Chapter Seventeen: The Final Boss
Nicole paused for breath, unwrapped her bra from Kyle’s neck, and eased off his limp body. She tossed her underwear into a laundry basket, slipped into her kimono, and returned to the house. After brewing her bodyguards a pot of decaffeinated coffee with added milk, sugar and sleeping pills, Nicole ran a bath. She stripped naked, stepped into the tub, and soaked her body in freezing cold water. Her skin was still sweaty from the workout at Watts Inn, and she wanted to relax before making her final move.
When enough time had elapsed, Nicole rinsed her hair, drained the bathwater, and took a peek through the window. The FBI agents were all asleep in their cars. One white-haired man had collapsed against his young female partner. His head was nestled in her bosom, and he was in for a rude shock if she woke up first. Nicole smiled to herself, closed the window, and went back to the dojo. She changed into her biker’s outfit, unfastened Travis’ chains, and rolled him onto a polythene sheet she’d laid out beside her bed.
There was little chance of anyone finding the body, but to hamper future identification, Nicole sliced off Travis’ fingers with her katana, pulled out his teeth, and disfigured his face with corrosive acid. She wrapped the plastic sheet around his corpse, taped the sections together with duct tape, and sealed the ends. The killer dragged her victim into the garden. She lifted a pre-cut section of turf, grabbed Toshigi’s statue by its arms, and shoved the stone figure aside. Nicole had dug a grave in her own backyard. Kyle, Lakeysia and dozens of brain dead cops had walked within inches of the burial site and suspected nothing.
Travis’ remains weren’t the first she’d buried in the hole. Lenora’s scarred face was visible through another polythene sheet, her dead pupils reflecting the moonlight. A bruised depression around her neck indicated where Nicole had strangled her with the controller cord. The redhead had been dead two weeks, and was starting to decompose. Earthworms had found their way into her shroud. The slimy creatures slithered across Lenora’s naked body, scattering dried blood flakes from her fingerless knuckles.
Nicole flipped Travis’ corpse into the grave. He landed beside Lenora with a squelch, sinking into the soft mud. As the killer replaced the statue and turf, she reflected on the irony. Travis would share his final resting spot with a beautiful woman, while Toshigi danced on Lenora’s grave. Nicole could view the rotten bodies whenever she liked, but the cops were doomed to hunt their missing suspect forever. The only person who truly suspected Nicole was Detective Symons, and she would pass away later tonight.
Nicole returned to the dojo, made her bed, and glued the broken post back together, removing all traces of Travis’ presence. She walked round to the front garage, and got behind the wheel of the family minivan. Toshigi’s backup transportation was a shiny red luxury wagon fitted with four-wheel drive, a portable videophone, GPS guidance system and - most importantly - tinted windscreens. The SUV lacked the speed and acceleration of Nicole’s corvette, but her father’s obsession with privacy was a distinct advantage. Her face had been well publicized since Toshigi’s death, and she didn’t want to attract attention.
The killer drove from Pacific Heights to the downtown parking space where she’d ditched her motorcycle the night before. Nicole opened the glove compartment, removed her syringe and poison, and taped them to her knee. She swapped vehicles, put on her crash helmet, and headed for Adamson General Hospital. Since Travis had been kind enough to show her, Nicole knew exactly where to find Lakeysia: ward 19F, in the intensive care section.
Nicole had intended to slice the bitch’s head off outside Iris’ apartment, but she’d been surprised and thwarted by the detective’s agility. It was too bad Lakeysia was incapacitated. She had more skill, intelligence and combat prowess than all the other victims combined, and would have made an excellent final opponent.
***
Nicole rode into the hospital parking lot, switched off her motorcycle engine, and thought up a plan. There was still the matter of the police guard outside Lakeysia’s ward. The eastern sky was pale blue, and the first rays of morning light shone on the emergency wing. It was the final hour of the night shift, the perfect time to strike. The police would be tired and ready to go home. All Nicole needed was some way to move around the hospital undetected.
Then the solution presented itself. A female surgeon walked to her parked car. She was dressed in a thick cloak, with a stethoscope tube partially visible behind her collar. The Asian woman was average in height and build, but her hospital uniform was about Nicole’s size. A signpost cast a long shadow over the killer’s motorcycle, keeping her hidden.
