"No!" Lovelock reacted instinctively. He chopped at Borland's windpipe, and the big man tumbled back onto the couch, gasping.
"What have you done?" Lovelock cried, slapping at his torn pocket.
But Borland had already turned the pill bottle in his scarred fist. He was reading the familiar blue and white label: VARION - Once-daily treatment forÖ and he couldn't read the rest without his glasses but it didn't matter.
"Ah Lovelock, you're screwedÖ" Borland glared.
CHAPTER 17
"You didn't arrest him right away," Tinfingers said, shuffling the papers before him. "That's my problem with your story."
"That's not my story that's the truth!" Borland grumbled, pointing at his cup. Tinfingers shook his head. "Anyway I wanted to get out with a whole skin and I didn't know where Tina was in the building at that point. If she was in full Variant Effect-presenting-I didn't know what I was dealing with. She could have been anything. Sure, a fussbudget that was clear, but I didn't know what else she had, and she was still taking Varion to treat it."
"The results would be unpredictable." Tinfingers doodled something on a file folder with his pen.
"Ya think?" Borland shouted. "Varion for over 30 years! They didn't test it on monkeys that long. Twenty years on top of the day?" He pounded the table. "She could have been wired for anything." He chuckled then, finding grim humor. "And Marsh knows the penalty for obtaining, administering, using or selling Varion after the ban. He'd never see the light of day again. I knew he knew that and he knew that!"
"You didn't have your weapon with you?" Tinfingers asked.
"No." Borland sighed. "Why would I bring a weapon on a recruitment drive?" Borland had asked himself the same question. He was getting soft, or the booze was making him dull. Back in the day, he slept with a gun belt on, and hid weapons in every room in his apartment. "And I'm not sure it would be legal. At least until I get reinstated to full active duty. Otherwise I'm just a washed out old Biter-fighter with a gut full of booze and a smoking gun in his hand." He laughed, knowing that situation would have left him wide open to prosecution and trouble. A scapegoat on a leash. "And I was there to talk to the guy, not threaten him."
"Carry your weapon at all times in the future," Tinfingers said. "The paperwork's covered. You're a Captain again. Congrats."
"Good." Borland adjusted his hernias and watched Tinfingers from under his heavy brow, absently wondering if Brass would pay to get his guts fixed. He shrugged and nodded, understanding the importance of his reinstatement. It was a good indication that they weren't coming after him for what happened. The kinderkid's questions were tough, but he was throwing them hard to see if he could shake something loose.
"You only saw the one bottle of Varion?" Tinfingers sipped his drink.
"Yep, and while it was sinking in, and I was just thinking I might be in a real bad spot, Lovelock starts crying a river." Borland was relieved to see Tinfingers reach out to pour him another drink.
"That's when he told you about her condition?" Tinfingers' eyes looked weak-kneed for a second, like his kinderkid status made him feel for poor Tina.
"Yeah, the damn broke or whatever they say. I guess he knew that once his wife was in the basement, she'd pitch a fit and start cleaning and tidying and arranging." Borland grunted. "He knew she was comfortable down there, felt safe doing that, and he had some time to talk."
"Okay, just for the record." Tinfingers leveled his gaze. "You didn't know about the Varion that he'd hoarded from back in the day?"
"You know what else you found down the basement," Borland snarled. "If I was involved, why would I point you to that?"
"It could hide complicity." Tinfingers was still testy.
"Ah, shit, you read my record!" Borland's face burned. "I've never been that smart and you know it."
CHAPTER 18
"Tina's agoraphobic," Lovelock whispered sliding onto the couch, dragging Borland down beside him. Borland didn't like the set up; it left his back half-turned to the basement door.
"Let me seeÖ" Borland dug into his memory, wincing. Lovelock had dented his voice box. "Fear of new things, dislike of outdoorsÖ" He laughed improbably. "It's been a while."
"Agoraphobia sufferers become anxious in unfamiliar environments where they perceive that they have little control. Tina doesn't like wide-open spaces, crowds or traveling," Lovelock said, like he had the web page up in front of him. His eyes were full of tears.
"But, you aren't agoraphobic. Must have driven you nuts." Borland tried to keep his peripheral vision on the basement door.
