Joe Fury and the Hard Death

by Paul Anthony Long

  ‘Your money?’ offers Sue.

  ‘Worse,’ replies the man. ‘Our cocks.’

  ‘I don’t take charity cases,’ I tell him.

  ‘If you help us, I can offer you some important information about Kieran.’

  ‘I’ve got more info than I could fill a Mac truck with.’ I start towards the door. ‘Sayonara.’

  ‘We’ve also got money!’

  ‘Make me an offer.’ I stop and face him.

  ‘There’s a vortex in the basement of this building, and it’s feeding off the talent that stops by. It’s taking away from us what we need. What we came here for in the first place. And we need it stopped. Plugged up. Do this for us and we will reward you with more riches than you can possibly want.’

  ‘Come on, toots.’ I nod to Sue. ‘Let’s blow this pop stand.’

  She looks at me. Her eyes tell me she’s intrigued. My popgun tells me I should plug this joker and head for the hills. But I give in, resigned.

  ‘Okay, short stuff,’ I say to the man, with a sigh. ‘Point us in the right direction.’

  He does. It’s an endless vortex full of the screaming souls of the damned.

  ‘A walk in the park,’ I mutter. Then the vortex leaps forward and closes around us, and we’re dragged into the eternity of damnation.

  SEVENTY NINE

  It’s time for the popgun to make an entrance. A screaming soul races right for us and Sue whips up the Uzi and lays a ream of fire towards it. But the bullets punch misty holes through the soul and it keeps on coming.

  I swing a fist and it crashes through its jaw. The soul passes straight through me and for a split second the life of the damned fills my head. And it’s dull. Instead of torment and pain, it’s recipes for rice cakes and tips on knitting.

  I see a soul whip through Sue and she stares at me in stunned horror. ‘It’s so so boring!’ she says in surprise.

  ‘That’s eternal damnation for you, honey.’ Ahead of us there’s a thousand million screaming souls all waiting for a taste of us. ‘We could use some of Chicago’s influence with this baby.’

  I decide to take a direct approach. ‘What kind of wiseguy put you in this place?’ I yell at the damned, but get nothing but confused looks back. Great, they’re dumb as well as boring.

  ‘This really is damnation,’ mutters Sue.

  ‘Don’t knock it, toots. At least it’s better than tv.’

  Just then a pimped up flying milk float screeches to a stop next to us. It’s piloted by a man with a bad suit and a smile as false as his hair.

  ‘Hop in, Fury,’ says the man. ‘It’s time to take the short cut.’

  EIGHTY

  We don’t need telling twice. We’re up and in the milk float and the toupee man kicks the vehicle into gear and we’re off. The damned souls behind us just look confused.

  ‘What’s with all the farmed souls?’ I ask him.

  ‘“Farmed souls” are exactly the right words, Mr Fury,’ says the man, as we fly through a slit of light in the vortex, and out into a vast chamber stretching off into the distance.

  Below us lie row after row of huge generators. Workmen in goggles, suits and gloves cram confused looking souls into the machines, which whirr and grind steel against steel, before small blue glowing lights pop out into huge metal bins.

  ‘I’m the Farmer,’ says the man. ‘It’s a bit of a complex operation, but basically we’re farming the souls for ideas.’

  ‘Business looks like it’s booming,’ I say, sparking up another cigar.

  ‘The problem is those bloody vampire entertainers keep blocking up the entrance,’ says the Farmer. ‘Now we’ve got a backlog as big as the moon.’

  ‘Just take out the vampires,’ I tell him. ‘Simple as!’

  ‘Unless you haven’t noticed, we don’t really exist in the corporeal world,’ explains the Farmer. ‘We’re living on the edge of existence—literally. Dreams, nightmares, the whole kit and caboodle. We’re responsible for those. We take the ideas from the souls.’

  ‘What do you do with the ideas?’ asks Sue.

  ‘We feed them back into the world,’ explains the Farmer. ‘That’s why the same ideas keep cropping up century after century. There’s nothing new out there, but if it wasn’t for us regurgitating the ideas back out, there would literally be nothing. No entertainment, no books, no films, nothing. And now these vampire jokers are stopping the flow. They suck the souls, leaving us with nothing but what you experienced—knitting patterns and blandness—for those that manage to squeeze in. It’s hopeless.’

