"Give it up now, DuNoye," I breathe, fatigue starting to take its toll. Every muscle and bone seems to be aching simultaneously. "Your sick little studio is finished. You think that by whacking me you're gonna stop them coming to take you out? Wheels are already in motion, pal. They don't hear from me, they're gonna blitz this place."
The lawyer laughs. "Oh, don't worry about us, Mr Trager. We've already made our emergency plans to get out of the city. We still have a few friends of influence that can ease our passage, and some substantial donations here and there will keep Justice Department off our backs. Still, it's nice to know that you care so much about Ramona that you're happy to see her carted off to the cubes."
I can barely summon up the courage to look at her. She's stopped struggling and is just studying me, like a laboratory specimen; some new species of human being that is worthy of investigation. I want to tell her that not everything I said was part of a performance, that my actions were motivated as much by a genuine attraction and desire as it was by the demands of my role as a Mega-City Judge.
I don't want to see Ramona hurt. She's been brought up by an insane father, bombarded by his mad, monstrous philosophy, and no doubt knows nothing about the truth behind her mother's death. He's made her in his own image, corrupting her view of other people to the point where her talent only emerges as she strives to reveal the secrets beneath the skin. She needs counselling, maybe a spell in a psych-unit. Encubement could only prove to damage her further. I resolve that if by some miracle I come out of this alive I will recommend she gets help. But she, along with the rest of these creeps, needs to be stopped right now.
DuNoye's watching me, sensing my discomfort. "Not pretty, is it, coming face to face with someone you've been deceitful to?"
"That's rich," I hurl back, determined not to have his gloating features be the last thing I see before I die. "She's been lied to all her life. Born into this drokking charnel house, she's known nothing but her father's warped vision. What story did you spin for when her mother disappeared?"
"Trager, what are you-" Ramona blurts out, her words tremulous.
"Ramona!" DuNoye barks again, silencing her. He glares at me, fiery eyes looking straight into mine. "I'm growing tired of the sound of your voice, Mr Trager. I'm thinking it might be best all round if we cut that devious tongue from your head."
He reaches for the trolley beside me and plucks up what looks like a pair of tinsnips. He studies them for a second, as if he were a surgeon selecting the right equipment, then moves closer to me.
"Alphonse, if you would be so kind to capture the moment?" DuNoye asks as my erstwhile partner mans the camera. "Don't want to go for the money shot too soon," the lawyer says to me quietly, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, "but a little blood will make a nice opening splash image." He motions to another goon standing nearby. "Get his mouth open."
The meathead grasps my jaw and wrenches it apart, despite my best efforts to avoid his clutches. I'm squirming in the chair, trying to make it as difficult for them as possible, but they're both holding on tight. I attempt to retract my tongue until it's virtually choking me. DuNoye edges in closer with the implement and I feel the cold steel against my lips, taste the merest hint of oil upon them. I summon my strength and twist my head a few centimetres, enough for the snips to graze my cheek and chin. Pain lances through me, but it's enough to grant me a few seconds respite as the lawyer stops briefly, looking exasperated at his minion.
"Hold him the drokk still," he says tersely.
"Vandris, I don't want this," Ramona howls. "Not this way, please-"
"Ramona, I won't tell you again-"
"No, I agree, DuNoye," a new voice says, immediately silencing the room. "Not this way."
I'm released at once, my mouth clamping shut automatically. DuNoye drops the snips back onto the trolley and turns to meet the newcomer, who moves further into the light. "I'm sorry, Mr Rejin, I thought you wanted the traitor dispatched," the lawyer says, deferent.
"And so he will. But by my hand. His soul belongs to me."
Finally, I can see the figure: Erik Rejin, the movie-maker, the elusive creep at the heart of Catalyst. If I was expecting the Devil, a wizened creature whose physical appearance matched the evil deeds that he had presided over, then I was disappointed.
