by G A Chase
Sere had never cared much for science. Staring at the pile of printouts made her head hurt. “What does all this stuff mean? Have they transferred a human consciousness into their pet doppelpuppet or not?” Though she and Bart had speculated on Marjory not yet completing her monster, Sere really needed to know what she was up against before doing battle.
The professor stood up from the table and lifted his empty pipe from the square green-glass ashtray. “I don’t believe so.” He packed the bowl with tobacco in his infuriatingly slow manner. “As you know, time in hell doesn’t move. Other than when your father was in charge, we’ve been able to hold the realm to midnight.”
Sere stared at the acoustical-tile covered ceiling. “Please don’t tell me what I already know.”
He held a match to the pipe and took three agonizingly slow draws before answering. “From the computer notes, Andy believed the time in hell needed to correspond to the time in life. So midnight is when they’ll be conducting their experiments. Based on Fisher’s information, they’ve only had the doppelgänger in their lab for two days. They aren’t going to kill their real until they’re positive they can transfer the consciousness to the new body.”
Sere turned to Polly. “Can you please get him to skip to the point?”
Polly pointed at the computer’s time log. “To transfer the soul, it will have to pass from life to hell and then back out to the doppelgänger body in life on the bridge they created. If they’d made the transfer of spirit to doppelgänger, there would have been a burst of energy at that time, and there wasn’t. Marjory will be relying on Andy to make sure the transfer works from hell’s side of the experiment.”
“Now that Andy is dust, is there any way we can prevent the transfer of soul to doppelgänger?” Bart asked.
The professor pointed the stem of his pipe at the screen. “Andy had a long time to set up the equipment. He probably has everything they need already programmed in.”
Polly checked the old-fashioned clock left over from when the office had handled shipments from the wharf. “If we assume they’re going to try tonight, that only leaves six hours for me to train Doodlebug. That’s not enough time to change the program.”
The professor took a draw on his pipe and let out a cloud of blue smoke. “If we could get a look at the transfer while it’s happening—not just from the software’s perspective but also the actual act—we’d have a much better idea of what Marjory is up to. I doubt this will be the only time she tries to create an immortal.”
Sere held Bart’s hand. “That gives us six hours to figure out how to break into the bank’s basement.” She turned to Kendell. “Contact Fisher and have him meet us at the bar with whatever information he has on the bank’s layout. Polly and the professor already have enough work piled up in this office.”
“One other thing,” the professor said between bursts of blue smoke from his pipe. “Once they make the transfer, simply cutting off the head of the devil might not end his existence, as both real and demon will coexist inside the doppelgänger body. And filling him full of paranormal shotgun pellets won’t sever the connection as the two will be fused into one.”
“So he’ll no longer need the connection to hell?” Sere asked. Such a possibility would put him well beyond her grasp.
“More like he had a backup battery,” Professor Yates said. “He’ll still need the connection, but he’ll be able to survive for stints without it. The longer he goes without a recharge, the weaker he’ll become. That’s why cutting off his head won’t necessarily end him. If it’s off his neck long enough, however, he’ll run out of juice. Fighting him isn’t going to be as straightforward as destroying a demon.”
“Any idea how long I’d need to keep him unplugged?”
The professor shrugged as if the question was nothing more than a theoretical contemplation. “We’re beyond my science at this point.”
She’d already seen the result of pulling one side off of the battery with Thomas. Back to the fucking chalkboard again? Sere patted Bart on the butt close to the gun he kept lodged in the back of his pants. “I figured as much. That’s why I’ve got my contingency plan right here.”
46
Chapter 18
Fisher unrolled a large blueprint of the bank’s basement across the bar at the Scratchy Dog. “Here are the results of my inquiries.”
Myles pulled out some glass beer steins and used them to weigh down the corners of the paper. “You found all that information and had a blueprint created in thirty-six hours? Do you have any idea how long it took us to get an architect to even listen to our ideas regarding this bar’s remodel?”
Fisher’s eyes twinkled as he winked at Myles. “I’ve done a lot of people’s taxes and gotten more than a few folks out of some financial trouble. When I dial the phone, people pick up.”
Myles shook his head as he inspected the complexity of the document. “Next time I need anything done in this city, I’m calling you.”
Sere leaned over the white lines on blue paper. “What am I looking at?”
Fisher pulled out his trusty pen and used it as a pointer. “First thing to notice is that there’s only one door. This basement was built as a bunker.”
“Great,” Bart said with sarcasm in his voice. “One way in and undoubtedly under heavy guard.”
Fisher smiled up at Bart as if he had cards in his hand that he was just dying to play. “Next thing is the size of the walls: thirty inches of reinforced concrete. They weren’t messing around.”
“Why don’t you skip to the good news?” Sere asked.
