Poison City

by Paul Crilley

  ‘Clearly identified yourself?’ Armitage steps forward until she’s right in his face. ‘You and your lapdogs attacked us. Without any warning. In fact, I’ll be laying charges against you!’

  ‘You’re more than welcome to do so. But in the meantime you and Tau need to come with us. Arrest her.’

  One of his men steps forward and slaps a pair of cuffs on Armitage. While he’s doing this she looks involuntarily up at our floor. The SSA guy follows her gaze.

  We lock eyes.

  Oh, shit.

  ‘There!’ shouts the spook, pointing up at me. ‘Get him!’

  I run back into the room. Parker sees my face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Last night. I killed a few SSA agents. I’m wanted for murder.’

  Parker doesn’t ask questions. Just unplugs Caitlyn’s phone and tosses it to me. I dart around my desk to the police computer I was working on. I quickly scroll to the SMS messages and log into the National Police Database, typing in the code for number retrievals.

  It takes a while. Our computers are ancient. I think they still operate on some version of DOS software. Supposedly unhackable. Great for security, but really crap for me.

  I glance at Parker while I’m waiting. ‘Get out of here. Stay by the phone. If I get out of here I’ll be in touch.’

  She doesn’t hesitate, but heads straight for the door.

  ‘Not the elevator!’ I call out.

  ‘Got it!’ Her voice trails back into the room as she sprints off around the curve of the wall in the opposite direction, heading for the stairs on the far side of the silo.

  I chew my lip while I wait for the computer to do its thing. The passing of RICA – the Regulation of Interception of Communications and Provision of Communication-Related Information Act – made our jobs a whole hell of a lot easier. Everyone who buys a cell phone nowadays has to register the number against their personal ID number. Sure, it’s easy enough to fake it – false documents, fake ID books, that kind of thing – but I’m hoping our mark didn’t feel the need to do any of that.

  Jesus. This is taking too long. I dart out the room, lean out over the balcony. The elevator is only two floors down. I can see SSA guy staring up at me through the glass.

  I run back into the room.

  The information is waiting for me.

  The guy who sent the SMS messages is Menzi Dumelo.

  M.D. The initials from Caitlyn Long’s calendar.

  ‘Got you.’

  I memorize his address and sprint from the room. I run in the opposite direction from Parker, not wanting to draw them after her. This takes me right past the elevator. I hear it bing as I sprint past. The doors start to open and I duck inside the closest room, watching through a crack in the door as the SSA spooks burst out of the lift and run towards the operations room, weapons drawn.

  I wait for them to line up against the wall outside the office, then slip out and carry on running. I arrive at the stairwell at the exact moment they realise I’m not in the room.

  ‘There!’

  I don’t wait to see if they’re pointing at me, but take the stairs three at a time, yanking myself around the corners of the stairwell.

  -Dog? Get to the Land Rover.-

  -Yeah, ’cause I can’t think for myself and have absolutely no survival instinct. I’m already here. Hurry up.-

  I hear the door slam open above me. Gunfire erupts in the stairwell, echoing back and forth. A bullet ricochets against the handrail. I snatch my hand away and glance up. The SSA dude is peering down at me. I jerk back as he fires again. Sparks burst from the metal.

  Down the last few floors and into the parking garage. I pull the fire axe from its mount and jam it between the door and the wall.

  I sprint for my parking bay, stumble to a surprised halt when I see Armitage waiting for me.

  ‘How the hell did you get away?’ I ask, fumbling for my keys.

  She holds up her wrists. The cuffs are still there, but the chain between them is broken. ‘Being a revenant gives me a bit of a strength upgrade, remember?’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  I pull open the door and unlock the passenger side just as the spooks burst out of a second stairwell. I ram my foot down on the gas and the Land Rover lurches forward. Bullets slam into the door. One flies right past my stomach and hits the dashboard. Armitage leans over and grabs the steering wheel, giving it a violent yank so the Rover veers straight towards the agents.

  They dive out of the way and she screams out the window, ‘Bastards!’ before we hit the ramp with a burst of sparks and then emerge into daylight.

