Destroying Angel

by Richard Paul Russo

  “I’m not,” Tanner said.

  “You sure?”

  Tanner smiled and nodded. “I ought to be sure.”

  Sunrat sniffed. “I guess. Maybe you should be a cop.”

  “And maybe not.”

  Sunrat grinned, then turned his gaze to Koto. “You sure these two are okay? Even the cop?”

  Koto nodded.

  Sunrat nodded in return, said, “Give me a minute to power down the grid.” The face pulled back, and there were more scuffling sounds, then some clicks and loud knocks.

  “You’d do a complete fry in about five seconds if you tried to climb the ladder with the grid up,” Koto said. “He doesn’t like surprise visitors.”

  “All right, come on up!”

  Koto went first. As Tanner climbed, he looked back and watched the rats. All the cheese was gone and now they were settling down, hissing and nipping at each other, fighting for spots in the shade.

  Tanner came up inside a room with no ceiling and the walls in ruins. Sunrat lay in a lounge chair, directly in line with the blazing sun. He wore only a tiny racing swimsuit, and his skin, except for his face, was incredibly pale. A shining, oily substance covered his skin, thick and clear. Twenty or twenty-five plastic bottles surrounded him, most of them filled with colored liquids, but a few already empty.

  “Have a seat, anywhere,” Sunrat said. He reached for one of the bottles, drank deeply from it, and set it back down. “Help yourself to a cooler.”

  Koto looked at Tanner and Carlucci and subtly shook his head. There were no chairs, so they all sat on the floor. Tanner could not figure out how, lying exposed like that, Sunrat could manage to get only his face tan and keep the rest of his skin so white. Maybe the oil, some kind of sun block. Why would he want to do that? Then it occurred to him that it might not be by choice, that it might be a result of some very strange genetic mutation; but when he thought about it further, that seemed pretty unlikely.

  “So what is it?” Sunrat asked.

  “We’re looking for someone,” Koto said.

  Sunrat shrugged and snorted. He wasn’t looking at any of them. He kept his face directed at the sun. “Don’t know why you’re here, I don’t know anyone. I’m a social outcast.” He grinned.

  “He’s being modest,” Koto said. “Sunrat knows a lot of people, don’t you, Sunrat?”

  Still grinning, Sunrat said. “Nah. I don’t know no one. And yeah, I know that’s a double negative, I’m an educated man. So sue me.” He took another long drink from one of the bottles.

  “Do you know the woman who sings at dawn on Saturdays?” Tanner asked.

  Sunrat’s grin vanished, and he sat up, frowning. He pointed at Tanner, his hand shaking. “You looking for her? Then you just get the hell out of here right now. I mean now, before I throw you over the wall and...”

  Tanner put up a hand and shook his head. “No, no, you don’t understand. We’re not looking for her. I was just asking. I heard her sing a few days ago, I was just curious.”

  Sunrat kept his hand pointed at Tanner, and said, “You’re sure you’re not looking for her?” He looked at Koto. “Toy?”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Koto said. “We’re not looking for her. You know me, Sunrat. I wouldn’t run anything over you. He didn’t know, that’s all. He’s an outsider.”

  Sunrat turned back to Tanner. “You heard her sing?” Tanner nodded.

  “What did you think?”

  “She has a beautiful voice. It was something, listening to her sing.”

  Sunrat lowered his hand, and his expression softened somewhat. “All right,” he said. “But I don’t want to hear you mention her again. Not a single word. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Sunrat lay back down, shook himself, and directed his face at the sun once again. “So then, who you looking for?”

  “A freak,” Koto said.

  Sunrat laughed. “Hey, wrong place, Toy. No freaks here. Not a single freak in the Core. All normal people.”

  “A real freak,” Koto said. “He’s something like three- quarters cyborged. Showed up a couple months ago, maybe?”

  Sunrat turned toward Koto. “Cyborged. Anything else about this guy?”

  “Well. Maybe he’s got wings.”

