“Barnes, wake up!”
“I swear officer,” I mumbled. “We’re engaged.”
“Get out of my chair, Barnes!”
“What!?” I continued, “I’m marrying the broad!”
“Ugh!” I moaned as cold water splashed across my face and soaked into my shirt. My eyes shot wide open and I saw a confused Wade Kearney holding an empty cup.
“Sorry, boss!” I croaked, struggling to my feet. “What time is it?”
“Late afternoon,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all over the place. I hadn’t taken you for the bumming type.”
He lit a gasper and grinned. “Didn’t I give you enough for a room?”
“Too much going on back at my place,” I explained.
“Define ‘too much’,” he asked, taking his usual place behind the battered desk.
“Gunfire and corpses,” I stated.
He ignored the remark, reached into his desk drawer and took out an envelope. Grinning sheepishly, I asked, “I’m not fired am I?”
“No,” he replied. “But I might have a task for you, if you’re up to it.” He looked doubtful after taking a gander at me.
“Sure thing,” I said, “just fill me in on what needs doing.”
“You probably won’t like it.”
Grinning, I said, “That’s what you’re paying me for.”
“Good man, Barnes,” he answered.
I awoke from what had to be the worst nightmare I’ve ever had into a reality that wasn’t any better. My room, a pokey little rattrap at the best of times, smelled like an abattoir: the man Jayne had dispatched the night before was still there. A bleak afternoon light bled in through the rain-spattered window panes.
I’d dreamed I’d been crawling up a mountain of broken stone blocks, an impossibly slippery green that stank of seaweed and dead fish. Every time I reached the top of a block, I’d find myself right at the bottom again, facing toward the foot of the mountain where a sea of misty waves lapped at a nasty, brown beach.
My purpose in the dream had been to reach the mountain peak and save Jayne before Big Boss came to steal her from me, but the impossible dead ends drove me to the edge, made me jump out of the dream. I awoke to the dank, reeking corpse-smell all around me and my first thought was that I was somehow still trapped, unable to wake up.
I tried to pull myself up from the floor but I only made it halfway to my feet before crumbling back down. I felt like garbage and my head was ringing in pain. It wasn’t just the massive earache that Jayne gave me or the cops’ rough-housing—a thick cake of blood tugged my skin to its limit.
The thought of Jayne made me cringe, but at least it gave me the strength to climb to my feet and drag the ruined coat from my shoulders. I tossed it across the too-familiar corpse, hoping that it could partially snuff out that pungent, rotten smell. Stumbling around him I opened the window to allow the moist air inside so I could clear out the room and my head.
Staring down at the damp street and the hill beyond, I wondered just how the hell I’d get rid of that damned, dopeheaded torpedo. I’d bet dough that no one in my building would’ve bothered to investigate the sound of gunfire last night, so I’d probably be safe for a little longer. I stripped myself down to my blood-soaked birthday suit and headed towards the bathroom.
The bathroom around me was tiled from floor to ceiling in an ugly shade of cream that bled into the bathtub and the other appliances. Even as I tumbled inside the grimy shower, all I cared about was drenching myself clean before sleeping for a night and a day.
The water was as cold as ice but I didn’t even feel it. Reaching down to grab a bar of soap, I started washing out my matted, foul smelling hair. When I ran my hands over my ear, I nearly collapsed from the pain.
After that mistake I left the tub and started running a proper bath instead. I checked there was hot water running from the tap, before stepping towards the sink mirror to give my injuries a once-over.
I’ve heard of crashing: junkies in alleyways begging for a puff, dopeheads begging for the hypo even as they’re getting worked over by a bunch of alleyway toughs. I always thought I was beyond these kinds of lows, until I looked at myself after my Jayne comedown. The whole right side of my head was a red-stained mess, my right ear so clogged up with blood and gunk that it looked like a pile of meat.
I shook my head, my mirror image reciprocating, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked my mouth for loose teeth before turning back to sit on the edge of the tub.
