When Graveyards Yawn

by G. Wells Taylor

  Adrian was out of Blacktime. Standing, his corpse took the withering blast in the abdomen. Bones and blood burst in a wide upward gash, the body toppled back, the hole in his chest ate into his face. The heavy caliber bullets pushed him as they tore him apart. Then he was gone. His body slammed into the window and out. There was a great crash, nothing more. Then dark smoke from the penthouse battle rolled in the door and filled the room.

  "Fuck!" barked Willieboy. He shook the machinegun. "Fuck!" he roared as he spun and let a blast go at the door. "Wildclown! Move that fucking dresser and overturn that mattress on it. Quick!"

  I was still bleeding from the bullet wound in my shoulder, so I was a little slow. Willieboy kicked at me as I climbed to my feet. "Hurry, we're running out of time!"

  My arms were leaden as I pushed the large oak dresser near the bed. I idly looked out the shattered window and thought of Adrian one hundred floors below--smashed to sleep now, beyond any worldly cares. I envied him as I pushed the dresser, felt my head throb against the weight. I heard Willieboy yell "Fuck!" again, when a tear gas canister thumped and rattled into the room. Still firing, he dropped to one knee, grabbed it and threw it out again. He thrust his steaming hand into his armpit, face twisting with pain.

  With what seemed the last of my strength, I upended the mattress against the dresser, then the box spring. I collapsed into the rectangle formed by the body of the bed. I heard Willieboy yell again, then felt him thump into place beside me. Despite the extremity of the situation, he smiled. A few bullets whizzed overhead and knocked out pieces of glass--began to eat into the mattress with harsh chuffing sounds. Willieboy pulled his transceiver out of his pocket turned it on, then smiled at me again. "I'd cover your ears if I were you."

  He barked orders into the device, then dropped it to cover his own.

  There was the sudden faraway thudding of a helicopter. I was wrong. They were just out of the way sounds. It must have been waiting high above Galaxy Tower, hidden in the clouds. A large Authority Attack Helicopter appeared at the window. It looked like an armament show with helicopter blades. Its long black fuselage shone dully in the overcast light. The flying weapon dropped enough to center its cannons on the broken windows. All its killing power was pointed into the penthouse.

  I looked over at Willieboy. He still smiled, though there was a definite tension in his black eyes. "The stakes are high!" he bellowed. The helicopter's machineguns roared. The walls around us vanished. The ceiling overhead was chewed to pieces in the blink of an eye. Then followed the heavy gut sickening concussion of missile launchers. Fire exploded all around us, I felt the floor come up and kick me in the head. Incredible light blinded me. Another roar and I knew no more.

  Chapter 59

  I smelled creosote, or cordite, or gasoline. At first I thought it was in the air, then realized the smell was coming from me. I was still in Tommy so had to bend my neck to look down. My coveralls were burnt and charred. The blood on them had been baked black. My left arm was useless. I couldn't get it to bend. I sat up quickly. A dark orange light glowed above. My head throbbed noisily then I realized it was not my head at all. It was the sound of an engine. My first suspicion was that I was lying on the steel floor of an Authority Transport. A chill went through me like déjà vu. Willieboy smiled down at me from a bench seat. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill someone. I reached for my pink skipping rope belt, but found only a line of melted plastic fused to my waist. No gun.

  Willieboy chuckled. "Here." His large hand held out a pack of cigarettes. From a compartment beside him came a bottle of Canadian Club. "Drink?" He needn't have asked. A part of me, that part that wasn't shell-shocked, was experiencing an odd sense of familiarity. But I was too numb to place it. We were in the cargo bay of a transport. Both walls held benches over which ran streamlined weapons' compartments. Authority used these big monsters when they were called in to break up a riot or start one. Transports could carry equipment, weapons and Enforcers. The benches running the length of the bay were of molded high-impact plastic. I counted places for twenty armored bottoms. Struggling onto an elbow I took the tin cup offered me--downed the drink then held it out again. I also grabbed the cigarette offered and let Willieboy light it. He was being nice to me for a reason. My singed nostrils ached.

  "So there wasn't enough left of Adrian to question?" My voice trembled.

