by Gavin Green
"I'm doing alright, uh, sir." I called him sir because I hadn't been instructed on how to address any of Viggo's Deviant buddies that I hadn't met yet. If calling him by that respectful title didn't work, I figured I'd be waking up on a couch again and needing to heal.
The short hemo's grin widened with a chuckle. He leaned to one side, looked past me, and said across the room to Barnabus, "Check that out, he called me sir."
"If he only knew . . ." Barnabus replied without looking up from his book.
"Leo," Viggo said, gesturing with an open hand to the smiling hemo still reclined on the couch, "this is Mr. Scanlon O'Shaughnessy. For various reasons, he uses the simple moniker, 'Skin'."
What a weird nickname. I guess my opinion showed on my face because Skin said, "Yeah, you heard right, kid. You'll figure it out sooner or later." He slapped the cushion next to him. "Have a seat and let me show ya my latest little piece of work."
I looked to Viggo, who nodded. When I settled in next to Skin, both heads of his snake hissed at me. Gently brushing the mutant snake away, Skin turned the laptop my way. It showed stills of a large and well-decorated bedroom, lit by a few small lamps. On the king-sized bed was a fat, older guy wearing only a t-shirt and socks. On top of him was a short-haired blonde woman barely out of her teens; the only things she was wearing were a garter belt and a smile.
"What we have here," Skin said, leaning closer to me and clicking to another shot, "is a certain city zoning administrator trying not to have a heart attack while his wife is in Atlanta. He had no idea how the girl got in, but it didn't take much persuading to let her stay a while. This fella has been a bit of a stickler allowing permits for one or two industrial sites up for reconstruction. Sites we might find useful, ya see. Catching our old boy in flagrante should make him change his mind."
"It was pretty stupid of him to have cameras on in his bedroom," I commented. "And if he didn't bring that prostitute home with him, then his security sucks."
"Yeah, well," Skin said, laughing, "she had a little help getting in, and told a few finely crafted lies to, ah, put him at ease. Oh, and those aren't his cameras. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, eh, kid?" As blackmail went, it looked airtight. That fat old man screwed himself more than he did the whore. "Now look at this," Skin went on, opening a different folder on the screen. "Back on Valentine's Day, I got -"
"Perhaps some other time, Skin," Viggo said, looming over us. "Mr. Beck and I need to move along before night ends. We are coming into yet another season of long days, and we shouldn't waste the precious little time available. Enjoy the discs - I believe they will suffice."
I got up and stood next to Viggo while he wished everyone a good evening. We left the chamber the same way as how we came in. I didn't look down as we walked across the grate flooring with the pack of whatever the hell they were down below us. The metal door at the far end opened into a rough tunnel lit by a hanging bare bulb. The short tunnel ended at another door, which opened to the metal stairs where Brute attacked me. It was morbid, but I had to look at my own bloodstains on the cave wall.
I followed Viggo into the long, curving hemo-built tunnel. Halfway through, he stopped and said we would void-walk back to my new place. Void-walking . . . Call me crazy, but I was getting used to it.
DETAILS
"I imagine you have a number of questions," Viggo said as he sat back in an upstairs lounge chair. He had allowed me time to go mix a strong drink beforehand; I sat across from him and nursed it. "However, I should also meet with the fledgling Mr. Horn, who is currently my guest."
"Yes sir, I figured as much," I said, and then took a drink. That first gulp of Jack and Coke calmed any of the residual jitters that still lingered.
"I will summarize information for now, and we can speak more in depth soon. Now, to begin . . . this city's faction of Deviants are quite eclectic, no? As you may have guessed, my scion Clara's mind did not fare too well during the infliction, but it is probable that she was unstable when she was human. After being brought into the night, her mind truly splintered. Vivian is an aspect of her own psyche; she is the conduit of Clara's visions, whispering secrets and rarely coming to the fore.
"The one named Neva does not or cannot speak. She stays underground, and does not concern herself with the machinations of the world above. The main reason for this is because of the rare trait in her blood that we refer to as the 'taint of horror'. I'm sure you sensed it. The taint prohibits her from most social interactions, although we fellow Deviants accept her regardless. As a form of gratitude, she regales us with music that stirs the soul.
