He might have appreciated that if only you hadn’t betrayed him and stolen his lifelong dream of leaving Earth, she thought bitterly.
She ran a hand through her hair and expelled a deep breath, struggling once again to bring her feelings under control. Now that Knile was in her head again, she began to worry that she would be unable to think of anything else.
But her thoughts of Knile did not linger for long.
Down the concourse she could see van Asch striding toward her, his jaw set with grim purpose.
30
Silvestri led Knile and Roman through the streets of Link as midday came and went, and the Reach loomed ever closer.
“If this plan of yours turns out to be nothing more than showing up at the gates and asking to be taken to the Infirmary, I’m not going to be happy,” Knile said.
Silvestri glanced over his shoulder at him. “I understand your scepticism, Knile, but I can assure you that this is the real deal.”
Knile had been pondering the implications of a double-cross since the moment Silvestri had escorted him out of the Skybreach complex. After all, the guy had freely admitted he was a businessman, an opportunist. What if one of Knile’s many enemies had placed a bounty on his head, and Silvestri had decided this was the perfect chance to cash it in? Silvestri wasn’t doing this because of some sort of sense of altruism or compassion. That wasn’t his modus operandi. If he were the kind of man to go around helping others out of the goodness of his heart, he’d have come to Talia’s aid when she’d sought him out in the tavern.
Knile couldn’t trust Silvestri, that much was clear. But right now he had no option but to follow him. Roman wouldn’t make it otherwise.
Knile glanced over at the boy. Roman had initially kept up a good pace, talking and even cracking a couple of nervous jokes as he had tried to alleviate his own anxiety. As time had worn on, however, he had grown pale and his chatter had dried up, his breathing becoming laboured. Now he was struggling to keep pace, and Knile wondered how long it would be before he was forced to carry the boy.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” Knile said, turning back to Silvestri.
“I told you, I can’t,” Silvestri said. “Not yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I swore an oath not to. I keep my word.”
“Your word means nothing to me.”
Silvestri rounded on him. “I don’t know who or what you think I am, but I am not some penny-stealing cutthroat who chases after little old ladies in order to take their cred chips. I–”
There was a loud retching sound, and the two of them turned to see Roman doubled over by the side of the avenue, heaving the contents of his stomach into the gutter. Knile went to him and placed a hand gently on his back.
“Roman?”
“Feel like shit,” Roman gasped, his respirator pulled to one side. He heaved again, dry retching, then went down on one knee.
“Hey, I’m here,” Knile said, stooping by his side. “We’re going to get you some help, okay?”
Roman nodded but said nothing. Instead he hocked noisily and loosed a stringy yellow wad of phlegm that dangled from his lips before dropping into the gutter.
Knile felt a hand on his shoulder.
“We need to make haste,” Silvestri murmured. “The toxin is advancing.”
Knile nodded. “Roman, can you walk?”
“Yeah.” Roman spat again, then got shakily to his feet.
“Put your arm over my shoulder,” Knile offered, but Roman waved him away.
“I’m not a cripple. I can deal with a sore tummy.”
They continued on, the Reach drawing ever closer as Roman’s condition worsened. Silvestri led them away from the more crowded areas into the backstreets, and before long Roman began to lean heavily on Knile despite his obvious desire to stand on his own two feet. His footsteps were soon dragging and his breathing became more ragged, his skin more clammy.
“How much further, goddammit?” Knile hissed at Silvestri.
“Almost there,” Silvestri said. He pointed down the street. “This way.”
They had entered a neighbourhood that was largely residential in nature, dominated by old-fashioned homes and smaller dwellings rather than the monolithic apartment blocks that were more common in other parts of Link. The denizens of the place sat on the steps of their porches and watched from behind closed windows, silently observing the newcomers over steaming mugs of broth and foul-smelling clouds of cigarette smoke. Their eyes were beady and untrusting, their mouths hard lines of discontent.