  "I didn't mean to take him out so bad in the first place." Willieboy smiled fiercely. "Gun jammed! Heat of the moment. He's done." He gestured with his chin. I turned my head and saw a clear plastic garbage bag smeared with red. It crackled as a pile of hamburger moved inside. A lidless eye peered out. The gristle around it twitched. "You never know. The King's got some good stitch men."

  "Lovely." I tried to shift my body away from the monstrosity. "Speaking of heat. You were playing it pretty close to the candle."

  "We were surprised. Cane's people came in through the floor. Blew a hole and up they came. I suspected something like that. But whoever that first group was that came in through the roof, I'm still trying to figure them."

  "King's people?" I grinned.

  "Maybe..." Willieboy offered me another drink.

  "The Businessmen?" I struggled onto an elbow again to accept the drink.

  Willieboy gave me a hard look. "What do you mean?"

  This time I smiled. "They should have been there. But, that would mean that your helicopter fired on your own group. I know the stakes are high, but you can't buy that kind of loyalty. You know it wasn't the King's men in the penthouse, because you know the King's men came in the helicopter."

  Willieboy stared for a moment, then ruined the whiskey by drinking from the bottle. I tried to register distaste in my features. He worked the liquor in his mouth. "What makes you say that?"

  "You said yourself that the King was a big player. Yet, I never bumped into any of his people. Why would that be?"

  "Maybe they only tailed you." He drank again, and lit a cigarette. "It ain't over yet."

  "The King's a leader, not a follower. You said they were bigger than the Businessmen; yet the King would be happy with a tail, and only a tail?"

  "Maybe Adrian..." He took a deep drag.

  "Adrian was involved because he was lucky, or unlucky seeing how things turned out--same with Van Reydner. Besides he had his people with him at the Penthouse, and the Enforcers coming through the roof weren't playing any favorites. They fired at everyone. You included. Adrian stumbled on Cotton at the Morocco Hotel, the same night he was there to kill Billings and collect himself another client. I think his luck finally turned on him and he got squashed between bigger players."

  "Maybe Van Reydner turned on him." Willieboy's eyes were evasive.

  "Sold him out? No, I don't think so. Like every loser who thinks he's a winner, Adrian had to gloat. He talked before he passed away. He had a deal worked out with her, and she was a solo artist. I can't see her commanding the party that came through the roof. Adrian would have known. He was a paranoid man, kept all of his phones tapped. He knew how much Van Reydner had on him so he wasn't going to let her go anywhere without keeping tabs on her. Also, if she had wanted a double-cross she could have done that right at the start. Adrian lost track of her for a while after the Billings' murder. She could have walked--peacefully." I pulled on my cigarette studying Willieboy's face. Emotions tightened the muscle on his jaws.

  "I guess it wouldn't be Cane," he said lamely.

  "Come on Willieboy, you already accounted for Cane's people! There was another invasion force, but it wasn't the King's. Cane could turn Cotton into soup, but he didn't have the motive. He needed the scientist because he didn't have the research. Whoever pureed Cotton already had everything they could get out of his head. And Cane worked for the Twelve Stars Group. They wanted the Regenerics Secret for their own reasons. I'm sure they believed that Cotton was hiding something that somehow fit into their religion. Cotton was killed and mutilated by someone who either had the Regenerics Secret or
he had Cotton's research to fall back on. Cotton was not needed." Willieboy shifted his eyes. "You gave me far too much direction for someone who was a small player. The King had to be represented, but I never saw his people. Who was the one recurring character in this nightmare?" I paused, then crushed my cigarette on the floor. "I called the King just like I called you and hinted that I might have some interesting things for him, Regenerics, for example. Then, when I was ready to move I called him back, told his secretary about some action at the Galaxy Tower." Willieboy's smile broadened. "Well, Inspector Willieboy, I never did call you back."

  Willieboy pointed a finger. "I've got other methods of collecting information--I sure as shit don't need you to hand it to me. Anyway, that just proves that the force coming through the roof could have been his."

  "No. I know whose force that was. And it wasn't the King's." I was playing a hunch, and I hoped he wouldn't notice. "Mr. Willieboy. You're working for the King of the Dead. That was his helicopter. And this is his transport."

  Willieboy scowled and studied his shirt cuffs. Then, a smile spread over his face. He produced another cigarette, offered me one.

