Desolate Mantle

by L. K. Hill

  “Jerome here,” Boss nodded toward the younger man, “is my Underboss. My right hand. You were noticed,” he continued, “the second you appeared in the Mire. The problem is, no one has known what to do about you. You were immediately singled out as different, as playing your own games. Those who made note of you assumed normal protocol would be followed.” He paused, looking at her expectantly.

  Okay, I’ll bite. “And what is normal protocol?”

  “To wait until we have proof you are working against us—selling without paying us our cut—and then have you beaten to death.”

  A shiver darted down Kyra’s spine. With that tone, he might have been discussing the weather. “You don’t give many second chances, do you?” she murmured.

  It hadn’t truly been a question, but he still answered. “Anyone intelligent enough to set up their own racket, is smart enough to know who rules in this city. They know what they’re getting into when they try to double cross me.”

  Boss equals dangerous enemy. Check. She pushed the thought away, telling herself to focus. Her foot throbbed again. At least the brain fog hadn’t returned. Her adrenaline was too high. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

  “Well, I appreciate not having been beaten to death,” she said dryly.

  He nodded his head in all seriousness. “The problem is, we can’t figure out what you’re doing,” he said. “None of our associates or soldiers knew what to make of you, and so took the problem to their capo or consigliere, who in turn did the same. Eventually, your strange reputation made it all the way to me. Jerome decided to check you out himself. Even he couldn’t understand your endgame. You don’t seem to be setting up shop. You watch various, low-level members of the gang. You even purchase product from our Ares constituents from time to time, but never seem to actually sample the product. And you’re obviously smarter than you want anyone to know—smarter than anyone around you in the Mire has picked up on. Yet.” He sat back and steepled his fingers, peering at her over them. “In my experience, someone as intelligent as you, who suddenly appears from nowhere in the worst part of Abstreuse City, is either a friend, or a threat. I will know which before you leave here, my dear, or you’ll not leave here at all.”

  Kyra wracked her brain for what to tell him. Something that would ring true, without giving him the truth. The whimper from the darkness came again. What is that noise?

  She studied her hands briefly, gathering her thoughts. She nodded, raising her eyes. “Very well. If you must know, I’m here looking for someone. Someone who…disappeared some time ago.”

  “A missing person,” Boss mused. “You are…an investigative journalist of some kind?”

  Kyra laughed softly, in spite of herself. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Do you carry a badge?” Jerome asked the question this time, and her guards tensed. If the answer had been yes, she suspected it would have been the last thing she’d ever spoken. She didn’t miss a beat, though. Merely shook her head, remaining calm, and looking Boss in the eye. “I have nothing to do with law enforcement.”

  “Then what are you?” he asked sharply, patience obviously waning.

  “I’m…someone’s sister,” she said reluctantly.

  Boss leaned back in his chair, eyes studying her again. She could see him plugging in information and drawing conclusions. “And,” he asked after several seconds of loud silence. “You have no help from the police in this?”

  She shook her head. “The man I’m looking for didn’t disappear in a typical, missing-persons sort of way. He came here of his own volition. He disappeared…into a lifestyle, as much as into a city.”

  Full understanding rolled across Boss’s eyes. “A new lifestyle, and perhaps a new identity. Which is why you’ve assumed the same lifestyle to look for him.”

  Kyra hesitated. This was a gamble of the highest order. She needed to make this man trust her, at least to an extent. That meant being truthful with him. Showing him something no one else—at least to his knowledge—knew. Reaching up, she dug her fingers into her hair. Her guard’s hand jumped to his sidearm—did he really think she hid a pistol in her hair?—but Boss raised an index finger, and the guard relaxed.

  Boss watched impassively while Kyra unclipped her spiky black wig, lifted it from her head, and set it in her lap. She unpinned and unwound her flat bun of real hair and shook it out. Wisps of her dark blond hair fell onto her neck and around her face. She managed not to tremble as she brushed her unbound hair back with her fingers.

  “I can hardly walk through the Mire looking like this, and expect to get anywhere, now can I?”