Nicole waited for the surgeon to unlock her car door, then crept up behind her back, and wrapped one arm around the slender girl’s throat. The surgeon reached into her purse while stamping at Nicole’s toes with her boot heels. Her moves were amateur self-defense techniques, pitifully easy to dodge.
The woman pulled out a can of mace, and sprayed it blindly over her shoulder. Liquid trickled harmlessly down Nicole’s helmet visor. The killer tightened her neck lock, and lifted the surgeon off the ground. Her prisoner kicked at her ankles, choking as Nicole crushed her windpipe.
“You’re the one who’ll be needing surgery, doctor,” the killer taunted her. “Dead on arrival.”
Nicole broke the surgeon’s neck, dumped her body inside the car, and shut the door. She replaced her leather outfit with the woman’s green hospital gown. The sleeves stopped at Nicole’s forearms, and the trousers were tight around her waist, but she couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Nicole transferred the syringe and test tube to her gown pocket, placed the stethoscope around her collar, and rifled through the woman’s cloak. When she’d found the rest of the uniform, she tucked her hair inside the elastic rimmed cap, and secured the facemask over her mouth.
The disguise proved to be a wise choice. Nicole was able to wander the hospital corridors unobstructed. The world-class medical facility was a brand new addition to the San Francisco suburbs, with beds for two thousand patients, and hundreds of doctors and nurses on the payroll. Intensive care staff were busy saving other peoples’ lives, and to security officers Nicole was just another Asian surgeon employed at Adamson General. Any discrepancy between her face and the ID card’s picture was hidden by the face mask. Her tight-fitting gown might have tipped off an observant guard, but at this hour the night watchmen walked around half asleep.
All the white walled passages looked alike. Thankfully there were plenty of signs throughout the labyrinthine maze of operating theaters, doctor’s offices and storerooms. Nicole followed the clearly marked directions to ward 19F. The baggy eyed cop outside Lakeysia’s room yawned, itched his chin, and frequently looked at his watch. He seemed more bothered about counting down the remaining seconds than watching the corridor.
Nicole slipped on a pair of clear surgical gloves, stabbed the hypodermic needle into her tube’s cork, and filled the syringe with household bleach. She concealed the weapon behind her back, following three masked surgeons towards Lakeysia’s ward. After they’d passed the cop, Nicole broke from the pack, charged him, and thrust the needle into his neck. She pressed the plunger hard, injecting the poisonous, blue liquid into his bloodstream.
Before her victim could cry out, Nicole clamped her hand over his mouth. She hooked her knee over the handle of his pistol, preventing him from drawing his gun. The policeman stared after the surgeons, but they never looked back. Nicole turned the door handle and pushed the cop into Lakeysia’s room. He collapsed to the floor, convulsing as the poison took effect. The man clutched his throat and belched up blue saliva. As he died. Nicole closed the door, pulled out her syringe, and refilled it with bleach.
Lakeysia’s eyes were open. The detective was still on a respirator, but appeared to be in a more stable condition. Most of the blood drips had been removed, and indicators recorded a slow, steady heartbeat. Her monitoring system was automated. No doctors were on duty in the neighboring observation room. Nic
ole had Lakeysia all to herself. She lowered her mask, sat down on the bed, and held the syringe needle against the policewoman’s neck.
“How are you doing, Lakeysia?” asked Nicole.
Lakeysia’s pulse rate rose, becoming erratic. Nicole could sense the woman’s fear. She breathed rapidly, water vapor condensing inside her respirator.
Nicole squeezed the oxygen tube, and watched Lakeysia’s eyes widen as she suffocated. “Are you having trouble breathing, Detective Symons? Some fresh air should help clear your throat.” She released the tube, pulled the oxygen mask away from Lakeysia’s mouth, and set it against her chest. “Remember me?”
Lakeysia coughed in her face. “Of course. How could I forget a psycho as ugly as you?”
Nicole clamped her hand around Lakeysia’s neck, and squeezed her windpipe. The heart rate monitor beeped faster, showing a series of sharp spikes.
