by CW Lynch
"He's right," said Hartley voice's in Able's head. "That detonator's wired in, I can see it. You end him, we're all gone."
"You can't be serious," said Able. "You want to take my place?"
"I'm always serious," replied Taylor. "I'm going to blow us up and while we're both just a mist of blood and shit, I'm going to take what's yours."
"You're crazy," said Able.
"No I'm not," said Taylor, taking a determined step towards Able. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I always do. It's my gift, you see. Clarity. Perfect clarity. In the last few months I've seen things, read things, discovered things. Things even you wouldn't believe. You're the tip of the iceberg. Anyone else, I think their mind would have snapped, but not me. Blow myself up? It's the sanest response to an insane world there is."
Rosa Blind, the eternal analyst, shrugged somewhere inside Able's shared psyche.
"Bat shit crazy," she said simply. "Put him down."
The two men rushed at each other again, but this time there were no punches thrown. Taylor tried to throw his arms around Able again, but Able grabbed both his arms by the wrists. With a sudden twist, engineered by Rigby and Dorothy in unison, Able shattered both of Taylor's wrists. Keeping his grip firm, Able bent Taylor's wrists back further, breaking more bones and driving his assailant to his knees.
"You talk too much," said Able. It was Rosa Blind speaking, the dead cop taking control of Able's voice as easily as the others drove his limbs. "That whole 'craziest man in the room' bullshit might scare your criminal friends, might scare crooked cops, might even impress Cane King, but it doesn't work on me. I've seen crazy, I've seen evil, I've seen everything in between and, you know what? I put you all in a spreadsheet, I added you up, I took you away, and you call came out the same. You don't impress me Jack Taylor, you're just another broken machine, another man with a cog gone astray who thinks that he's special."
Able's boot came up, hit Taylor on the chest, and drove him backwards. Legs bent backwards, arms pinned as Able twisted his shattered wrists, Taylor squirmed and twisted to try and regain control as Rosa continued.
"And that's how we're going to leave you," said Rosa. “Broken.”
Able watched, almost disembodied, as his hands took hold of one of Taylor arms and snapped it backwards at the elbow, the bone snapping with a sickening wet crunch.
Taylor didn't scream, even though Able could tell he wanted to. There was panic in his eyes now. Able wondered if having perfect clarity ever left room for accepting the possibility of what would happen if your perfect plan didn't come to fruition.
Able's hands moved across and broke Taylor's other arm, the bone bursting through the skin with a spurt of blood that turned the sleeve of Taylor's shirt dark red. Able watched as his foot lifted, then came down hard on Taylor's ribs. More sounds of snapping and cracking came from inside Taylor, and the pain finally tore a scream from between Taylor's thin lips.
His arms shattered, ribs snapped, Taylor struggled to roll over onto his stomach. He floundered like a fish, flopping his torso up and down in a desperate attempt to trigger the detonator. Able watched as one of the cops grabbed hold of Taylor's left ankle and twisted his foot backwards until the bone snapped.
"You're done, Taylor," said Able, stepping over the squirming mess of broken bones that had once been the most feared and dangerous man in the city. "If you're lucky, you'll burn to death up here."
"Wait."
It was the voice of the Magpye, that strangely ancient and yet childlike voice, that stopped Able in his tracks. The creature surfaced through the turbulent waters of Able's mind, a dark shape that resolved itself in his mind's eye into the form of the little girl who had haunted him in the circus.
"What?" hissed Able in response.
"I want him."
"He's a psychopath," said Able. "I can't have him in my head."
"It's my head," replied the creature. "And I want him. I want him, or I'm going to open up every little wound of yours I ever stitched. I'll leave you lying next to him as nothing but a mess of meat and agony and let him work out what to do with you. Maybe his plan will work after all."
