Redding burst out laughing. She doubled over, then looked up at me and burst out again. I tried to take it all in stride. Redding had a lovely laugh. She raised a finger and struggled over the last of her chuckles.
"In basic, in Authority--basic training--we get the once over on graduation day by the Inspector General. He has a cluster of oak leaves on his collar. We call grads, clusterfucks, because their collars are clean. They have clusters of fuck-all." She started to giggle. "I don't suppose it's a nice thing to say to anyone."
"Well, it put me onto you." I fell silent a moment to sober her. "Where did your people come in at the Galaxy Tower?"
That hit the spot. The serious line between her eyes tightened up enough to set a silver dollar in. "We lost a lot of good people." She fell silent. "God, that's such a cliché, but we did. I guess I say it because good people are rare." She struck another match and lit a cigarette. "We came in through the roof--got there late. You see I didn't spend all of my time at the Gazette. For reasons I'll explain later I had Mary Redding's extension hooked to my office at HQ. Whoever took the message either tried to obstruct me on purpose or it was a real oversight, it didn't get it to me for thirty-five minutes. Almost too late. When we did get there we saw all the Authority vehicles, so I was a little uncertain of what to do. I knew the King's men would be there, and the Twelve Stars. Both those groups employ hard-assed Enforcers who fight like demons. They have terrible punishments for disloyalty, I'm told. I didn't have enough people with me to take both groups on at once. But, there was no turning back.
"We had a little trouble in the lobby with an Enforcer stationed there. But we took him out and then found a woman tied up behind her desk. She told us that everyone had gone up to the penthouse. I wasn't sure how to deploy my people. I just didn't want to lose too many. So, we went up in a service elevator to try a forced entry through the roof. We have sensing equipment, echo-radar, to be certain no one is killed when we blast, so our munitions expert popped a hole in the ceiling twenty yards from echo sources to minimize bystander casualties. Down we went." She took a long drag on her cigarette, and her eyes seemed to cloud up momentarily. "Of course, Cane's people were coming up through the floor at about the same time. Of the forty Enforcers I went in with, only eighteen made it out. That fucking helicopter was unexpected! God damned maniacs took out the whole top floor, and wasted some of their own people too. A couple of us kept our heads after the concussion, we were pretty well protected by our armor but the concussion can knock you out. I was down but my people saw a group of Enforcers come in, meet up with Willieboy, then watched them taking you out. A few shots were fired, but no kills. We had you followed to the King's castle. It took us a while to get our shit together after the blasts. We had to identify forces and our casualties--call in reinforcements and medics."
"Was Cane still there?" I sat forward now, hands set flat on the desk blotter.
"Hard to tell, the firestorm burned up a lot of the bodies. I can't be sure. There wouldn't be much left. Anyway, we got reinforcements, and started the fight at the King's gates."
I gave her a hard look.
"We just broke onto the King's courtyard when that transport came roaring out of the ground. We opened fire on it. Christ, we almost got you too. We won the fight, if that's anything, and have rounded up about a quarter of the King's men. But the rest are spread out and dug in deep. When we got inside his castle, we couldn't find your body, or anybody living, for that matter, I assumed that you had left in the transport. I don't know what the hell happened inside, but you sure did a number on the King. I assume you did it." I didn't answer. "Whatever, you've got to remember we were right in the middle of a fire fight when you left, so it took a few minutes to muster troops to chase you. When we did get someone after the transport, we found it empty."
"Then I called you from Simpson's," I grumbled. "You got there and found a couple of murderers, but no Wildclown and no Regenerics Secret."
"What was the Regenerics Secret?" Redding asked then, uncrossing her legs, and standing up from the chair. "So far Van Reydner hasn't been specific. I think she's holding onto that card for leverage. I can't blame her. I have my own theories, but I'm not sure."
"Before I answer that, tell me why you let me get involved."
"Difficult tale. You must know about the divisions in Authority. The special interest groups."
"Which one do you belong to?" I was almost afraid of the answer.
