Infernum Omnibus

by Percival Constantine

  A cool breeze nipped at Julie Kim’s body, the jacket she wore barely strong enough to keep the wind at bay. Had her blood not been on fire over the past two weeks, she might have actually felt a chill. She stood over a plot in the cemetery which grass had only begun to grow on. The headstone had yet to arrive, marking it as the grave of Christian Pierce.

  Her former partner.

  “I warned you, you son of a bitch,” she said. “Told you if you pursued this thing with Angela, it would only end badly. But you had to do your own thing, had to cowboy it up, didn’t you?”

  She sighed as she reached inside her jacket for a pair of sunglasses, despite the overcast. She hadn’t worked with Christian for very long, but it was long enough and they developed a friendship during that period. Enough that she felt responsible to him. Needed to find some way to avenge him.

  She wasn’t sure what she could do. Dante was dead, killed by his own operative. That should have been enough—it was certainly good enough for Chandler and the rest of the Agency. But not for her.

  The sniper who took Christian’s life was still out there. Julie had informed Chandler in her report that they had some promising leads. It was a complete lie, but it gave her some stall time. A chance to look into Christian’s death a bit more closely.

  She walked from the plot towards her car, parked on the small road nearby. As she got inside, she felt a buzzing in her pocket and drew her cell phone. The call ID showed it was a blocked number.

  “Julie Kim,” she said as she held it to her ear.

  “I want you to just listen for a few minutes.” The voice on the other end was definitely feminine and one Julie had never heard before.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  “A friend.”

  “My friends have the courtesy to tell me their names when they call. So who is this?”

  “It’s about Chris.”

  “Chris. You mean Christian?” she asked. “Is this—?”

  “What part of ‘just listen’ did you not understand? He told me you could be trusted. It was the last thing he said.”

  “Fine, I’m listening.”

  “Dante’s dead.”

  “I know, I saw the body. Gunshot wound to the head.”

  “What?”

  “You shot him in the head, didn’t you?” asked Julie. The caller said nothing in response. Julie grew impatient waiting for a response. “Angela?”

  Still silence, but after a moment or two, the caller spoke again. “There’s a place called the Cobra Club, owned by Johnny Venom. He may be able to give you a lead on the sniper.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Someone who’s not too fond of Infernum.”

  “And I’m supposed to trust you?”

  “Just calling you is a risk for me. Talk to Venom. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Wait, I want you to listen to me now. Come back in, Angela. With Dante dead, that means the rest of the organization is weakened. Together, we can bring it all crashing down. I need your help on this.”

  Silence again.

  “Angela, say something.”

  “He’s not dead.”

  “What, but you just said—”

  She heard nothing. No breathing, not a sound. Julie looked at her phone. The call had been terminated at the other end of the line. Julie huffed.

  “Great. I can’t stand cryptic bullshit.” She searched through her contact list and found the number she was looking for and hit the call button. Two rings and a voice came on the other end.

  “Marco, it’s Kim. I want you to bring up whatever we have on a Johnny Venom.”

  “Johnny Venom? Sounds like something out of a trash novel.”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s obviously an alias. Still, see if the Agency has any records on him. Apparently runs a joint called the Cobra Club.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “Great. If you find any reports, send them to my mobile. Thanks.”

  ***

  Marco came through with the information and it hadn’t taken long. Turned out that Johnny Venom was something of a legend in the intelligence community, although nothing was able to be officially connected with him. Just as much of a spook as Dante himself.

  The Cobra Club, however, turned up some solid information. It was a real place, an extremely exclusive club catering to the upper strata of society. It was an hour’s drive for Julie before she reached the area. Outside the club was a large bouncer, nearly bald with a bushy mustache. Julie wasn’t exactly dressed for the place—a modest business suit with a long jacket over. As she approached the bouncer, he gave her a once-over.

  “You don’t look like you belong here, babe.”

