Deadfall: A Post-Humans Story

by Bassett, Thurston

  Matt pulled a chair over to the computer. “Do you mind if I search a name?”

  “A name? Do you think you know which files might be missing?” She looked surprised; the police hadn’t thought to look down here at all. “I guess you can…”

  Matt rubbed at his chin before typing into the search.

  Deadfall.

  Nothing came up.

  He tried another.

  Kara Chen. Nothing. Then he remembered that she had changed her name to protect herself.

  Kara Zang.

  The file number came up and along side it, a small tab telling Matt that the file was a copy of a file from a Hong Kong firm.

  This was her.

  “Hannah, do you know where this file is?” She glanced at the number and nodded before going to look for it.

  Matt crossed his arms. He was surprised that someone like Kara was even in the system. He decided to try Cynthia again, this time using her full name.

  Cynthia Abell.

  There it was. There was a file number for Deadfall, under her given names.

  Matt pulled out a pen and his little notebook and jotted the number down.

  He kept searching.

  Mirage.

  Nothing.

  He thought about the conversation he had had with Cynthia, Kara and Mr Carlyle back at the penthouse. They had decided that the whole thing was about hunting Post-Humans for his macabre collection. But maybe it wasn’t? No harm in looking while I can, he thought.

  Bronson Carlyle.

  Matt smiled a little when the name came up. He’d known that Bronson had a record with Fischer and Beckett. He wasn’t surprised that Tony’s name came up beneath it. Carlyle. Tony had done his fair share of criminal activity, and at times and been a little careless.

  He jotted down the number of Bronson’s file.

  “Mr Claire?” The secretary was frowning. “No file.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. I know my way around this place pretty well. This file number is either missing or it was never shelved after it was faxed through.”

  Matt nodded and handed her the list of other numbers.

  He followed the secretary as she rushed about and scanned the numbers on boxes and draws, until she had found what she was looking for.

  There was no sign of Cynthia’s file, but there was Bronson Carlyle’s.

  “We were right then.” Matt muttered as he read the name on the folder.

  “What about?” the secretary asked from beside him.

  “About…” There was something they did not see. Bronson’s file was sitting there on the shelf, but his son’s was not next to it, where it was supposed to be.

  “Hannah, there should be a file here. Number 256. Bronson Carlyle’s son, Anthony Carlyle.” he pointed to the number on Bronson’s file, “255 and the one that follows is 257.”

  The secretary shrugged. “I’ll check the log. Maybe someone’s checked it out.”

  She scurried off between the shelves to find a computer.

  Matt took file 257 from the shelf and flipped though it. He didn’t recognize the name, car thief from outside the city.

  Where’s yours Tony? Why would this guy go to the trouble of stealing your folder along with his Post-Human victims?

  Hannah rushed back and shook her head, her blue eyes wide. “Should be right there.”

  Matt nodded and slowly left the aisle. “Thank you for you assistance, Hannah, you have been incredibly helpful.”

  “If there is anything else…” she shrugged with a slight smile.

  “I will call and ask for you.”

  She nodded and led him to the elevator.

  ***

  Matt stood next to the enormous penthouse windows, which overlooked the city.

  He had decided to report straight back to Carlyle, with the findings from Fischer and Beckett.

  Bronson stood next to one of his armchairs sipping on a glass of scotch. His bald head and jowls glowed dark pink from drinking this morning.

  “Three files: Deadfall, Kara Zang and Tony’s.” Matt said crossing his arms.

  Bronson nodded slowly and took a sip. “Mine?”

  “Still sitting there.”

  “Pity. You should have nicked it.” The older man chuckled.

  Matt strolled over to one of the lounges and took a seat. “Your son’s not Post-Human by any chance?”

  Bronson raised his eyebrows. “Wish he was…”

  Suddenly Matt understood something he hadn’t seen before.

  Two Post-Humans and Bronson’s son.

  He was sure that if he had known Mirage’s real name, he would find her file was missing too.

  He rubbed at his chin.

