by Adam Steel
‘I guess now that depends on who’s asking doesn’t it? Seems I can’t be Max anymore,’ he smirked again and took a swig of his beer. ‘'Cause Max is... deeeesthpicable!’ he lisped bitterly.
Jack pulled a cigar from his pocket and dug for his lighter.
‘You can’t stay here,’ he said absently, as he searched. ‘The Marseilles brothers are pulling back; moving to a different safe house. This place isn’t secure. CURE will probably be here soon.’
Max snorted, ‘I don’t’ care. I’m not staying anyway. I’m not sticking around to get hunted down and thrown back. I’d be no better as a gangster, than I was as a Box-Guard. I’m just going to get my girl; cut my losses and get the fuck out of here. I figure I owe her that much at least.’ If she hasn’t worked out what a loser you are yet, a little voice in his head told him. He ignored it.
Jack discarded the contents of one of his pockets onto the table, and neatly extracted a lighter from the discarded pieces of paper and old cigars. He sparked up expertly and answered, without looking at Max.
‘I’d just get out if I was you. The girl may be more trouble than she’s worth,’ he said dismissively, as if Max wouldn’t hear it.
Max’s eyes snapped up and glared.
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.
Jack shifted in his seat.
‘Your new found freedom took a little…organising and you might say she could get in trouble for it. So I’d advise to steer clear if I were you…unless you want to end up back in the CURE,’ he muttered.
Max slammed his fist down on Jack’s hat, flattening it and the beer rattled on the table.
‘Let me guess,’ he growled. ‘You’ve set her up to take the fall for whatever shit you pulled to get the transfer details. That’s it isn’t it? You weren’t ever going to come for me. It was only ever Marko. Its only blind luck I’m not dead in the dirt back there!’
Jack said nothing, but just sat frowning at his crumpled hat. He looked injured. Max shot across the table and grabbed Jack by his lapels. He heaved him across the table: sending the bourbon, and beer flying.
‘You’ve done all this to save your own sorry arse!’
Max yelled in his face he had gone bright red and Jack had gone limp. Behind them, the barman was leaning back against the bar smoking an enormous reefer. He was grinning and clearly enjoying the exchange and Jacks misfortune. Jack looked back at him: the cigar falling from his mouth as he spoke.
‘You’re out aren’t you? Hey, you asked for MY help and here you are. What’s the big deal?’ he said in a wounded voice.
Max threw him back into his seat angrily.
‘I didn’t ask you to set up the girl. She hasn’t done anything. And I didn’t ask you to start a fucking war!’ he spat.
Jack fumbled on the floor for his cigar. He noted sadly, that his bourbon glass was broken.
‘She stole some files for me,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t make her do it. It was her idea. I didn’t know anything about it. We used them to organise the bust. You can’t blame me for that.’
A plume of flame came up from under the table as Jack reignited his cigar. He sat back up to meet Max’s furious eyes.
‘Look. I can’t change what’s happened. It’s done now, we’re both square with the gang, so let’s just go our separate ways,’ he suggested hopefully.
Max shook his head slowly.
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘It won’t be that easy.’
Behind them, Kojo entered the bar from downstairs. When he passed Jack’s table, he threw down a heavy revolver onto Jack’s already crumpled hat. Jack could see that it was not loaded. Kojo turned (and without saying a word) he selected a new tune from the ancient juke box that occupied the corner. The coins rattled down into the machine, and the record slowly whirred into place. Max completely ignored the interruption, and the gun, and continued as Jack pocketed it.
‘You’re going to warn her: get her somewhere safe, or it won’t be Red-Man’s gang you have to worry about. It’ll be me and I’m…deeeeeesthpicable,’ Max hissed.
The record began to play in the background. It was fairly upbeat. It took Jack a second or two to catch on to the lyrics. The song was about a man called Jack being told to hit the road. Jack looked behind them at the jukebox. Kojo was tapping his feet to the music. He grinned back at Jack and waved in a friendly manner. Jack took the hint and scowled at Max.
Max smirked back.