Children milled around the sides of the street, clamorous and frenetic, a stark contrast to their older counterparts. Some banged on an old rusted car husk that had been discarded on the side of the road many years before, creating an arrhythmic cacophony to which they attempted to sing along without much success. A group of boys not far away had discarded their shirts and formed a loose ring, within which two more shirtless boys wrestled to the cheers of those gathered around.
“What’s in this for you, Silvestri?” Knile said over the noise. “Why are you helping us?”
“I won’t deny I have something to gain from this arrangement,” Silvestri said. “It’s beneficial to both of us, as it turns out.”
“Creds? Is that it?”
“No. Something greater than that. Something creds can’t buy.”
“Why do I get the impression you’re just using me?”
Silvestri sighed. “I can see that I’m not going to convince you of my pure intentions with words alone. You’re going to have to wait and see for yourself.” He inclined his head. “There’s our destination.”
Knile looked and saw a stone chapel situated a little way back from the edge of the street, surrounded by a rusted wrought-iron fence that had been twisted in all directions, as if it had been half-melted and left to sag like strands of grass bent to the wind. A cobbled footpath led up to the front doors, and stained-glass windows shaped like arches appeared at regular intervals around the outside. They were cracked and broken, but the interior of the building was still too dark to reveal anything about the nature of what lay within.
There was something gothic and foreboding about the place, and Knile couldn’t see how salvation for Roman could possibly lie within its walls.
Silvestri stopped on the footpath to check his holophone. Knile held Roman and examined the chapel as it rested in the afternoon sun under the shadow of the Reach. Try as he might, he could not muster any positive feelings about their arrival here.
“So. Divine intervention?” Knile said, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice.
“Hardly,” Silvestri said. “Something much more down to earth.”
Silvestri replaced the phone in his pocket and took a step forward, and then a small voice stopped him in his tracks.
“You can’t go in there.”
They turned to see a small, grubby boy standing on the footpath. He couldn’t have been more than about seven years old, his blond hair thick with burs, his shirt dishevelled and fraying at the edges. A cracked wooden cricket bat dangled from his hand and a rubber ball lay at his feet.
Silvestri smiled and gave the boy a supercilious look.
“Why not, little man?”
“Because there’s a monster in there,” the boy said, quiet and serious.
Silvestri laughed. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. I’ve heard him.” The boy looked over his shoulder to where some other children were playing. “We’ve all heard him.”
“I think we can handle this monster,” Silvestri said in a patronising way, and he began to walk forward again.
“It’s the first thing kids learn when they move in around here,” the boy said, looking directly at Knile now. “You don’t go into the church grounds. The evil spirits–”
“Thanks for the guided tour, my friend,” Silvestri said, turning back. He was evidently losing his patience with the kid. “You can go on your way n
ow.”
The boy stood where he was and watched them move along the cobblestone path, held back, it would seem, by his fear of crossing some invisible line that lay before him.
“Where are we, Knile?” Roman said as they neared the thick wooden doors of the chapel. His words were starting to slur, as if he were about to sink into delirium.
“This is just a quick stop, Roman. Hang in there.” Knile hurried to catch up to Silvestri, keeping a firm grip on the boy at his side. “What the fuck is going on here, man? What’s that kid talking about?”
“Don’t panic, Knile. And don’t start buying into foolish superstitions. Up until this point I’ve been under the assumption that you have a brain in your head. Don’t disappoint me now.”
They stepped up under the wooden awning and Silvestri opened a panel on the wall. He pressed a button that was mounted over a small speaker, then stepped back and waited.
A moment later a gruff voice came through the intercom.
“What is it?”
Silvestri stepped closer to the speaker. “I’ve brought someone.”
There was a pause, and then the voice came again.
“Another pretender, is it?” The voice was crackly and punctuated by staccato breaks, as if the wiring on the intercom was faulty. “You know I don’t like it when you waste my time.”
“This one’s for real,” Silvestri said. “He’ll do it.” He glanced up and to the side, and Knile noticed a camera mounted in the corner of the awning. He could only wonder at who might be observing him from the other side.
