"So you are switching sides?"
"I'm not going to lie to you, Jackson: Flowers and me are history. And, as I'm sure you know, no one walks away from his set-up - it's either the Life or fed to the deadheads. There's nothing in between. So my still breathing is a major upset to Harry, and he would like nothing more than to shut me up permanently. I, on the other hand, would like to remove him from my back, equally permanently. Andrei's the only one with the guts and the resources to do that, and the man best placed in the city to inherit Harry's territory if what I'm going to suggest to him pays off. I think he will be interested to at least hear what I've got to say."
"Andrei doesn't usually grant an audience with underlings," Jackson said hesitantly. "If you ain't on his level, then he ain't interested." The security man was conflicted, Gabe could tell; he liked to build up this barrier around his boss, make it seem like anyone who wanted to get close to Vassily would have to negotiate with him first, but the fact was he didn't have either the authority or the chutzpah to come to decisions like this on the hoof. If Jackson were to have him thrown out of the Alley, there was nothing Gabe could do about it; but Gabe was relying on the fact that there would be a niggling part of the enforcer's mind that would be telling him he could be dismissing an opportunity that Andrei might've grabbed hold of if he was aware of it. And if his boss learned later that he never got to hear this proposition because Jackson took it upon himself to act on his behalf, then his employment could be cut short very quickly indeed. Basically, it came down to the fact that, for all his meat-headed bluster, Jackson couldn't disguise his fear of responsibility; he was someone that, despite his position of trust, always liked to defer upwards.
"Look, just put my case to him, tell him what I told you, that's all I'm asking," Gabe said reasonably. "If he's willing to hear me out, fine. If he listens, then tells me to get the fuck out of here, then that's cool, I'll walk, no problem. But give him the choice, if nothing else."
Jackson breathed heavily through his nose, his already lined brow furrowed further, and the snake's head tattoo flexed with the rise and fall of his chest. His gimlet eyes remained fixed on Gabe as he fished into his back pocket and pulled out his mobile; without looking at it he thumbed a button and held it up to his ear. "Gull, it's Jackson," he murmured seconds later. "Andrei with you?" He listened to the reply, then said: "Got something here that Andrei might want to be aware of. A messenger, of sorts." He paused. "No, I think he's going to want to hear this for himself. Don't worry, he'll be fully prepped." He muttered an affirmative, then flipped the phone shut. "Got your five minutes," he said sullenly. "I'll take you over there now."
"Appreciate it."
"Gonna have to pat you down—"
"No need," Gabe replied, lifting his leg and sliding his fingers into his boot, tearing free the tiny pistol, and holding it out handle-first. "That's what I'm packing." Jackson glared at it, then at him. Gabe gave a half smile. "Thought I'd go into this with the best intentions. Safety's on."
The security guard snatched it from him. "You know full well that the Alley is a weapons-free zone. And yet you didn't declare it to the guy at the gate?"
"Guess I forgot. You can see what a peashooter it is."
Jackson tightened his grip around the gun, and leaned closer to Gabe. "Don't make me regret this," he snarled. Then he motioned with his head for the thief to follow.
Jackson led him to a jeep parked outside the club, told him to climb in, then cautiously steered it through the heaving boulevards of the settlement towards the imposing warehouse-style building that housed Vassily's inner quarters. Drawing nearer, Gabe could see that the place was teeming with triggermen. Going by the tooled-up muscle that were posted at every entrance, any attempt to take Andrei head-on was doomed to failure, and Gabe would find attempting to infiltrate the complex to steal a few moments with this self-aware zombie (if indeed it even existed) a very difficult task. His best bet was going to be to somehow lose his escort whilst inside its walls, and worry about getting out later. His head was filled with diversions - fire, flood, electrical fault - that he could instigate to draw the guards' attention away from his escape. But right now, the matter at hand was determining if the creature was anything more than hearsay.