  He didn’t answer, but a deeper understanding settled into his eyes, and she imagined she could read his thoughts. She was not a native Mireling who happened to be smart, or someone playing a foolish game they didn’t understand. No, she was a middle-class white girl from suburbia. And she was in way over her head.

  Kyra glanced at Jerome. He eyed her in a speculative way as well. His eyes ran over her, up and down several times. When Boss did it, it hadn’t seemed sexual. Just taking in her body language and making deductions. With Jerome, she wasn’t so sure. His eyes came to rest on her face, and his gaze was utterly confident. “You must be one crafty bitch, my dear,” Jerome said, so softly she barely heard.

  “Oh no, Jerome,” Boss said. “It’s more than that.” The old man rose from his chair and came around the desk toward her. Despite the white hair, he moved with surprising agility. When he’d perched on the front edge of the desk, so his knees nearly brushed hers, he frowned straight down into her eyes and used his index finger to lift her chin. “She’s a chameleon. Unique in all the world.”

  Kyra tried not to tremble. His touch, his hawkish gaze boring into her, his very proximity made her want to cringe. He radiated evil as garbage radiates stench. She told herself not to be afraid. Not to let her fear control her. Her spine trembled despite all she could do.

  “Or if not that,” he said. “At least unique in all the Slip Mire.” He smiled then, and Kyra couldn’t hold in her shudder. Boss didn’t seem to notice.

  He let go of her chin, and the whimper came again from the corner.

  “What,” she cleared her throat, trying to regain her confidence. “What is that noise?”

  “Oh,” he straightened as if her reference to the whimpering had caught him off guard. She was certain it hadn’t. “You wish to see? We will show you.” He flicked his index finger back toward Jerome. Apparently understanding the signal, Jerome turned and retreated into the gloom behind Boss’s desk. The sound of a light switch being flipped preceded a bright light bursting on in the same dark corner the whimpering came from.

  Kyra’s stomach bottomed out. Her nasal passages felt like they’d narrowed to half their diameter. She breathed more deeply to compensate, fighting down panic with each breath.

  In the corner sat a ladder-backed, wooden chair. The man occupying it had his arms wrapped backward around the chair, his hands secured behind his back as well as lashed to his ankles. They were pulled so tight it looked painful. Tiny streams of dark blood covered his extremities, pooling on the floor beneath his chair. His face had been beaten to a bloody pulp. It barely looked human anymore. But he was still breathing. And whimpering.

  Boss’s eyes never left her face. Oh yes, he understood how to read people, and what to watch for. Suddenly he affected a look of sympathy. He reached out and placed a hand on her cheek. Kyra stiffened. She couldn’t help it. It felt so intimate. So wrong.

  “Oh not to worry, my dear Chameleon. You are not in danger of enduring this kind of punishment. This man did something specific to deserve it….”

  He watched her carefully, not taking his hand from her face. She could tell he wanted to say more, but wanted her to initiate it. Breathe, Kyra. Play his game. She pulled her cheek away from Boss’s palm. He dropped his hand to his side.

  “Who…who is he?” she managed.

  Boss’s face split into a knowing grin, as
though she’d played directly into his hands. Her intestines turned to ice.

  “He’s the Hush who attacked you the evening Jerome saved you.”

  Kyra’s mouth dropped open before she could stop it. “But…that man wore a mask.”

  Boss nodded. “He was. But Jerome cut him, did he not? No one in this city can hide from me, my dear.”

  “But…” Kyra glanced the bloody mass that once attacked her, and her stomach knotted painfully. “Are you doing this to him on my account?”

  Boss spread his hands. “And his own. He left the confines of the passages we allow the Hushes to conduct their activities in and chased you almost to M Street. He broke the rules. That is why Jerome cut him. It had nothing to do with you.”

  Kyra glanced over at Jerome, who gazed back at her. His face looked passive, but his eyes were hard like cold steel. They wanted her to know he hadn’t rescued her, so much as watched out for the mob’s interests.

  Noted.