  “That’s because I don’t. But you’re going to let me in anyway,” said Julie.

  “Sorry babe, private club.”

  “My name’s not babe,” she said. She handed him her card. “Tell Johnny Venom I’m here to see him.”

  “Why’d I do that?”

  “Tell him the Agency sent me. He’ll know what that means.”

  The bouncer motioned for one of the waiters to come over to him. A young woman, didn’t look older than twenty. She wore an immaculate black tuxedo, as did all of the waitstaff, men and women. The bouncer handed her the card and whispered something in her ear. She gave Julie a glance and then a questioning look to the bouncer. He just nodded his head. The waitress shrugged and disappeared back into the club.

  “Step to the side, please,” said the bouncer. Julie did as she was told, leaning against the wall. The bouncer went about his duties and it wasn’t long before the waitress came out again.

  “Ms. Kim?” she asked.

  “Right here,” said Julie.

  “Please follow me.”

  Julie felt the bouncer’s gaze follow her as the waitress led her into the club. The lighting inside was dim and soft jazz music came courtesy of a pianist out on the terrace. The waitress led Julie to a small platform on the terrace, to a table with a RESERVED sign on it. She motioned to the table and Julie took a seat.

  “Would you like anything to drink?”

  “No thanks,” said Julie, feigning a smile.

  “He’ll be with you soon.”

  The waitress disappeared back into the club. Julie watched the pianist, slowly being drawn in by his gentle rhythms. The atmosphere was definitely nice, a far cry from most of the bars Julie had been to in her life. The ones that did play music pumped up the volume to a level where you couldn’t hear anything else. And it was usually unpleasant to listen to at any volume.

  “Agent Kim, I presume?”

  Julie looked away from the pianist. The man who stood at her table now wore a white suit with black shirt. Short, neatly-cropped silver hair and a patch over his left eye.

  “May I join you?”

  “That depends,” said Julie. “Are you Johnny Venom?”

  “I might be,” he said, sitting across from her. He drew a silver cigarette case and opened it, offering it to her. Julie shook her head and Venom drew a cigarette for himself. “Not very often you see Agency operatives stopping by the Cobra Club. I was fairly certain they had no interest in me.”

  “It’s not you we’re interested in.”

  “Then who?”

  “Dante.”

  Venom stifled a laugh and lit his cigarette. “My dear, I’m you’re not up on current events. Dante is dead.”

  “Actually I am, I’m the one who viewed his body. I filed the report declaring him dead.”

  “So why the interest?”

  Julie didn’t want to reveal too much. Angela had said that Dante wasn’t dead, after saying he was. So she wasn’t quite sure what exactly to believe. Regardless, Dante wasn’t the reason she was here.

  “A few weeks ago, an Agency operative was shot and killed by an unidentified sniper.”

  “And?”

  “You don’t seem too surprised by that.”

  “As I recall, your organization isn’t exactly k
nown for making friends,” said Venom.

  “I think you know something about it. And by withholding evidence, you could be tried as an accomplice.”

  “Tried as an accomplice, is that so?” Venom’s lips wrapped around the end of the cigarette filter, taking a long drag, the embers glowing brightly in the dim lighting on the veranda. The smoke flowed slowly from his nostrils, lingering as he spoke his next words. “How naive are you, Agent Kim? The Agency isn’t in the business of bringing anyone to trial.”

  “Makes it even easier to take you out,” said Julie.

  Johnny Venom paused for a few moments. He took another drag on the cigarette, while maintaining an air of indifference to Julie’s statement. “Is that so?”

  “Listen, I’m not interested in making things difficult for you. As I understand it, you’ve pretty much retired from your old life. I just want to find the person who killed my partner.”

  “Then I’m sorry but you’ve wasted a trip, Agent Kim. I have no information to provide you,” said Venom. “But you’re more than welcome to join me for a nightcap.”

  “No thanks, I should be getting back. I have a bit of a drive ahead of me.” Julie rose from the table. “Thanks for your time.”

