“Convenient,” Simoon said bitterly. “Really nice and simple and convenient for you, isn’t it?”
“Actually, it really sucks. But look. It was talk to you about it like this or else just tell Ellen to never put the earring back in. And I did it this way.”
“Why?” she said. “So you could hurt the girl a little more before you killed her?” She was talking about herself as if she were someone else. As if Ellen were speaking and not Simoon.
“So I could say good-bye before I let you go,” he said.
“You’re a fucking monster,” Simoon said softly. There were tears steaming on her cheeks. The snow around them was grey.
“Okay,” he said.
“This is really what you want?” Simoon said.
“Yeah.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved, and then with sudden violence, Simoon plucked out the earring and slammed it into his palm. By the time the metal touched him, Ellen was sitting beside him. Simoon was gone.
“Hey,” Bugsy said.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said gently. “For what it’s worth, you were right. It couldn’t have gone any other way.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“Its not like that for me and Nick, you know,” she said. “I couldn’t do what you did. I can’t walk away from him.”
“Okay,” Bugsy said.
They were quiet. The dog barked again, its voice muffled by distance and the fallen snow. Ellen patted him on the shoulder and stood. Simoon’s last tears had dried on her face, but Ellen only looked a little weary.
“Come by and pick up your things anytime you want, okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll do that,” Bugsy said.
Cameo nodded and turned away. He watched her walk, the thickening snow moving her away faster than mere distance could. She stopped, looked back. He could see the frown on her lips. When she called out, it was like a voice coming from a different world.
“You aren’t a monster,” she yelled. Bugsy raised a hand in thanks, and Cameo nodded and went back to her walk. To her apartment. To Nick the Hat and wherever that weird little psychodrama was leading. But without him.
He sat for a while, letting the chill sink deep into his bones. A jogger huffed by, wrapped in a turquoise track suit, white iPod cords dangling from his ears. A siren rose and fell and faded in the distance. Bugsy opened his hand.
It was a nice enough earring. Not spectacular, not cheap. Inoffensive. He tossed it up and down a couple times, measuring its weight by the impact against his palm, then stood, walked to the edge of the path, and launched it out into the snow. He didn’t see where it fell.
Afterward, he treated himself to a bookstore and some coffee.
Kongoville, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
“I know he’s in the Sudd, but get the word to Weathers somehow,” Noel instructed Sun. “The gold will be in place in a few minutes.” He hung up his phone.
“What do we do about Jaako’s share?” Mathias asked as he loaded his share of the gold into suitcases.
Noel shrugged. “Well, it’s not like he had a widow or orphans to care for. Divide it equally between us.”
“And what about me?” Mollie muttered. Noel had tied her to a support pillar in the warehouse.
He squatted down in front of her. “Mollie, my dear, you have the necessary instincts for a life of crime, but you have to learn one key lesson. Never betray your associates. Unless you’re clever or lucky enough to kill them all you will find yourself… well, in your current situation.”
“You’re probably just going to kill me,” she said, and she couldn’t quite hide the quaver.
“No, your power is too useful, and I may need it again. I’m very annoyed about Jaako because his power was quite unique, but I’m not going to trash another power on something as pointless as vengeance.” He stood and felt his knees crack. “Now let’s finish this.”
Mollie opened a doorway into Cumming’s apartment. His gold was delivered. Noel’s was sent through to the abandoned farmhouse in the Hebrides. Mathias was pushed through into the winestube in the Grinzing. He shrugged at Noel’s raised eyebrow. “I own it,” he said.
“What about mine?” Mollie asked again.
Noel took an ingot off the remaining stacks, and laid it in her lap. “Here. A little grubstake.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I’m not killing you or your hillbilly family. You should be grateful. Now open the door to the yacht.”
“No,” Mollie said. Silence stretched between them as they matched stares. She broke first, unable to hold his gaze. “You… you won’t kill me. Not in cold blood.”
