by Gord Zajac
“Aggressive interrogation,” Karnage said.
“You’re familiar with the technique?”
“A little too familiar,” Karnage said.
Sydney pulled off her boots. “You gonna give Tiny here any trouble when he uncuffs you?”
Karnage felt the weight of the Sanity Patch on his neck. “Won’t lay a finger on him.”
Sydney nodded. “You heard the man. Uncuff him.”
Tiny didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure, Sydney? I mean—”
Tiny froze. Sydney had placed a finger against his shoulder. She leaned in close to his ear. “Un. Cuff. Him.”
She pulled her finger away. Tiny staggered backward, gasping. He shot Sydney a fearful glance, then approached Karnage warily, and uncuffed him.
Karnage rubbed his wrists. “You mind telling me what this is all about?”
Sydney pulled off her socks and wiggled and stretched her toes. “I worked hard to get this command. Fought tooth and nail. Had to fight twice as hard as any bloke half as good. Old boy’s network. You know how it is. Even then, the best I got was this lousy outpost on the outskirts of civilization. Most of the men out here are rejects from elsewhere. Worst of the worst. The armpit of the force.”
“Hey!” Tiny said.
“Nothing personal, Tiny. You know it’s true.”
Tiny hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“But I did what I could,” Sydney was stretching her calves. “Weeded out the cops on the take. Brought in much-needed discipline. Whipped this place into shape. We weren’t top in the region, but we did all right.”
Sydney pressed her leg against the wall, doing a vertical leg split. “Then Brass calls. Tells me some nutty combat vet is loose in my district. Dangerous stuff. A real menace to society. And I’m thinking, finally, here’s my chance to show them what my boys can do. But Brass has got other ideas. They think this might be more than old Sydney can handle. So they bring in this guy Riggs. A real up-and-comer, they tell me. Real hot shot. Bees knees. ‘He’s got the inside scoop on this Karnage fella. You’re gonna love him,’ they tell me. ‘Just wait until you meet him.’
“So old Riggs shows up. And he tells me he’s been given my command. Temporarily, of course. Just until this whole Karnage affair is dealt with. So why don’t I go sit back, grab a tea, and let the Real Men deal with things in the meantime. And he’ll be sure to give me back my command when he’s done with it. Honest. There’s a good girl.”
“Sounds harsh,” Karnage said.
“I am, of course, paraphrasing.”
“That still don’t explain why I’m here.”
Sydney sat down, braced her fingers against the floor, then lifted her body, balancing her weight on her fingertips. “It’s like this: Brass claims you’re more than old Sydney can handle.” Sydney bounced on her fingers a couple of times. Once resettled, she was balancing on just her pinky fingers. “And I aim to prove them wrong.”
“And you’re gonna do that how?”
“By kicking your ass,” Sydney said. “In a fair fight, of course.”
“That doesn’t sound too rational.”
“Never said it was, mate.” Sydney stood up and stretched her neck. She bounced on her toes. “You ready?”
Karnage felt the weight of the Sanity Patch against his neck. “I’d be up for this more in the morning.”
“You trying to be funny?”
“I couldn’t be more serious.”
“Sorry, mate. We don’t got all night. Just do your best. I’ll go easy on you at first. Let you get warmed up.”
“You’re too kind.”
“Thanks. Don’t let that get around.”
“Won’t tell a soul.”
“Appreciate it.” Sydney shook her body out, then lowered into a crouch. She stuck out her pinkies like she was holding twin cups of tea, and rose to the tips of her toes. She nodded once. “Here we go.”
And then she was on him.
Fingers and toes flew at Karnage with blinding speeds. Karnage dodged, bobbed, danced and weaved. Once he was too slow and a pinkie brushed his side. His vision exploded in black dots as pain shot through him. He gasped and struggled to stay upright enough to dodge a follow-up baby toe heading for his neck.
He’d never seen anyone move like this before. It was like a martial arts version of shiatsu. Sydney knew all the right pressure points to cause extreme pain in the body. It was brilliant. It was like ballet, except it didn’t suck. Sydney’s every move was graceful. The lines of her attack were beautiful. Karnage had never enjoyed fighting someone so much in his life.
