When Graveyards Yawn

by G. Wells Taylor

  I remembered the sword. I had placed it in between the driver's seat and the passenger's. My peripheral vision picked up Julie struggling with the joystick. There was a hissing noise; it was my breathing--or Willieboy's.

  The dead Inspector looked down at his ruined chest, and pain crossed his features. His full lips contorted. "Look what you did to me!" he sobbed. One of his fists went to his temple. His face twisted into anguish. "Christ, I'm going to make you pay!" He looked up and saw that I had the sword. I leapt at him, point level with my hips. The blade slid easily into his abdomen. He snarled fiercely and gripped my neck.

  "No, no, no, clown!" His eyes were crazy. "That's not going to work any more. It doesn't even hurt." His grip tightened, and I began to feel the full strength of his massive shoulders. His dead thumbs started to crush my windpipe.

  I whipped a hand out and wrenched the door handle. A horn sounded repetitively--louder now. A yellow light flashed. I felt an immediate air pressure change. My head stuffed up. I swallowed, couldn't get it past his thumbs. Willieboy tightened his grip.

  "That's how it's going to be, is it!" he snarled, spittle and blood spraying.

  I grabbed his wrist with one hand; the other still twisted the sword in his guts. The transport lurched and we stumbled against the ramp. Our extra weight forced it down with a bang and shower of sparks. The ramp's iron surface was pocked with holes and corrugated for traction; I drove the fingers of my left hand into the holes while still gripping the sword hilt with the other. Willieboy's face was close to mine. His hands tore at my throat.

  This time I smiled. "No. This is how it's going to be!" With all the strength in my shoulders and back, I twisted and sawed with the sword until it struck spine. The sword was sharp and the newly dead muscle cut quickly. Completely independent, the legs began to kick spastically. Their motion tore the sword from my hand, the hilt struck the road--there was a snap. The lower half of Willieboy rolled messily off the ramp with the spine severed. It hit the road wetly and was gone.

  Willieboy looked at the horrible mess of entrails spilling out of him. He reached down with one hand to keep them in. Pieces that fell off the ramp burst as they hit the road. Willieboy looked up at me, true horror on his face. His dark eyes deepened, vacuuming darkness in. He started screaming terribly--wildly--like the damned soul he was. His strained features twisted unimaginably. I watched his hand trying to gather together the ragged edges, like the remnants of a torn and bloodied butcher's sack. He screamed, released my neck, and then clutched at his abdomen. We hit a bump and he tumbled off the ramp. The last I remember of him was his cackling terror as he cartwheeled bloodily down the road.

  I climbed back into the transport, heard a horn honk and turned around. A long dull Chrysler dropped back from where it had kept pace on our right. Elmo waved through the windshield. I waved back, and then staggered up to Julie.

  "Excellent, Ms. Hawksbridge." I reeled against the bulkhead dripping blood. My head spun. "My driver has finally caught up with us. If you wouldn't mind applying the brakes."

  Chapter 64

  "The first place…" Adrian had said before he died and I was about to find out if he was a liar. I drove up to the ominous front gates of Simpson's Skin Tanning and Preservation for the Deceased then sat listening to the rustling whispers of the dead in the Landfill below. I drew deep on a cigarette, and let my mind catch up.

  My partner had looked as happy as a kitten when we climbed out of the battered transport, but I'd given him little time to enjoy the feeling. After shoveling Julie Hawksbridge onto the seat between us I told Elmo where to go. As he drove, he told me how he had found us.

  After I hopped the elevator at the Galaxy Tower, the receptionist and doorman had promptly ejected Elmo from the lobby. He hurried to the car where it sat in the parking lot and waited just like we had planned. After fifteen minutes two Authority Enforcement vehicles arrived. "Troop Transports! I thought they come for me." Elmo scrunched down in his seat as the transports converged in the parking lot. There were a few tense moments as the troops deployed into two lines facing each other. "It looked like armies about to fight!"