"Roach, as you've unfortunately found out," Viggo continued with a deeper pitch to his voice, "has difficulty concealing his emotions. He is a bitter, cynical type, although he contributes generously to the faction coffers. Roach is a businessman of sorts, and does not stray from his tight circle of employees and contacts. Nor does he stray much from our Deviant-made catacombs, infrequently venturing out to see the stars. He is normally difficult to pity, although I sometimes do."
So far, what he'd told me about his fellow Deviants troubled me. I mean, they were all a far cry from stable, and then add the fact that they were all immortals with supernatural abilities. That kind of power in shaky hands was like throwing shit in a room full of fans.
"Lastly," Viggo concluded, "was Mr. O'Shaughnessy. I enjoyed seeing him again; he and I converse mostly by electronic means. He doesn't travel underground often, so I took the opportunity to talk with him at length while you slept. You might say that Skin is in the extortion trade, but he most often targets those who are already corrupt in some fashion. Because of the nature of his 'craft', as he calls it, he is also a font of information. And, if nothing else, he is entertaining."
"Yeah, I got that feeling when I met him, sir," I said, stalling until I could politely form the question that came to mind. "I, uh - I was wondering, sir . . . Well, a while back, when I was kidnapped and kept in that museum, remember? Anyway, there was this Adept minion named Sarah who thought there were only five or six, uh, members in each faction. Including you, I've met ten Deviants - Wayne makes eleven. So, was Sarah way off count, or do you guys move around a lot so the number isn't constant, or what?"
"There are the rare few in each faction who have wanderlust, the Outsiders most of all. Most often, though, we tend to be territorial . . . at least for a good length of time. That, however, does not truly answer your question. In all honesty, a number of Deviants have not introduced themselves to the Doyenne. They are essentially trespassers, even if Le Meur is unaware of their presence in her city. I am one of them, as are Clara, Neva and Wayne." He stood and adjusted his coat. "When the timing is right, I will introduce myself."
The way Viggo said that last part told me that it wasn't going to be a festive occasion. I stood as well and said, "Uh, yes sir, I'm sure you will. By the way, thanks for taking me with you to . . . wherever we were. Other than having to shoot a giant and being smashed into a wall, I hope I wasn't a pain in your ass. I was honored to be there with you."
As a reply, Viggo patted me on the shoulder and then walked past me. At the doorway of the lounge, he half-turned and said, "Do not think I forgot you, Leo. I placed your gift on the desk in your office downstairs while you were preparing your beverage. I will contact you soon."
COMPUTER
After Viggo found a dark corner and left, I finished off my drink and then made another to bring with me to the office. Lying on the keyboard was an envelope. I moved it aside and turned on the new computer. The basic set of programs had been set to shortcuts, and the screensaver was the logo for USMC Force Recon. Like I've said before, Viggo knew me too well.
I looked in the envelope and found a note and a flash drive. I plugged the drive in and clicked to access it. A new screen popped up, asking for a decryption code to proceed. I looked at the note; at the top of it was written a password: catabolism, although it used alternative keys to be spelled as 'c@T@b0li$m'. I thought it was a pretty
weird word to use - hell, I wasn't even sure what it meant at the time - but it turned out to be a clue of things to come.
The message on the hand-written note said: The installed flash drive and code will access a private server. Data for current duties will be found in the icon named 'Planner'. Other icons have been placed for perusal, although everything found within is considered highly confidential. You will also find that some files and links are restricted until you earn a higher security clearance. Once you have committed the password to memory, destroy this note.
PS: We should talk sometime. -G-
Gwen, it had to be Gwen. I'd been avoiding giving her a call, mostly because I was still conflicted about her involvement in the dark world I'd been thrown into. Still, she was a good friend, and I felt like a bit of a dick for ignoring her.