Before Noel could disabuse her of this notion, Mathias intervened. He came between Noel and Mollie, and knelt down next to her. “You’re a little girl. Very young. Very foolish, but you could have a big career. I would help teach you if you wanted to work with me. I’ve been a criminal for forty years. I’ve met many criminals. This man
…” He gestured at Noel. “He’s a killer. They aren’t common. He’ll do what he says.”
Mollie audibly gulped. The doorway into the hold of the yacht appeared. Noel was relieved. He hadn’t really wanted to reformulate the plan, but Mathias’s words echoed in his head, and felt like a weight on his chest.
But I’ve changed. I’m not that person any longer.
And he looked down at the gun in his hand. He didn’t remember drawing it.
Bahr al-Ghazal Base
The Sudd, South Sudan
The Caliphate of Arabia
The painted children’s chanting raised the hairs on the back of Tom Weathers’s neck. The bonfire capered high, throwing yellow flames and brown smoke spires into the face of the dense Sudd night. His eyes watered to the smoke of the pungent dried acacia he’d hyperflown in for the ritual. The fire cackled as if it had a life of its own.
He imagined Noel Matthews inside that fire. Twisting. Screaming. Charring. Melting. But he knew that couldn’t be. Matthews was a fucking teleport. Tom would have to finish him fast. Yeah, you think you’re so smart, Meadows, you fuck, he thought. But I got your number. Sleep is for the weak anyway.
He surveyed the circle of small faces, human and otherwise, all shades turned orange by firelight, eagerly watching him. He could feel their hunger: to strike out at the world that threatened them. That made them hurt. Could see it in the feral glitter of their eyes, hear it in their chanting: Death, death, death to imperialists! Death, death, death!
The same rage and desire burned in his own chest, bared and painted in violent smears and jags and drenched in glittering Sudd sweat. “Yes, death,” he cried out, throwing his arms up over his head, baying like a wolf at the moon. “It’s time for justice. Time for righteous payback! Down with the oppressors. Bring them death!”
The twisted children howled in reply.
His cell phone rang.
Tom’s ring tone came from Jefferson Airplane’s “Volunteers of America.” Grace Slick screaming, “Up against the wall, motherfucker!” Appropriate as the sentiment was, the interruption pissed him off.
He dug in the hip pocket of his faded blue jeans, pulled out the phone, and flipped it open. When he saw the caller’s name he waved his hand at the circle of chanting children. “Wait one. Got to take this.” Turning away from the bonfire, he hunched over and pressed the phone to his ear. “Heilian? This isn’t a good time-”
“No,” she said in her best clipped secret-cop colonel voice. “You must listen now. The Nshombos’ private yacht. Get there at once.”
Dr. Nshombo’s Yacht
Kongoville, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
A few lights stretched wavering yellow fingers across dark water. The big yacht itself showed few lights, though its white hull gleamed like sun-bleached bone.
With a loud thump Tom landed on the hand-polished hardwood deck a few yards aft of the superstructure. Damn, he thought, misjudged a bit. As he straigh
tened a voice shouted in angry French from his left.
Thrusting a hand into his pants pocket, Tom turned. A Leopard Man in mufti-slacks, a dark T-shirt with a Miami Vice sports coat over it, the inevitable blackout shades, and leopard-skin fez-was hauling a Micro UZI machine pistol out of a shoulder holster. “No one is allowed aboard,” the Leopard Man shouted, aiming his handgun-sized piece. “Not even you, Mokele-mbembe.”
Tom’s left hand came up holding a PPA five-franc piece, the size of a U.S. quarter. He flicked it at the Leopard Man. With all his buckle-tank-armor-with-a-punch strength.
The coin cracked as it went hypersonic.
The Leopard Man’s body jerked. A darker stain appeared in the front of his dark T. The coin had hit going fast enough to blow through rib cage, heart, and spine. He folded.
A curious skritching sound made Tom look up. A vast multilegged blot descended toward him from the roof of the cabin. Just in time, Tom got his hands up to fend off a round furry body.