  As she began to walk past, Johnny Venom spoke up again. “Just for future reference, it may not be the best idea to flash around the name of the Agency in a place like this. You’re supposed to be a covert operative, Agent Kim. And a woman of your appearance, had you dressed up a bit more, you could have passed for a call girl coming to find a client.”

  “A call girl, huh?” asked Julie with a chuckle born of amusement and partially of disgust. “If I’d done that, would I really have gotten an audience with you?”

  “I suppose now we’ll never know. Drive safely.”

  Julie left the terrace, walking back through the club. As she went through the front door, the bouncer tapped her on her shoulder. “Hold up a second.”

  Julie stopped and waited for the bouncer to signal for someone else to watch the door. He came over to her and leaned in close.

  “Listen, that guy you’re lookin’ for?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “Waitress overheard your chat with the boss. Told me about it. I think I know who you want.”

  “And why would you help me? Your boss claimed to know nothing about it.”

  “‘Course he did, bastard’s an old buddy of his or somethin’.”

  “I don’t think he’d like you talking to me about it, then.”

  “Guy came in here a few weeks ago. Old guy, beat-up clothes. Looks like he walked outta a western flick.”

  “Why would I care about your boss’ old drinking buddy?” asked Julie.

  “‘Cause they weren’t just shootin’ the shit. Dude was talkin’ about some kinda job.”

  “I need a name.”

  “Carl Flint,” he said.

  “And why are you telling me this?” asked Julie.

  “You’re lookin’ to bust him, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Good.”

  Julie folded her arms. “If your boss finds out about this—”

  “You gonna narc me out or somethin’?”

  “As long as you’re not putting me on,” she said.

  “I’m not.”

  “So why?”

  The bouncer seemed to be embarrassed. And then that embarrassment turned to an extremely visible anger in his eyes.

  “That asshole made me look like a chump. I don’t like that. ‘Specially not where I work. So if you put a bullet in him, put in another for me.”

  Julie nodded in understanding.

  NOW

  Cold water splashed on Reyes’ face. It woke him and he tried to wipe it off. Except his hands were bound behind the back of a wooden chair. His ankles were bound to the legs. And also, he was naked as the day he was born.

  The metal bucket which held the water now coating Reyes’ bloated and hairy body crashed to the ground with a loud clang. “Morning, Sheriff,” said Flint. He sat in a similar chair to the one Reyes was bound to, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. “Found these in your night stand. Thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  “What are you doing, Lawrence?” asked Reyes. “First I tell you what you wanna know, then you crash my car an’ disappear. We searched your house trying to find you.”

  “I know, I watched your men work. Pretty amazing they didn’t notice me. If I wanted to, I could’ve killed every last one of them.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Thought I’d see how you play your end of this game,” said Flint. “And now we’re in a bit of a bind. See, Tanya Cruz came to me about two weeks back. Told me Suárez’s men kidnapped her brother, to make him an offer. You told me where to find Suárez’s men. So imagine my surprise when I found out not only was Victor Rodriguez not there, but the men you sent me after were Suárez’s rivals.”

  “Maybe you should have done a better investigation before you shot up a hotel full of the wrong guys,” said Reyes.

  Flint gnawed on the end of the cigar. “Yeah, maybe. And maybe you should be straight with me for once.”

  “Or what, you’ll threaten to put a bullet in me again?” Reyes chuckled. “Didn’t scare me last time. I only told you what Suárez paid me to tell you.”

  “I know that. Suárez used Tanya to make up that story, probably put her on me immediately after he heard about how I roughed up his boys. He knew I’d come after you first, since you’re the man in town who’s in the know.”

  “So what makes you think this time’s gonna be different?” asked Reyes.

  Flint stood and strode past Reyes. The sheriff could hear some sort of rustling from behind. A moment later, Flint came back to stand in front of Reyes, a blowtorch in hand. He pushed the switch and a stream of flames emitted from the tip. Flint lit his cigar on the end and fixed his gaze on Reyes.