  All Post-Humans except for Tony.

  “Tony is the only one who isn’t Post-Human…” Matt muttered as he stared at the floor.

  Bronson was suddenly weak, and gripped the chair for support. He shuffled around the chair and slipped into it.

  “It’s my son, Matt. He’s one of ‘em.”

  Bronson turned to face Matt and the rims of his eyes were glowing red. “Ace of Clubs. It’s my fucking son, Matt. The others are victims and the perp always tries to cover his own ass. He’s removed himself and his victims from the system.”

  Mat sat forward. “They would still be in the system.”

  Bronson waved a hand in his direction. “Think about it, Matt. ‘Ace of Clubs’. Tony’s been managing a bunch of the clubs, that I own, since he got back from America.”

  Matt nodded. “Maybe your wrong, Mr Carlyle…”

  “You’re thinkin’ it too. Since before I sent him to The States, he had a way…with people. I couldn’t explain it, but it wasn’t normal. At first it was with girls. He’d have a new one with him every day or two. Then I noticed that he always got what he wanted. He was so charming or smooth, I couldn’t tell which. All I knew was that he was doing something to people, to me. I had to get him away for a while. And look what’s been goin’ on no he’s back. He’s been getting the moves on Deadfall this last week. That would be the only way to get close to her. You know that. And that Kara girl, we should have shown her a picture. She was with this, Ace of Clubs, too. That shape shifter too, I bet.”

  Matt shook his head. It was all so much to take in.

  “Think about it, Matt.”

  It made more sense than he wanted to admit. “We need to find Cynthia.”

  “You also need to find my son, before he does something else stupid.”

  “That’s if it’s him…” Matt tried to remind his employer.

  Bronson ran his hand over his face and sat back into his chair. “It’s him. Killing my employees, breaking into my warehouse, stealing my ledgers. This is not a rival, its too close.” Bronson closed his eyes. “This was an inside job, it’s obvious. ‘Ace of Clubs’. It has to be my boy, Matt. It’s my fucking boy.”

  Matt stood and straightened his jacket and purposefully felt the gun holstered under his arm.

  He had to warn Cynthia.

  Chapter 26

  Matt had given Cynthia an old disposable mobile phone with a short contact list for emergencies. The first thing she had done with it was send Tony a message. She knew she probably shouldn’t have. She had asked him how he was and how he got out of the zoo.

  He had told her, that he gotten out at the front entrance with a large group of other families and that he had thought that she was among them.

  He had also wanted to meet her as soon as possible, at the Ice-Bar.

  As she strolled down the street, she relished the feeling of fresh clothes and a shower. Yesterday was the longest day she had experienced in a long time and she was sure she was still a little tired.

  It was early and the door was still locked, but Tony had told her that he would be there all day.

  She knocked.

  No answer.

  She knocked again.

  There was a rattle as someone undid the door latch on the
inside and the barman named Jules, peered out.

  “You’re Cynthia right?”

  She nodded.

  “Tony said you’d be around. Come in, come in.” The bar tender ushered. He was dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans.

  Cynthia stepped into the darkened foyer of the bar and followed him.

  He offered her a seat in one of the booths. “I’ll grab you a drink. Tony said he’d be here by now, so you won’t be waiting long. What can I get ya?”

  Cynthia nodded and settled into the soft booth. “Just some soft drink will be fine. Thank you.”

  Jules smiled and headed back to the bar to make her drink.

  Cynthia relaxed and looked around the walls at the old photos and the tattered posters.

  She decided that if she had to choose a regular place to drink, this would be a decent spot.

  “’Ere you go Miss. Not long, I promise.”

  She thanked him and took the glass of lemon soft drink.

  As she sipped she read the small text on one of the closer posters. It was about a band’s recent tour and their new album, but she couldn’t make out the rest it was too blurry.

  What?

  She strained her eyes to re-read the first part, but she was unable.

  Her eyes were losing focus.