The bathtub quickly filled and the steam from the water tickled me as I stared at the mildew-covered floor tiles. Only then did the bombshell that Jayne had dropped finally hit me.
‘Our kinds shouldn’t mix, Trevor.’ she’d said, giving me my marching orders as if I was another dog soldier. Looks like she was connected to Big Boss. What the hell did she mean by her kind? I wondered. Can’t have been the dead dopehead, could it?
I put my head in my hands, wanting to cry, wanting to roar. Instead, I just sat there, torturing myself over how beautiful she looked. Before long, the numbness set in: a big, dark dog of a thing that settled its paws down in my gut.
I turned from my brooding to test the water just as I heard it splash over the tub’s rim. When I realized it was just on the wrong side of scalding, I climbed into the tub and relished the tingling pain.
I spent just enough time in the tub to scour myself with soap before gently scraping the scabbed blood from my face and scalp, letting hot water do the rest. After wiping the steam from the mirror I examined my ear to discover it wasn’t too bad; sure, it was red and swollen like a badly done slice of bacon but I’d had way worse in the ring.
I toweled myself dry and put on a fresh set of clothes before I was ready to flit the hotel. Before leaving the room, I pored over my coat; I couldn’t bear to walk the streets without it, but the damned thing was so messed up and soaked in blood, that I couldn’t bear to put it back on. The dead dopehead’s coat got me out of the bind. It was in better condition, a dark brown trench coat that was barely one size too small, but it covered my piece and shoulder holster, so it’d have to do.
I noticed the note a moment later; it’d gotten stuck to my own coat, discarded on the floor beside my slowly rotting pal.
Written on a little slip of paper, it read:
Towers,
Lose the goddamn corpse and pull yourself together. I’m going after the broad.
R.B.
Who the hell is R.B.?” I wondered, more than a little confused. It took me a moment to realize that it had to be Riley Barnes, Herbert West’s disgruntled former henchman. I followed most of his instructions: I lost the corpse and left the hotel.
My plan was simple and idiot-proof: find Jayne, get her to spill the beans, at gunpoint if necessary and if Big Boss or any of his cronies got in my way I would just whack the bastards.
The things I do for love.
As I was heading toward the Miskatonic River, it occurred to me that Riley Barnes was only a very small piece of the puzzle; why he’d decided to get involved in my business and go after Jayne was beyond me.
Dusk fell on the rain-sleek streets and the musty smell of dispersed street filth filled the air. I was heading for my car, stored in one of the warehouses along the riverside, filled with goodies that meant Hell on Earth for anyone that pushed me too far.
Arkham, with its twisting little streets and cramped, aged buildings, is almost beautiful when you wriggle out of its tacky barrel houses and its loud business district. From far away, the Miskatonic River looked like a wide, glossy snake from a bygone time, its watery scales patterned with the reflected moon and stars. For one silent moment, this place looked almost good enough to live in.
I’d been mulling over Jayne’s words about being near her own kind. Before long, I realized that she was maybe residing near one of Arkham’s burial grounds. She’d always been of the morbid sort and I didn’t see it as too much of a stretch that she’d given me a clue as t
o where she was. Turns out, I was completely right.
I’d placed my car in storage in a guarded warehouse, the kind that charges an arm and a leg for security. This hadn’t bothered me at the time; after all, my big blue Buick contained so many expensive goodies that I couldn’t risk leaving it on a street corner.
After driving from the warehouse, I turned right onto River Street towards the nearest burial ground. I was going to scour around it for any sign of Jayne. Slowly, I noticed how the night had grown cloyingly warm and the streets were deserted. Everything in Arkham seemed to be holding its breath for the chaos to come.
Driving around the graveyard, a squat little place flanked by wooden fences and filled with thick, ancient trees, I checked out the surrounding buildings in search of one that seemed up to Jayne’s standards. Before long, I parked up on the corner of Lich Street, keeping watch on the most likely candidate, a decent looking hotel just across from the graveyard.