  “The Hush knew better,” Boss continued. “It showed extreme disloyalty to me and my organization. One should never bite the hand that feeds them.” He reached out an index finger and tilted her chin upward again, leaving her nowhere to look except into his icy blue eyes. “You would never be disloyal.”

  His voice went up the slightest bit at the end, as though it were partly a question.

  Kyra fought for her composure. “I would not,” she said as firmly as she could.

  He kept his hand on her face, forcing her to look him in the eye, for another five seconds before letting go. “I didn’t think so.” He rose and went back around the desk.

  Kyra blinked and found moisture in her eyes.

  Boss went back to his chair, and Jerome clicked off the light switch, which brought a whimper from the man in the chair. Kyra did her best not to shudder. She stared straight ahead at Boss. Despite his words and the intimidating air, she thought she’d gained the upper hand. The room just didn’t feel as hostile as it had moments ago.

  “You have not displeased me thus far,” he said, steepling his fingers again and gazing over them at her. “But Jerome did save you.”

  “I did not ask him to do that,” Kyra said quickly.

  Boss gave her a hard look. She’d pissed him off. “You would be dead if not for Jerome,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “I do not think it amiss to ask you a simple question in return.”

  “A question?” Kyra said warily. He would expect her to answer. She didn’t dare refuse, and had no way of knowing what he already knew. Lying would be risky.

  “I want to know what you know about him.”

  She frowned. “Who?”

  “The person you were chasing when Jerome saved you from the Hush.”

  Kyra froze. Jerome only saw her running from the Prowler, hadn’t he? How could he know…? “Why do you think I was—?”

  “Jerome has been following you for a long time now, my dear.” Boss’s voice held an impatience that bordered on homicide. “He tells me you’re good. That you’ve made him more than once and managed to shake him, which is more than most people manage. But there were many times you didn’t see him. He watched you do a double take at Josie McNeal’s place when you saw the man and woman up the street. He waited until you left Josie and followed you into the Mire. He could barely keep up with you, rushing around like a mad woman as you did, looking for the couple. Then you ran right at him with a Hush on your tail.”

  Kyra shifted her eyes to Jerome, who listened passively to Boss running down the events of that night.

  “I didn’t put it together,” Jerome said quietly, “until the prostitute ended up dead. Then I realized why you were looking for them. Were you truly trying to prevent her death?”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kyra muttered.

  “Even if you’d have found them in time, you might be dead too, my dear.” Boss sounded smug. Kyra ignored him, thinking. She knew he was waiting for her response, and she let him wait. The room became graveyard-still as the conversation sunk in, awakening Kyra’s brain like an electrical impulse. Everything suddenly made sense.

  “This isn’t about me,” she said quietly. Boss raised an eyebrow. She’d have to tread carefully here, but she had to be bold as well, or she’d never retain her independence. “I fully respect you and your organization, Boss. But I must ask you do the same for me. Please don’t make up stories about why you brought me here.” Both Boss’s eyebrows reached for his hairline, now. Dellaire’s head came up, his expression warning that she trod on dangerous ground.

  “You’ve watched me, and seen that I’m no threat. You wouldn’t have brought me here to establish what you already knew. As long as I don’t disrespect your business, you wouldn’t care what I did. I’m here because you think I have information on the man who’s murdering those girls. He’s the threat to your business. Many of the girls are your customers, and if this is the kind of killer that thinks he’s cleaning up society, he may eventually branch out to junkies and dealers as well. Your most valuable clientele.”

  Boss gave her a hard look. One that should have terrified her. She plunged on.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to acknowledge it to me. I’m not interested in the logistics of your business, but you’ve already shown that you think I can handle the harsh realities.” She motioned toward the dark corner where the Prowler still whimpered from time to time. “So do me the courtesy of being honest about why I’m here.”

  Silence filled the room, bulling its way into every corner, until it felt suffocating. Kyra wondered if she’d orated her way to her own death warrant.