"You're bluffing," said Able, glancing back at Taylor. He was crawling, somehow, impossibly, towards him. His body moved in a way that a body shouldn't move, driven by his insane mind. His shark eyes were locked on Able, ignoring the pain, ignoring the injuries, a pure predator that would never give up the hunt. Two broken arms, shattered ribs, and to Able the man was still terrifying.
"I want him," said the creature again, and instantly Able doubled over with pain. He felt blood on his abdomen, felt parts of him opening suddenly, wounds like hungry mouths crying out to be fed.
He could feel Taylor's eyes on his back and felt like he was trapped in a vice. The creature wanted Taylor, Taylor wanted the creature, and Able would be crushed in the middle.
MARV AND THE KING
Cane slammed his fist into Marv's face. The magician's head snapped back and bounced off the chair frame, leaving him reeling.
"Why didn't anyone tell me he had a fucking airship?" spat Cane, shouting to no one in particular. Downstairs, his men were busy corralling the assembled dignitaries and celebrities, maintaining the illusion that this was an attack on Cane, whilst upstairs Cane was pretty sure that whoever Taylor and Garrity had taken with them was already dead.
That left Cane, with his devils below and a devil above, and Marv.
Marv rolled his tongue to the side of his mouth and fished out a dislodged tooth. He spat it out onto the floor.
"You don't like surprises, do you Cane?"
"Fuck you," said King. "You think I'm worried about burning this place down? It couldn't be better for me. The whole of America is watching and they're all going to see that I'm the victim here. You know how frightened Americans are these days? They'll give me a fucking medal. Hell, I could ride this thing all the way to the White House."
"Why own a president when you can be the president, is that it?"
"You're clever for a guy who lives in a fucking cave."
"Don't need to be clever to see what you're thinking, son," said Marv with a bloody grin. "It's written all over your face."
Cane spun around to face himself in one of the casino's mirrored walls.
The Ink was right there, staring back at him.
TAYLOR
Able hauled Taylor by his shirt across the corridor and into a hotel room, trailing blood behind them both. Taylor was laughing every step of the way.
"It's him, isn't it? It's your demon making you do this."
Demon. Able had never thought of the Magpye that way, but it made sense. The dark thing inside, the presence that whispered in his ear and, occasionally, took control of him in ways that he didn't understand. This was one of those times.
"Shut up," said Able, talking to Taylor and the Magpye at the same time.
In his mind, the creature didn't stop talking.
"He's unique," it said, "And I want him. He should be… delicious."
Able could feel heat through the ceiling of the room, smell smoke in the air. The fire was getting closer. He reached the balcony window and kicked it open. The cold air rushed in, bringing with it the sound of sirens and the cloying smell of burning.
Able pulled Taylor up by his shoulders and rammed him against the balcony railing.
Taylor stared at him, his eyes still fearless.
"What's the play, freak?"
"Take off the bomb, toss it, or I toss you."
"What happens after I take it off?" asked Taylor.
Able looked him right in the eye. He could tell that there was no lying to Taylor. To Able, he still looked simultaneously like more than just a man and somehow less than a human. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have that thing in his head. He had one monster already.
"After you take it off... I kill you," replied Able flatly. "And when you're dead, I eat some of your flesh. And then… you're in."
"Hmm," sai
d Taylor. "Doesn't sound like there's much in it for me."
"You don't die down there as a smudge on the floor, that's what's in it for you."
Taylor twisted his head to one side and took a look down off the balcony. The crowds were still being held back, the fire fighters locked in a pitched battle with the blaze from the nose-cone of the crashed airship.
Meanwhile, Rosa was talking to Able.
"If you let him in, we're going to need to contain him," she said. "If we don't then his mind is going to be like poison to you."
Able didn't answer. His eyes, and his focus, were on Taylor. The Magpye wanted him and if it didn't get what it wanted, then Able might die right here. But he couldn't take the chance that Taylor was right, that there was a way for him to take control of the Magpye and take control of the ghosts. Able owed them more than that. He wouldn't fail now, not when he was so close, and not when Marv's life still hung in the balance. But he knew that, if it came to it, it would be better for them all to die than for Taylor to have the power that Able had. His fate, one way or another, was suddenly in Jack Taylor's hands. It was just as Taylor had planned.