  An hour or so later, Armitage stares out the window into the traffic. ‘So? What now, bright spark?’

  I didn’t like her tone. ‘This isn’t my fault.’

  ‘Well, I certainly didn’t shoot the SSA agents, did I?’

  I frown, open my mouth to argue. She sees this and smiles slightly. ‘Relax, pet. I’m not blaming you.’

  We pause at a red light. ‘The question remains, though. We don’t have access to any of our normal resources. Plus, we’re wanted criminals now. Going to be hard to get any solid police work done.’

  She’s right. This case has gotten messy – messier, I should say. The SSA are bad news. Sure, the CIA have a bad rep, but in this country it’s worse. There’s no public accountability here. The SSA is as corrupt as they come, a self-serving agency more concerned with enriching themselves and doing the bidding of powerful politicians than actually protecting the country.

  Which leads to the question – why are they after us?

  Armitage turns to look at me. ‘Do you think the SSA know about the sin-eaters? Are they investigating them? Are we stepping on their toes?’

  I shake my head. I highly doubt that’s the reason. Even if they were investigating sin-eaters, that wouldn’t justify trying to kill us.

  I have a sick feeling in my stomach, because the only reason I can come up with for the SSA wanting to take us out is that someone very high up doesn’t want us investigating this case.

  Who, though?

  It’s late afternoon and we decide to hole up in a Wimpy at a truck stop on the N2. We still have a few hours to kill before the sin-eater was supposed to be at Menzi Dumelo’s house and we don’t want to turn up early.

  The dog is still out in the car, much to his annoyance. No animals allowed. I order a cheeseburger and coffee. Armitage doesn’t order anything.

  ‘On account of me not getting a chance to talk to Jaeger about fixing this bloody hole in my chest. Don’t think the kiddies will enjoy their food if they see chewed up french fries slipping out of my wound.’

  I grimace.

  ‘I seem to recall,’ says a voice from the booth behind us, ‘asking you – very politely I might add – to stay away from all this.’

  I peer over the divider and find the archangel Michael sitting on the red vinyl bench, a half-finished Bar One milkshake in front of him.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asks Armitage, who’s too short to see over the divider.

  ‘Michael,’ I say.

  ‘Michael who?’

  ‘You remember? The angel? Tried to put the frighteners on us.’

  Michael’s perfect eyebrows rise up. ‘You mean I did not succeed in making my wishes clear?’

  ‘You did,’ I say. ‘But there’s not much we can do about it when people are dropping dead around us. It’s our job to investigate.’

  Michael rises to his feet. Armitage nods a greeting at him.

  ‘All right there? I meant to ask you the other day – did it hurt?’

  Michael looks momentarily confused. ‘Did what hurt?’

  ‘When you fell from Heaven?’

  ‘I did not fall from Heaven. That would make me one of Lucifer’s demons. I do not understand what you’re saying.’

  ‘Aye, I can see that. Lighten up, Golden Boy. You’ll live longer.’

  I stifle a grin. Probably not the best move to laugh at God
’s chief enforcer and muscle man. He might get weird about it.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Seeing as you’re here, why don’t you tell us what you know about all this.’

  ‘Why would I do that? I am here to warn you away from it.’

  ‘Not really working though, is it? Just tell us – why are you so interested in sin-eater deaths?’

  Michael doesn’t answer straight away. His face is expressionless, but I get the impression he’s trying to stop himself from smiting us where we sit.

  ‘Who said anything about sin-eaters?’ he finally asks.

  ‘Come on, fancy man,’ says Armitage. ‘Give us some credit. We’re investigators. It’s our job to find this stuff out.’

  ‘I do not know anything about sin-eaters.’

  ‘Then why are you warning us off? Is it because of Lilith?’

  Another silence.

  I laugh. ‘You didn’t know Lilith was responsible for this, did you? She’s one of your lot, isn’t she?’

  ‘She is not “one of our lot”. She was expelled from the grace of God’s presence a long time ago.’

  I sip my coffee. I’m enjoying this. ‘Yeah, she’s not really happy with that. Has a few choice words to say about you and your god.’