  "Well," he had said. "Just as I thought they was about to set to, this sedan pulls up and out jumps that lanky individual--the tall one, that Willieboy. He comes out shouting--all waving arms and stuff." Elmo's eyes had turned angry. "Then that little fellow that pushed you around the office, he come forward, argued a minute, shook hands and walked into the building with him like best friends. The armies stopped glaring at each other and stood there watching them go--staring at the building now, like that would bring it down--maybe forty of them or so just staring. Then the one bunch went around the side of the building and up the fire stairs, and the other went in the lobby. Well, I'd just lit another cigarette, when another bunch comes up in two transports. These ones jumped out, took a look at the other transports, then ran into the building. And I thought, Oh Jesus, good-bye, Boss!" Elmo had looked momentarily weary at this point in the tale. "Then I heard gunfire, somewhere, like it was faraway, and echoey like--and I'm thinkin' I don't know what to do! You needed back up, but only an army can back you up. Then, a man falls out the window at the top and goes splat on the driveway," Elmo's nose wrinkled. "He hits hard, and I know that even dead, his life is over. I got out of the car and looked up, I was sure the fellow hit the pavement wasn't you so I think, Oh Jesus, good-bye, Boss! And kind of half-expect you to c-come flying down after.

  "Then out of the clouds--way, way up there--comes this big helicopter. Soon as the thing gets level with the windows at the top it blasts away until there's fire everywhere. I had to get back in the car, there was so much stuff raining down. I was sure you were gone then. But I thought, well, maybe I'll wait. I could go up and check once things quieted down. The helicopter flew off then, and about fifteen minutes later, a group of Enforcers come out of the building, all of them smoking and steaming, carrying you between them. Then I see that Willieboy again! His Enforcers put you in one of the transports and he points at the body that dropped out of the building. One of them Enforcers bags it and Willieboy drags it into the transport too and away they go. So I start the car and followed.

  "Then, we came up to this big place that I wasn't sure, but I thought it was the King of the Dead's place. Cause I heard, well you know fellows talk. So, I had to be careful because people don't speak well of the King. I just got parked, and saw them take you in. Then another bunch of transports come up and Enforcers get out and start arguing with the guys behind the bars at the front gate." Elmo had smiled then, because he realized the story was growing overlong. "Anyway, I'm waiting, when this war breaks out and again I'm thinking, Good-bye, Boss! Then just when I guess I better go, or do something, there's that transport, crashing out of the ground like a monster or something. And when it goes smashing through the w-wall I'm thinking, that's something the Boss would do, so I follow! I wasn't sure, but I knew I couldn't do anything else. And here we are. It was a hunch!"

  "Just a hunch," I had said. "Just a hunch, and a thousand syllables. Thanks Fatso. Good work!"

  By the time Elmo had finished his story, we had arrived at the address I'd given him. It was the bar, Berlinz. There were rooms for rent upstairs. Elmo walked in, got a room, and then we took Ms. Hawksbridge up, much to the pleasure of the little Latino bartender with the gold tooth. I let Elmo dress my left shoulder--the wound had bled clean--just some alcohol and a bandage. I pressed a towel full of ice cubes against my face. Ms. Hawksbridge had grown nervous by this time. She was in a hotel room with a dead man and a clown. I could understand her concern. I had assured her that I was a detective--I showed her my license--and that she would be all right with Elmo. She'd have to trust us. I gave Elmo the auto-shotgun and a box of ammunition from the trunk. I left after telling Hawksbridge that I would be back soon; I told Elmo to take her to her brother if I wasn't. I went to the Chrysler and pulled another coverall out of the trunk, then reapplied my makeup. The way my face had swollen
up, it was an improvement for a change. I loaded the .9mm from the trunk and realized I was fast running out of backup weapons. That was fine, because I was fast running out of the urge to use them. I stopped at a drug store to buy a pint of whiskey and a couple of sandwiches then I had headed out along the highway west.

  Now I stood looking at the gates of Simpson's. Strips of yellow Authority caution tape were stapled over it in a prohibitive spider web. It bore the words: "Removal of tape a criminal offense!" I tore it down with a sneer. I walked up to the miniature door set in the gates. It was locked, but I had brought a crowbar with me. I worked it into the groove by the lock and yanked it back and forth until I heard something snap. I pushed the door open.