Thick blunt legs with spiky fur belabored Tom’s face. Ayiyi’s weight almost toppled Tom over backward. He barely managed to keep his feet. Huge fangs curving from furry bases clawed for his face. He pulled his head backward. The spider-monster hissed at him. All the time Ayiyi’s little-boy face stared impassively. A drop of green venom dropped to his left shoulder. It sizzled.
Shouting with pain Tom finally found a grip. He hurled the monstrous spider away. It flew across the water to strike the front of the warehouse, hard. Tom anticipated a gratifying splat.
Instead the child ace flipped his spider body in the air, landed using all eight legs to cushion the shock. Then, dropping to the dock, he shot a tendril of web at Tom.
It stuck his bare, painted chest. And clung. He tried to brush it away. His hand stuck to it. “Hey,” he shouted. “I didn’t know you could do that!”
With a single spring the spider landed on the brass railing. It scuttled quickly behind Tom, then leaped back to the cabin roof.
Tom found the sticky stuff pinning both arms to his sides. He tried to break free. But it had the legendary strength of spider silk, plus monster cross section. And Tom couldn’t get decent leverage.
The giant spider reared to fling itself on him. The fangs reached for him. He saw the skin where the poison had struck was blistered. He drew a deep breath.
He was in space. The monster spider floated, tethered to him by webbing that, flash-dehydrated and rapidly freezing, was already losing its adhesiveness and becoming brittle. With a soundless shout of triumph Tom tore free.
The child ace began to turn over as he drifted away. Tom saw his mouth straining open in a scream. He transfixed the monster thorax with a sunbeam. Then he was back on deck, brushing stiff web remnants from his skin.
Candace Sessou, the Darkness, appeared atop the cabin. Flanking her stood a pair of Leopard Men. They raised weapons. Tom blasted each with one hand.
Then he looked at Candi. “Why didn’t you help me? Or try to stop me?”
“I’m done being a puppet on a string,” she said. “You and he are the same. You don’t care who you hurt. Well, you have no more power over me!” She turned her back on him, crossed her arms beneath her tiny breasts.
And she was half hung-up on me, Tom thought. Ungrateful little bitch. “You’re either with me or against me!” He flung up a hand.
She wrapped herself in Darkness. The sunbeam stabbed through it. He heard a splash near the portside rail. He ran to look. The Darkness spread out across the river like mist. He heard the girl’s mocking laughter. Then she was lost. “Hell with her.” He thrust through the hatchway.
Lights led him down a stairway. At the bottom little white dogs flooded the corridor, leaping at his legs and yapping. “Jesus!” They relented when he kicked one yipping through the bulkhead and out through the hull. Then they retreated to safe distances behind and ahead of him and growled.
Before him a hatch stood open into the yacht’s cargo hold. An unmistakable shape stood before him in a spill of dim amber light. Big head, slight body, uncharacteristically dressed in shirtsleeves. The dull yellow gleam beyond the President-for-Life told all.
“Checking the ballast?” he asked.
Kitengi Nshombo spun. His fine hard features went slack and took on a grey matte tone. “Tom, it isn’t what you think. I had nothing to do-”
“Yeah,” Tom said. “Yeah, it is. Exactly what I think.” He nodded toward the gold ingots stacked neatly on a tarpaulin. “You’re stealing from the People, comrade. That’s what you’re doing. You’re a traitor to the People’s Paradise and the Revolution.”
“No!” Nshombo cried. Spittle flew from his mouth. “You must listen to me. I did not do this. I received a curious telephone call-from Alicia, I thought-telling me to come to the yacht. When I arrived I found”-he gestured at the piled plunder-“this. I was as surprised as you are. And quite as displeased. Surely you can see I’ve been set up.”
“Sure,” Tom said, smiling. The president’s taut shoulders relaxed. “Sure, the gold just teleported here all by its fucking self!” He shook his head. “You got too rich and powerful, man. You forgot the Revolution. You forgot your roots.”
“No, no, it’s a lie, I’ve been framed-”
Tom reached out and grabbed that big head with both hands. Lifted the president right up off the deck by it so his legs kicked futilely in the air. “Tom! Put me down! Please -”
He tried to say more. It soared into wild screaming as Tom increased the pressure on the sides of his head.