  ‘Your god, too.’

  ‘Not mine, mate,’ I say coldly. ‘Never was.’

  ‘He created you. Created this world.’

  ‘So you say. I know a few orisha who’d argue with you, though. Reckon some of them have been around longer than the big man.’

  ‘You will go to hell for speaking this way, Gideon Tau.’

  ‘If breaking your list of ten commandments is all it takes, I was all set for hell when I shoplifted a Kit-Kat when I was eight. Now, you going to help us with this case? It’s probably in your best interests.’

  ‘There is nothing I can tell you that will help.’

  ‘No? What about the first sin? Can you tell us anything about that?’

  Michael surges forward. He grabs me, lifts me from the table. I slap at his hands, but his grip is like stone.

  ‘Where did you hear those words?’ he says softly.

  ‘The ramanga. The one who got killed. Why? What does it mean?’

  Michael leans close to me. I’m looking directly into his eyes. I thought they were black but I can see stars in there, the unimaginable gulf of galaxies. ‘This is your last warning, human. Step away or die.’

  Somehow Armitage manages to slide between us. ‘Hey, come on now. You’re frightening the bairns.’

  Michael bares his teeth and drops me. He backs up a step, looks around. The other patrons stare at us in shock.

  ‘Heed my words. I do not want to see either of you again.’

  He whirls around, his trench coat flaring out, and strides out of the Wimpy, slamming the glass doors behind him. Armitage looks around, then flashes her ID.

  ‘It’s all right. We’re police.’

  I’m not sure that reassures them.

  I call the waitress over and gesture at my food. ‘Can I get this to go?’

  Chapter 14

  Menzi Dumelo’s house is in the upmarket Durban suburb known as Morningside. The houses on the street all have multi-acre, well-manicured gardens, their six-feet high walls stamped with the logos of private security companies.

  One house had even put a picture frame around the security company sign. Not sure if the person living there really liked their security or if it was just an aesthetic thing, though. Watch, everybody will be doing it soon.

  We park across the street and watch the house. It’s seven o’clock, an hour before Caitlyn Long was supposed to turn up.

  We wait for half an hour, but nothing interesting happens. There are lights on in the ground-floor windows, but we haven’t seen anyone moving around inside.

  I screw the suppressor onto the barrel of my Glock and glance at Armitage. ‘You ready?’

  ‘’Course I am.’

  ‘Can I come?’ asks the dog.

  ‘As long as you promise to be good.’

  ‘Mmm . . . no,’ says the dog. ‘Can’t do that.’

  I sigh. ‘Fine. Just don’t piss on anything.’

  ‘Can’t promise that either.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I snap, pushing the door open. ‘Do what you want then!’

  We climb out the car. The sun has set by this time, dusk creeping in towards night. We cross the empty street and I throw the dog blanket from the car over the metal spikes on the wall.

  Armitage goes first. I help her over, pushing her up from the bottom in a manner that is not very dignified. She’s not the most . . . athletic of shapes, and while turning into a revenant might have given her super strength, it didn’t do much for her agility.

  I pass the dog up to her and she unceremoniously drops him over the other side. I hear his muffled complaining and follow after.

  The garden is immaculate, flower beds weeded and discreetly lit with hidden lights. Crickets chirrup in the bushes. A bullfrog croaks from somewhere on the other side of the house.

  ‘Should we knock?’ asks Armitage as we approach the front door.

  I shake my head. ‘Whoever this guy is I want to catch him in flagrante delicto.’

  I try the door and am a bit shocked to find it unlocked. This is South Africa. Nobody leaves their doors unlocked.

  I push it gently open, revealing a warmly lit entrance hall. Tasteful paintings line the walls, expensive throw rugs cover the Italian tiles. We step inside. A set of stairs leads up to the second floor and a wide arch to our left opens into the sitting room.

  We go left. Deserted. A white leather lounge suite, a wooden coffee table. Massive LCD television mounted on the wall.