  “Told you it wouldn’t be long.” Jules wandered over from the bar and crossed his arms.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I spiked your drink. Can’t you tell?” he smiled. “It’s hard as hell to get a chick into a van if she’s kicking and screaming.”

  Cynthia tried to jump to her feet, but toppled off the seat and landed at the man’s feet.

  “Why…?” She tried to speak, but her mouth didn’t obey.

  “Ace of Clubs will be glad to get his gloves on you,” Jules grinned.

  Her teeth were gritted with frustration, as she, once again, slipped into unconsciousness.

  Cynthia’s eyes fluttered open and the world slowly swam into focus.

  The first thing she noticed was the green glow.

  “Oh, no…”

  “Oh, yes, actually,” said a male voice.

  She tried to move her body and found that she was in a familiar, restrained position. This was the warehouse filled with horrors.

  Cynthia watched the black figure come into focus.

  Ace of Clubs.

  He stood like a leather-clad gladiator in black leather pants with chainmail kneepads and the same black leather jacket she had seen him wear in Chinatown. Most disturbing of all was the matching leather hood that zipped at the back to completely conceal his face; the gimp mask.

  All she could see of his humanity were the dark slots that served as eyes and an open mouth slot with a metal zip.

  “I’m not quite sure how you slipped out of here last time, but I’m guessing it had something to do with Kara Zang.” The tall dark figure moved closer. “When I wasn’t able to reach Miss Zang, I figured that she might have stumbled across something she shouldn’t have. Luckily, I knew where she lived.”

  The black leather mask loomed over her and through the zip up mouth she could see a human grin.

  “Ace…?” Cynthia struggled.

  The black clad man stepped back and nodded, “I’ve been waiting a while to get you all tied up.”

  Cynthia’s vision began to clear and the eerie green glow grew more faint and she could see the various cases and tanks filled with specimens.

  Ace of Clubs strolled across the concrete floor and stopped to gaze down at steel cage.

  Oh, no, no…

  There Kara was, inside the cramped steel cage, her knees pulled up close to her chest. Her eyes looked cold and angry, as she glared up at the black-clad man.

  Beside Kara, she could see a figure curled up tightly in the centre of a second cage of the same size. It was a young girl, dressed in rags, her face was red from crying and her fingers bloody from trying to claw her way out.

  Ace of Clubs stood over her with his hands on his hips. “Enough, Courtney, you aren’t fooling anyone.”

  The girl shimmered a little and was replaced by a young woman. She was maybe nineteen or twenty.

  She had long brown hair and a black t-shirt and jeans. Her curled body was cramped in the steel frame and her face was still red and tear streaked.

  It had to be Mirage.

  Her mother’s boyfriend had been a callous and cruel man all those years ago, but he never did anything like this. Mirage and Kara were being treated worse than animals.

  The young woman’s dark eyes glanced from the tall man in black to Cynthia, strapped to the operating table. Then she closed her eyes tight.

  Cynthia struggled at the restraints on her wrist and the plastic bonds stung her skin.

  “Stop this!” she hissed

  Ace of Clubs turned on the spot, his leather-covered head tilted to one side.

  There was a chuckle from behind the mask.

  “You know, Deadfall, every one of your kind has said that to me at the end.”

  Cynthia swallowed and tried to calm herself down.

  “They all say ‘stop it’, ‘please’ or ‘you don’t want to do this’. Their eyes always beg for mercy and there is always waterworks.”

  A short bearded man in a white t-shirt approached his boss from behind. “Sir, the first load’s away, sir”

  Ace of Clubs loomed over the short man and nodded. “Good. Start on the second. I want all of this loaded and on it’s way as soon as possible.”

  The short man nodded and glanced at Cynthia before leaving.

  “Where was I?” Ace said, crossing his arms. The leather creaking as it stretched.

  Cynthia glared at the dark slots that hid his eyes.

  “Waterworks! Of course. You Post-Humans are all weak,” he gestured. “You develop these gifts during your adolescence, but ultimately they are wasted on you, I have no gifts. My genes are just good old fashioned human. Stock standard.”