  “Very well,” Boss’s voice had the ring of steel to it once again. “Then I shall be completely honest. You will tell me what you know of this killer or I shall have you ripped limb from limb. And I’ll know if you’re lying, my dear, so do try to be honest.”

  Beside Boss, Jerome shifted his feet.

  Kyra uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, trying for the most open body language she knew. “I know he’s killed at least four times. The first was a woman named Mallory Butler. I have a good friend, who is also a prostitute, who was friends with Mallory. She saw the killer just before Mallory died.”

  “This friend of yours known his identity?” Boss asked, malice in his voice.

  Kyra shook her head. “No. She didn’t see his face. Only his back. He had Mallory, um, up against a wall.” She looked up at Boss to make sure he understood. He made a circular motion with his finger to tell her to go on. “She said he was shirtless. Wearing cut off pants. And had long, bushy hair that reached down his back.”

  Both men blinked at her, their expressions unchanged.

  Kyra sighed. “No one matching that description walks the Mire regularly. I would know. Lots of people would know.”

  “You’re saying it’s a disguise?” Jerome asked.

  Kyra nodded. “I think it’s a wig he dons specifically for the kills. Give how brutal some of them have been, no way he wouldn’t have gotten blood on it. But he certainly hasn’t left it behind anywhere. I saw that same wig down an alley the night Janny—the second woman—died. And again that night at Josie’s. I ran like a madwoman up and down the alleys of the Mire looking for it. And yes,” she glared at Jerome, “I hoped to prevent another woman from dying simply because I waited ten minutes to warn her.” She dropped her eyes to her lap. “She died anyway.” She could hear the bitterness in her own mutter. She didn’t care if she was giving away too much to the mobsters. She would always hate herself for that death.

  She glanced up to find Jerome watching her speculatively. Boss seemed to be lost in thought.

  “That’s all I know,” she said quietly. “I swear it.”

  Boss shook himself and stood. He came around the desk and perched knee to knee with her as he had before. The motion felt less intimidating this time. He once again lifted her chin with an index finger. She knew he was searching for truth in her eyes, and she wasn’t afraid. She gazed
back at him unflinchingly.

  After a moment, he nodded and released her. “I believe you. This man has killed far more women than you’ve seen. He would have started small. Stuck to parts of the Mire where the bodies wouldn’t be found.”

  “You mean the deep places?” Kyra said quietly. “Where the Prowlers live?”

  “The Prowlers? Oh, the Hushes. Yes, most likely,” Boss said. “Now he is venturing out. Becoming more bold. Our sources tell us the cops are finally seeing the patterns, too. I’ll admit, I thought it would take them longer, but no matter.”

  He directed his gaze down at Kyra, who struggled to control her breathing after his comment about the cops. If Boss had sources inside the precinct, and they found out Kyra had been a CI for Gabe for any length of time….

  “If you see this killer again, or glean any more information on him, you will bring it straight to me.” Boss said.

  Kyra turned away, fear twisting her insides again.

  Boss had begun to rise from his perch on the desk, but hesitated, raising an eyebrow. “This arrangement displeases you?” The warning had crept into his voice again. His control complex was getting old and Kyra felt a stab of irritation. She told herself to be calm and rational. She was nowhere near out of the woods yet.

  “I have to find my brother.” She glanced up at Boss’s feral expression and held her hands up. “Of course if I find anything big—stumble onto his identity or anything like that—I’ll bring it to you. I’m just saying my focus is elsewhere, so please don’t expect too much.”

  “You’ve come up with a description of the killer’s disguise and connect four murders, all while focusing on your brother,” Jerome said, his eyes boring into her.

  “Yes, but those things fell into my path by chance,” she said patiently. “I didn’t go looking for them.”

  “Like you didn’t go looking for that last girl?” Boss said, smirking. “Come now, my dear. Give it up. You’re a curious person by nature and too smart not to make the connections. I don’t think you can help yourself. You’ll draw conclusions about what you see one way or the other. I only ask that when they lead you back to this killer, you alert me.” He stood and circled back to his chair once more. “In return, I may be able to help you in your search.”