  Sunrat’s expression hardened, and he stared at Koto for a few moments, then turned his gaze to Cariucci, then to Tanner. He reminded Tanner of Max, since Tanner couldn’t see his eyes behind the goggle-shades.

  “Wings,” Sunrat said.

  “Wings.”

  Sunrat grinned, shrugged, then lay back down. “Nope. Never heard of any freak like that.”

  He finished off a bottle of blue liquid, then threw the empty bottle hard at Tanner’s head. Tanner ducked, and the bottle clattered across the floor behind him. Tanner and Cariucci both looked at Koto, who just shook his head again.

  “Sun’s rising,” Sunrat said, “but we’ll get rain soon. You should think about getting an umbrella. Before you get drenched.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Koto said. He stood, nodded at Tanner and Cariucci. “We’d better go now.”

  “Yes,” Sunrat said. “You’d better.”

  Tanner and Cariucci stood.

  “See you, Sunrat,” Koto said.

  “Not too soon, I hope.”

  Koto turned, walked over to the floor opening, and started down the ladder, with Cariucci and Tanner behind him. When they got to the bottom of the ladder, they moved toward the door, and the rats shifted positions to open a path for them.

  “Later,” Koto whispered, before Tanner or Cariucci could ask him a question. “Let’s get out of here now while we can.”

  He reached the door, opened it, held it for Tanner and Cariucci, then closed it tightly. “Down, quickly now.”

  They turned on the flashlights and hurried down the stairs. From above, screeching laughter sounded, punctuated by a series of popping explosions.

  “Just keep going,” Koto said.

  They hurried on.

  At the top of the ladder leading back down to the underground passage, Koto stopped. “Wait here a minute,” he said. “I want to check something. What Sunrat said, about getting drenched. Probably means someone’s planning to flood the tunnels.” He shrugged, smiling slightly. “Happens.”

  Koto climbed down the ladder, stood in the passage, and played the flashlight beam back and forth, checking both directions. Then he closed his eyes and cocked his head from one side to the other. He opened his eyes and looked up.

  “Come on down,” he said. “We get the hell out of here now.” He nodded. “Everything’s just fine.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  SOOKIE WOKE IN pain. Her eyes ached, and her arms and legs burned. Burned like they were on fire. She choked out some sounds, opened painful eyes to see if she was burning up.

  Chains. Silver chains were burned onto her, melted to her skin. Her skin was melted. Metal bands on her wrists, bands on her ankles. Bracelets. Chains between them.

  No.

  “No,” she said.

  “Yes.” The machine voice.

  Sookie blinked her eyes, looked around. She was in that basement room again, lying on the floor, surrounded by machines. Chains and bands on the walls. Windows and gray light. Everything hurt. And there was something strange on her eyelids, she thought, dark smudges when she closed them. Something. She didn’t know what.

  Where was he?

  She didn’t see him. All she saw were the machines. The machines were silent, unmoving. Sookie worked herself up into a sitting position, her back against the stone wall. Every motion was painful. Every movement burned her. But the rock was cool, almost soothing. Where was he? The Chain Killer.

  No.

  A rumble, and the machines came to life. All at once—spinning, whining, rumbling, groaning. The ground shook, the stone behind her shook.

  A blue, glowing light appeared in the midst of the machines. It hovered motionless for a minute, then slowly moved for
ward. Sookie could not move—the chains held down her arms and legs with their weight and the burning pain. She thought her skin was tearing free from her bones. She had to get away, but she couldn’t move. The blue light kept moving forward.

  The figure took form in flashes appearing between the machines. Sookie saw bits of feathers first, then reflecting strips of metal. A head half-metal, half-flesh, no hair. Face half-metal, too. Then the figure and the glow disappeared. Sookie couldn’t see or hear anything except the machines. She stared hard into them, but still didn’t see anything, not even a glimpse.

  Light again, and he stepped out from behind a machine, now in full view just a few feet away. Wings of shining feathers lifted and spread out behind him. He wore no clothes, and as far as Sookie could see he didn’t need any. Both legs were metal, up to his waist, and there was nothing between them. Sexless. His body was a crisscross of metal and flesh. One arm and shoulder was normal, but the other was metal, steel fingers flexing. Metallic bands went up the side of his neck. More metal covered half his face, but she thought both eyes were real.

