by Darren Shan
“What happened?” Davern asks quietly.
“Does it matter? He came in answer to my invitation. I guaranteed his safety. I was sure I could control the situation. As you can see”—I nudge the corpse with a foot, provoking a flurry of angry shouts—“I was wrong. He was killed under my protection. I accept full responsibility. You don’t need to send your men east to exact revenge. You have the culprit here.”
Davern shoots a glance at me, then his gaze returns to the face of his friend. “I don’t understand. Why have you come?”
“To afford you satisfaction. Wornton’s murder can’t go unpunished — so punish me. You don’t need to target anyone else.”
“But…” Davern scratches his head, bewildered. “Why kill him and then offer yourself? That doesn’t make sense.”
Exactly the reaction I hoped for.
“You sent Wornton to talk peace. Ford Tasso sent Frank Weld. He’s dead too. They were butchered while negotiating a deal with me.”
“Weld’s dead?”
“Yes. I’m sure Tasso’s gathering his forces even as we speak, just like you are, readying them for war.” I step over Wornton’s body and get as close to Davern as I dare. “I want peace, just like you and Tasso.” I pause to let that sink in, then hit him with the stinger. “But it’s not what the men who control the Snakes want.”
Davern’s eyes narrow. “I thought you…”
I shake my head, then gamble. “No more than you control the Kluxers.”
He stiffens. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“People assume you came to power because you’re a smart operator making the most of the breaks, but I don’t think you’re flying solo. You had secret backing, didn’t you?” His lips pinch together, confirming what I suspected. “Did you know it was the priests or did they hide behind others?”
“They hid,” he sighs. “I guessed it was them but I never knew for sure. I’m still not certain.”
“You are now,” I smile. “The priests used you, just as they used me. But you’ve served your purpose, so they’re finished with you. They want to take you out. Thus a war in the east with the Troops.”
“With the Snakes,” he corrects me.
I shake my head. “You won’t find any Snakes when you invade. They’ll have slithered away. You’ll only encounter Tasso’s Troops. They’ll be looking for the Snakes too, but who do you think they’ll lay into when they can’t find any?”
Davern doesn’t answer but I know his brain is turning and I anticipate his next question before he asks it.
“Are the priests finished with me?” I shrug. “No, but I’m done with them. I’ve had enough of being their stooge. One way or another, I’m ending it. Death can be my escape if you choose to kill me. Or we can make an alliance and fuck them up that way.” I lean in close and whisper. “We can beat the villacs at their own game. Trust me, plot with me, and we can profit from this.”
Davern stares at me emotionlessly. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Then he steps aside and nods at a couple of his men. “Take Hyde in, clean him up, then call his mother and ask her to come over. Don’t tell her he’s dead — I’ll break that news myself.” He starts back into the restaurant. Pauses and looks over his shoulder at me. “Well? You coming or not?”
Grinning sickly, I tip an imaginary hat to the stunned Kluxers, then follow their leader into the sacrosanct halls of the Kool Kats Klub.
We talk fast and truthfully, laying our cards clean on the table. I learn things about Eugene Davern and his rise to the top that nobody else knows, and in return I tell him about my past and why the villacs are so interested in me. I don’t have time to explain it all — wouldn’t, even if I had, as I don’t want him thinking I’m crazy — but I cover the basics and outline my plan. It’s not a great plan but it’s better than any he can think of. He’s not convinced it will work, and dislikes the idea of my proposed partnership, but by the end of our talk he agrees to follow my lead “to the bitter end.” We shake hands on the deal — for whatever the gesture’s worth — then Davern goes to explain to his people why they have to trust a black assassin who brought the dead body of Hyde Wornton to the Kool Kats Klub on his motorcycle.
While Davern does all in his power to win over his supporters — if he fails, it’s curtains for everyone — I hightail it across the city to collect the body of Frank Weld. Sard hasn’t returned and the Snakes are on guard outside the station, alert as ever. Once I have Frank strapped to the back of my bike, I tell them to get some rest. They depart, yawning and stretching. I watch them go, hoping they make it through the next few turbulent days — hoping we all make it — then set out for Party Central and my second do-or-die meeting of the infant day.