This was very much a man, and all the more terrifying that insanity could reside in someone who is normality personified. He's surprisingly sprightly for his years hidden from public view, his movements not betraying his age - he had to be somewhere in his late sixties - and there's not a trace of the ravages of madness across his face. On the contrary, he has bland, almost nondescript, features: pale blue eyes behind tiny glasses, a tidy sandy-blond haircut going to grey, a small pursed mouth. His skin is unnaturally white, as if he hasn't seen sunlight for most of his adult life.
The more I look at him, however, the more I think that this person possibly doesn't belong to the same species as the rest of us, that he has in fact distanced himself from the human race. There's not a trace of emotion behind those watery eyes, no cracks appearing in that blank mask of a face. He's a cipher; a hollowed-out character who's found that the only way to feel is to see others reduced to the same basics as him. He's the nearest thing I've seen to a living, breathing robot, and when he speaks, his voice has the monotone timbre of someone who died inside long ago.
"What did you want here, lawman?"
I don't know how to answer. He's regarding me strangely, like he's looking through me, and the effect is unnerving.
"You want her, is that it?" Rejin grabs Ramona's arm without even turning and pulls her close. "You want this offspring of mine for yourself?"
"Father, please, I-I didn't know," she sobs, looking petrified of her own parent.
Rejin's head swivels mechanically towards his daughter. "You have betrayed me, child, welcoming this snake into our home. Everything I taught you about the untrustworthy nature of man, you have disregarded." He walks her forward and picks up a las-saw off the trolley. "Haven't I told you that truth lies within? That only once you go beyond the flesh can you slough off the reptile skin and reveal the light of purity? Look, I shall show you that even this being, this man of law," he spits the words at me, "contains the simple beauty of truth." He goes to raise the saw above my chest.
"No," she replies, shaking her head. "I don't want to see..."
"Then you are a fool!" he rasps and lashes out at her with the handle of the saw, smacking it against her temple. She collapses to her knees, holding the side of her head, weeping.
"Rejin!" I roar, finding my voice at last. "This has to stop!"
"You are not in a position to give me any kind of order, deceiver. You have infected my daughter with your lies, you have spread their taint around my domain. And damned though you may be, I shall show that redemption can be extracted from even the most foulest of creatures."
He whips the saw across my chest and the short laser beam crackles as it slices through my shirt and parts the meat beneath. I scream, straining against the ropes binding me to the chair, smoke rising from the slash-mark, the stench of burning flesh reaching my nose. He strikes again, higher, catching my bare neck and shoulder, and white-hot agony paralyses my left arm. There's little blood, as the laser cauterises each wound even as it appears, but the skin around each blow blackens and crisps.
"I want this lawman's transformation on record," Rejin demands. Alphonse hurriedly starts snapping, zooming in on my face contorted in pain. "Can you imagine what this will sell for?" the madman continues. "What the connoisseurs will say when they get to see this Mega-City Judge broken apart by my very hand? It will elevate my work up to a whole new level!" He swipes the saw downwards and slices me across the face. I feel my hair burning, then I black out.
I come to possibly only seconds later. Ramona is clutching at her father, staying his hand, repeatedly asking him to stop.
"Vandris, take her up to my room," Rejin says.
"Sir, we should really be thinking about leaving," the lawyer replies. "We don't know how much the Judges know about us, but they could have the building under surveillance-"
"Not until I have finished with our friend here," Rejin says, gesturing to me. "There is still too much work to be done." He suddenly grabs me under the chin and lifts my head up, levelling the tip of the saw just above my right eye. "I want my revenge on this offender..."
At that moment, an explosion rips through the outer part of the studio. Rejin releases me, steps back and looks around. DuNoye just has time to say, "What the hell?" before there's another burst of automatic fire and the far wall of the soundstage collapses in a cloud of dense smoke. There's a rumble of a powerful engine and Dredd comes surging through the rent in the wall on his Lawmaster, screeching towards us.
FOURTEEN
Smoke. Confusion. The perps scattered as if a grenade had been lobbed into the centre of the room.