Fisher straightened up and slid the page half off the bar until one wall of the diagram was centered on the counter. He then pulled out a yellowed piece of paper that looked like a treasure map and laid it next to the wall on the blueprint. “Fine, but you’re ruining part of the fun. After the War Between the States, Baron Malveaux made some modifications to the old bank—most notably, this access tunnel. It runs from the basement under Conti Street all the way to Basin Street. After the war, the South experienced a surge of puritanical respectability that made the Baron’s activities even less popular than they’d been before. Using this passage, he could get from the bank to his brothels without being seen in public. As he got older and more concerned with power than sex, he had the passage bricked in. The bombing of the old bank was mostly designed to destroy the Baron’s hidden office, not collapse the entire structure. When they poured the new basement walls alongside the existing crumbling ones, no one bothered doing an excavation of what was around the bank.”
“I remember,” Kendell said. “The city kept promoting how fast the bank was being rebuilt as a way of showing what was possible in New Orleans.”
“What they didn’t say,” Fisher continued, “was that corners were cut. Based on what was paid to the demolition crew, the remaining basement walls had been cleaned up but not removed. Marjory Laroque was busy figuring out how to retain customers and power. She wasn’t interested in concrete pours.” Fisher drew a dotted line on the blueprint corresponding to the tunnel on the yellowed piece of paper. “This section right here is little more than sand and rebar covered by a thin layer of plaster finish. The old shaft didn’t have the same soil makeup as the rest of the ground, making the concrete mixture unstable. From the information my source provided, it never did set correctly.”
“So how do we get into this hidden tunnel?” Bart asked.
Fisher scribbled a Conti Street address on a napkin. “This building is in the midst of a renovation. The contractor is a client of mine. He’ll get you in and supply you with what you need, no questions asked. His crew pulls out at nine, and you’ll want to be there shortly after they leave. That’ll only give you three hours to get through the tunnels and dig a hole through the concrete wall.”
Sere put her hand on the CPA’s back. “You’ve really earned your associate-superhero stripes this week.”
Sere checked to make sure the handle of her katana sword
was well hidden behind her hair. Instinctively, she felt for the holstered shotgun that wasn’t there. “I hate going up against demons without being fully armed.”
“You’ve got me and my gun.” Bart pulled the sheet of plywood away from the doorframe of the gutted three-story building. “Man, if these walls could talk.”
Sere glared at him with all of her demonic presence. “It’s their talking that created the doppelgängers in the first place, or didn’t you even listen to my story?”
A single lit bulb hanging from the roughhewn rafter illuminated his toothy grin. “I meant it as a joke.”
She squeezed into the work space. Sawdust, decaying brick mortar, and history hung thick in the air. “I’m not sure this is the best time for humor.”
“I disagree. Right before a big battle, my troops were always at their funniest.”
She ducked below some reinforcing beams. “So you were in charge of your platoon? Interesting. Someday, you’re going to have to give me your story the way I confided in you. Or is your history classified?”
“This will have to be a conversation for later.” He swung his leg over the edge of an aluminum extension ladder that descended into what looked like the bowels of the earth. “I think I hear our contact banging around down there.”
“That or the devil,” Sere said under her breath as she followed him down to the basement.
The bright light of a high-powered flashlight caught them before they reached the bottom. “Who sent you?”
Sere shielded her eyes from the beam. “Montgomery Fisher said you could help us.”
“Come on down. Watch your step. The mud can be slippery.” The beam of light moved from Sere and Bart to a small hole lined with pipes. “We were hunting down a water leak when we stumbled across the old brick cave. Originally, I thought it had been a sewer—sure smelled bad enough to be one. You two must be loco to want to explore it, but when Mr. Fisher asks for a favor, I know better than to ask why or form suspicions. Do you want me to wait for you?”
Bart stuck his head down the shaft. “We’ll be okay. Fisher said something about some demolition tools we might be able to borrow?”
“Down toward the end, just before it dumps out into the old brick tunnel. Good luck with whatever the hell it is you’re doing.” The man turned and scampered up the ladder without ever showing his face.
“Friendly, isn’t he?” Sere asked sarcastically.
“Compartmentalization.” Bart hunched over and started squirming down the hole. “Why does it feel like I’m crawling down to hell to confront the devil?”
As Sere followed him, she had the same impression. “Because we are. Though, I’d take the smell of fire and brimstone over a hundred years of built-up muck under a street in the French Quarter any day.”
“Agreed. I think I’m at the end.” He handed back a five-foot-long metal pick and flashlight before crawling over the edge into darkness.
She fell more than crawled out of the muddy shaft into the brick-lined tunnel. “And I thought the hole out of the basement smelled bad.”
Bart explored the walls with his flashlight. “Looks like every construction project over the last hundred years decided this was a good place to dump their trash. I’d be willing to bet the methane generated from all this crap is what prevented the concrete from curing correctly.” He aimed the light far down the tunnel. “At least Fisher didn’t have us start all the way at Basin Street. Let’s get going.”
At their destination, Sere thrust the heavy metal bar hard into the wall of muck. “I thought Fisher said this was made up of crumbling bricks.”
“This is what’s left of it.” Bart rammed his bar in next to Sere’s. “Between the city’s high water table and countless sewer leaks, these buildings practically float.”