President Nshombo’s head burst like a zit.
Wet clumps hit Tom’s face and clung.
He wiped his face and spat out something that tasted of salt and iron. “I shoulda known better than to trust the Man. Even when I fucking helped make him the Man.”
32
Sunday,
December 27
Kisangani, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
The orgy lasted almost through the night.
After Alicia left, Michelle faced her chair away from the fire. She was afraid of what Alicia might do to Joey if she left.
Near dawn, it started raining and doused the fire. That seemed to dampen everything else. The drummers disappeared back into the jungle, and some of the new Leopard Men resumed human form and began gathering up their torn clothing as the sun came up.
Michelle stood up and stretched. As she looked at the neat little compound buildings, she jerked back. Staring out of several windows were the faces of children. None of them could have been older than nine.
“Jesus,” she whispered. How long had they been there? What had they seen?
Alicia strolled into the clearing followed by a little girl. The girl was wrapped in bandages. Her melonlike head was impossibly large for her tiny body, and she didn’t walk so much as stagger.
“I know you appreciated my survivor hospitals,” Alicia said. “I’ve been working on many things for my people. I’ve even been working on a little project for children.”
“For children.” Michelle was at a loss.
Alicia gave a belly laugh. “These children are building our nation. My project is making us strong. Some of my babies were born of rape, and abandoned in orphanages because they were the product of the mother’s shame. Instead of being outcasts they will be the defenders of the People’s Paradise. This is a great honor for them.”
“What you did last night…”
“A sacred rite. The children saw me bestow my gift. I give my Leopard Men power. I give my babies power.”
“You give them the virus.” Michelle was horrified.
“The gift. Not all of them are worthy, sad to say. But those who are…” Alicia beamed at the little girl in the bandages. “This is the Mummy. Would you like to see what she can do?”
A bubble began to form in Michelle’s hand. Take this insane bitch out. The world will be a better place.
“May I have your answer about Tom, please?”
; “If you want him dead, kill him yourself,” Michelle answered.
Alicia pouted. “You disappoint me, Michelle. We could have been such friends. Baby, do her for me.”
The Mummy ran to Michelle and seized her arm. Her hands were tiny, her fingers wrapped in rags as dry as parchment. What is this? Michelle thought.
Then the pain hit.
Her body began to wither. Her throat felt as if it were closing up. And the Mummy’s bandages began to fill out, the fabric darkening with moisture, stretching.
Jesus, Michelle thought, suddenly frightened. She tried to yank her arm away, but the little girl held on like a terrier. Michelle kicked backward, sending her chair toppling over. There was a squishy thud as the Mummy hit the ground beside her, but she didn’t let go. Michelle grew thinner, weaker. My precious bodily fluids, she thought, giggling hysterically. The Mummy was growing as she shrank. She’ll outweigh me soon, she realized.
Michelle kept shrinking, her precious water draining away into the blobby monster on her arm.
A terrified shriek pierced through her fear.
Michelle sat up, and the world tilted. A corpse came lurching out of the building where Joey was being kept; a child, no older than the Mummy. Two more zombies followed. She recognized the guards who’d been posted at Joey’s bedside. Joey appeared in the doorway behind them. She looked wobbly, but her zombies were moving just fine.
Michelle heard Alicia Nshombo scream. She was staring down the road with horror on her face.
Michelle pressed her palm against the Mummy’s head. “Let go, kid,” she said in French, and then again in English. “I have no intention of dying today. Either we both get up, or I’ll be the only one getting up. Got it?”
The Mummy squeezed tighter. Michelle slid a wizened hand down her bandaged cheek and under her chin, then raised her face to look into the child’s eyes. They were black, shiny, devoid of any sign of humanity.
“I’m sorry,” Michelle said.
Then she loosed a stream of bubbles.
Water, blood, and brains burst over Michelle. She yanked the Mummy’s hand from her arm and pushed the tiny corpse away. Where she fell a puddle formed around her.
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