"The one that believes in justice. There are a few of us who were in the first Authority units formed after the Change--we were hired right out of the civilly run policing agencies. But we were in the minority. Those of us who couldn't hide our true feelings disappeared. Others among of us hid our loyalties and bided our time. We didn't join any group, chose strange assignments, and were pretty much outcasts in the force. Over the last couple of years things have been getting worse. The special groups were beginning to form alliances that would at best, tear Authority apart, or at worse, turn it into a monster the likes of which the human race has never seen before. Those of us who stayed clean--I'd say, pure, but nobody's pure--knew that something was going on that would start the final battle. The only good thing about all those groups forming on the inside was we could form our own. Honestly, I'm surprised there were only two of the bad ones involved. The Twelve Stars and the King's men are the largest, but there are at least ten more. I suppose a lot of them didn't have the belly for it, or had already been squeezed by the bigger guys, and stayed out of it." She smiled then, and a look of exasperation crossed her face. "I found out about you from a recording we made in Willieboy's car--Oates, that's his real name. We were following him after the Billings murder--he was identified at the Morocco--and our people taped him talking to the King. He mentioned a bush beater named Wildclown. We didn't have much on you in records. Officially you don't exist past two years ago. There aren't a lot of detectives walking around in clown makeup so you stand out. I didn't know who you were until I saw you. Even then it took a while before I was sure."
"Sure about what?" I felt my entire soul focus on the question.
"Who you were." She looked embarrassed, a flush crossing her cheeks. "And I didn't know what to think. It wasn't an act. You really didn't recognize me."
"Why should I recognize you?" I didn't move a muscle. I felt the first clamoring of Tommy's spirit.
"We trained together, Authority Enforcement division. They had a center in northern Florida back in the first decade." Her eyes centered on mine. "I heard you quit the force after the dead riots."
Now I could feel electric surges burning up from my subconscious. Tommy yammered with terror.
"I knew you got into detective work. But I didn't know where--I thought Vicetown." She gestured at my costume. "And I didn't know about this."
I felt a deep cold blackness open up beneath me.
"You're Sergeant Owen Grey, Authority Enforcement Division." Her eyes probed mine. "Or you were…"
Suddenly a loud and terrifying noise echoed through my mind--it was overwhelming in its darkness and power. I felt my hold on Tommy slip. My vision doubled and I blacked out.
Chapter 68
A cold hand on my cheek brought me back. I opened my eyes wide and saw myself reflected in Mary's gaze.
"Are you okay?" Concern crowded her features. Her hands investigated my body. "You're really banged up. God you're bleeding!"
"I'm okay." I pushed myself upright checking my memory as I did so. Owen Grey was dead. Tommy continued to gibber inside. I had to be careful, or he'd evict me. "Vacation looms."
Mary left her hand on my shoulder as she studied my face. "What happened to you?"
"I don't know." I looked away from her. "Owen Grey is dead." I kept my hands locked on the arms of the chair. "He was whacked by the King while looking for Julie Hawksbridge." Tommy's spirit lunged upward from the depths. I felt its febrile nature begin to color my thoughts.
"But you were looking for Julie Hawksbri
dge!" Disbelief crossed Mary's features.
"I was probably drunk somewhere when she went missing." It felt like I was drowning. "Don't kid yourself."
"But why hide?" She was about to implore. "Why the makeup?"
"It's a public relations thing." I felt around for my cigarettes, abandoned the idea. I was afraid to do anything. "You were saying?"
"Because it sure isn't like the Owen I knew." She shook her head and lit a cigarette, stepping back.
"He's dead--sorry to say." I wanted her to stop. Darkness was gathering around me.
Mary watched me a minute more then continued. "Oh Mr. Business is back. All right, all right. Where was I? I knew something was up because Cane wanted you." She paused, and then continued. "You know, Owen. Whatever happened? You can tell me."
I rolled my eyes away from her as I grappled inside with the clown.
Mary shrugged. "If you ever want to." She looked at her hands and continued. "Willieboy and Cane had their phone lines hooked to records. They both use the name Borden when working unofficially. It's a dead end post, but they managed to find a use for it. Hell--I've even used it." Redding smiled. "Where is Julie Hawksbridge? I saw a videotape of her at the King's castle. Pervert had cameras set up over her tub." When I didn't say anything, she continued. "When the gag order was placed on the Morocco murders, I knew that the big players were about to start a turf war. But I had to know who was involved. My group isn't very big, so we have to step softly around them--and our survival depends on knowing what the big guys are doing. So on a hunch I told the publishers of the Gazette we were investigating the murders and fire at the Morocco building. I knew that the Gazette was the only unofficial source for information, so I had the real Mary Redding's line hooked up directly to my office, just in case. Eventually, you called. My problem was in making sure you were unconnected."