After hanging tight for about an hour or so, I left my Buick to go check on my treasured stash.
There they were, all prim and proper. A shotgun, two Chicago typewriters, a case of dynamite and enough ammunition to support a small war. I was staring down at them in grim admiration when I caught sight of her walking past the intersection at Lich Street and heading down Parsonage, towards Christ Church Cemetery.
There was a man with her; had to be the tallest fella I’ve ever seen. Despite the fact that the rain had stopped, he still covered her with his umbrella. I felt my heart skip a beat and by the time I realized I was gawping they had disappeared down Parsonage Street. I pulled myself together sharpish. Pushing the trunk shut I climbed back into the Buick, turned the ignition with a snap and steered it, engine purring, around the street corner. There they were, two shadows moving across an empty sidewalk.
I parked and waited until they were near the end of Parsonage Street. When another car came coasting past, I drove up behind it so as to get closer without them seeing me.
The red convertible in front took a right onto one of the streets leading to the University and I slowed down as Jayne and her companion took a right at the end of Parsonage. Finally, I got a good look at the guy with her. Now there was an ugly bastard.
He was dressed in a black suit, looking mean as hell even from fifteen feet away. His face was mostly concealed under a thick black beard surmounted by a shock of dark curly hair that stuck out beneath an ill-fitting hat. He had a pale, devilish face, so long it looked goat-like. I reckoned he must have been seven feet tall, a mean ass bodyguard if ever I saw one. Still, his stature didn’t mean squat against the load I was carrying.
I slowed the Buick until they were out of sight before I followed the route they’d taken, taking a wide berth through Washington Street. I steered to a halt with the long sprawl of Christ Church Cemetery to my right and my quarries silhouettes moving across the buildings facing it.
I left my car and ducked down, using it for cover before darting across the street towards the cemetery to try and get a bead on where they were going. It wasn’t long before I saw they were heading to an old hotel across from the cemetery’s front gates. At least half a dozen men stood guard, armed with long-barreled firearms.
The building was a four-story brownstone, with the majority of its windows boarded up except for those on the first floor. A pale yellow glow filtered out from them and the entranceway, spilling its sickly light out onto the puddle-strewn curb.
With the cemetery fence looming over me, I sat crouched in what I hoped was complete darkness. I watched Jayne talking to one of the guards and found myself itching to blow the lot of them away before staring Jayne right in the eye, just so I could say: “Remember me, honey?”
I’ve never said that my obsession was a healthy one.
The mugs guarding the brownstone began leaving their posts and started ambling towards the cemetery. I knew that going in from the front wouldn’t be such a hot idea. Creeping back towards the Buick, I decided to collect a few choice weapons from the trunk before making my way to the rear of Washington Street.
Wade Kearney was one hell of a clairvoyant. He was dead on the dough when he said I wasn’t going to like the job. Apparently, the former Mrs. Trevor Towers had paid him a visit shortly after I left the day before. It seemed like she had her ex-husband on her tail and wasn’t too hot about it. She was involved with some unsavory characters—but what did I expect; she’d married Trevor for Pete’s sake—but didn’t want any harm to come to him. She’d asked Kearney about assigning someone to keep an eye on him and lending a hand if things got tough. Someone who was rough enough to cut it.
Guess who Kearney picked.
I’d planned on seeing Towers anyway but I damn sure didn’t plan to let him know that I’d been hired to watch his sorry ass. After leaving the office, my first stop would be the Crane Street hotel so I could grab a clean pair of threads. I couldn’t really spare the detour, but I didn’t have any choice.
I arrived at the hotel, ready for anything. There were no cops hanging around, which I took for a good thing so I walked right in and made my way to the second floor. The door to Towers’ room was now closed and I slipped into my own room unobserved. I changed clothes and went to the communal bathroom for a quick shave. When I was good and done grooming myself, I mustered the strength to march down the hall.