“We’ll see about that.”
There was a click within the door, and Silvestri wasted no time in starting forward. He pushed the door open and began to make his way into the darkened interior of the chapel with Knile and Roman right behind him.
31
Duran waited patiently outside the back door of the club, concealed by the gloom of the alley. The throb of the music wafted outward through the walls, a hybrid of tribal and trance that sounded to Duran more like a muted jumble of low frequencies than any kind of coherent rhythm. It scattered along the narrow confines of the alley and out into the surrounds of Juncture Nine, where a few drifters were still making their way along the streets.
He checked his holophone. Nothing from Zoe. He tapped out a message.
Anything?
A few moments later the response came: Nada.
Tunks would exit through the alley. Duran had no doubt about that. It was only a matter of time. After all, he’d left his entourage here for a start. As well as that, it was the most discreet exit from the place. It wouldn’t make sense for him to head out the front, where he might attract attention.
But Zoe was there waiting should that unlikely scenario eventuate.
Duran touched the butt of the .40 that rested in his shoulder holster. It felt good to have its familiar weight there again. Although he was physically nowhere near one hundred percent yet, his spirits had been boosted significantly when he had gotten out and started doing something again. Going after Tunks had given him a sense of purpose, a feeling of empowerment, and the gun at his side was all part of that.
Of course, Zoe had helped as well.
He thought again of the moment when she’d drawn back his shirt, traced her fingertips down his chest. The taste of her lips as she’d pressed against him, and the way she’d responded to him wrapping his hands around her waist with a firm, passionate grip.
Keep your mind on the job, cowboy, he told himself, but he couldn’t help but smirk. That moment between him and Zoe had been more than a physical bonding or an act of lust. He’d felt a connection between them that was significant in ways that he couldn’t yet describe.
Whatever it was that had happened, he wanted it to continue, to blossom into its full potential. He hoped that Zoe wanted that too.
The door of the club opened and suddenly Tunks stumbled out. He staggered out into the alley, mumbling something to himself, then turned and kicked the door as it swung shut.
“Thanks for nuthin’,” he said with a slight slur in his voice, then belched loudly.
He’s half cut, Duran thought as he moved out into plain sight.
“Let’s go,” Tunks announced to no one in particular. He stopped suddenly when there was no response.
“You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant,” Duran said.
Tunks whirled, wide-eyed, taking a moment to locate Duran standing not far away. A look of dread flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by that familiar haughty contempt.
“Well, well. Inspector Duran,” Tunks drawled. “Or I guess, ex-Inspector Duran now. Right?”
“Call me whatever you like.”
“How about a butt-licking little toad who only ever got anywhere by sucking on Prazor’s pecker?” Tunks sneered.
“If you like, but it’s a little verbose, wouldn’t you say?”
“Fuckin’ smart-ass. You were always a fuckin’ smart-ass.” Despite his bravado, Tunks glanced surreptitiously behind him and along the alleyway, obviously uncomfortable.
“You lose something?” Duran said.
“What did you do with them?”
“Those two fat boys you brought to look after you? I sent them on their way to nurse some broken things. Broken noses, broken fingers. Broken egos.”
“Useless fucks,” Tunks muttered.
“Forget about them, Sergeant. You won’t be needing those fellas where you’re going.”
“And where’s that?”
Duran pretended to mull over that question. “That depends on you.” He inclined his head. “What were you doing in there, anyway?”
“Guy in there owes me creds. Lots of creds.”
“Sounds like everyone owes you creds, Tunks.”
“Most do.”
“How about that guy you shot to pieces in the apartment a couple of days back? What did he owe you?”
“Something he couldn’t pay back.”
“Right. And that gave you the right to blow him away in front of his wife and kids.”
“You don’t get it, Duran. You never got it.”
“Enlighten me.”
Tunks took a step forward. “I go out of my way to protect these people, these lowlifes, and all I ask is a small tithe in return. Is that so much to ask? Is it?”