That joy was tinged with worry. He’d never had to move so fast. He could barely keep up with her frenetic pace. It burned him up inside that he couldn’t fight back. Not that he’d seen many opportunities to do so. Once or twice he thought he saw an opening, but they closed so fast it became obvious they were carefully laid traps. Had he made a move, he would have exposed himself for a crippling blow. Karnage had never seen Sydney’s equal. She was an artist.
They moved back and forth across the room, swaying and bobbing and weaving in a violent dance of bear and doe, the doe attacking and the bear defending, clumsily dodging each finely thrust hoof and horn. Karnage scrambled to avoid a toe that seemed to sneak up on him from behind Sydney’s back. He heard a yelp from behind as Tiny shouted, “Hey! Watch it! You almost hit me!”
“Stay out of my way and you won’t get hurt!” Sydney barked.
“Easy for you to say. You guys are all over the place. Hey!”
Karnage saw Tiny scramble to one side. That gave Karnage an idea. He worked on dodging and ducking, moving in a slow arc towards Tiny. Sydney made it near impossible. Her every attack demanded specific precise counter-manoeuvres. But slowly, Karnage moved them back in Tiny’s direction.
“Quit comin’ towards me!” Tiny screamed.
“Quit getting in my way!” Sydney yelled back.
Karnage heard Tiny scrambling behind him again. He ducked between two fingers and a toe while sliding out his back leg for balance. He felt the knocking of a leg as Tiny stumbled into Karnage’s foot. Tiny squealed as he fell. Another toe raced towards Karnage. Karnage grabbed a handful of Tiny and pulled him on top as a human shield. Karnage heard a crunch and a scream as Sydney’s toe slammed into Tiny. Tiny went still.
“Sorry, mate.” Sydney patted Tiny on the shoulder before tossing him off Karnage and relaunching her attack.
Karnage rolled across the floor. A series of fingers and toes slammed into the floor behind him.
Karnage heard the crackle of a stun stick in front of him. “I got a bead on him, Sydney.”
“Stay outta this, Chuckles!”
“No worries. I got him.” A boot stamped onto Karnage’s back, stopping him mid-roll. There was the crackle of electricity by his ear and the smell of ozone. Just as quickly, it spun away as something crunched and Chuckles screamed.
Karnage looked up. Sydney was balanced on her pinkies atop Chuckles’s twitching chest. “Sorry, Chuckles. Got to do this on my own,” Sydney twisted on her pinkies. There was a sickening crunch and Chuckles went still. “You understand.” She backflipped off Chuckles and stood before Karnage. She was shining with sweat. Karnage took the opportunity to catch his breath.
“You’re better than I thought.”
“I gotta say,” Karnage panted. “I’m a little disappointed.”
“How so?”
“Your aim sucks. You’re good at hitting your own men. Not so good at hittin’ me.”
Sydney smirked. “So what say we stop playing around and get down to business?”
Sydney launched forward, fingers and toes flying at Karnage in every direction. Karnage threw himself to the floor. A finger grazed his back. His lungs seized and the breath shot out of him. All his limbs tingled. He struggled up as best he could, clutching his knees to his chest to catch his breath.
A toe nicked him in the ear. His left leg went numb. A finger tapped his elbow
. Spots exploded in his vision. Shot after shot tapped and poked and prodded his skin. Pain exploded all over his body. He felt like he was being carpet bombed. His every instinct screamed at him to fight back. To kill!
He fought it. He wouldn’t succumb. He wouldn’t blow his head off by giving in to his rage. His troopers were counting on him. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He recited his mantra, his reason for living. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He struggled to his feet, avoiding some blows, wincing under others. Take it, soldier! Do it! Your troopers need you! Velasquez! Heckler! Cookie! Koch!
“Fight back, goddammit!” Sydney screamed.
Karnage spat blood. The animal in his head was screaming: Do it, dammit! Look at her! She’s tired! Angry! Her guard is down! Take the shot, soldier! TAKE THE SHOT!