  There was darkness in the courtyard in front of the black stone mansion, and momentarily I wondered where the patients had gone after the Authority closure. I shrugged, my moment of compassion over. There were a thousand such establishments dying for patients. They would be given good homes. I instinctively checked the action of my gun, then slipped the automatic into my pink skipping rope belt. Yes, I have spares of those as well. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my mini-flash. I flicked it on and followed its tiny light over the ceramic tiles. I noticed that a few windows were broken, evidence of vandals. It was likely that this edifice to the dead would go unmolested; it was so far out in the Landfill. Even thieves got butterflies so close to the failed internment facilities.

  I found myself wishing I had been welcomed by the downy-cheeked Tobias, and given a ride in his little electric car. It was about a mile through the courtyard and leisure park, and my heart labored. The whiskey I had drunk in the car had eased the pain of my exertions, but it had not supplied me with rest and actual healing, both things my--Tommy's--body craved. "Soon," I said out loud. The word rolled up the empty courtyard like a drunk, bouncing off benches and lampposts. I cast a glance up at the high windows of the mansion. As I had expected there was a light on in a window. It was all warm and glowy like home. I pulled my gun, and checked the clip. I made sure one was in the chamber. After this, I had one more phone call to make. One more, and if everything went right, life could get back to its usual horrors.

  I was panting by the time I climbed a series of steps to the large front doors of the mansion. I shoved the crowbar into the space flush with the bolt, and then paused. I tried the handle--the doors were unlocked. I didn't like that very much, but decided to play it cool. After setting the crowbar by the door, I lit a cigarette, cocked my hat--I had borrowed Elmo's, it was tight but it would do--and sauntered into the lobby. I crossed the Persian carpet noiselessly. My flash's penny-light was just a tiny spark in the enormous room. The space overhead gathered mass with the darkness and weighed me down. I flinched involuntarily, before I made my way across the lobby and up the stair. I looked up, saw only shadow, but knew that carved into the ceiling and columns around me were a thousand cherubs, their little marble eyes staring--night creatures now, like bats.

  As I got to the top, I heard something that was like music, only sweeter. I didn't know the lyrics, but the melody continued until, somewhere at the back of my mind I responded with tears. A baby was crying.

  I followed the sound, and soon, in the utter darkness, saw a slit of light ahead creeping out under a door. Then, I heard another sound join the crying--perfect harmony. A woman's voice hummed a long forgotten song--a lullaby. I walked up to the door, then drew my gun. A tear splashed on my hand. I waited, hardened myself. I was surprised no guards had materialized but remembered that Adrian didn't want any more partners. No more palms to grease. I opened the door onto a large room--saw a bed, sitting area, and bar.

  A woman with bright red hair turned to the door smiling. Her eyes were fixed upon a tiny naked thing in her hands. She said, "Richard, I'm so glad you're back. You should have seen..." But her voice dropped as her gaze fixed upon me.

  We stared for a moment or two. There was nothing else to do. I let myself drink her in. She was beautiful. She wore a heavy yellow terrycloth bathrobe. I looked at the baby, dropped my cigarette and stepped on it. Then looked up. I said the first thing that came into my mind.

  "Your picture didn't do you justice."

  She pulled the baby close and smiled like an angel.

  Chapter 65

  Van Reydner was draped across the bed. Smoke curled up from her cigarette. She had placed the baby in a large steel bassinet, which closed up at the top. It would look like a suitcase when fastened that way. I glanced at the baby momentarily--like looking at the Loch Ness Monster, so just a peek--then sauntered over to a mahogany bar. I felt real fear at the apparition. Its pink chubby arms flailed the aroma of sour baby oil around the room like incense. I mixed two drinks. Both were straight whiskey, room temperature. I set my gun on top of the bar and studied Ms. Van Reydner. She did have something in the flesh that a picture couldn't carry. Call it presence: her perfume was sticky with hormones. Call it personality: her eyes seemed to pierce to the very soul when fixed upon me. They moved rapidly, pausing only for the moist and silent supplication, before flitting away like deer. Call it acting: there was something about her mannerisms that seemed practiced--almost overly so. As genuine as they appeared, her gestures were tired. One too many nights in the spotlight. The cynical actress in front of a gullible mob, more concerned with entertainment than art. I had to remind myself to call it sex appeal. She had too much for the average man to resist if he didn't know she would use it on him. No wonder Adrian picked her to work with. That was also something that I had to remember. She was a murderer--at least an extremely guilty accessory.