The jeep slew to a halt before a pair of heavy iron doors, an Uzi-wielding goon wandering over from his station to investigate. Jackson waved him away, and instructed Gabe to stick close as he punched in a security code on the keypad set into the brickwork. The lock sprung open with a heavy clunk. He pushed one of the doors open wide enough for them to slip through, then let it clang back into position behind them. They were in a bare stone corridor, and Jackson strode forward towards a set of curving white painted steps at the far end, the thief scurrying to keep up. As he began to climb, Gabe couldn't help but contrast the puritanical sparseness of Vassily's headquarters to the opulence of Harry's mansion. It was as if the head of Resurrection Alley was trying to distance himself from the degenerate entertainment through which he made his money. Punish himself, even. There was little here to suggest that this was the home of a powerful gang lord, so lacking was it in signs of wealth, or any kinds of comfort. He knew Andrei lacked much of Flowers' brutish ruthlessness - he was a second-generation mobster, unused to waging wars - but this seemed as much like a monastery as it did a fortress, a place where there was only room for cold functionality. It was odd that at the heart of the Alley's wild decadence stood this quiet stone island, in which rested its king.
The stairs stopped at a wooden door and Jackson rapped on it, turning the heavy brass handle without waiting for an answer. Inside were the first signs that this was a home as well as a castle; a carpet covered the floor, drapes and paintings adorned the walls. A couple of buttonmen were lounging on a leather sofa, machine guns resting casually on their laps, and they stood when the two of them entered, looking at Gabe quizzically.
"So who's this?" the taller, craggy-faced one asked with blunt disdain.
"Hey, Gull," Jackson greeted him. "This is O'Connell, the messenger I mentioned. Used to be one of Flowers' enforcers."
"No shit?"
"Said he wanted to have a word with Andrei, something that would be to his advantage."
Gull pulled an expression that suggested he was very far from being impressed. The second guy was hefting his weapon with excessive theatricality. "Got our own stoolie, have we?"
"You managed to have a word?"
"Garvey's in there with Andrei," Gull said, lazily motioning towards an adjoining door. He turned his attention to Gabe. "He's prepared to give you a few minutes, so keep it quick. He's not keen on timewasters." He looked back at Jackson. "You searched him?"
"He surrendered the only gun he had."
The thief surreptitiously pressed his foot against the syringe in his boot, checking it was still in place.
"OK. Take him through, Jackson."
Gabe followed the other man into the antechamber, decorated in a similar fashion to the outer office, though an expansive bookcase lined one wall. Andrei Vassily was sitting in an armchair, his tan suit immaculate, his legs crossed, fingers steepled under his chin. He was in his early forties, and there was a composed look of serenity to his dark features, as if his every act was fluid and unhurried, economical but perfectly judged. To his right stood a severe-looking woman in a business suit, thin to the point of reptilian.
"Mr Vassily," Jackson began, "this is—"
"I know who he is," Andrei replied, his voice soft, a hint of an East European accent. Gabe evidently failed to conceal his surprise because the older man nodded faintly. "Oh yes, I recognised you as one of Harry's when you arrived. I told the man at the gate to let you in. So what happened between you and your former employer?"
"I... screwed up, and he's cut me adrift from the organisation."
"And no doubt you're now a loose end that he wishes to tie up. What brings you here? Looking for a new job?"
Gabe shook his head. "Partly a warning,
partly a proposition. Mr Vassily, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that Harry's looking to expand his empire over the next year. He wants London, all of it, and the impasse that has existed between the two of you for so long is going to be tested. Make no mistake, when the time comes he will take the Alley by any means necessary, and right now he's working on the means to control the city. He's going to turn the deadheads to his advantage, create an obedient army from them."
Andrei raised his eyebrows. "Harry always did see the big picture."
"Flowers has got his scientists working on the virus, trying to adapt it for such an application. They're making progress, but slowly. They don't have what you've got."
"Which is what?"
"A self-aware Returner."
"Is that right?" Vassily exchanged a look with the woman at his side.