There’s an angry skirmish on the border of the east at Stroud Square, between the Snakes and the police. A bank on the west side was broken into and the culprits made a run east. The police tried to follow but the Snakes had other ideas. A fight ensued and is quickly gathering pace. Another time, I’d stop and sort it out, but the confusion aids my purpose and I slip by the battling crowds unnoticed.
After an uneventful journey I park outside the main doors of Party Central — which hang in scraps in the wake of the bomb attack — unstrap Frank and walk in past the wary Troops on duty. Marching straight through reception, I lay Frank on top of a counter — the receptionists behind it scatter, shrieking — and wait for a braver soul to come see what I want. Finally a seasoned secretary edges toward me. “May I help you… sir?” she asks.
“Tell Mr. Tasso that Paucar Wami and Frank Weld are here to see him.”
“Is he expecting you?” she asks, studying my tattooed face, shaved scalp and green eyes.
“No, but he’ll see me.”
She hesitates, then picks up a phone and dials. I hear her murmur, “He says he’s Paucar Wami,” and “I think he’s dead.” Then she nods and hangs up. “You can go up now, and you’re to take Mr. Weld with you.”
I lug Frank’s body to the elevator — Jerry Falstaff’s buddy, Mike Kones, is on duty again, but he doesn’t recognize me — and rise in silence to the fifteenth floor. I make the long walk to Tasso’s office, past dozens of ogling Troops, secretaries and execs, all anxious to see if the quickly spreading rumors are true.
Mags is waiting for me at the door to the office. She steps forward to check on Frank, takes his pulse, rolls up his eyelids, then sighs. “He was a good man.”
“Yes. He was.”
“You knew him?” Like Mike Kones, she doesn’t take me for Al Jeery.
“He was my friend.”
She stares at me, then returns to her desk. “Mr. Tasso will see you now. Be advised, the room is under armed surveillance and you will be targeted without warning if you make any threatening moves.”
Letting out a deep breath, I clear my head, turn the handle, push the door open with Frank’s legs and enter.
Tasso’s waiting for me in his chair, massaging his dead right arm, face even stonier than normal. He says nothing as I clear a space on the long desk and lay Frank on it. When I step away, he shuffles over to examine his dead colleague. After a few seconds he mutters, “I always thought he’d outlive me. He had the luck of the devil.” He returns to his chair and trains his Cyclopean gaze on me. “This means war, Algiers.”
“I know.”
“Who killed him?”
“My father. He killed Hyde Wornton too.”
“So it’s not all bad news.” He chuckles drily. “Much as I like you, I can’t let this slide. We have to hit now. There’s no other way.”
“Again, I know.”
“So why’d you come? To beg forgiveness? Plead for your life?” I don’t answer. He’s not expecting me to. “I can’t let you walk away. People believe you’re head of the Snakes. I know that’s bullshit but I’ve got to play to the public on this one.”
“You’ve never played to the public,” I demur, “and unless it suits your purpose, you won’t play to them now. You’ll k
ill me because it’s what you want, not because it’s what others expect.”
His lips spread in a granite-cold smile. “We know one another too well. Next to impossible for either of us to surprise the other.” He frowns. “But you surprised me by turning up today. What gives, Algiers?”
“I can return Capac Raimi to you.”
His frown deepens. “That won’t save you. It’s too late for—”
“It’s never too late,” I cut in. “You’ve got to go to war, but be careful who you go to war with. The Snakes aren’t the enemy, but they can be. Attack them now and you’ll not only condemn Raimi to more suffering, but you’ll create a military monster which in time will eclipse your own.
“On the other hand, if you hear me out, I can promise you Raimi’s return and more power and freedom than you’ve ever enjoyed. You’ll have to share, but it’ll be infinitely better than what you’ve got going now.”