  “I know you,” the angel said.

  Sookie shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  The angel nodded, said, “I know you,” again. “You were here before. You ran away.”

  No, Sookie thought, but she couldn’t even manage a whisper this time.

  “I am... Destroying Angel,” he said. The wings flexed, moved slowly forward, then back.

  “Leave me alone,” Sookie whispered.

  The angel took two steps forward, looking down at her. He reached toward her with the metal arm, curled and uncurled the metal fingers.

  “This is the future,” the angel said. “Man’s future. The fusion of metal to flesh, flesh to metal. The organic with the inorganic. Man with machine.”

  Sookie was so scared now she didn’t think she could take any more. She thought her chest was going to explode, her heart was going to come apart on her. He’s going to kill me, she thought, and she closed her eyes.

  “What do you see?” The angel’s voice boomed, shaking inside her head. A bright light came on just in front of her closed eyes. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing,” she said. There was bright orange from the light, and dark smudges in her eyelids.

  The light brightened, hot and painful, and then the angel’s fingers gently touched her eyelids, the metal cool and soothing. “What do you see here?”

  “Nothing,” Sookie said again. “Orange light and dark shadows.”

  “Wings,” the angel said. He took his fingers away. “Wings,” he repeated. “The wings of death. My wings. Your wings.” He paused. “And you can’t see them.”

  The light faded, and Sookie slowly opened her eyes. The angel was only a foot away, gazing down at her.

  “Angels... angels are the breath of God,” he said. He breathed deeply, slowly shook his head. “The future is here,” the angel said. “Those who refuse to join it must be destroyed. I must destroy them.”

  And then Sookie knew, way deep inside, that she was going to die. The fear went away, replaced by a terrible numbness that went completely through her. She suddenly felt so tired she knew she couldn’t have moved an inch even without the chains. She knew.

  The angel knelt before her, his two real eyes staring hard into her own. Maybe they weren’t real, she now thought. How could they be? How could he be a human being? She didn’t know, and now it didn’t matter. She was all cold and numb inside, even her brain seemed cold and numb, and so it didn’t matter. She thought maybe she was already dying.

  The angel reached forward with his human hand and gripped her throat, pressing hard and tight. It surprised her, the feel of warm flesh. She thought it would have been the metal hand.

  The fingers dug deep into either side of her throat, and the awful fear rose up again inside her, shooting through the numbness. She tried to struggle now, reaching up with her hands, trying to push him away. But she had no strength. It was hopeless, and the fingers dug in still harder.

  Pain drove up into her head, and silver glitter fell in front of her eyes, blocking out the angel’s face. She tried digging her fingers into his arm, but the pain drove the last of her strength away, and she stopped struggling. I’m dying, she thought. I’m dying.

  The glitter rushed across her sight, a storm of it now, then exploded into a ball of dark, hot red, blinding her to everything. There was nothing but the flaming red now, and the pain driving up into her head and behind her eyes. The red brightened, blending into orange, then yellow, then finally a blazing white. The pain exploded, shooting all through her, bursting with the white light, and the light and pain grew brighter... and brighter... and brighter... and...

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  TANNER AND CARLUCCI were sitting in the Carrie Nation café, drinking coffee, when the spikehead found them. It was the day after their trip into the Core, and it was noon—the day was extraordinarily hot and muggy, suffusing the Tenderloin with stagnation and lethargy. The streets were nearly empty, and many of those few people who were on the streets looked half-asleep or half-zoned.

  The two of them were talking about when to take another shot at the Core. Koto had admitted that Sunrat probably knew something about the Chain Killer, but it was obvious that Sunrat was not going to tell them a thing about it. He had said he might go back to see Sunrat alone; maybe in a couple of days he would go see Mama Choy again, see what she had to say.