"It's not so bad. It's not so bad, Joe." Lovelock's eyes rolled. "Now, the arranging, the rituals-that obsessive compulsive step-by-step, control the environment stuffÖthat gets at me, butÖit's not so bad." Lovelock's voice slipped back into a comforting tone. "She just wants to stay home. Is that so awful? This is her home, her comfort zone."
"Fine," Borland grumbled. "We all got our ticks, but why are you giving her Varion? Do you know how much trouble you're in?"
"I didn't know how bad she was until she went off the Varion." Lovelock nodded at the memory, his face full of grief. "When it was first banned back in the day and they took her off itÖshe couldn't let me go out to do my work with the squad. She tried to kill herself. The new drugs they prescribed didn't work-made it worse."
"So you stole Varion when we were supposed to be destroying it." Borland's back was drenched with sweat. His ears had started to prick up at every noise. Where the hell was Tina?
"What did it matter, Joe?" Lovelock gripped Borland's heavy forearm. "I was already giving up my life to the squad to fight Varion. And it helped her. So what?"
"Look," Borland whispered. "You got a good point. You've worked for the squads. They'll remember that. So, we turn you both in and they'll go easy," he snarled. "They have to."
"It's not as simple as that," Lovelock said, and then flinched when he heard a noise. A rumble, the furnace was turning on. "Tina had some trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" Borland scowled.
"She got very defensive." Lovelock rubbed his hands together. "It wasn't long after the ban, when we were using Varion on the sly, and I was able to go out for short periods."
"AndÖ" Borland's heavy features dropped.
"There was a Jehovah's Witness-a man who kept coming back. He was persistent. I told him to stop coming around. I even hung a sign; you know the ones? No solicitingÖ" Lovelock reached out to his drink, took a sip. "When I got home, Tina had him all cut up and stored in a cooler downstairs."
"Ah JesusÖ" Borland breathed the words. "She killed him?
"He triggered something in her." Lovelock shrugged. "She didn't know any better. He was a threat to her home."
"How the hell?" Borland shook his head. "How'd she get away with that?"
"I helped hide the body, broke up the concrete in the basement and buried him." Lovelock squeezed his hands into fists. "The regular cops didn't ask questions when they canvassed the area because they recognized me from the squads." Tears rolled over his tanned face.
"Well, that's why they banned Varion, Marsh!" Borland growled. "You worked with the goddamn squads. You know that!"
"Another time I was out doing banking, she killed a woman who was working for the gas company who tried to get us to switch from oil. Tina sliced her into pieces and wrapped her in plastic tarps downstairs. I buried her too." A sob of defeat shook the former captain. "I had to do the same with a political pollster-an election years ago." He chuckled grimly. "That's why I can't come back to the squads." He swatted Borland's forearm. "She can't be left alone."
"Okay, Marsh." Borland's peripheral vision was now divided between watching the basement door and studying Lovelock. "We need to just-go. They'll understand your position. But if Tina's presenting neither of us are safe here."
"Don't overreact." Lovelock rolled his eyes toward the basement door. "The best thing we can do is act casual. Tina made sandwiches. We can eat them, then fin
d a way to get you out of here and you come back with some baggies."
"The hell with that!" Borland leaned in hissing, "I'm getting out of here now."
There was a clunk. Borland turned quickly. Nothing. The basement door was still closed. But the soundÖ
Lovelock's expression twitched all over his face. His eyes looked away from Borland's to the basement door and back.
"Marsh!" He grabbed Lovelock's elbow. "Is she up here?"
"What are you boys whispering about?" Tina stood in the kitchen doorway, head down, hair hanging forward over her face. A washcloth dripped in her hand. "You know it isn't nice to have secrets."
Borland got to his feet, unprepared. He knew the Variant Effect enhanced everything: psychological illness, strength, dexterity, and homicidal tendenciesÖ
"Oh, honeyÖ" Lovelock laughed unconvincingly, rising beside him. "We were just talking over old times, not fit for the fairer sex."
Tina lifted her head, smiling. Her paranoia was burning the space between them. Finally she turned to Borland.
"Joe Borland," she said, shaking her head rapidly. The veins in her neck pulsed, the muscles and tendons quivered with steely strength. "You're a bad influence on my husband. Marshall never lied to me before."