"Or so the rumour goes. Since cutting ties with Harry I've hooked up with an ex-government boffin, studying the plague independently, and he's developing a serum that can boost the intelligence of the dead. With the right resources and contacts, he could produce it on a massive scale. A blood sample from a ghoul whose consciousness has evolved to such a degree would advance his research enormously. I felt, Mr Vassily, that you would see the advantages in entering into such a business opportunity."
"And we would... what? Forge an army of our own?"
"Better to do it before Flowers gains the upper hand. If you can stay ahead of him—"
"Yeah, that's always been my problem," a voice said behind Gabe. He felt a coldness lodge in his chest as he turned towards its source, his legs growing suddenly weak. "I'm always lagging behind."
Harry Flowers sauntered into the room, Hewitt at his left shoulder, a couple of other boys from the house behind him. He fixed Gabe with an icy grin.
"Long time no see, son."
CHAPTER SEVEN
For a moment, Gabe could do nothing but stand there and stare back at his former boss. The office, Andrei Vassily, Jackson and the rest, slid away off the periphery of his vision. It was only for the briefest of seconds, but within that fraction of time all he saw was Flowers' face studying him with a mixture of hatred and unconcealed mirth. That sensation of stasis seemed to encompass the pair of them, as if they were two museum exhibits eyeing one another from either side of a display case. He blinked and the rest of the world came racing back into focus. He cleared his throat, realising that he'd been holding his breath.
"Harry."
"Hello, Gabriel," the old man remarked, as if he were tipping his hat to a neighbour he saw every morning. Gabe could detect little malice in his voice. "We'd been wondering where you'd got to."
"The... the hijack was a bust," Gabe said slowly, aware that excuses would make no difference but unable to think of anything else to say. He was damned if he was going to apologise to him, and he promised himself that he wouldn't beg. He wouldn't spend his last few minutes on earth on his knees. "Everything got fucked up. The target got destroyed, we unwittingly riled an army of pusbags that were beneath the river, we didn't have any choice but to retreat. Government pricks caught me as I tried to make it back to the motor."
Did he imagine it, or did he see the slightest beginnings of a smirk twitch at the corner of Hewitt's mouth? He shouldn't have been surprised that the kid was enjoying his predicament - no doubt promotion had been offered to Gabe's soon-to-be-vacant position in the outfit - but there was something about the way he was standing there, a bastard full to bursting with bad news, and struggling to contain himself. It was somehow agonisingly predictable that he had survived that night on the bridge, scurrying vermin-like to safety.
"Please," Harry said, looking pained, holding up a hand. "Let's not rake over the past. Mr Hewitt's given me a full account of the operation's failure. Such eventualities, while tiresome, are par for the course. What's less acceptable is a security lapse."
"Harry, for what's it's worth, I told them nothing. They know plenty about you already."
"These are your new paymasters, I take it?"
"I work for no one. Not anymore."
"Oh, I would like to believe that, Gabriel, honestly I would," Flowers replied flamboyantly, taking a step or two towards him. "It gives me no pleasure to be standing here before you like this. You were one of my most trusted aides, and you were a good little thief. You were an asset, boy." He reached out and grabbed Gabe's chin hard between thumb and forefinger. "But don't insult my intelligence by telling me that the authorities simply let you go without asking for nothing in return. The fact that you're simply still alive indicates that you bargained your way out of their custody. And lo and behold you turn up at the Alley, seeking to curry favour with Andrei."
The younger man couldn't answer, his jaw held firmly in place by Harry's solid grip, but he glared back, refusing to look away from the gang lord's blazing eyes.
"Didn't take much for you to turn traitor, did it?" Flowers spat, wrenching his hand away.
"Just circumstances," Gabe said. "Ask Ashberry. That's how anyone ends up becoming involved with an old arsehole like you."
Harry pulled an ancient snubnose Colt from his trouser belt and without hesitation shot Gabe in the belly. The roar of the gun's detonation in the enclosed space of the office was deafening, a clap of thunder that caught everyone by surprise. Gabe staggered, crumpling onto his backside, his hands clutching at his wound, trying to stem the blood that pumped between his fingers. White-hot pain encircled his torso as if a flaming vice had been tightened around him, and stars danced in his vision. He chanced a look at the entry point, then glanced away. His palms were sticky and a deep shade of crimson.