  ‘Well, that explains their stage show.’ Sue glances around. ‘But their castle isn’t the only source of talent in the world. You’ve got an entire planet to take it from.’

  ‘They’ve stuck their castle right over our conduit.’ The Farmer sighs. ‘We can’t get out there and take down their operation, because we can’t exist in their world. But you can.’

  ‘What’s in it for us?’ Another bargain on the flip side of reality. I’m getting used to these.

  The Farmer squares me with a solid look. ‘You want to find a quick way into the heart of Kieran?’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  And he does.

  EIGHTY ONE

  It’s sitting on a pedestal. And it’s a key. ‘This will get you into the storm drains of Kieran’s compound,’ says the Farmer. ‘No messing about. Just pop it in and Bob’s your Fanny’s auntie.’

  ‘You got a deal,’ I tell him.

  I pluck the key off the pedestal and the Farmer kicks the milk float into a spin and takes us back to the slit in the vortex.

  ‘Good luck, Mr Fury.’ The Farmer waves us off with a smile. ‘Whether you know it or not, there’s a lot of vested interest in you taking down Kieran.’

  ‘I’m starting to get that impression,’ I mutter, and seconds later we’re back in the room with the empty, deflated body of the fat man. The small guy inside of him looks surprised.

  ‘Er, lovely,’ he says, confused. ‘Have any trouble?’

  ‘Just you,’ I tell him, and spark a match to re-light my Havana. The man’s eyes widen as he realises what I’m doing.

  ‘We had a deal!’ he shrieks, but the match is flying. It hits the shabby wall and the place goes up like a tinderbox. ‘Attack!’ he yells, and comes for me with his teeth out. His fingers stretch and the nails shoot out until they’re about a foot long. His face warps into ragged skin and blazing red eyes.

  I’m taking out the popgun, but Sue’s there and rakes a blast across him. It knocks him down, but not out.

  ‘Let’s boost!’ I turn and head for the door, but there’s a hissing, screaming mass of nails and eyes in front of us. Sue blows a hole through the first layer and I wade in with my fists, punching through the head of something big and ugly, with fangs as long as my arms.

  ‘Let’s face it,’ screams Sue as she takes out the nads of the nearest vampire. ‘This isn’t the worst we’ve been in.’

  But we’re locked in by the writhing mass of fury that’s coming towards us. One vampire clamps a claw into my coat and I throw it over my shoulder, then stamp on its head. The skull explodes into a liquid mess.

  ‘This way!’ Sue points to a flight of stairs and we’re up, laying down line after line of gunfire as the vampires crawl at us from below and above.

  Something big is ahead of us. It’s all spiky limbs and angular bones. Shoulders crunch against the ceiling as it swings a faceful of gleaming teeth at us and swipes.

  I duck and it almost takes me out. Sue hammers a burst into its teeth and it howls and screams and comes for us quick and fast.

  I grab Sue round the waist and leap off the staircase, sailing over the grasping arms before I catch onto the chandelier with my gun hand. Sue hammers shots into the faces below, tearing out eyes and teeth and bone, and splashing blood and bad jokes in all directions.

  We swing long as the fire spreads up the staircase, and the momentum carries us sailing over the vampires and str
aight for the front door. We land on our feet and make a break for the shark as the comedian vampire at the entrance looks on confused, mid-routine.

  I’m behind the wheel, gunning the engine, and we screech off down the road, leaving the howling mob behind us. But it’s not as easy as I first thought. The castle might be burning and their numbers might be depleted, but I never figured they could raise a convoy.

  EIGHTY TWO

  They’ve got trucks decked out with spikes and cars chopped and cut and boosted with huge engines belching smoke and pain.

  ‘I’ll choose the restaurant next time,’ yells Sue against the wind, and she sends a hurl of bullets into the nearest car, taking out the tyres. They burst and the car tips and stumbles and goes over on its side, rolling end over end before a huge, monstrous truck punches it out of the way. Eyes and teeth are behind the wheel, but it’s no match for my cannon.

  I aim sweet and sure down the barrel and punch off a shot. It separates the eyes and the head explodes into a bloody mess.