‘Seems like your welcome is wearing out here. We could always walk outside into some dark alley to finish this,’ Max said smugly, flexing his muscles which rippled beneath his shirt.
Jack grabbed his hat off the table and began ironing out the creases back into its semi-creased state.
‘Won’t be easy. She goes everywhere with some big bastard with a towel on his head. Mean looking fucker too,’ he said, as he worked on his hat.
Behind them Kojo turned the volume on the record up slightly. Still the song went on about a man called Jack having to leave and not come back, and still Kojo tapped along with his foot to the music. Max sank back into his seat.
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re so…resourceful,’ he said sarcastically.
The bar doors swung open behind them. Both men looked up in surprise, and relaxed again when a skinny, pasty-looking white kid, came through the door. He went to the back, and ordered a drink. His voice was squeaky. Max dismissed him. No trouble yet, he thought. He knew it was coming though. He could feel it.
Jacks face split into a grin when he saw the pasty figure. Max could see a plan hatch in his eyes as surely as if a glowing light bulb had appeared over his head.
‘Unicorn Hotel. Sector Six. Tomorrow afternoon. She’ll be there,’ Jack said finally.
Max nodded in agreement. Tomorrow was good.
Jack got up to leave. His eyes were flitting between Max, and the kid at the bar.
‘Why don’t you chill out for a day? Get a hook up from this lot. I’m sure you miss it,’ Jack said sarcastically.
Max shifted in his seat and took something from his pocket. He showed it to Jack. It was a small, red, vial which was full of a dark liquid.
‘They gave me this, said it’d fix me up.’
Jack stared at the vial of Louis’s latest formula in horror. He tried to hide his expression as he fumbled with his hat.
‘I’d lay off that for a while. It’s… strong stuff. In fact, not while I’m around okay? Tomorrow. Sector Six,’ he finished.
Max looked curious and examined the vial. He was thinking that it was not Apexir - at least, not in a form he had seen before. He pocketed it and watched as Jack shambled away.
‘Jack…Hit the road and don’t come back. Listen to the music. You get her there, and then I’m done with you,’ Max said.
Behind him, the last of the lyrics spilled out across the bar. It sang of a man called Jack being told to get out of town and never come back.
Chapter 23: The Devil to Pay
Tuesday 24th July
The trio of trumpets blared out in perfect unison announcing her arrival. The heavy, gold-adorned doors, of Phoenix Palace swung open, to admit Aya into the Hall of Mirrors. Two lines of musicians, bordered either side of the room to welcome her with an ensemble of magnificent, triumphant music. The room was filled to capacity. Only the aisle, running down the middle of the opulent chamber, was empty. It awaited her elegant footfalls.
Aarif was waiting for her at the far end of the aisle. He was standing tall, and firm, in his spotless white suit. He wore a sumptuous gold sash over one shoulder. It was bedecked with precious gemstones. Ajit was standing next to the immaculately presented Aarif. His arms were folded. He appeared to be proud, strong and as immovable as a rock.
The doors opened to the sound of two hundred pairs of hands clapping applause.
Aya looked down at herself. She was wearing a wedding dress of pure silk. It was a deep turquoise colour, with folding layers of the finest cloth. It had been woven by art
isans of great skill. Tiny pearls filled every seam. They were flawlessly woven into the design and formed small, subtle spirals, across her arms. On her feet, she wore diamond-laced, high-heeled shoes. They were perfectly tailored, and of the finest quality.
Pieces of confetti rained from the ceiling of the chamber. They drifted like snowflakes and settled across the aisle. A piece landed on her hand. It was pure silk - not paper. It was tear-shaped. She stroked it before it fell to the floor. The room had been decked with flowing ribbons that hung from the chandeliers. The silky ribbons were tied to the tops of the mirrors in loose bows.
The orchestra began to play again: a slow, moving melody. It was the signal for her to approach. Step by step she began to cross the room. The flowing drapes of her gown, drew gasps of awe from the guests either side of her. She didn’t know them. They were all members of Aarif’s entourage, or his friends and business associates. She cared nothing for any of them, and never once returned their gazes.