Karnage didn’t. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He slowly pulled himself to his feet. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He spat another mouthful of blood. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch.
“This is stupid!” Sydney shouted. “You’re supposed to be better than this!”
“I am,” Karnage said.
A toe threw Karnage across the room.
“Then take a shot at me!” Sydney yelled.
Karnage struggled to his feet. Blood was freely flowing from his forehead.
“I can’t,” he said.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you fight girls?”
“Oh hell, yeah. I’m an equal opportunity combatant.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Karnage wiped the blood from his face. “Let’s just say I’m waitin’ for a sign.”
Sydney leaped at Karnage, pinning his arms to the floor, straddling him with her tiptoes. “What kind of sign?”
Karnage’s neck beeped. “Attention: Sanity Level downgraded to Frosty Pink. Thank you for refraining from violent behaviour.”
“That.” Karnage’s legs flew up, grabbed a surprised Sydney by the neck, and slammed her into the floor. She was out cold.
Karnage’s neck buzzed. “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Strawberry Shortcake. Please refrain—”
“Shut up.” Karnage looked down at Sydney. “You gotta learn to control your temper there, Captain. No reason for you to lose your cool. Unless, of course, you object to mindlessly beatin’ on a man. Which I think you do. So fair’s fair, I guess. Your own moral code brought you down. Worse ways to lose.”
He pulled the pistol from Sydney’s belt, happy to finally have his hands on some serious hardware. He frowned. It felt far too light. He pulled the gun’s clip.
“Goddammit.” It was empty. Karnage tossed the gun away in disgust. Sydney had been bluffing him the whole time. “You got guts, Captain. I’ll give you that.” He tried hard to suppress a smile.
Karnage looked around the room. All three Dabneycops lay in varying stages of unconsciousness. The duffel bag lying by the furnace caught Karnage’s eye. He opened it, revealing handcuffs, chains, ropes, and other means of restraint, including—
“Hot damn.” Karnage held up the straitjacket. He smiled. “Looks like it’s my size, too.”
He slipped it on. The heavy canvas felt good against his skin. Like coming home. He cut down the sleeves with the bowie knife from Tiny’s belt. The cuffs were cut much cleaner this time. It felt more like a uniform than ever. He was growing to like this.
He cuffed Tiny and Chuckles to the furnace, and gagged their mouths with the cut sleeves of the straitjacket. Sydney was another matter. Karnage wrapped her in chains, ropes, and every bit of restraining material in the bag. He stared at the unconscious form of the captain. From the neck down she was wrapped in a cocoon of rope and metal. But he still wasn’t satisfied.
“Frankly, Captain, I think I’d have to encase you in concrete before I thought you were good and trussed up.” Karnage eyed the empty duffel bag. “Matter of fact, I think I’d rather keep my eye on you. . . .”
Karnage slipped the mummified Sydney into the duffel bag. It was tight, but she just fit. Just as he was about to zip the bag over Sydney’s face, he was hit with a pang of guilt. She deserved better than this, a combat fighter like her. Definitely didn’t deserve to be trussed up like somebody’s badly packed luggage. He gave her a quick salute. “I hope you understand this ain’t personal, Captain.”
He zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I want this son of a bitch caught.”
Riggs paced the front of the squad room. His reflection paced back and forth across the mirrored visors of the men’s helmets.
“He’s a trained killer and he’s going to kill again.”
A voice called out from the back: “This wouldn’t have happened if Sydney were in charge.”
A slight nodding of heads rippled out from the source. Riggs tried to pinpoint who it was, but all he saw was his own angry glare reflected back at him from the sea of mirrored visors. “Nobody’s happy with how things have gone,” Riggs said. “There are a lot of unanswered questions here. I’ve got three missing officers and two missing prisoners. Did they help the prisoners escape? Were they overpowered? Considering Captain Sydney’s skill as a fighter, that’s doubtful. What’s her role in all this? We won’t know how much she’s involved until we find her.”