"You are all under arrest!" Dredd hollered as he sped towards the group. "Drop your weapons now or face the consequences!"
"Sir! This way!" DuNoye shouted to Rejin, dragging Ramona with one hand in the direction of a back exit. The CEO followed rapidly, bodyguards shielding him and returning fire.
Dredd ducked low and powered into the melee, bike cannons blazing, cutting a swathe through those creeps that had remained to take him on, bodies jerking as they were riddled with high-power slugs. A meathead let loose with a zip gun and Dredd rolled off the Lawmaster to seek shelter, leaping behind a stack of crates. While the bike slammed into a wall with a jarring crunch, he unslung his Lawgiver and came up shooting, putting three standard execution rounds through the crim's skull with barely a fraction of a second's aim.
The survivors saw that this was a good time to flee and backed off, pouring on the automatic fire to cover their escape. The Judge timed the gaps in the barrage and picked his targets, taking out a further two with pinpoint accuracy before those that were left disappeared from view. When he broke cover and headed across to Trager, the soundstage was deserted, the floor littered with rubble and half a dozen bodies. As the lawman reached him, the undercover officer was slouching in the chair as far as his bonds would allow.
Dredd crouched down beside him, lifting his head up to check his wounds. There was a livid gash across his face from his hairline to his jaw, the skin puckered around it like a burn. He could hear the man breathing lightly, and his eyes flickered open, taking a few moments to adjust to Dredd's presence.
"Hold on, Trager," the senior Judge said. "Back-up is on its way." He quickly untied the straps and lifted him to his feet, noticing the scorched marks on his chest and belly. "Can you stand?"
Trager nodded. He swallowed several times and tried to push himself away, attempting to steady himself without Dredd's aid. "I... I can make it," he breathed. "How did you know I needed help?"
"Matheson Peat. He must've alerted 'em that they had a Judge in their midst. As a politician he had access to sensitive Justice Department records, so he could've discovered files relating to your infiltration."
"The councillor? He's involved in this?"
"Up to his damn eyeballs. Been covering for Rejin and the whole Catalyst operation, him and his circle of rich pals." Dredd nodded to the camera set-up. "Vi-zines?"
"And then some."
"Guessed as much." The senior Judge looked Trager up and down. "You were lucky we found out your cover had been blown when we did. It's unfortunate that you had to be put in this position. We'll have to review our security procedures."
"All part of the job," he murmured, wincing as he ran his fingers over his facial scar.
"Wait here for the med-wagon," Dredd said, noting his discomfort and already starting to head off in the direction that the perps had taken. "It won't be long."
"No," Trager replied, his voice growing stronger. "I'm coming with you."
"You're in no fit state to pursue them, Trager. You'll put both yourself and me at risk."
"I'm seeing this through to the end. Give me a gun."
"This is no time for heroics."
The Wally Squad Judge looked behind him, then uneasily walked over to one of the bodies, stooped and retrieved a couple of blasters, his face grimacing in pain. He turned back to Dredd. "I'm coming with you whether you like it or not. Don't worry about me, I'm fine."
"You're not and you know it," Dredd growled. "I don't have time to argue, but I will say this: you collapse when you're meant to be watching my back, you'll have me to answer to, understand?"
"You're all heart, Dredd," Trager said, striding past him.
The two of them reached the door that led into the backstage area. Dredd signalled for Trager to cover him as he edged his way through and appraised the corridor beyond. It was empty. He nodded and the undercover Judge followed him, a gun in each hand, head moving from side to side as he checked both left and right.
"There an escape route this way?" Dredd asked.
Trager shrugged. "No idea. This leads out to the admin offices, though DuNoye did say they had their passage out of city sorted."
"Terrif," the senior Judge rumbled. "Well, we've got units in the area, and an APB's out on them. Won't take long for them to be picked up if they get past us."
"Dredd, I gotta say something." Trager turned to him. "The daughter, Ramona, you gotta go easy on her. She's emotionally unbalanced. Rejin murdered her mother and brought her up, instilling some fruitcake philosophy into her. He's brainwashed her into thinking this whole operation is like a psycho art exercise; cutting open cits to reveal their true nature. He's off the looney-toon scale."