Besides the 'Planner' icon in the classified database, there were others called 'Forum', 'Games' and 'Maps'. In the Planner folder was a calendar filled with various chores for the next couple of weeks. The chores were shit like shopping for simple hardware (mostly tools and wiring, small cuts of lumber, glass jars and disturbing amounts of car battery acid). I also had to remind certain people of their obligations, pick up ordered supplies and deliver them to specific locations, secure underground cables, and remove tunnel debris. I was disappointed that 'exploring brothels' wasn't mentioned anywhere.
Each of the chores had linked comments giving details I had to be aware of. At the end of each comment was the reminder to "practice being ignored at any opportunity - report any success". Okay, will do. I was pleasantly surprised to see on the calendar that once a week I was to train for both martial arts and marksmanship. The comment under those was that I had to find facilities beyond the suburbs. There was a college town about forty five minutes away that most likely had both.
Under the only other tab in the folder was another calendar, but it was for local events that hemos were either hosting or involved with. The night before, for example, there was an art gallery party. Yeah, sorry I missed it. Coming up soon was a literary meeting; some event called an Open Gathering; and in just a couple days was the rock concert that Shawn's band, Glazefinger, was going to be part of.
The Forum link was a chat room for Deviants only, and apparently worldwide. It had tabs for different discussion topics, labeled as: Blood Politics, Rants, Open Season, Arts and Crafts, and Want Ads. Damn, those guys stayed connected. The only tabs I could access were the last two. Arts and Crafts had photos of sculptures and enormous mushrooms, open invitations to recitals, and art forgeries for sale. The Want Ads had everything from requests for illegal goods (drugs, body parts, etc.) to minion pets for sale.
I hoped the Games folder wasn't as bizarre. In it was a listing of ideas for pranks - some of them dangerous and violent - to be played on non-Deviant hemos. There was also information about online games that some members of the supernatural community liked to play on private servers; one for hemos (marked as 'V', and inaccessible) and another for us minions (M). That seemed kinda ridiculous. I mean, how much fun could World of Warcraft be when you're a creature of fucking legend?
The last icon, Maps, was what I really needed to familiarize myself with. There were tabs for dozens of American, European and African cities, but I was only able to open the one for Kansas City. The first of three layering, interactive maps was street level; it highlighted sewer ports, Deviant-run buildings, Civil Ground locations, and even some hemo domains.
The second map was of the sewer system known to the city's Public Works and Water departments. There was a shitload of lethal booby traps all over the map, although they were only tripped when their sensors detected very low body temperatures. A schedule was posted of sewer worker inspection times and locations, plus any planned repairs or other projects. That info gave me the opportunity to practice 'being ignored' on city workers. It'd either work, or I'd run like hell - an adventure one way or the other.
The last map was of a lower level of tunnels, rooms, and cave pockets that no human knew about. The Deviant-made level showed entry points from sewer lines, and from basements of buildings and factories. It was all more extensive than I would've guessed. For the sake of orientation, I moved around on the map looking for familiar places and expanding my view from those. There was a large index of symbols to familiarize myself with, and the flag notes spanned pages. I had a lot of studying to do.
Hours later, when bleary light from a gray dawn crept through the office window, I turned the computer off. After putting the flash drive and Gwen's note in the vault, I sat back and rubbed my eyes. I was glad that I had the next two days off, or I'd have been dragging ass through my first chores. The main reason I was still awake was because I was still trying to get my head around how modern and organized the Deviant faction was. To be fair, my only comparison was stupid vampire movies, but I don't remember seeing a craigslist for grotesque blood-suckers in any of 'em.
MOTIVES
Twelve hours later I was at Gwen's place where we had pizza and drinks and an earnest conversation. She began her service to our "mutual patron" - as she put it - on the day I applied at Silas Security. Gwen assured me that, despite keeping a secret file on me, our friendship occurred naturally. I was relieved to hear those words; she was relieved that she no longer had to keep it from me.
Then Gwen told me something that ruined my appetite. She'd heard from one of her police sources that one of my neighbors - Miss Loretta, as it turned out - had filed a missing person report on me. I hated that I was making that nice lady worry; her heart didn't need any extra strain. When Gwen told Cordell about it, he wanted to take time off work to look for me. Guilt trumps pizza.