“You’re not making sense,” he growls.
“I will if you give me a chance.”
He stares at me warily, his left eye glittering with doubt. Then he glances at Frank’s dead face and nods. “You’ve got ten minutes. Make it good.”
“I need twenty,” I tell him. “And I won’t make it good — I’ll make it great.”
Tasso’s harder to win over than Davern. He’s spent longer kowtowing to the blind priests, and the superstitious fear the two Cardinals had of them has rubbed off on him. Because the villacs were like gods to Dorak and Raimi, Tasso never thought to chance rebellion.
“Capac wouldn’t like this,” he keeps muttering, and I have to press home the point that Raimi’s a creation of theirs, tied to them in ways that ordinary humans aren’t. If we can eliminate them, we’ll give this city back its free will.
“But could Capac survive without them?” Tasso asks.
“I’ve no idea,” I answer honestly. “But he’ll never return on his own terms as long as they’re running the show. We might have to sacrifice Raimi, but if that’s the price of this city’s freedom, don’t you think it’s worth it?”
“Dorak wouldn’t have agreed,” Tasso grumbles. “He wanted an heir who could run his company indefinitely.”
“But he thought Raimi would be able to work independently of the priests. Do you think he’d approve if he saw how they can do as they please? This isn’t Raimi’s city — it’s theirs. If my way works, at best we’ll hand it back to him and he can proceed as Dorak planned. At worst we’ll lose him, but we’ll rid this city of the priests, and I think Dorak would rather that than how things currently stand.”
Eventually he agrees to consider my proposal. He makes no promises, but says he’ll hold his forces in check while he mulls it over. He also lets me go and issues orders that I’m not to be harmed — for the time being. He says I won’t hear from him when he makes his decision. I’ll find out along with the rest of the city tomorrow. I have to settle for that. In truth, it’s more than I had any right to hope for.
I’m hungry and weary, so I visit a nearby café and fill up with sandwiches and coffee. Then I make one last call, to the shack of the Harpies and their minder. I make quick time on the quiet Sunday roads. I’m not sure why I’m including Bill in this — I could get all I need elsewhere — but gut instinct draws me to him, and I’m not about to start ignoring my instincts at this critical stage of the game.
One of the Harpies is digging in a small garden outside the house, crooning as she fusses over weeds as if they were prize plants. She gurgles happily when she see me pulling up — the Harpies associate me with feeding time. I park and enter by the unlocked front door.
Bill’s downstairs in the living room, reading to the other two women. I stand in the doorway unseen for a few minutes. I recognize the text after a couple of lines. Mark Twain, either Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn.
Pausing at the end of a chapter, he glances up and spies me. A startled look shoots across his face
(He’s come to kill me!)
then he relaxes. “Hello, Al,” he smiles. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” Closing the book, he tells the ladies to run along. He remains seated, eyeing me silently. When he hears them in the yard, he asks quietly, “Come to finish the job?”
“If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it last week.”
“Why didn’t you? You meant to when you arrived. What changed your mind?”
I don’t answer, but cross the room and stare through a crack in the boarded-over window. I can’t see the Harpies from here, just industrial wasteland, gray and infertile. “Still having the nightmares?”
His shiver is audible. “Yes.”
“You know how to stop them, don’t you?”
“Kill myself?” He laughs shortly.
“No.” I face him. “Atonement. Put right some of the wrongs of the past. Build where you demolished.”
He frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“I need your help, Bill.”
His face creases with astonishment. “You’re asking me for help? After all I did to you?”
I nod, hiding a wry smile. “I’m going into battle with some very dangerous men — your foes as well as mine — and I need to tool up. I can go elsewhere, but I thought I’d give you the chance to—”
“Yes!” he interrupts, pulling himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his old bones. “I’d be glad to help. Overwhelmed! Tell me what I can do, Al.”
“You said you had bombs and bugs in the cellar, from the old days?” He nods eagerly, eyes bright, and I step away from the window. “Show me.”