I held a hand up. "The night we met, Cane called me out to the scene of Adrian's murder. When I got there, he acted like he hadn't made the call. Then, I ran into Mary Redding, the very reporter who had covered the murders at the Morocco. Both of which I happened to have been involved with at the time." I shook my head. "Cane didn't call me that night. You did. Excellent impression."
"I'm sorry, but I had to meet you...get your trust. I had read copies of Cane's files on the Billings murder. A call from him wouldn't get you too suspicious. It was a good opportunity." Her eyes dropped. "And when I saw you…"
"So you're not Mary Redding." A part of me felt deflated. The cynical part nodded its head.
"No. There is such a person, but I used my pull to get in to take her place. She's working sports under a pseudonym. I told her she'd get the exclusive if she played along." Her eyes flashed genuine remorse. "I'm sorry. But there's an awful lot at stake. I didn't want to deceive you. You have to understand the enormity of the task ahead, and the importance of our mission. Authority is full of rats, but we'll burn them out given time. There are gun battles raging even now. The fight for control has begun. Who knows what we'll wake up to tomorrow." She sighed. "Probably more of the same."
"So you were using me, too." I shook my head. "I think I'll cry."
"At first, everyone was. I didn't know whose property you were. So I had to get to know you--and when you didn't recognize me, or pretended you didn't. I didn't know if I could trust you. You have to understand the importance of my task." Her face was washed with extreme feeling. "But after that night, I don't know. I didn't want you to be expendable. Not after that--under the makeup you were still Owen Grey." She set a hip on my desk. "What about you, Mr. Honesty? You haven't exactly been straightforward with me. Look who's wearing the disguise." There was just a touch of defensiveness in her tone. "If you aren't Owen Grey, who are you?"
"By all appearances, I'm Tommy Wildclown. And Tommy's not sure who he is." I tried my best to smile, but was moved by the feeling in her voice. "I'll be quite honest with you. The only certainty is that I'm a detective. I try to catch bad guys."
"If I could get that makeup off you, I'd find out a few things." Her face suddenly became muscular as it struggled over underlying passion. She leaned forward suggestively. "If it's amnesia, I could help you remember..." The desire drained from her eyes. She smiled weakly. "But I suppose not. I can tell an angry man when I see one."
"Some other time," I said, standing--struggling with feelings of my own. There were long dark corridors opening up that should have contained clues to who I was. But there was nothing. I walked toward the door. "I don't like to be used, and I don't care what the cause. I never take a liar to bed more than once."
She looked hurt. "It was on the desk if you remember."
"Okay, the desk. You may have found a loophole." I dropped my hands, defeated. "Look, I'm sick of everyone just now. And I think my understanding bone got broken last night. Let's talk about desks after the war."
Redding stood up. "I suppose you're right. I just thought it might be nice. Since I'm going off to battle."
"I'll bet that's one of the oldest lines going." I tried to grin, but my face found the expression too heavy and dropped it.
"I'll be in touch." Redding turned to go, paused momentarily to pick up her hat. She turned. "Oh, don't think I'm satisfied about the Regenerics Secret or Hawksbridge. You can be sure I'll be back to trade notes about that! But I want to prove to you that I'm interested in other things. Like justice." She gazed at me wistfully, and left.
Chapter 69
I shuffled around my desk like an old man, weary and willing to die. I fell into my seat and listened as the transport outside reloaded then drove away. A part of me wanted her to get in touch. But now, now, I was full of hate. I squeaked my chair. I remembered doing that before. It had bothered Billings. I had to keep moving. I rolled out of the chair and walked to the window. I poked a hole in the blinds. The streetlight was bleak. The street under it was gray, the sky over it was gray, even the pigeons that fluttered on a rooftop beside it were gray. And now I was Grey. I had the urge to see no more gray. Who was getting haunted here? But there were no answers forthcoming, no release. All I could do was console myself with the money I had been paid. Perhaps a vacation. I could give Elmo his back pay and the two of us could go to Vicetown, ride a roller coaster. Hell, we could go south of the border. I had heard rumors that the sun still shone there sometimes. The door opened behind me. I turned expecting Elmo.