Her next hit penetrated the layer of mud, brick, and rock to reveal the fine gray sand mixed with powder of the most recent addition to the foundation. “Finally.”
Bart stripped off his shirt and started going at the wall like a demolition machine. Never before had Sere experienced such uncontrolled lust as she felt while watching his arms and abs—glistening with sweat—bulge and ripple as they powered the iron bar through the moist wall. His leg and butt muscles flexed so large she wondered how the skintight black jeans were able to contain them.
“I’m through.” The dim light from inside the basement reflected off his glistening skin. He pulled out a chunk of blue-gray-painted plaster and tossed it at her feet like a gladiator’s tribute to his queen. “The rebar is too close together for me to fit inside the basement. I should be able to lie in the hole and aim my gun. Once you’re inside, you’ll have to flush the human-possessed demon into my range.”
She swallowed down her longing and checked her watch. “Just in time.”
He moved out of the opening, dropped his five-foot iron pole, and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t go getting yourself hurt in there. Get in. Get past the two guardian demons. Flush the devil into the open so I can shoot him. And get your cute little ass back here. I don’t want to tear this bank down block by block to free you, but I will if you get captured.”
She didn’t doubt him for a moment. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“I didn’t say be careful. I said don’t get hurt.”
She melted against his rock-hard body and nuzzled her cheek to his bare chest. “You know me so well.”
Sere struggled between the rough iron bars and quietly squirmed into the bank’s basement. Evenly spaced pillars filled the huge open space like the under structure of a Roman coliseum. The light that had seemed so bright coming into the dark tunnel filtered past the columns from the far side of the room. Indistinct voices echoed off the walls. She turned back to Bart, who looked like a forlorn dog caged behind the rebar. “They’re on the opposite side of the room. I’m going to sneak up behind the pillars. Maybe I can get some indication of what they’re doing.”
He pulled the gun out from the back of his jeans. “Sure you don’t want a little added firepower?”
She checked the sword sheathed against her back. “I’d probably just ricochet the bullet and end up hitting myself. I’ll be okay with this bad boy.”
“Keep track of how many pillars you pass. Once you start ducking from one to the next, this room will seem like a maze.” He stuck his head through the opening. “I’ve got a clear shot to the far wall and an angled shot past a couple of columns on either side.”
“Got it.” She leaned down and kissed him. “Just watch who you’re shooting in the shadows.”
Once Bart was well hidden in the darkness of the tunnel, Sere snuck to the first pillar. If there were guards, they were too busy watching the action to pay any attention to her supposedly secure end of the basement. She tiptoed through the shadows from column to column until she could hear what was happening.
“I didn’t sign up for this.” The man’s voice echoed off the walls. “Take off these restraints.”
Sere put her hand on the cold concrete pillar and edged her head out until she could see what was going on. Three columns down, a candelabra on an ornate gold table provided the only light in the room. Facing the table and away from Sere was a naked man with his wrists tied behind him.
A woman in a gray pants suit that matched the color of her hair paced on the far side of the table. Even approaching eighty years of age, Marjory Laroque could command a room. Other than the black walking cane she used as she strutted, she showed no signs of infirmity. “Perhaps you weren’t listening. This is exactly what you signed up for.”
“You said I would be in charge. This doesn’t feel like being in charge.”
The woman stood tall as if her backbone was made of iron. “I said you would have to fight for control.”
The man struggled against the bindings on his wrists. “How am I supposed to fight if I’m naked with my hands tied?”
“It’s not that kind of fight. How exactly did you think you were going to change bodies?
” She reached her cane across the table and struck him in the chest with the end. “This body must die before you can inhabit the new one.”
“I thought you were just going to hook me up like the devil’s daughter does to her real.”
Sere edged slightly farther out for a better look. Other than a distinctive well-formed backside, the man could have been almost anyone. From her new vantage point, she saw the iron box nestled close to a pillar beyond the table. A rapping from inside indicated it wasn’t empty.
“Once we’re done, you won’t have to rely on the psychic connection she needs to survive. If you can’t fight your own demon, you’ll have no chance against her.” Marjory came around the table then leaned against the edge directly in front of the man. “For this to work, your double must kill you. He’ll then devour your soul.”
“I thought you said I’d have a fighting chance. I’m not some goddamned sacrificial lamb.”
The old woman didn’t bother hiding her look of longing as she surveyed the struggling naked man. “Indeed you’re not. Having the demon eat your essence is how you will be cast into hell.”
The two doppelgängers stirred near the pillars on either side of him. Clearly, they expected an escape attempt. To his credit, the man stood firm. “I was to be in charge.”
“And you shall be. If you’re worthy. Once your soul is in hell, my army of the damned will escort you back to our realm. That is when you have to fight. Your doppelgänger body in that magic box will be inhabited by both you and your demon double. The one who wins the spiritual contest of wills will be the one to take charge.” The clacking of her cane as she walked back to the iron vault filled the room. “Do not fail me, Devlin. Your options are: immortality and the power that I can give you, subjugation to a demon for all eternity, or having your soul cast into hell. Now do you understand what’s at stake?”