream like you’re terrified and in pain. And answer my questions in a whisper.”

  She was shaking like a leaf. She was having trouble breathing.

  I stepped back and shouted, “Are you deaf? Get on the fucking bed!” Before she could react, I grabbed her and hurled her onto it.

  She screamed and I climbed on her back, making like I was pounding her and slapping her head. I was giving the bastards a good show.

  I took a fistful of hair in my left hand and pressed my mouth to her ear. “How much muscle is there? Is it just the two guys, or are there more?”

  “Just the two…”

  I sat up, straddling her, and snarled, “Yeah, you like that, huh? You want it harder?”

  She squealed something and I bent down again like I was biting her shoulder and her neck. She thrashed and screamed like it hurt and I whispered, “How many of you?”

  She writhed and pounded the bed. Maybe it was the whiskey going to her head or maybe she was getting into the spirit of the game. She whispered while she thrashed, “Twelve of us.”

  “I need you to be strong, sweetheart.” Again I shouted, “Stop struggling, bitch!” I slipped my arm around her throat like I was choking her and put my lips to her ear. “When I go out of this room all hell is going to break loose. I need you to run, get the other girls and get the fuck out of here—through the lounge, down the stairs and out through the club. Run for your lives. There’ll be a van waiting for you outside.” I sat up and screamed, “Understand, bitch?”

  She screamed, “Yes! Yes!�
�

  I got off the bed, went to the door then wrenched it open. The two thugs glanced up.

  I strode toward them and, when I was three steps away, I bellowed, “Run! Run! Run!!”

  The first one was on his feet, appearing mad and confused. My instep connected with his balls and he stopped looking mad. He doubled up, making a weird keening noise. The other swung at me, but there was a coffee table in the way. I took his wrist, pulled and twisted hard then slammed my left forearm into the joint. I heard it crunch just before he screamed. As I pulled him across the table, I felt Emma running past me. The hulk tripped on the table and fell on his face. I stamped on the back of his neck and he stopped suffering.

  The other guy was staggering to his feet. He had a long knife in his hand. Unless you are really good at knives, they are not a good idea. I kicked him in the head and sent him halfway to gaga land. I bent and took the knife from his fingers, slipped in between the second and third vertebrae in his neck and sent him the rest of the way.

  It had taken a few seconds, but in that time, pandemonium had broken loose. Emma was running up and down the corridor screaming for the other girls. A handful were standing in the corridor looking lost, staring at me in horror. I counted five, plus Emma. Doors were opening and girls were peeking out, scared and confused.

  I was shouting, “Get out! Get out! Now! Run!”

  I made for the nearest door, wrenched it open and hauled the girl stumbling into the passage. I pushed her and sent her hurtling toward the lounge. “Get out! Get out!” I yanked open the next door.

  Emma was leading them toward the entrance and the last four girls came out and ran after them.

  I followed, shouting, “What the hell are you waiting for? Get out of here!”

  Then I saw Salim and the woman. She was pale and he had his hands to his head. I have a special ceramic knife I keep for occasions like this one. I reached down and slipped it out of the scabbard I had strapped to my calf.

  Salim was walking toward me, his hands held out, “What is this? What are you doing? What is going—?”