  "Is Richard dead?" she asked, puffing her cigarette with apparent indifference.

  "I didn't do it, if that's any consolation." I gave her the hard news over the rim of my glass.

  "I suppose he had it coming." Her voice held a noticeable pang of regret. She pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve.

  "We all do." I peeled my eyes off her with both hands. "Tell me. Did you ever do the killing? Did you ever pull the trigger?" There was a part of me that wanted to believe she wouldn't, but I knew a part of me would never believe a word she said.

  "No, never. That's the only reason I ever agreed to work with Richard."

  "The siren." The whiskey from the drive had loosened a few screws. "Luring men to their deaths."

  "There are worse crimes." She looked at me with a melting pity in her eyes. I wanted to kiss away her pain. "And most of them were bastards."

  "If you hadn't turned on me, I could have let you go. I really could have." I shook my head and lit a cigarette. "There has been too much death today. Too much. I'm sick of bodies. There's flesh under my nails and it isn't mine." I took a deep drag. My body throbbed. "At the Arizona, why did you plant the rubber nipple there? If you just wanted to get the competition fighting among themselves, the room and the note should have been enough."

  "Richard wanted to make sure that everyone involved, who knew what they were looking for, knew that the baby existed. He said it was a teaser, to get commitment from any of the interested groups. He called you a catalyst."

  "If only you hadn't called me into it like that. I could have turned a blind eye."

  "Richard made me. He said he'd kill the baby if I didn't help." Terror played across her features.

  "You can do better than that..." I said, unimpressed by her act. "I've been flayed today. All the human parts are stripped away. As I came in, you were too happy for a woman who lived with a man who threatens or controls her. I've seen the type, and there's always a frightened timidity behind the eyes that can't be hidden. My vision's clear today. That's what makes it sad."

  "But you don't know Richard. He could change in a second..."

  "Come on, that's enough..." I cut her off. "The only reason any of these events have taken place is because that baby exists. I find it impossible to believe that he would threaten to destroy the motivation for his actions."

  "Then let me go." A shiny tear was forming in the
corner of her eye. "Who would you give me to anyway? There is no justice. You know it, and I know it. No law." She cast her eyes down and worried at the cord that closed her bathrobe.

  "I guess you were kind of scared after the Billings murder. Adrian said you hadn't checked in. Was that genuine fear or were you contemplating a double-cross?"

  "I just left Greasetown for a while. I had to get the baby somewhere that I could take him out of that box. I wanted to take a couple of days to get used to things." She smiled. "You don't think I'd double-cross Richard."

  "I'm trying to imagine someone you wouldn't double-cross." She pouted at that one.

  "Look," new excitement entered her voice. "You and me are the only ones left, right? We could go anywhere. We could be rich! As it stands, what will you do? Give me and the baby to Authority so that they can exploit the situation? Take it! Or someone else will! You're smart enough to figure this whole thing out. And no one's going to pay…"

  "I agree. I'm probably the most cynical character you're going to meet when it comes to Authority. I don't trust it. But, I have this belief system that carries me through times of complete apathy. Of course, the same belief system causes the apathy, but that's beside the point just now. I believe that regardless of how insane something may sound; there is still a good chance that someone is doing it. I'm not explaining myself well, am I? What I mean is, I believe in everything, and because I do, I believe that there really is some justice to be had. It may not come in truckloads, or by the bushel, but there is justice. And while there is, someone will mete it out."

  "Like you?" I wasn't certain, but I detected a slight edge of contempt to her tone.

  "Sure," I poured myself another. "But there are others. And I'm sure that there are some in Authority. Do you have a phone?"

  She seemed hesitant, and then waved a sultry arm to the far side of the bed. "If that other drink is for me, why don't you bring it?" She smiled, showing a lot of teeth, framed by a succulent oval of red. I set my glass down, picked my gun up in one hand and her drink in the other. I walked over to her. She reached out to take the glass, making sure she stroked my fingers as she grasped it. I smiled and walked over to the phone. I dialed the number of the Greasetown Gazette. I had memorized it for just such an occasion. I glanced at a little gold watch on the bedside table. It showed five minutes after midnight. It was the fourteenth of May, spring, and Monday too. Another weekend gunned down.