An angry murmur coursed through the crowd. Riggs spoke over it. “But our focus here is Karnage. He must be contained at all costs. I want every available body on this manhunt. From disposal to dispatch. Deputize them. Terrorize them. Whatever it takes. If they got a pulse, they’re in on the search. Nobody rests until Karnage is found. Do I make myself clear?”
A hand shot up in the back. “Shouldn’t we leave a skeleton crew here, in case—”
Riggs exploded. “I will not have anybody sitting on their asses and playing pinochle while that bloodthirsty maniac is on the loose! When I say I want everybody after that sonofabitch, I mean everybody! Is that clear?!”
There was a begrudging murmur of assent from the officers.
“Good. Now get the hell out of here, and find me that bastard. Dismissed!”
The squadron filed out, some of them grumbling under their breaths. Their Dabby Tabby helmets seemed to mock Riggs with their mirrored visor grins. A couple of constables glanced up at Riggs as they left. He was sure they were giving him the evil eye. He tried to record their badge numbers, but their arms were conveniently covering them.
As the last of the men left the squad room, Riggs sighed. It was supposed to have been easier than this. But everything had gone wrong since he had accepted this assignment. No one had warned him about Sydney. And then there was Karnage. He was crazier than anybody had thought.
Riggs walked back to his office, thinking of his former commanding officer running around the desert, shooting at anything that moved while shouting about aliens. The poor bastard. Riggs felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he could have done more to help. Maybe . . .
As he reached the door to his office, Riggs heard voices coming from down the hall. He ground his teeth. Nobody should have been left in this part of the building. They should be out on patrol, or packing their sorry butts into a patrol cruiser.
Riggs marched around the corner. A short, slovenly constable hunkered over the door to the armoury while a second taller constable leaned against the wall looking on, his foot resting idly against a large duffel bag.
“Just what the hell are you two doing?” Riggs barked.
The short constable stumbled back, tripping over the duffel bag. He fell to the floor. After picking himself up, he brushed off his illfitting uniform. “Uh, I—we, that is, uh . . . ah . . .”
The taller constable stepped forward and saluted Riggs. “Constable Zuniga, Captain. Don’t mind old Chucky, there. He always gets like this around Brass. Doesn’t stop him from bein’ the best mechanic in the motor pool. Ain’t that right, Chucky?”
“I, er, uh . . .” Chucky looked from Zuniga to Riggs and back again.
“Why the hell aren’t you
two out on patrol?!”
Zuniga pointed to the bag. “Chucky here’s got this hockey game tonight, and he wasn’t sure if we’d have time to come back to pick up his gear, so we thought—”
“You thought?! Who the hell asked you to think? If I wanted thinkers, I’d be commanding a goddamn think tank! I do the thinking, you do the following. So when I say everybody goes out on patrol, I mean everybody! No exceptions! Are you listening to me, mister?!”
The only signs of emotion on Zuniga’s face was Riggs’s angry reflection scowling back at him. “Heard every word, Captain,” Zuniga said. He jerked a thumb at the armoury. “But before we go, sir, you might be interested in knowing someone’s been tampering with the lock. Sir.”
Riggs took a close look at the door. There was nothing left of the biometric scanner but a gaping hole and a mass of wires. Riggs ran his fingers through the tangle of wires. He pulled out a red and green wire that had been carefully braided together. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “Stumpton.”
He rounded on Zuniga. “Is there anything gone? Anything missing?”
Zuniga shook his head. “Haven’t had a chance to look, sir. We were about to, but then you ordered us to—”
“Well look, dammit! Look!” Riggs kicked open the door and barged in.
Tasers, goober guns, and goober grenades packed the shelves, ripe for the plucking, yet entirely unplucked. Riggs let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god. Nothing’s missing.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Zuniga said.
Riggs turned around. He found himself staring down the barrel of a goober rifle.
“Just what in the—”
Zuniga fired. Riggs flew across the room. He slammed into a wall of shelves. Guns and ammo rained down around him as the pink expanse of goober swelled, pinning him to the shelf. His arms stuck fast to his sides. He kicked futilely, his feet a good foot off the floor.
Riggs heard a beep from the back of Zuniga’s neck.
“Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Frosty Pink. Please refrain from violent behaviour.”