"Don't worry, he'll go for it," Rosa said. "He won't be able to resist it."
Able shoved Taylor, pushing his head and shoulders over the railing.
"Take it off or you fly," he growled.
"You need to lock him away, the minute you have him," said Rosa. "Lock him up with me, I'll take care of it."
Able wanted to argue with her, to remind her how crucial she was, but saying a word would have tipped his hand to Taylor. It didn't matter, as there was another voice in Able's head a second later.
"No," said the voice. "Rosa, you're needed here. I'm the one we can do without. You've got enough shooters to make it without me. And I owe this guy. I owe him for Grice."
Nutt, thought Able. Yossarian Nutt. The self confessed bad cop and Lee Grice's partner. His guilt was almost as heavy as Able's own.
"Lock him up with me," repeated Nutt.
Able brought his hand up around Taylor's throat.
"Out of time," said Able. He ignoring the fluttering in his stomach as the Magpye slowly un-stitched a part of his gut. He had no doubt that the creature could open him up, but he was banking on being able to pitch Taylor over the edge before that happened. If Taylor was dead, there would be nothing for the creature to do but die up here with Able if it did open him up. For a creature so inextricably linked with death, Able had noted that it wanted to live more than he did sometimes.
It was a gamble. But he was in a casino. Time to live a little.
"There's a safety catch," said Taylor. "In the small of my back. I'd reach for it, but you broke both my arms. It short circuits the detonator if it opens."
Keeping one hand around Taylor's throat, Able reached behind him and released the catch. The explosive harness fell slack and Able quickly stripped it off Taylor and tossed it over the balcony. Seconds later it vanished into the maelstrom of flames that was the remnant of the airship and exploded.
"I'd prefer a bullet," said Taylor. "Between the eyes."
Able adjusted his grip on Taylor's neck and wrapped his other hand around the back of his head. Dorothy had taught him how to do this, and it was remarkably simple.
"Wait, I…"
Able twisted Taylor's head around and, with a resounding snap, his neck broke.
Able wondered what it was Taylor had been about to say.
Hooking a finger into the gash above Taylor's eye, Able peeled back a fold of flesh until it tore away. Closing his eyes, he pulled his mask up and shoved the bloody strip of flesh into his mouth.
A NEW LIFE
"Shut it down!" Cane screamed into his mobile phone. "No, not the story, the network! Shut down the god-damned network!"
Cane hurled the phone across the room, smashing the mirror on the wall and shattering the phone. His reflection, twisted in the broken mirror, was once again alive with the shifting patterns of The Ink. The damned thing, this was what it had wanted from the minute it got inside of him. It wanted to be out. It wanted to be seen. It was a story, what purpose did it have if it wasn't being told?
"Cat out of the bag?" asked Marv.
Cane back handed the magician and stalked to the other side of the room.
"What would you know about it?"
"I'm a magician," said Marv. "Secrets? Secrets are what we do. So, I kind of have a sixth sense for when they get out. Actually, it is my sixth sense. Maybe my eighth. It's hard to keep count."
"Fucking magic," said Cane, staring at himself in an unbroken section of mirror. "I should have known better."
"We all should," replied Marv. "But that's magic for you. You only know its fucking you once you're already fucked. Take it from me."
Cane didn't answer.
Marv shifted in his seat. The bolts through his hands and feet were still tight and he was still numb from whatever the drip was pumping into him. None of which should have been a problem, which left him wondering when his own magic would be done screwing with him. Until it was, he'd have to make his own magic, and maybe work his own way out of here.
"The Ink is more than you can handle," he said, dropping the confrontational tone from his voice. "I hated Grace to her bones, in the end, but she was always one hell of a magician and even she had trouble with it. It's powerful, Cane, primal even. Someone once told me that it went all the way back to the beginning, back to when we were just monkeys with straight backs and paintings on our walls. Something that old? It's devious, Cane. Devious and deadly."