  Carlucci had wanted Koto to go see her again right away, at least to ask her, but Koto had refused, insisting it didn’t work that way. The two of them had gone back and forth awhile, Koto digging in, Carlucci getting more and more pissed.

  Tanner had the feeling Carlucci was arguing more for form’s sake than anything; despite their concerns about time, and the possibility of another killing, Carlucci knew better than to really push Koto. Carlucci was just frustrated. The DOD request was being stonewalled, and the demon hadn’t gotten anywhere yet, and they all felt that even though they now knew who the killer was, and where he was, they hadn’t made any real progress.

  So Koto had gone off to think about things, and Tanner and Carlucci had gone to the Carrie Nation. They were drinking coffee and trying to sort things out when the spikehead came in through the door and walked up to their booth. The spikehead put his hands on the table, stared at Tanner, and said, “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Mixer, right?” Tanner said.

  The spikehead nodded.

  “Okay, you’ve found me.”

  Mixer gestured toward Carlucci, said, “You’re Carlucci. Homicide.”

  “Shit,” Carlucci said. “You want to just shout it?”

  Mixer shrugged. “Your problem, not mine.”

  “What is your problem, then?” Tanner asked.

  Mixer did not seem too sure he wanted to say anything. “It’s about the Chain Killer,” he eventually said.

  They were silent a few moments, looking at Mixer, then Tanner finally said, “So tell us.”

  Mixer shrugged, shifted from one foot to the other, then slid onto the bench next to Tanner. “I think I know where he does the shit with the chains. You know? Melting them to the bodies?”

  “Yeah?” Carlucci said. He sounded skeptical.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where is it?” Carlucci asked.

  “In the Tundra.”

  “Not in the Core?” Tanner said.

  Mixer shook his head. “You gotta be out of your fucking head you think I’d go in there. No, it’s in the Tundra. A big basement room under a building.”

  “How do you know that’s what it is?” Carlucci asked.

  “It’s full of a whole bunch of strange old machines, which means I don’t know what, really. Maybe just that it’s weird. But there are silver chains hanging all over the walls. The same fucking chains, I’m telling you.”

  No one said anything for a few moments, then Tanner asked, “How did you find it?”

  Mixer shrugg
ed, looked directly at Tanner. “I didn’t. Sookie did.”

  “Who the hell is Sookie?” Carlucci asked.

  “A girl,” Tanner replied. Then, to Mixer, “Sookie found it?”

  Mixer nodded. “She showed me where it was, couple days ago. I’ve been trying to find you two ever since.” He looked at Carlucci. “I knew you were head guy on this thing, figured you two were working together on it. Thought you guys would want to know.”

  “Where’s Sookie now?” Tanner asked. “She didn’t stay there, did she?”

  Mixer snorted. “Not a chance. I don’t know where she is, but I know she’s not there. I had to drag her just to get her to show me where it was. She’s too damned scared of the place.” He paused. “She said she saw the guy there that time, when she found it.”

  “She saw the Chain Killer?”

  “She thinks that’s who it was. He scared the hell out of her. She said he was some weird guy with a metal skull.” He paused, cocking his head. “And get this. She thinks the guy had wings.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Carlucci said. “That’s him.”

  O O O O

  They got into Carlucci’s car—Carlucci and Tanner in front, Mixer in back. Carlucci called in, made arrangements; several other Homicide detectives would be waiting for them on the street.

  The late-aftemoon rain began soon after Carlucci pulled onto the road. It burst upon them, obscuring their vision until Carlucci managed to get the wipers going.

  “Shit,” Carlucci said. He rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioning, which hissed and sputtered at them, dripping fluids to the car floor. The heat had not dissipated much from its early-aftemoon peak.

  Tanner turned and looked back at Mixer. “How long ago did Sookie find this place?” he asked.

  “Two weeks ago, something like that.”

  “And she didn’t say anything to you, anyone else?”

  Mixer shrugged. “You know Sookie. I don’t think she really thought about it.” He tapped the side of his head with one finger. “She’s all right, you know, but she doesn’t think the same way as most people. I doubt it ever occurred to her that telling someone about it might help get this guy.”