"What are you talking about Tina?" Borland rolled forward onto his toes, trying to be casual. "We were just laughing about the time a baggie named Marconi shit himself when an Alpha Biter surprised him."
"You're a bad liar, Joe." Tina set the washcloth on the counter. "But you're not like Marshall. He's lying to help me. You're lying to help yourself."
Borland took the opportunity to reach down and grab the glass tumbler. It wasn't much of a weapon butÖ
When he looked up, Tina was gone. He turned to Lovelock. "Where'd she go?"
"I'm sorry Joe, but she likes things the way they areÖ" Lovelock's face was weak, his lips quivered.
"We'll clean it up again," he sighed, defeated. "I can't stop helping her now."
CHAPTER 19
"So, that's when she killed him? It's strange I gotta tell you, for an agoraphobic to kill her husband first. I mean he was part of her comfort zone and you were the threat." Tinfingers rubbed at his chin with his tin fingers. "It doesn't fit the literature, and there's a lot on the subject. Pretty much every psychosis, personality disorder or mood has been the subject of intensive study since the day after."
"How in hell am I supposed to know?" Borland shrugged. "Ask POO." He cleared his throat. "Once she brought the knitting needles out all hell broke loose." He paused as a flush warmed his face. "I guess he could'a had a moment of doubt. Decided to mend his ways. He kind of got in her way on purpose."
"Needles." Tinfingers coughed a laugh and shook his head. "That's the nail in the coffin, huh? Knitting the poor bastard a sweater like the model wife and then: BAM! He's thrown away his reputation and she's stirring his brains with steel needles."
"Like I said," Borland said, shrinking down in his chair. He was going to have to get into the drinks hard soon or sleep. Either way something had to be done. "Things went crazy when Tina came out of the kitchen."
"Well," Tinfingers mumbled, making a note. "I'll say this much, you've jumped right back into it. First the Biters with Hyde, and then you're taking on an agoraphobic in full presentation." He shook his head. "They always said you were a survivor. I had no idea."
"Lovelock made his bed." Borland's face fell. "I helped tuck him in."
"Still," Tinfingers muttered, gathering his files together. "To see an old buddy go down, killed by his own wife. And then to have to use the same weapon to take her out."
"Like I didn't have enough to forget already." Borland climbed to his feet. His chest felt heavy. His breath was coming in gasps.
"Well, thanks for cooperating, Captain Borland. Everything looks in order. It's an unfortunate incident." Tinfingers pocketed the recorder and stood up with the files tucked under his arm. "I've been told to make sure you're fed, then I've got to take you to the stationhouse."
"What? I been going for two days here." Borland collapsed back into his chair.
"A bunch of new baggies is coming in. Brass wants you to give them the once over. Your old stationhouse, Number Nine, is going live." Tinfingers looked at his watch. "Captain Hyde's on his way."
"Hyde?" Borland's spirit sank. "Listen then. Give me the rest of that bottle and I promise I'll do a quick review of the troops." He smiled harshly. "After that all bets are off."
Tinfingers set the bottle out on the table and then paused by the door watching Borland fumble with the lid.
"I gotta go do a couple things, then we'll get you some grub. Pizza okay?" Tinfingers looked him up and down.
Borland's shrug shook his belly. "You tell me."
"You okay?" the kinderkid asked, real concern on his face.
Borland poured a drink. "I'll wait here."
Tinfingers nodded and walked out of the interview room.
Borland dropped one of the last two ounces into his mouth and washed it around his tongue. He needed a moment of peace to catch up to himself. He had something else to forget.
CHAPTER 20
Lovelock stood next to him, his face suddenly old and guilty. Sweat poured over his features like he was waiting for the noose.
A thump from behind and Borland swung around. He just caught the edge of Tina's pantsuit-the paisley rayon snapped like a flag as she dove behind the couch. Borland threw his glass. It smashed on the wall.
Then Lovelock's hand gripped Borland's left wrist, turned it back with a blaze of pain.
"I can't let you do that, Joe!" Lovelock's technique was stronger than his grip. The old captain from back in the day would have snapped Borland's wrist. But Lovelock's eyes were blank, and his skin was waxy and wet. He was broken. Still, the karate was enough to force Borland down onto a knee, onto the thick carpet beside the couch. Under the side table was a basket with wooden flaps on top. Borland dug a hand into it and got wool. He punched into it and felt steel needles skewer his fist.