  There’s a drinks table beneath the window. I pull the curtains closed and pour myself a whisky. I hold up the bottle to Armitage but she shakes her head. She’s frowning, looking around uneasily.

  The dog trots in from the entrance hall. ‘Nobody upstairs.’

  We check the kitchen. Nothing. Just a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue sitting on the worktop. No dishes in the sink. No coffee-stained mugs lying around.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ says Armitage. ‘Why set up a meeting with Long if he’s not here?’

  ‘Maybe Lilith came for Dumelo as well?’

  ‘Why? He’s not a sin-eater. And where’s the body? Lilith and her crew have never bothered with cleaning up before.’

  I look around in frustration. I need this guy to be here. He’s my only lead on the sin-eaters and their possible link with Cally’s death. I track back over the evidence in my mind, looking for something we’ve missed. Another route to take. But there’s nothing. We hadn’t managed to trace Long’s bank account details before the SSA came calling.

  Maybe we could call Parker, get her to check up on it. There might be something there we can use . . .

  A clunking sound comes from a door to our right.

  We turn just as the door opens and a man enters the kitchen, covered head to toe in blood. He stops abruptly when he sees us.

  ‘You’re not her. Where is my sin-eater?’ He giggles. ‘I have a feast for her. So many sins.’ His eyes take on a haunted look. He glances nervously over his shoulder, where I can see a set of concrete stairs leading downward. ‘I think I’d really like to see my sin-eater now,’ he says, in much the same tone of voice as one would say, ‘I’d really like to see my lawyer now.’

  I grab him and shove him through to the lounge while Armitage draws her weapon and heads slowly down the stairs. I push Dumelo roughly into a chair.

  He stares into space, twitching slightly. ‘I’d like to see Miss Long now,’ he whispers. He nods vigorously. ‘Yes, I really think that’s the best thing right now. For everyone concerned.’

  He tries to get up but I hold him down. He frowns, blinks, and finally focuses on me. ‘Who are you?’

  I hear a noise behind me and turn to see Armitage rushing towards us, her gun aimed directly at Dumelo. I grab her arm and sho
ve it to the side. The silenced gun goes off with a muted, airy thud and hits the wall. Armitage fights me, trying to force it back towards Dumelo.

  ‘Bastard!’ she shouts. ‘You sick bastard!’

  Dumelo curls his feet up beneath him on the couch, shaking his head. ‘No, no. Not me. Miss Long says I’m not sick. It’s perfectly normal behaviour, she says. Always fine.’

  ‘Armitage! Hey – boss! Look at me!’

  Armitage tears her gaze away from Dumelo. I’ve never seen her this angry before.

  ‘What is it? Talk to me.’

  ‘Go look for yourself.’

  I hesitate. ‘I think it’s better if we all go.’ I don’t trust her not to put a bullet in Dumelo as soon as I turn my back.

  Her jaw tightens. She grabs Dumelo by the back of the neck and yanks him from the couch. ‘Move.’

  She shoves him into the kitchen. As soon as he sees the door, he skids to a stop.

  ‘No, no. I can’t go in there. Miss Long will sort it out. She always does. She’s a magician, you see. She makes everything go away.’

  Armitage pushes him and he stumbles through the door. He slips on the blood and tumbles down the steps with a cry of pain.

  I put my hand on Armitage’s arm. ‘Easy!’

  She shakes me off. ‘Don’t tell me to go easy. Go look. Go look for yourself.’

  Our stares lock for a second. I don’t want to look. Whatever it is I’m going to find I don’t want to see it.

  I tear my gaze away, look to the concrete steps. Bloody footprints stain the concrete, new and old. So many that the steps are almost black.

  I head down into a cellar, trying futilely to avoid stepping in the blood. No point. Impossible. I note the walls first, padded. Soundproofed. There is music playing. Softly. A Disney song, I think. That famous one from the movie about the ice princess. The words accompany me as I descend past the level of the ground floor, the basement slowly coming into view.

  Overhead strip lights illuminate everything in a harsh, surgical glare. Metal benches, tables, all spattered with pooled blood. The smell of iron and tin. Sweat and fear. Faeces and urine.