Solemnly, she walked towards the waiting Aarif. She was thinking that it had all been too late. There would be no escape. She knew now that there never was.
She walked slowly past the mirrors. Mada watched her from the front aisle. She was grinning so widely that her face seemed to be all lips and teeth. Her eyes were alight, and in her lap, she rubbed her hands in anticipation.
Aya tried to ignore her, and cast an eye over the mirrors.
The illusion was clever.
In the Palace of Versailles (from where the artisans had drawn their inspiration) the mirrors had reflected the windows opposite and the gardens. In Phoenix Palace, they reflected the gold statues opposite. Each gold statue represented a worker from one of Utopia’s major institutions. An ISIAH nurse, a Genie technician, an Edikitt teacher, a CURE officer and a TALOS guard. Each of the gold statues was holding up a glass orb depicting the world, with Utopia at its centre. Deep inside the orbs, a light glimmered. It shone outwards from the tiny glass Utopia, to cover the globe. Each was its own magical crystal ball that held its own secrets.
The ceilings were covered in extensive murals. On one side, they depicted flames, burnt buildings, and rubble: a scene from hell, or the Day of Reckoning. On the other side a mural stretched the whole length of the Hall of Mirrors. It depicted flames of intense red-orange colour and smoke that was as black as a dark hole. The hellish colours blended beautifully into the vibrant shades of greens and blues as the mural transformed into a paradise further down the room. The painted sun, shone down brightly across Coney City, with its billion blinking lights, and towers of glass and steel. Behind the city, the Genie facility was depicted as a great marble pyramid, with a golden pyramidion at its top. A great source of light erupted from behind it, to encompass the city. It was such a work of unimaginable skill that Aya doubted that it could have been painted by a real artist. She believed that it was the manifestation of some great dreamers thoughts made real.
Aarif waited for her underneath the shining example of the perfect city. His expression was calm and unreadable, beneath the perfect mask of his face.
Aya saw her reflection in the mirrors as she passed by.
Mada had forced her to rehearse the walk a hundred times until it was perfect.
In the first mirror she was tall and haggard with greying hair: a virtual skeleton of rags, wrapped in the purest silk. In the second mirror, she saw herself as hideously bloated. She was waddling - not walking. Her body was swollen, and heavily pregnant. The dress had burst along all its seams, and her stretch-marked belly, protruded through the gaps. Her features were lost under reams of fat and flesh, and the turquoise silk was stained with sweat. The guests didn’t seem to notice.
The statues behind her remained cold, and still. They were focused on holding up their worlds.
She was almost at the golden altar. She thought that Aarif must have commissioned it himself as it bore is family emblem. The words: “Wealth. Prosperity. Obedience” were etched on it, underneath his family crest.
Aya chanced a look in the final mirror as she passed it. Blackened eyes glanced back at her. They were badly bruised. Her lip was split, and an ugly line of dried blood, ran down her chin. Her arms were broken and flopped uselessly on the end of battered shoulders. Her dress was torn blood stained. Her feet dragged along the floor, and she felt sure that she would fall. When she tried to open her mouth, she saw that she had no teeth. All that remained were broken, serrated, edges. She quickly looked away and up at Aarif.
The music had stopped and the ceremony was beginning. She did not stand side by side with Aarif. Instead, she was abashed in front of him, more his servant than his equal. She knew within herself that that was the truth of it. It would be her truth, and her future, from now on. Aarif’s expression did not change when he automatically gave the correct responses to the words of the ceremony. Aya missed most of it. She felt so very far away. Somewhere, something was tapping. It was faint, vibrating, but insistent, as if on another plane of existence.
Tap Tap.
Behind her Mada was dancing. She had left her seat, and drifted back and forth behind them. Her hands were trailing pieces of silk drape. Her eyes were closed and she was singing quietly to herself. There were no words, just a slow, ethereal humming. Mada moved like a ghost: silent and graceful, she was lost in a world of her own.
Nobody seemed to notice.
Aya did not chance another look into the mirrors. The ceremony was coming to an end. She couldn’t remember if she had been asked if she wanted to accept the marriage. She tried hard to remember, but the last few minutes were blank, a nothing-ness, as if they had never existed.