"She's my wife," Lovelock added like a pronouncement of doom.
Borland felt the whiskey ignite in his bloodstream. He didn't recognize adrenaline anymore. He pushed off the couch, surged upward with a pair of knitting needles threaded between the skinned knuckles on his right hand.
He jabbed them easily into Lovelock's left eye socket. Already driven deep in the palm of Borland's hand, braced against bone, they tore into Lovelock's skull and through his brain.
The former captain made a strangled animal noise and dropped.
Then something fell on Borland's shoulders, knocked him down onto Lovelock. Thin little fists thumped on his head, wiry arms stretched around for his windpipe. Teeth scratched at his bristly scalp.
"Marshall!" Tina screamed, wild with Variant. Her teeth snapped, almost got Borland's ear.
He couldn't get his footing, caught between the coffee table and the couch; and his feet were tangled in Lovelock's legs.
"Get out of my house!" Tina shrieked, smashing her jaws into the back of his head. Her hands slid over the sweat on his stubbly cheeks. Her fingernails started pinching around for his eyes. "Leave us alone!"
Borland clenched his fist around the knitting needles, still embedded in Lovelock's brain. He wrenched them free, his eyes shut tight against Tina's clawing fingernails. He reversed his fist and stabbed the needles blindly upward as Tina screamed and snapped closer still.
There was a shriek. Tina shuddered and went limp.
For a second, Borland lay there, sandwiched between the dying couple. He couldn't catch his breath to gain his feet and he couldn't roll away. Blood and cerebral fluid dripped out of Tina's mouth and punctured sinus, slid over his cheek.
Lovelock hissed: "I'll see you in hell."
"Yeah," Borland whispered back, his lips brushing the dying man's ear.
Sitting at the table, the memory played for Borland. He upended the bottle and cleared the last of it off as the door opened
. Tinfingers jingled his car keys.
****
PART THREE: BAGGED BOYS
****
CHAPTER 21
Hyde drained the life out of the moment without even trying.
Up to the point Borland clapped eyes on the old cripple everything was going well enough. The undercurrent of Marsh's death still sucked at him but he was kept afloat by Tinfingers' assertion that he was only doing his job. Lovelock had been in possession of a hell of a lot of Varion. That used to be a capital crime so didn't he have it coming? The thought had Borland nervously adjusting his hernias. Didn't Joe Borland have it coming too? He snickered uncontrollably.
Reclaiming his flask on the way out of HQ had helped a little, and the painkillers they gave him were having an effect, bubbling and boiling with the half pizza he'd gobbled in the car. He took the codeine to quiet his skewered palm, soothe the raw skin at the back of his neck and deaden the throbbing in his spine. He'd wrenched his back wrestling the Lovelocks to death. Yeah, things were looking up.
The pains diminished on the way to the pizza place and disappeared altogether as Tinfingers drove him across Metro in the failing daylight. He almost giggled when he thought of where they were headed.
Getting out of the cruiser and walking up to Stationhouse Nine went on top of Borland's whiskey glow like he was chasing amyls or smoking crack. The sight of the old building's ugly cinderblock facade rejuvenated him enough to consider optimism for the moment. He had survived again. That thought might have given him wood if his torn and twitching hernias would allow his crotch more than discomfort.
Stationhouse Nine loomed in front of him. The paint was flaking off the old building and curling away from the faded sign over the door that bore the Variant Squad emblem-an ironic riff on the caduceus, winged dragons instead of snakes. That got him remembering the codes of conduct and the codeless cranking. Ducking under nine's half-open big bay door he barely had a second of nostalgia before a familiar old voice snapped him out of it.
"I see you're living up to your threat." Hyde was a hunched black shadow, a hybrid of skinned human and steel parked center to the broad flat expanse of concrete. He occupied the space where the old transports used to park-their greasy black shadows were etched in motor oil stains. Around him rusted steel girders reached up to a tangle of I-beams, shadows and lights. But Hyde's negative energy dominated the space. The sick old bastard was heaped into his wheelchair like some dark and twisted incarnation of failure.
The Variant Effect Page 6