  I continued. "I wasn't even convinced of it at first. I actually tried to hang the King of the Dead's involvement on those three dead arsonists who torched the Morocco. Then I realized whoever had the Regenerics Secret was the only individual that needed to cover his tracks. Those arsonists were hired by Adrian to clear away any evidence. He was the only one who had something to hide, since the other players were Authority. Adrian was the only one who could be harmed by evidence."

  "That proves fuck all!" Willieboy's face held genuine ire.

  "Oh, I'm aware of that. Believe me. I know the thin tissue of a case I have. It's just that I don't see myself surviving the next couple of hours, so I wanted to get these things off my chest." I puffed on my new cigarette. It hurt.

  "Anything's possible, Wildclown." Willieboy's smile was an admission.

  "You were there too often to be linked to a group like the Businessmen." I decided to accept another drink. "I've never heard of them, but I have heard of the Twelve Stars, and the King of the Dead. Cane was all over me like a bad rash. But I didn't see the King, though you admitted he had people in Authority. The King paid for Cotton's research. He owned the results and could personally benefit from Regenerics if it worked. But he was nowhere to be found. Odd. I was surprised I kept waking up without a foot on the back of my head." I glared, then smirked. "You gave it away completely though when you killed Cane."

  "Oh, you noticed that." Some of Willieboy's easygoing manner was returning.

  "He was going to say that he wasn't the first Authority at the scene at all. That he got to the Morocco Hotel, after Cotton had been butchered." I watched Willieboy. He had a formidable poker face. "You see, you both missed the mark because Cotton never talked to either of you. I think Cane was waiting for years for the opportunity to get what Cotton offered--it was his religion. But you, you were just trying to reclaim what your boss already owned."

  The transport took a sudden lurch, there followed the sensation of turning. Willieboy shook his head then said: "Why don't you tell me all about it. Of course, you know, the more you talk the more difficult it will be for you to live through this. It's your funeral."

  "Just over two years ago, the King of the Dead read about some scientist of little renown and his new theory, Regenerics. The King, being a dead man, is understandably excited by the notion of life. He contacts Cotton and sets him up in a lab. The only thing missing now is a woman who can ovulate and a man who can produce sperm.

  "It just so happens, and I don't know what sort of luck was working against her, but sure enough, Julie Hawksbridge just happens to be able to conceive, and she happens to be dating a nobody named Victor Davis. Davis happens to be able to produce viable sperm, so he and his girlfriend soon surprise themselves and the family doctor by conceiving a child. Now three times this happens, and three miscarriages follow. The family doctor seems to be one of the few men left with scruples, so he doesn't tell anyone about it while its happening. But I envision Davis hanging around the lunchroom at Speedy Prescriptions bragging about his masculine prowess.

  "In any other lunchroom, he would be laughed at. It just so happens that Speedy Prescriptions is a subsidiary of King Industries owned by your boss, the King of the Dead."

  Willieboy nodded, feeding me lots of rope.

  I continued. "So Davis happens to brag in the hearing of someone who does deliveries or is connected to Cotton's lab. He in turn brags at Cotton's lab. Soon Davis is approached by one of the King's men and I don't know why Davis went along but with his assistance Julie Hawksbridge gets kidnapped. She disappears. Then Davis disappears. I'm sure if you were to sift the Landfill you might find an arm with his watch on it." The transport roared and lurched again. I struggled into a sitting position, took more whiskey. "Alan Cotton now. He's really just a scientist. It is possible that he was duped all of the way through the operation, but I find that difficult to believe. He must have talked to the girl, after all. She must have let him know she was being held against her will. Cotton, maybe he goes a little mad scientist at this point. I don't know. Maybe he doesn't have a choice. Whatever, he incorporates this young woman into his project. Now, I know that Cotton had some frozen sperm, in case he and his wife ever could have had a baby, and I believe he used this to fertilize Julie Hawksbridge's viable ovum. She was pregnant when she was kidnapped, but I expect she lost that one. Her doctor believed she would." I levered myself onto the bench opposite Willieboy. "Cotton attempts to inseminate Hawksbridge. I don't know how many times. Whatever, nothing happens for at least a year. Eventually Cotton--with Hawksbridge's unwilling participation--meets with success, and produces a bouncing baby. A real live bawling infant in a world where there just aren't such things. I have a feeling at this point that Julie Hawksbridge had to be taken out of the picture. It's not likely that she would cheerfully hand away her child, no matter how it was conceived. I'm sure being the world's only fertile female must have made some impact on her. It's more likely she was drugged or controlled in some way. You may still have her." I sensed new tension in Willieboy. "You drug her, and then the truth hits the fan. Cotton sees that the realization of his dream, Regenerics, has changed entirely for him. It is his child after all. He takes a good hard look at the King of the Dead. Not a pretty sight, so the rumor goes. And Cotton decides that the King will not return to life using his baby for raw materials. So late one night, Cotton bundles up his child, and disappears."