"Don't worry, Mr O'Connell," Harry said, standing over him. "You won't die yet. Gutshot will take a while to bleed out. It'll poison your organs and starve your brain of oxygen, but you'll be conscious enough for what I've got planned for you."
"I don't remember agreeing to you perforating your mark on my property," Gabe heard Vassily protest, the words floating down to him as if he was listening to the exchange underwater. "I said I'd give you the guy, I didn't say you could redecorate my office with him."
"Sorry, Andrei. Temper got the better of me."
"Mr Vassily, sir, with respect: what the hell is going on?" Jackson asked. "You knew O'Connell was coming to see you?"
"Harry had asked that we keep an eye out for him; that's why I approved his entry into the Alley, and let those looking for him know that he was in the area. Sorry I didn't keep you informed, Jackson, but I thought the least number of personnel that knew the less likely he would get spooked and make a run for it."
"I am grateful, Andrei," Harry said, his voice now amiable. "I'll reimburse you for the inconvenience. I just need one more favour."
"Which is?"
"Where do you keep this super-smart maggotbrain of yours?"
Gabe felt himself being lifted off the floor, the movement sending new paroxysms of pain through his body. He kept his right arm wrapped tightly around his midriff, though he could sense the loss of blood was already beginning to take its toll. His head felt heavy and woozy, his eyesight blurry, and shivers ran the course of his skin. Each fresh exhalation was an effort, the air raspy in his throat, and his heart was pounding irregularly, like it was slowly winding down, gradually starved of power. However, despite his state, he willed himself to stay alert to what was going on around him, concentrating furiously on the others' words.
Vassily had seemed initially reluctant to lead Harry to this self-aware zombie of his, evidently regarding his pet as his alone and not for display to others. But Flowers seemed to have cut some deal with the Alley boss that would make it worth his while. Indeed, Andrei's co-operation in Gabe's capture was apparently to be rewarded with a hefty fee - though whether it was in territory, manpower or loot, was impossible to discern - and Harry was willing to increase his offer to make this extra allowance. At first, Gabe couldn't fathom why his former employer was so adamant in gaining access to the ghoul - normally Harry couldn
't stand being near deadheads - but when Flowers started mentioning Hewitt in the same breath and having made the kid a 'promise', Gabe realised what the old man was up to, and what his own fate was going to be.
Since humanity had learned to live with the dead, the worst fate imaginable had become to be consumed alive by the Returners; it was considered more noble to take your own life and that of those around you rather than end your days as a meal for a ravening pack of rotting cadavers. There was a sense of violation to the death - of falling victim to an unstoppable frenzied lust - that most would not bear contemplate suffering. Consequently, it was not unknown for this appalling demise to be instrumental in punishing the guilty, particularly amongst the criminal community. In the past it would have been a burial in a concrete casket, or a kneecapping. These days, new situations call for fresh solutions, and many was the embezzler, turncoat or loose cannon that had been thrown to the undead, even fed to them piece by piece. It was horrific to watch; but the threat was usually strong enough to keep even the dimmest element of the underworld in line.
Now, Gabe realised that was what Harry had in store for him; not a couple of bullets casually unloaded into the back of his skull, but a slow, lingering execution, a warning to his other lieutenants about what happens when you attempt to cross him. A bubble of panic exploded in the fear centre of his brain, and he summoned up what reserves of strength he still had in an attempt to wrest himself free from his captors, but it was useless. Vassily's goons - Gull and the younger man - held him secure as they moved through an adjoining door, down a set of steps and into a bare concrete space, apparently a section of what had once been the warehouse that hadn't been converted into the office complex. What looked like a false wall or a partition ran across the length of the room, and when Vassily strode over to a bank of switches and flipped one, the divider separated and its two halves disappeared into the stone walls at either side, revealing the wide, smooth expanse of a mirrored viewing screen, a steel door set next to it.
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