  “Because this time, I’m gonna get creative.”

  “Who do you think you are, Lawrence?” asked Reyes.

  “My name’s not Lawrence. It’s Carl Flint,” he said. “I was in the Special Forces, then went on to do contract killings for an organization called Infernum. I’m what you might call...semi-retired.”

  Flint stepped closer, shooting off a stream of flames quickly once again for effect. “But some things? You never forget. Like the stench of burning flesh. Or how much pain a man will endure before he tells you anything and everything you ever wanted to know.”

  “And what makes you think I won’t feed you straight bullshit?”

  “That’s a good point. If we had a limited time frame, this wouldn’t work.” Flint reached inside his coat, behind his back. When the hand came out, it was holding a hunting knife. He activated the blowtorch again, holding the blade in the flames. “Except we’ve got all the time in the world. And I can keep you alive for weeks, maybe even months if I have to. And during all that time, you’ll suffer. Some people can stand up to it. They can take anything I throw at them and then some.”

  Flint turned off the torch and held the knife close to Reyes’ shoulder. He slowly pressed the flat end of the blade against it and Reyes’ face contorted in pain and could smell his own skin beginning to burn.

  “I’ve been doing this long enough that I know how to read people,” said Flint. “You’re not a believer, Sheriff. You’re just a hired gun. And at the end of the day, non-believers are much more willing to save themselves than protect the cause.”

  He held the flame over the blade, waiting for it to heat up properly. “You see, I was tortured once. Back in the eighties, I was Special Forces. We were in South America, overthrowing a democratically-elected government that was too Marxist for our tastes. It was the Cold War, so what do you expect? Socialism, Marxism, communism—far as we were concerned, they were all spelled ‘U-S-S-R.’ So we were out there training rebel forces. And we’re talking vicious sons of bitches, right? Didn’t matter if they killed women, chi
ldren, anything was fair game. We found a spy in the midst. Or at least the rebels thought he was a spy, they had no real proof.

  “So they tortured him. And when I say torture, I mean torture. You know all that water-boarding stuff they talk about? That’s like a refreshing shower compared to this.

  “I objected. Said they weren’t thinking straight. So the rebels, they thought that meant I was a spy, too. They ambushed me, strapped me down, and then they gave me some of the same.”

  Flint removed the blade and this time brought the sharp end against Reyes’ opposite shoulder. He slowly cut into the flesh, dragging the knife down in a deliberate fashion, and Reyes hissed in pain.

  “So when I do this, I want you to know that I’ve been there. I’ve been through worse. And I sympathize with your pain, I really do. But given how you’ve sold yourself to Suárez, what you also have to know is that I don’t give a rat’s ass how much you suffer.”

  Flint pulled the blade from Reyes’ flesh and the sheriff breathed with relief. The American waved the blade in front of Reyes’ face.

  “Care to find out how it feels to have your nipple sliced off?”

  Reyes shook his head.

  “In that case, let’s talk.”

  “Fine,” said Reyes. “Guess we should start off with the obvious—Suárez heard about you. Was curious about you since you first turned up. Then after you pulled that stunt at the bar, we all knew you were something more than you claimed. By now, Suárez knows who you really are.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Flint.

  “Oh really?” asked Reyes. “‘Cause Suárez’s got connections. Powerful connections. The kind who won’t care about turning in a scumbag like you.”

  “All because I embarrassed his boys? Didn’t realize Suárez was that sensitive.”

  “What, you think you just stood up to some drunks? That’s not what you did, gringo. What you did is do what no one else in this town would—you stood up to Suárez. That makes you either a hero or a psycho. Except there’s something you got backwards—Suárez didn’t send you after the Gonzalez cartel so you’d come back in a body bag. Suárez wanted you to bump ‘em off.”

  “That part I figured out. Why?”