Gwen also knew more about most of the Deviants I'd just met than I did. She first described Roach as a gardener of sorts, and that his plants were in demand. My comment that he served sewer lettuce with rat piss vinaigrette got me a scowl that could make children cry. Roach grew cannabis, and had quite a few well-hidden underground rooms full of weed crop. The sodium bulbs should have been a clue, but I'm not in the pot scene. Evidently, he was about the biggest dealer in town.
She also knew quite a bit about Barnabus, so I sat back with another drink while I listened to the condensed story of him. Mr. Merritt was a frontiersman in what is now West Virginia sometime in the late 1600's, trading furs with one tribe of Indians while at odds with another. She said that Barnabus wouldn't tell her much after that, other than being attacked and forcibly brought into the night in the summer of 1695. I figured the omitted part was filled with pain and hard times.
It was fun knowing shit that Gwen didn't - specifically Neva and Skin - and teasing her with the info. I finally gave in and gave some details on the marble-skinned violin player who still gave me the shivers from just thinking about her. I talked about Skin a little, too, but not much. I wasn't sure why.
When I asked what Gwen's orders were since I was no longer the focus of her reports, she said that she was supposed to pass along any gossip from her own contacts. The shocking thing was that when she mentioned our "mutual patron" again, she referred to him as Mr. Stone. Ho-lee shit. I knew something else she didn't, and I knew better than to say a single fucking word about it.
I crashed on Gwen's couch, had some waffles with her in the morning, and then had to get moving. I had a busy day ahead. Saturdays were the best days for martial art and shooting practice out in the college town, so I had to go get those set up. The concert was that night; Viggo's flag note for it in the Planner told me to wait at my place for him so we could go together. Not the date I expected, but I wasn't going to bitch about it.
Viggo arrived soon after sunset. He met me in the kitchen/break room, where I was refilling my flask. "Have you spoken with Gwen?" he asked from the entryway.
"Yes sir," I answered with a nod. "She and I straightened things out, and I didn't tell her anything she didn't need to know." I pulled the concert tickets out of my wallet and walked over to him. "Here you go, sir. Look, there'
s a little seating chart printed on the back."
Viggo stared at the tickets in my hand. "I haven't needed to use a ticket to gain entry into anyplace since before the Chinese invented toilet paper. Both are equally useless to me." Well, okay then.
We void-walked again, and came out into one of the event center's dark, unused balcony suites behind the stage. The lights were already dimmed, and the crowd of nearly six thousand was noisy. I could already smell pot. The first band wouldn't start for at least half an hour; Glazefinger came on after them.
"You will need to stay near me and refrain from speaking unless I deem it safe," Viggo said. "I will be using a Gift that cloaks us both from sight."
"I understand, sir. Ragna did the same thing for me once."
"Good. Now look to our left." I saw a few more unused suites as they curved around to the side of the stage. In one of them was two dark shapes looking out over the crowd. "The taller of the two is a daemon named Enric Tomasino. He is a respected Adept, and the Doyenne's enforcer of our laws. The shorter one is a relatively young Adept named Moses Dupree, who acts as a spotter and agent for Mr. Tomasino. In any venue where my kind would gather, expect to find those two as well."
I followed Viggo over to the open door of Tomasino's suite and quietly slipped in. He and Dupree were facing away from us, both using binoculars to scan the crowd. Dupree was dressed in jeans and t-shirt, while Tomasino wore a tailored suit. An overcoat was draped over one of the chairs between him and us, along with a scabbarded sword lying across two armrests. Yeah - an actual sword. I bet Tomasino could've quoted all the Highlander movies.
We stood there a while and listened to their sporadic conversation. Dupree mentioned a couple names as he spotted them. Tomasino said he spotted Riva, and said it with some contempt; weird, considering they were both Adepts. The two briefly discussed the growing number of missing hemos. They assumed Ragna had the Outsider Katala, still had no leads on the young Sebastian Horn, and then mentioned the Deviant named Harlan that I'd met once. I knew Viggo had Katala and Horn, but didn't know anything about the crazy bum who had the very human ability to piss on cars.