  Cynthia flexed her fingers.

  “You are supposed to be strong Deadfall! You can kill a man with a single touch. Yet here you are, at my mercy.” Ace of Clubs strolled casually over to the big wooded cabinet that stood under the sealed window.

  He pulled open a draw and began to collect items from the draw and lay them out on the wooden tabletop.

  Cynthia sucked in a breath, “so, are you going to kill us?”

  “Yes.” He pulled open the next draw and began to remove its contents.

  “Why?” Cynthia asked.

  He turned to face her.

  “Because you’re weak. Your place in this world is merely to give big game hunters like me, something new and exciting to kill.”

  Cynthia glanced at Kara and Mirage who lay listening to the conversation.

  “We are far from weak.” Cynthia growled. “We are more powerful than you could ever be.”

  He laughed.

  “No, you’re not. You’re weak. I’ve been studying your kind for a little while now and I know the truth about you. Your abilities don’t make you special, they single you out, and they isolate you. You are the runt of the litter, the old and wounded. You stand out from the rest of us, so we can reject you. You bring the rest of us real humans together. You exist simply to remind us who we are.”

  He stepped closer and held out both hands. “You unite us.”

  Cynthia gritted her teeth..

  “No.” she shook her head. “You are naïve and scared of what you don’t understand. You are just afraid. You are also deranged.” She gestured to the lines of tanks and shelves filled with Post-Human remains. “Look at this place, you’re a murdering psychopath.”

  Ace of Clubs simply shrugged and turned back to his cabinet.

  He removed a few more items before opening the next draw, taking out a small, thick book bound in tied strips of leather.

  My diary.

  Ace held it for a moment in his leather-gloved hand, and then he turned to face Cynthia.

&n
bsp; “I would call myself a revolutionary. A catalyst. A force of human nature. A big white blood cell in the bloodstream of human society.” He came closer. “I exist as a necessity for humanity. I’m showing the right direction. Blazing the trail. Leading the way. We are gonna unite our happy little band with visionaries like me all over the globe, and we will unite through a common plague. You.”

  He came closer. “No one wants you.”

  Closer. “No one likes you.”

  Closer. “No one trusts you.”

  Cynthia stared at the dark eye slits and glanced down at the small book in his hand.

  “Oh? You remember this?” he taunted, waving it just in front of her.

  “You had no right…”

  “Shut it. We’ve covered this. You are the one without rights. Don’t you dare tell me I have no right to do anything!”

  “It’s mine…” Cynthia hissed.

  Ace stepped away and turned and sat on the wire cage holding Mirage, crushing her tighter.

  She yelped and began to quietly sob.

  Ace of Clubs undid the knots in the leather thongs that held the book closed, then began to flip though the pages.

  “Gripping.”

  Cynthia’s anger filled her with heat. “It’s private.”

  “It’ll make a best seller for sure. I’ve read it twice. You were quite the art student weren’t you?” He looked up at her. “I can tell. You spend a lot of time writing about ideas and the way you see the world. The way colours in a sunset make you feel small. Blah, blah, blah… A lot of feelings and bullshit. When I endorse the film version, I will make sure they slip a bit of action in there. Maybe even ‘sexy’ it up a bit.”

  His blank mask kept staring across at her.

  She knew what he was going to say next. If he’d read it, he’s going to say it.

  “But, there is some action in there, isn’t there?”

  He got up off the wire cage and strolled closer, so he stood right in front of her.

  “There is one little piece of action in there amongst all your girly crying. You killed a man, when you were young.”

  Cynthia felt like something was stuck in her throat.

  “That was when you became a killer. And you dare to accuse me?” He gestured to the two young woman trapped in the wire cages. “Why are you so cut up about it, Deadfall? These bitches have done it too. Neither of them has a clean record. Little Mirage here actually finds it fun. I’ve got her to do it for me a few times. So, why are you so hung up on killing? I bet you liked it. That has to be it.”