I banged on Towers’ door, dreading the reaction I would get. After a while, I tried again and yelled, “It’s Barnes! Open the door!”
I knocked a third time but got no answer. Maybe the chump had finally kicked the bucket. I was about to turn, when I felt someone stepping behind me.
Towers is gonna cold-cock you and pound your skull into the floorboards, the voice in my head said.
“He ran out a little while ago,” a meek little voice behind me said.
I felt relieved to see the hotel’s half-wit employee lingering behind me.
“When did he go?” I asked to confirm his statement.
“Less than an hour ago,” he replied. “Skipped without paying.”
I decided I ought to ask about the corpse “Was there any trouble around here last night?”
“Just the same crap as usual,” he slowly drawled.
Apparently, ‘usual’ in this place meant bullet-riddled rotting corpses and gunfire. With Towers gone, I went down the street to the small lot where I’d parked my flivver. It wasn’t anything to write home about but I didn’t plan on going after my mark on foot. I’d had enough walking the night before to last me a lifetime.
I drove around Arkham for a long time before I even caught sight of Towers. It was just blind luck that I spied him running out of a parked Buick near the Christ Church cemetery, before he concealed himself against the shadows of its wall. “What’s he up to?” I muttered, pulling to the curb and cutting my lights. From where he’d positioned himself, he seemed interested in the decrepit brownstone building across the street. Deciding to check it out, I left my car and drove through the back streets to approach the building from the rear. A low-wattage bulb near the service entrance didn’t do much to dispel the darkness. That could work to my advantage, as soon as I’d figured out just what the hell Towers was up to.
I was mulling over my next move when I caught someone stalking me from the corner of my eye. Used to be, Mother Barnes’s favorite bouncing boy wasn’t all that slow on the uptake. How times change.
“Well, if it isn’t ‘Bad Penny Barnes’ skulking in the dark.”
“Jesus Christ, Towers!” I hissed. “You trying to give me a coronary?”
He just stared at me.
“What the hell is this ‘Bad Penny’ shtick?”
“Can’t get rid of you, now can I?” he replied. “I got your note. How come you didn’t come around later?”
“You’d split by the time I got around to it.”
“Well, here I am,” he said. “Where did the broad go last night?”
“I followed her to the old wooded cemetery on Hangman
’s Hill,” I answered.
“And?”
“There was this big, scary-looking sonofabitch with her.”
Towers smirked. “I’m pretty sure that’s ‘Big Boss.’”
“Don’t know about no Boss but the bastard sure was huge.”
“So how come you’re here?” Towers asked.
“Let’s just say this place stinks about as bad as Falmouth.”
Towers grinned. “I almost shot you in Falmouth.”
“Yeah,” I said, “That was a load of laughs. You think you wanna give it another go or should I just help your screwy ass?”
“Tough choice,” Towers said. “But Jayne’s with those assholes, so you might come in handy.”
“Ain’t that the bees knees,” I replied. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan is,” he answered. “I get to have a little talk with her and kill anyone who tries to stop me.”
“Sounds solid.”
“We’ll split up and search the place,” he continued. “If you spot her first, come and find me. You’ll know where I am.”
“So I just follow the trail of bodies?” I asked.
He smiled. “For a start.”
All things being equal, my encounter with Towers had gone better than I expected. I took the first floor of the brownstone building, while he proceeded to the second. My initial search yielded nothing but dusty rooms, broken furniture and moldy carpeting. It had been some time since anyone had used the hotel for its intended purpose. I heard the floorboards creaking above me and wondered if it could have been Towers. Probably not; he was sneakier than that.
“Rats. It’s gotta be rats,” I whispered, using the flashlight I’d stuck in my coat earlier.
Shifting though the decrepit rooms, I wondered how Towers was making out. I hadn’t heard any gunshots yet but I bet that the bastard was good with a blade. God help any fool between him and his Jayne. I thought he was on a madman’s quest but I couldn’t help but sympathize, especially after the mess back in Falmouth.
Arkham Nights Page 6