  "Why did he phone my people then, if I'm with the King? How did I find out? Or Cane?" Willieboy's expression was bruised.

  "He had to talk to someone in Authority. It was just his bad luck that unscrupulous men who abuse their positions work there. I think Cotton was trying to call someone in Authority who could help. And he got filth like you Willieboy, and Cane. I don't know if he ever did get anyone who was clean. But that's the truth, isn't it? He called Authority, yes but not to sell his Regenerics Secret. He wanted your protection for his child."

  Willieboy leaned back chuckling. "Fuck, you're way off. Why would I show you his lab? And if it's true, what you say, why would we burn it?"

  "If that was his lab. You may have been trying to destroy the evidence or Cotton's methods, and equipment. After all, you had the baby. You just had to reclaim it, how long would that take? Sooner or later the rumors would come in and you had the competitive interests inside Authority to placate. You avoid any turf war and the King of the Dead would get his new lease on life." I paused. "The burned-out lab was for the audience. It conveniently explained Cotton's untimely demise, and might keep newshounds and loved ones off the track. Enough people had read his work on Regenerics that someone would miss him. The burnt-out lab was a piece of scenery. I think Cotton was always going to die; it was just a question of when. The fact that you showed it to me was just grist for the mill. You knew I wouldn't accept it because I knew Cott
on had died at the Morocco. It was important that you drive the idea of a conspiracy into my head so that I'd be more willing to believe you were the Maverick Inspector trying to do the right thing…"

  "Well, you got it all figured, haven't you?" Willieboy's voice had lost that good-old boy appeal. He was deadly serious. "We'll see what the King has to say about your theories."

  I sat silent. I was anxious to meet the King. Something deep down inside me wanted to meet him too. I turned away from Willieboy, hunkered down to go over my theory one more time. I wasn't really doing this for anyone but God, I supposed. The closest I was coming to a court of law was a brush with an executioner.

  Chapter 60

  I toyed with the idea of overpowering Douglas Willieboy, and going from there to taking control of the transport. But an arm like a sack of grain, and ears that rang every time I turned my head, convinced me to sit out for a round. Since our last conversation, Willieboy's manner toward me had changed noticeably. He had become distant, formidable--his good-old-boy demeanor was gone. His actions began to more resemble his behavior during our first encounter. For the remainder of our ride, the movements he allowed himself were hard and muscular--violence lurked beneath his features. There was something terrible in his gaze. His whole persona had altered, eyes awful, menacing; they thinly disguised the terror of survival. The stakes were high indeed. It was clear; Willieboy would do anything to live through this and he had no guarantees.

  Despite this, I still managed to retain reserves of optimism. I was feeling hot to trot, injured but high on adrenaline. My hunches had played out well. I wasn't happy with the way the last act was shaping up; but it didn't really matter that people knew justice was done--so long as justice was done. Of course, I knew a lot of people would go unpunished, officially, for their crimes; and I was likely to suffer severely for my involvement. Times like this I had to be philosophical. There was no point to getting upset about how nice it would be to put someone behind bars. Perhaps Greasetown had evolved away from that type of justice or devolved toward the primitive law of the jungle. Certainly, the crimes that had been committed were capitol offenses. Since there were no judges or juries that I could trust, perhaps in rather democratic fashion, justice had returned to the individual. One vote. Life or death. Right or wrong. Did we need a committee for everything? If I could, I would see that someone paid for the murders. Likable or not, Conrad Billings was an innocent. He certainly didn't deserve to die. Then there was Julie Hawksbridge; she had the right to live her own life. No one should be able to turn her into a baby-making machine. Then there was the baby if it really existed. I got the creeping fits just imagining the process the King of the Dead intended to inflict upon it.