Cane rubbed a hand down his face, as if the Ink was a dirty streak of mud that he could smudge away. "Damn thing," he muttered.
"There's a way out of this," continued Marv. "Cane King can die here tonight, and you can start over. I know the kind of people who can give you a new life."
Cane's expression soured. "A new identity? I've got the most recognisable face in America. Besides, you think I can't order up some fake fucking ID?"
"I didn't say a new identity, I said a new life. Literally, a new life."
"More magic," sneered Cane.
"The only kind of magic that counts," replied Marv. "The kind that lets you walk away."
He looked at Cane. Whilst he couldn't read the symbols and patterns in The Ink, there was a story there that Marv recognised. It was the story of a little brother, always in big brother's shadow. It was the story of a man growing up in a family that expected so much of him, but gave so little. It was a story of duty, of legacy, and of the cruelty of tradition and expectations. No King had been born free, not for a long while, thought Marv. They were all prisoners, prisoners of The Magpye and The Ink, playthings of ancient creatures.
“Walk away...” said Cane. For a moment, it sounded like he might just be considering it. Marv felt magic tickle at his fingertips once again. It was his magic, that wild and uncontrolled talent of his, the only kind of magic that counted.
THE DISAPPERANCE OF OWEN WHITE
White stopped to catch his breath. He had no idea the layout of the casino, but he'd figured that there would be a control room, or rooms, somewhere above the gaming floor. Two flights up the stairwell his bum ankle was already slowing him down.
When his phone rang, the sound filled the whole stairwell.
He fumbled inside his jacket for the thing. He'd forgotten all about it.
Snapping it open, he recognised the number on the caller ID.
"Shit," he muttered, pressing the green button to accept the call.
"Sir."
"Not exactly."
"Who is this? How did you get this number?" asked White. "I've said all I've got to say if you're trying to get an interview then…"
"I'm not trying to get an interview, Detective White. I'm the man who gives the man the orders that are given to another man before they are given to the man who gives them to you. Approximately."
"Well if you're calling me in then you can have my badge in the morning, if I'm st
ill alive."
"Oh, I'm counting on you still being alive, Detective."
"Thanks."
White's mind was racing. He'd expected a response to his outing of Cane King, of course, but not one like this. The voice on the other end of the phone was calm, reassuring. It was even, if White wasn't mistaken, slightly congratulatory. He felt as if he'd passed a test he didn't even know that he was taking.
"Turn around and leave the building the way you came in," said the voice. "Walk to the rear as quickly as you can. No one will stop you, but it would be best if you could avoid any more media attention."
"And then?" asked White, reasonably sure now that his immediate future involved a van, a black bag over his head, and the sharp end of a .22.
"You'll find a unmarked blue sedan waiting for you. There is no driver but in the trunk is money, plenty of it, and new papers. A passport, driving license, everything you need to disappear for a little while. Go wherever you would like. We will find you, when we need you."
"And if I don't want to disappear?"
"Then there's a very good chance that you will die in that building and everything you think you've accomplished will be airbrushed out of history by King and his associates. The man you've outed tonight is the central card in a very, very high stack Detective White. The whole thing might just tumble down, and we'd like to make sure that it does."
"Sounds like a trap," said White.
"And you'd know all about that," replied the voice sardonically. "Detective White, make no mistake that this is a time limited offer. Wheels are in motion now that will grind to a halt if they are allowed to. We need you, we can and will protect you, we just need you to trust us in return. You've made yourself our White Knight, Detective. If you're ready, things are going to get very interesting."
The phone went dead, leaving Owen White with a decision to make.
A decision that would undoubtedly either cost him, or give him back, his life.
It was the ache in his ankle that decided it. Walking down was easier than climbing up. Detective White turned around and headed down the stairs towards wherever it was that the blue sedan would take him.