“Not so quick footed now, are you?” said Nicole. She pressed her syringe until Lakeysia’s skin turned white around the needle. “I’ll give credit where it’s due. You’re pretty intelligent for a cop. You even suspected me. How did you know?”
Nicole released her hand so the detective could speak freely. Lakeysia grinned then replied, “Any woman who wants to sleep with Kyle Travis has to be one hell of a crazy bitch. That’s pretty conclusive in my book.”
“I did more than sleep with him. Do you know what happens when you choke a man during intercourse? You should try it someday. It’s quite exhilarating. Your partner’s resting right now. Apparently, the stress was too much for him to bear. He died on the job, like a true hero.”
Lakeysia’s head sunk into her pillow. “Want to volunteer to be the one who gets choked?”
“You don’t like me very much, do you Detective?” said Nicole, tapping the syringe plunger. “But there is a mutual respect between us. We’re equal in so many ways, yet enemies on the playing field. Without us, it wouldn’t be much of a game at all. The others were minor characters. Grunts and mini bosses, but you’re much more important. The final boss, all that stands between me and victory.”
“Nice to be appreciated,” grunted Lakeysia. “But I’d suggest you check your wiring, webmistress. Think you got your memory circuits crossed.” She was the only one smiling at her comments. “That or its loose somewhere. So you know. Point one, I don’t subscribe to the serial killer fan club. Point two, respect. A black girl who goes round pretending she’s white don’t get much where I’m from. Point three, we ain’t at all equal. I’m a police officer, you’re a sick wacko. And the rest of your game lingo was pure, refined gibberish, honey. Do I look like some great adversary to you?”
“No,” replied Nicole, suppressing a chuckle. She flicked the syringe so the bleach sloshed inside. “You look like a dirty bitch who should wash her mouth out. Don’t have soap and water, so cleaning fluid will have to do.”
Nicole squeezed Lakeysia’s cheeks to force open her mouth, held the syringe between her lips, and lightly pressed the plunger. Bleach trickled slowly down the needle. A droplet formed on the tip, growing larger until it fell onto Lakeysia’s tongue.
“Purely out of interest, do you support the death penalty?” Nicole asked her.
“Not if the judge is a lunatic,” Lakeysia said, coughing violently.
Nicole grabbed the detective’s chin and stared into her eyes. “In your case, I’m judge, jury and executioner, but you haven’t answered my question.”
“What does it matter? I’ll be long dead and cremated by the time they put your ass in the gas chamber.”
“Ah, but they won’t,” gloated Nicole. “Thanks to your brilliant detective work, everyone thinks Lenora’s the killer. They’ll find her body when it’s convenient, and then Jade Dragon will become a modern day legend. The greatest murderer in history, the woman nobody could catch. Oh, by the way, Randall had a little boating accident last night. Which means I gain sole control over my father’s company and all those profits. As videogame haters will tell you, there’s nothing like controversy to increase sales.”
Nicole rotated her syringe, smiled, and pressed her thumb against the plunger in readiness. “I’ve won and you’ve lost. I want that to be your dying thought.”
Lakeysia grabbed the needle, holding the syringe at bay. It was the first sign of resistance Nicole had seen since their skirmish outside Paradise Grove.
“So you’ve decided to go down fighting,” Nicole said. “Do you have any final requests?”
Lakeysia forced the syringe aside. The detective’s renewed strength caught Nicole off guard. “Played a few videogames myself when I was your age,” Lakeysia said. “Until I realized they were for kids. Always thought they were kind of crappy. Why shoot blocky yellow alien spaceships when I got a flesh and blood psycho in my sights?”
Lakeysia threw back her bed cover, exposing a telephone. Its receiver was off the hook. The wire coiled under the detective’s body, through the bedspread, and into a wall socket. The number she’d called flashed on the display screen: 911.
Lakeysia had exaggerated her injuries while she stalled for time. “Anyone ever tell you talk too much, Nicole?” she jibed. “Psychos can never resist telling people how clever they are, and here I was thinking you were smarter than the average wacko. See? No gun. Don’t think the feds trusted me to take your ass alive. Could be the first smart thing I seen them do.”