"No kidding. Rejin was trapped with the bodies of his family during the Apocalypse War and went full-blown nutso. Ended up eating half of them."
"Jovus drokk..."
"But the daughter's just as responsible," Dredd continued. "She'll take her chances with the rest of them."
"She didn't kill anyone," Trager replied, his voice hardening. "I'm not excusing her actions, but she just took the pics."
"She's an accessory to multiple murder, no matter what her mental state is. You were warned at the beginning not to get too close, and I can see it's already affecting your judgement. Don't make this personal. You were sent in on a job and it's now time to take these freaks down. If you haven't got the guts for that, then sit it out. But if you have, don't let feelings get in the way."
"I told you I wanted in on this," Trager said, starting to move along the corridor. "Come on, let's get it done."
Dredd watched the undercover officer make his way, wobbling slightly, through the backstage area and followed, wondering just how much of a liability he was going to be. Despite putting on an impressive front, the man was clearly in a great deal of pain, and he was allowing his effectiveness to be blunted by some personal mission of his own. Did he really think he could save this daughter of Rejin's? In Dredd's experience, such an enterprise was normally doomed to failure. When a Judge started getting too close to the perps - whether it became an obsessive vendetta to bring them down or a relationship was growing between the two parties - then the Law itself became compromised. Justice should be delivered with absolute objective authority, otherwise they might as well just hand over the city to mob rule right now.
Dredd resolved he'd have to keep an eye on Trager as well as the creeps they were hunting. Both could equally cause trouble.
The Wally Squad Judge had reached a corner, and was peering round it furtively. He looked back at Dredd and motioned him over. "Thought I saw the glint of a gun barrel," he whispered when the lawman reached him. "Smells like the ideal place for a trap."
Dredd took a peek and silently agreed. The corridor ahead was littered with discarded props and several large boxes had been stacked against the walls to create a narrow channel that someone would have to squeeze through. They could conceal any number of triggermen waiting for them.
"What do you reckon?" Trager asked.
"Let's tease them out,"
Dredd replied, reaching down into a nearby crate and pulling out a replica stumm gas grenade. He turned it over, grudgingly impressed by its realism. Catalyst had certainly known what it was doing. "As you haven't got a respirator, we'll have to see if they can be fooled by an imitation."
The lawman crouched and threw the grenade down the length of the floor, watching as it skittered between the boxes. The result was instantaneous; two meatheads leaped from their cover, panicked by the device. They moved to kick it away, emerging into plain sight and Dredd gunned them down where they stood.
He got to his feet and crossed to the far corridor wall, Lawgiver clutched in both hands at waist height, alert for any more resistance. He edged further up towards where the bodies lay, smoke still rising from their wounds. It was ominously quiet. He glanced back to see if Trager was following; the undercover officer was sliding along the opposite wall and met Dredd's gaze. At first, his expression advised caution, then his eyes widened and a split second later Dredd was turning, aware that someone was behind him.
"Dredd!" Trager's shout came a fraction too late.
A perp had jumped onto one of the boxes and pointed a sawn-off shotgun in the lawman's direction, letting off a deafening blast. Dredd threw himself sideways, feeling the high-calibre ammo shred the back of his uniform and pepper his skin with buckshot. He rolled, twisted and fired in one movement, pumping the trigger of his Lawgiver, but the pain igniting his back threw his aim off as he drilled a series of holes in the wall before catching the creep in the leg, shattering his kneecap. He squealed and dropped to the ground behind a stack of boxes, but Dredd sensed he wasn't out of the game just yet.
Trager scuttled alongside him, ducking low, and laid a hand on the senior Judge's shoulder. "Bad?" he asked.
"Had worse," Dredd answered, looking back and seeing a fine spray of his blood on the wall. "More pressing, spugwit ain't finished with us. I think I just winged him."
The Final Cut Page 20