  The truck starts to list, the front end spinning wide. The rear end jack-knifes and the truck keels over like a dying animal, taking out a few of the pursuing vehicles. But there’s plenty left.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ I shout, and stamp on the brake.

  Sue almost goes over the bonnet, but the shark sails back into the convoy and they part like the Red Sea.

  It’s confusion. Cars slam into each other and huge battle wagons collide and wrench steel from steel. A car to our left explodes as it rams into the back of another vehicle. Screaming vampires spill off in all directions.

  They make easy targets.

  One hand on the wheel, I start spinning left, right, and centre, taking out heads and limbs. Bullets slam into engine blocks and gas tanks and vehicles blossom into fire and spare parts.

  Sue gets the idea and starts raking the Uzi in all directions, carving bodies in half and sending the pack into bloody, panicked confusion.

  Except for the fifty foot battle wagon behind us. It’s as tall as it is long, bristling with weapons of every description, and it crashes through the mania with no concern for anyone.

  ‘Take the wheel!’ I scream at Sue, and she grabs it and guns the engine. We fishtail off as the bullets start to rake the air around us, punching holes in the shark. It’s time for some extreme action.

  I climb onto the back of the shark and leap for the battle wagon.

  EIGHTY THREE

  They’ve got so much armour and weaponry that landing safely is a piece of cake. A machine gun swings towards me and I pop a cap in the vampire’s head. The gun swings down, taking out the gun emplacement below.

  I crawl upwards with the wind tearing at me, up onto the roof of the vehicle. All guns swing in my direction. I eat the roof as bullets start flying, taking out more of their own kind, then I swing the cannon around, popping heads off like it’s a duck shoot. Easy pickings.

  When the roof’s clear, I lower myself on to the sloping side of the battle wagon and spot my way in: a bolt hole with a rifle sticking out of it.

  I grab the rifle and pull, and a vampire comes sailing out looking nonplussed. He gets a moment to register the fact that he’s hit the road before a car runs over him.

  I’m through the bolt hole and firing away. The first shot ricochets and takes out a row of vampires who are caught unawares, but that’s my only surprise and I’m running for the door at the far end of the corridor.

  The jackpot. A ladder leading down to the sound of the screaming engine.

  I drop down and come face to face with a confused looking engineer. I flick him away with a wave of the cannon and he backs off. I make for the gas tanks at the rear of the truck.

  Suddenly the engineer vampire comes at me with teeth bared, and knocks me down. I get a foot on his neck and push, but it’s like he’s made of elastic and the head strains down towards me while the neck stretches back.

  I headbutt the arrogance out of him and he goes down squealing like a pig, clutching his teeth. I get up, grab an axe, and put a big, ugly hole in the gas tank. If I can’t destroy it then I can knock it out of action.

  Then fortune smiles on me. There’s a wooden chair by the machinery, and I pick it up and shatter it, then rip the shirt off the screaming vampire and soak it in gasoline. Sparking up a Havana with the flick of a match, I set the shirt alight. A sack of grenades would have been better, but chances like this don’t come every Sunday.

  I throw the burning shirt onto the wood as the gasoline seeps towards it. Then I’m up and out of the engine room as quick as my legs will carry me.

  On the hallway deck the vampires are gathering, but I’ve got bullets left for all of them. They die easy and I’m out of the bolt hole and back up on the roof of the battle wagon. Sue sees me and cuts the engine back, raking the pursuing cars with Uzi fire as she slides alongside.

  ‘I don’t normally pick up hitch-hikers,’ she shouts. But I’m not here for the comedy. I leap into the car and she guns the engine and we take off, screaming away from the battle wagon as it starts to slow.

  We’re a good distance away when the gas tank goes up. The explosion takes out the cars around it, sending burning vehicles all over the space, spinning through the air, leaving trails of fire and smoke. Engines detonate and there’s panic and mayhem as cars with flaming gas tanks zigzag and go up in burning fireballs.

  The pursuit tails off into smoke and confusion and we’re away down the road, leaving it all behind us.

  ‘Thanks for the help, honey,’ I say, as I slide into the driving seat. That’s when I feel the barrel of a gun against the back of my neck.

  EIGHTY FOUR

  I glance in the rear view mirror. Nixon sits on the back seat, along with Reagan, Lincoln and Kennedy.

  ‘Ex-presidents,’ I mutter. ‘You’re worse than cockroaches.’