A member of Aarif’s entourage came forward to present him with the ring. He placed a jewelled box in his master’s hand before moving away, bowing constantly as he did so. He did not meet his master’s eyes. Aarif commanded her to rise from her kneeling position, and held the box out to her. Tentatively she rose. Her bones felt brittle: her spirit tired. With a shaking hand, she opened the box. It was lined with purple velvet. Inside, there was no ring, just a single, shining, silver key. She frowned, confused. She went to take the unusual gift, when Aarif’s firm hand stopped her.
He smiled, ‘This is not yours,’ his voice echoed. It was a loud, booming voice that no longer sounded human. ‘This is mine,’ it thundered.
Behind them the doors burst open and Aya turned around in surprise. The rest of the room did not react. They sat passively, as if nothing was happening.
‘In the name of Utopia, I command that you halt these proceedings,’ a powerful voice commanded.
A figure marched into the room, followed by two lines of TALOS soldiers. They clinked as they moved. Their equipment bouncing against their armoured sides, as the black and red parade marched into the room. They were all armed.
An authoritative figure marched in front of them. He conveyed a sense of invulnerability, as if nothing in the world could touch him. The tails of his coat trailed behind him, carried on the air currents he generated by his swift, confident movements. The coat was black leather, with a red trim. A white relief of the mason’s key adorned the back of it. His shoulders were decorated with golden braids which gave way to a precision, black and red, military suit, underneath. A shining key hung around the man’s muscular neck, and at his waist, a silver sabre rattled as he moved. Beneath a black, gold-trimmed admiral’s hat, Mason Deckler’s piercing eyes, pinned Aya to the spot.
The guests did not look at him, instead, they all stared at Aya. They seemed rooted to the spot and their expressions were blank. They seemed locked in stasis, like a factory floor of human robots. Utterly immobile. Unthinking and uncaring.
Deckler closed on her.
‘Aya Kaleem. You are under arrest for crimes against the republic of Utopia. You stand accused of mayhems designed to destabilise our society, and of criminal actions against Utopian law, and the collaboration of Masons,’ he stated coldly.
Aya looked helplessly around the room for Mada but
she had disappeared. The army of stationary robots stared back at her. Desperately, she whipped around to face Aarif. With her arms outstretched, she looked for his support. Aarif wasn’t there. Instead, a figure stood in his suit, bolt upright. It held a silver key in its hand, and with his elegant fingertips it played with its surface. The figure had a wolf’s head. Its shaggy, unkempt fur, erupted from the collar of the perfect suit, and bright canine eyes, glared back at her. Its grotesque, black-rimmed gums, were peeled back, to expose its sharp teeth. The long lupine ears flattened, as the Aarif-Wolf bared its fangs at her, and ‘growled.’ Aya stumbled backwards in horror. She opened her mouth to scream, but no matter how hard she tried no sound would come out.
The Aarif-Wolf creature barked ferociously at her.
Behind her Deckler was tapping the floor loudly, with the point of his sabre.
TAP TAP TAP!
Aya looked in despair at Ajit. He was gone also. In his place was a gigantic, bronze statue of an Arabian man. It had its arms folded and on its statue face, was a fixed, grim expression. Ajit’s brass eyes, watched Aya stumble backwards into Deckler’s waiting arms. Deckler grasped her firmly and held her still while one of the TALOS soldiers approached with a black silk bag to put over her head.
The guests in the room stared blankly at the spot where Aya used to be.
Aya’s vision was spinning as she struggled against Deckler’s iron grip. In the mirrors, she could see the masons. In one mirror, Mason Royale held a knife. In another Mason Batide carried a noose. In another the Coney Twins were preparing a syringe. Aya shrieked as the bag was thrown over her head and the world plunged into darkness. She heard the Aarif-Wolf howl. The sound was unearthly and terrifying. She struggled for her life as she was bodily dragged from the room. Outside, a crowd of thousands were cheering. Her heels broke, and came off, as they dragged her along the marble pavement. Her dress ripped.