4: war
Ama’s bemused when I call and ask if she’d like to dine with me tonight. “I thought you’d have more important matters on your mind.”
I smile down the phone. “The important stuff can wait. Tomorrow’s a big day for me. I’d like to unwind before I face it.”
“What’s going on, Al?” she asks, perplexed.
“Tell you later. Want to go somewhere fancy or will we snack in Cafran’s?”
“Cafran’s is fine.”
“Eight-thirty?”
“Sure. Take care, Al.”
“I’ll try.”
I hit the shower, then towel myself dry. I begin applying face paint in front of my TV sets, keeping an eye on the latest news. My cell rings — Sard, with mixed news. He’s located most of the rogue Snakes, but six are still on the loose. I tell him not to bother with the final half-dozen. “Take the rest of the night off. Relax. Go bowling. Make love.”
“Sapa Inca?” he replies, startled.
“There’s a derelict office block on Romily Street,” I tell him, having chosen the location at random earlier. “Meet me there at midday tomorrow on the top floor with a dozen of your most trusted Snakes. I have a special mission for you. It may prove the most vital of the entire campaign.”
“I won’t let you down,” he vows.
I finish applying the paint, check that the tattoos can’t be seen, then slip on the wig and clean clothes. I pedal across the city on my bike as plain Al Jeery, whistling as I go, as if I hadn’t a care in the world.
Cafran’s is busy but Ama has reserved a table near the back of the restaurant and we sit, shielded from the crowd by tall plastic plants.
“How’s Cafran?” I ask.
“Blooming. He’s off scouting for premises — thinking of opening a new joint. He could have done it long ago but never bothered. He said he didn’t consider it worth the effort, until now.”
“Because of you.” She smiles shyly. “Think you’ll stay here long-term?”
“I’d like to, if I have a choice.” A waitress materializes. Ama orders for me. While we’re waiting she opens a bottle of wine and pours. I fill her in on what’s been happening, the plan I’m hatching to pull the city back from the brink of all-out war. She listens intently, venturing little in the way of comment until I finish shortly after the first course has arrived.
“You really believe it will work?” she asks neutrally.
“I don’t know about that. If the villacs find out what you’re up to, they might turn on you. Capac was their golden boy but it didn’t stop them slapping him down when he refused to bow to their wishes.”
“It’s worth the risk.”
She chews in silence, then says, “I want to help.”
“I figured you would. You know it’s dangerous, that we might have to sacrifice ourselves? My aim is to stop the priests. If I walk away alive, that’s a bonus.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going to let you go alone.”
I cough discreetly and wipe around my mouth with a napkin. “I won’t be quite alone. I plan to take along my father.”
She blinks. “The killer?”
“He’s a useful addition. Fast. Deadly. Unstoppable. Besides, if I don’t include him, he’ll leave, and I don’t want that, not until…” I shrug, not entirely sure what I intend to do about Paucar Wami if everything works out with the priests.
“Can we trust him?” Ama asks.
“In this matter, yes. He hates the villacs even more than I do.”
Ama pushes her plate away, frowning. “What if Ford Tasso and Eugene Davern don’t come through?”
“I’ll push ahead anyway. I’ve come too far to back out now. I can’t finish off the priests without Tasso and Davern, but I’ll do what I can to hurt them.”
Ama sighs. “We must be crazy to think we can pull this off.”
“Yeah,” I grin.
She mirrors my smile. “So I guess we’d better make the most of the good life while we can.” She tops up our glasses. “Cheers!”
We eat slowly, padding out the meal with lots of conversation. Some of it concerns the villacs and the troubles, but mostly it’s about ourselves, our pasts (what little Ama can remember of hers) and what we’d like to do if we had the freedom to choose our futures. Ama wants to stay here, help Cafran, take over when he retires, squeeze in some travel during her vacations. I remind her of her limitations as an Ayuamarcan — she can only exist for a few days at a time away from the city — but she dismisses that. “We’re talking about dreams, not reality. I’ll dream what I like, thank you very much.”