  ‘Cut the chatter and listen to me,’ snaps Nixon, digging the piece into the back of my neck. ‘We need safe passage out of here. We’ve been promised a resurgence in popularity, and Kieran’s the only man who knows how to give it to us. Word on the street says you’re the man who’s going in that direction, so stay quiet and keep driving.’

  ‘What’s Kennedy doing here?’ I ask.

  ‘He makes us look good,’ snaps Nixon.

  ‘Hey, baby.’ Kennedy shifts forward in the seat and nestles up to Sue. ‘Fancy letting me park my missile in your Bay of Pigs?’

  She slaps him around the face. ‘Stow it, smoothie. I’m not in the mood for any of your crap. People tend to forget you almost kick-started a third world war.’

  ‘Hell, I got some decent poontang out of it.’ And Kennedy chuckles.

  ‘Are we home yet?’ Reagan whines. ‘I want to play with my toys!’

  ‘We’re almost there, Reagan,’ soothes Nixon. ‘Just hang on until the end of the world.’

  ‘What end of the world?’ I lock eyes with Nixon in the rear view mirror. He knows he’s said too much.

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’ Nixon shrinks back, shaking his head.

  ‘Spill the beans,’ I snap, and Nixon flinches. ‘You’re sweating like a pig in a slaughter house. What’s the beef?’

  ‘Jesus, not again,’ sighs Kennedy. ‘You’re about as subtle as a kick in the nuts.’ Kennedy leans forward and pushes Nixon back. With the gun off my neck I’ve got a better chance of taking out these goons. ‘It’s just a slip of the tongue. We just need to make the world a better place. A better place full of chicks with great hooters!’

  ‘Can it, Kennedy.’ I’m not in the mood for this crap. ‘When Nixon slips it’s the truth. What’s the low-down on Armageddon?’

  There’s a lot of uncomfortable glances swapped between Kennedy and Nixon. Reagan plays with a button on his shirt, looking oblivious. Lincoln stares stoically off into the middle distance. It takes me a few seconds, but I catch on he’s a stuffed dummy.

  ‘What’s with the stiff?’ I ask.

  ‘Dammit, Reagan, I told you this wouldn’t wo
rk.’ Nixon toys with the gun and gives Reagan a look that tells me he’s not averse to putting a bullet in his head.

  ‘I like fries in brown gravy!’ splutters Reagan, and then carries on playing with his button.

  ‘My friend, my friend,’ says Kennedy, holding out his hands placatingly. ‘It was all Reagan’s idea. He thought it might add credibility to our campaign to bring peace to this great world of ours.’

  ‘Cough up on the Armageddon theory, wise guy!’

  ‘You seem to forget, I’ve got the weapon.’ Nixon swings the gun around towards us again. ‘Now take us to Kieran or we’ll see what the inside of your head looks like.’

  Sue’s not taking any more of this. She whips out the Uzi. Nixon aims the gun at her and I snap round and slap him smartly around the head. He cries like a baby and Sue snatches the gun out of his hand.

  ‘We’ve got the advantage now, Nixon,’ she says. ‘Spill it.’

  ‘It’s Kieran,’ sobs Nixon. ‘It’s all part of a conspiracy. He promised us what we all aimed for when we were in power. The end of the world.’ He sits up and grasps the back of the seat, panicked. ‘The conspiracy theories, Fury! They’re all true!’

  ‘Illuminati, Priory of Scion—all that kind of thing?’ Just rumours and paranoia.

  ‘All of it!’ pleads Nixon. ‘The FBI and the CIA showed us the dossier. The forces of evil will take over the world if we don’t do something to stop it. And by dammit, we tried! You have no idea how difficult it is trying to kick-start the end of the world.’

  Kennedy slaps him around the back of the head. ‘Nice going, dickwad. Now that’s the end of this little scam.’

  ‘It’s not a scam,’ yells Nixon. ‘It’s the only way to save the world from itself. War, famine, death, destruction, genocide, peace—the world can’t suffer any more of this misery!’

  ‘No offence, Nixon, but you don’t strike me as a pacifist.’ I take my hands off the wheel and light a cheroot. ‘There’s more to this than meets the genocidal maniac. What’s Kieran got to do with it?’