“You aren’t protecting shit, fat man. You know it and I know it. You extort innocent people for creds by leveraging your role as an Enforcer.”
“You always were full of hot air, Duran.” Tunks smirked. “When I heard you’d gone up against the Redmen a few days back, I laughed my ass off. I thought what a wonderful place the world would be without your sanctimonious bullshit stinking up the place.” He shook his head. “And now here you are, larger than life and more of a pest than ever. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that fucking grin off your face.”
His hand dropped toward the holster on his thigh and hung there, poised to strike.
“You touch that and you die,” Duran said coldly.
“Isn’t that what you had in mind anyway?” Tunks goaded. “C’mon, you little pussy. Let’s cut to the chase.”
He’s asking for it. Go ahead.
A voice still nagged at the back of his mind, questioning what he was doing, but he knew that if he allowed Tunks to walk out of this alley, innocent people would die. There was no reasoning with a man like this. He was too set in his ways. There was no option for Duran to hand over the footage of Tunks’ misdeeds to the Enforcers, either. He had no doubt it would fall upon deaf ears and that Tunks would escape without so much as a reprimand.
Remove one bad seed to save a host of good ones.
“You can’t do it, can you?” Tunks said. “You’ve got the rule book so far up your ass you can’t tear yourself away from it.”
“I can do whatever I want,” Duran grated.
“Hah! This is funny. This is fuckin’ funny, man, watching you stand there pissing your pants because you can’t go through with
it.” He guffawed. “I can’t wait to tell the guys back at the barracks about this.”
Duran thought for one horrible moment that perhaps Tunks was right, that he couldn’t do it. He pictured the sergeant waddling away, calmly walking down the alley while Duran pointed a gun uselessly at his back, unable to pull the trigger.
Then he thought of Zoe and the disappointment that she would feel, the way she might remonstrate him when she learned that the monster had once again been allowed to roam free through the streets.
He owed it to those people Tunks had killed to put him down. He owed it to Zoe, and he owed it to himself.
His mouth compressed into a thin line and his fingers edged toward the holster.
Tunks laughed again. “So long, Duran.” He cracked his knuckles and waved mockingly. “See you in the–”
The .40 was in Duran’s hand, then a split second later it spoke, roaring twice and drowning out whatever it was Tunks was trying to say. The sergeant dropped like a bag of cement, thudding backward onto the asphalt with two rounds in his chest, and he lay there unmoving.
Duran advanced slowly, checking both ends of the alley, then knelt at Tunks’ side. He checked his neck for a pulse, but there was nothing.
Stone cold killer, Duran thought distantly. Nice shootin’. Then he looked down at Tunks’ bloated face. Don’t think they’ll be talking about me in the barracks tonight after all, will they, Sergeant? Might be something more interesting for them to talk about.
Duran replaced the gun in its holster and began to walk rapidly away. He drew out his holophone and made the call.
“It’s done. Let’s go home.”
32
Knile followed Silvestri through the heavy wooden doors of the chapel, then waited while the dark-skinned man eased them shut again. The hinges creaked and moaned, and then the doors hit home with a deep thud that resounded throughout the empty space within.
After that there was silence.
Knile kept a tight grip on Roman’s arm as he turned and took in the view that was before them. The interior of the chapel was gloomy, unlit by candles or any kind of electric light. The only illumination came from the round stained-glass window at the head of the building, through which a shaft of mottled orange-and-red light streamed down, bathing the altar in afternoon brilliance. As his eyes adjusted, Knile saw around ten rows of wooden pews on either side of the central aisle, and mounted on the walls were a series of statues depicting strange medieval figures. There were men in flowing robes bearing tomes, others with shields, and a woman cradling an infant in swaddling. Their symbolism was lost on Knile; he knew none of them. The kind of beliefs that had evoked such sculptures had been lost to the world many generations ago. These might have been likenesses of gods or scholars or holy men or something in between for all he knew.
Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) Page 22