The corpse was the right height, but that was all that was recognizable about it. Tattered pieces of scorched fabric hung about its shoulders and neck, the wire frame of its glasses had melted to the bridge of its nose--the lenses were cracked. It was black all over and gave off an overpowering burnt hamburger stench--hot and oily. And a sickly sweet smell that hung on and kept coming. The corpse's right foot still had flesh on it. Its skin was pearly white. The toes were chubby and looked clean like they had just stepped out of the shower. There was a gun in the corpse's hand pointed at my heart. The brass toothpick was welded to the thing's dental work.
"Bastard!" it hissed, cheeks ripping with the strain.
"Inspector Cane, you don't look well." I had nothing to lose but gray. "You're probably upset."
"Where's the baby?" The eyes in its face were swollen blisters. Cane must have been almost blind.
"Where it belongs."
"It is the son. I must have it." His hand jerked the gun. "The fifth horseman."
"Horseman? This kid hasn't even had his first pony ride." I turned away from him, disgusted. "It is the son of a young woman, who by all rights shouldn't have had him in the first place. The baby is a miracle. But it doesn't deserve the damnation of reverence. Let it be, Cane."
"I'll shoot you in the back, then I'll do the same thing to you that you did to me."
"No, you won't," I sighed. A gun roared, roared again. I turned slowly. Cane's head was gone. His corpse dropped, it made a feeble attempt to rise, and then lay still. It was in such bad condition, I was surprised that it had made it this far. Elmo walked in holding the auto-s
hotgun. It was pointed at the corpse.
"You all right, Boss?" He kicked the gun away from the body.
"Yes, Elmo, and thanks." I looked at what was left of Cane and then at the mess that covered my desk. "I'm not much in the mood for those fishdogs though." I had seen Elmo drive up while I was looking out through the blinds. "I'll tell you what. Why don't we go down to the bank, cash some checks and have some fun?" I walked over to Elmo, set a hand on his shoulder. "I owe you what friend, a couple of hundred?"
"Twenty-four hundred," he said, stony-faced.
"Twenty-four hundred, then. First we'll go to Dr. Forrester's place. I'll get some stitches, maybe a few painkillers. Yes, we'll cash our checks and take a trip to Vicetown. Maybe go south of the border. I need a rest. I don't know about you." Elmo started smiling and nodding his head. "I have to get out of here."
Elmo gestured to the corpse. "What about the mess?"
We dropped Cane's feebly twitching remains in the Dumpster beside the building. I kept walking with Elmo until we got to the Chrysler. We drove to Forrester's. I collapsed again, and awoke a couple of hours later, stitched and numb. It was still dark. Oddly enough I was still inside Tommy. I waited for his presence, but it was strangely absent. Forrester fed me breakfast. We thanked him and left. Elmo drove us to the bank. I left the majority of my money there, wrote a check for my partner, and withdrew enough to take us to Vicetown and farther if we wanted.
As we headed down the coast, morning was coming on. I was tired and could have used some rest, but for some reason was reluctant to give up possession of Tommy. The little baby's Buddha face kept returning to my mind as the ocean sped past. I wasn't certain, but somewhere out under the angry black clouds, at the edge of it all; I thought I caught a flash of sun.
The story continues in The Forsaken by G. Wells Taylor Book Two of the Apocalypse Trilogy
COMING SUMMER 2008
Assassin
An Angel was going to die. The idea caused the man on the road to smile--a rare smile cruelly cut into hard, pitiless features. The Angel would die quickly. It was a pity that it had to be so fast. But surprise was necessary. It was essential. He knew he was lucky to have that much of an edge and speed was the only way to maintain it. Their supernatural abilities allowed no margin for error. But the idea of killing one slowly appealed to him--to kill an Angel and take his time doing it. He smiled again thinking about what it would be like to get a knife and take one apart. See what all the fuss was about.
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