A powerful searchlight beam passed over the window, illuminating Nicole and Lakeysia in brilliant white. An FBI helicopter hovered in the glare, its rotor noise quietened to a faint hum by the double glazed glass. Two agents armed with carbine rifles sat in the chopper’s cargo bay, targeting Nicole with laser sights. A third man behind trained a sniper rifle on her head. More agents stormed the room, covering the only exit. The four-person team was equipped with Special Forces weaponry, full body armor and visored riot helmets.
Their leader stepped forward, and aimed his pistol at Nicole’s back. “Agent Baker, FBI,” he identified himself. “Nice, detailed confession. Thanks to Symons’ call, we got it all on tape. Now put on the needle on the floor.” Baker flipped out when Nicole didn’t move. “Did you hear me bitch? Drop the syringe now!”
Nicole maintained her position, grabbed Lakeysia’s hair, and tightened her hold on the syringe. “You want to save your friend? I suggest you drop your weapon.” She nodded towards the dead cop. “Bleach doesn’t mix very well with blood.”
“He’s not one of my men.” Baker stepped over the body, and pressed his gun into Nicole’s neck. “I never seen this woman before, and I’m not best pals with Detective Travis. So I don’t care about your hostages, only you. This is the way it plays out. Symons lives, I’m a hero. She dies, and I’m still a hero. As for you, I can either slam you in jail or nail your coffin. Which would you prefer?”
“Feds aren’t the smartest people on the planet, Nicole,” Lakeysia told her. “But he’s right on this one. He don’t care if I die, so you got no leverage. Way I see it, there’s three possible endings to your game.”
“And they are?”
“Well, let’s see. You kill me, he kills you. Or you can drop the needle and get convicted on multiple murder charges. They put you on death row. You meet some new cellmates. Then we don’t mind if you snap your friends’ necks. Saves us paying for gas and electricity. And since you know your kung fu shit, you might die of old age. Wouldn’t bet on it, but you got a chance.”
Baker wasn’t listening to Lakeysia’s monologue. “Drop the needle!” he screamed in Nicole’s ear. “Now!”
“What’s the third ending?” asked Nicole.
Lakeysia grinned then replied, “They declare you criminally insane, which I’m confident they will. Then you get to discuss games design with a bunch of fellow lunatics.”
“I won’t ask again. Drop the needle.” Baker had exhausted his tired and limited vocabulary.
Nicole placed the syringe on the bed. “Someone has to tell my story, and it might as well be Detective Symon
s. She’s the smartest person here besides me. Do you play games, Mister Baker?”
“It’s Agent Baker,” he corrected her, reaching for his handcuffs. “And no, I don’t indulge the whims of mass murderers.”
“That’s too bad,” said Nicole, eyeing the syringe. She lifted her heels, and studied the FBI agents’ shadows on the wall. “Because if you did, you’d know that games always end with the final boss exploding in a hail of bullets, followed by a setup for a sequel.”
Lakeysia spotted the evil glint in Nicole’s eye. “Baker!” she yelled. “Shoot her!”
Nicole leapt sideways, spun, and kicked the gun from Baker’s hand. As his eyes followed the flying weapon, Nicole grabbed her syringe, rammed the needle into his unprotected thigh, and injected the bleach. Baker staggered back, clutching the glass tube. His agonized screams brought a swift end to the standoff.
The agents opened fire, ripping Lakeysia’s duvet to shreds. Nicole dived for the gun. A rifle round passed through her knee, and a second through her shoulder. She rolled under the bed, ignoring the intense pain as she pulled the sheet across the gap. Nicole grabbed the corner pole, and dragged her body out from cover, blasting the FBI agents’ kneecaps before they had chance to return fire. Baker’s team kept their rifle triggers pressed, indiscriminately spraying the room with bullets. Holes perforated the walls and ceiling. Equipment exploded in sparks and monitor screens shattered. Somehow Lakeysia survived.
Nicole plucked the empty syringe from Baker’s lifeless body, staggered to the bedside, and raised the needle. All the windowpanes shattered as the chopper squad let rip. The FBI sniper shot Nicole in the back, narrowly missing her heart. The bullet emerged from her chest, clipping Lakeysia’s hair. Yet again, Lady Luck was on the detective’s side.
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