Hauptmann’s basement and subway platform with its entrances and exits appeared on the screen. A large loop of track circled north, intersecting another platform on the other side of the circle.
“This is where Hauptmann’s customers connected with the regular subway.” Cassius put his finger on the screen. “It’s been sealed off, but the station on the other side is still in use. There are a couple of utility ports that give us access if we need it. Here’s the utility tunnel where the old train is parked and here . . .,”
His finger touched another place on the screen. “ . . .is where Zaki’s train veers off from the loop and heads for the estate. It’s almost fifteen miles from here to there. Part of the track used to be above ground, but sometime in the last few years he dug out an underground tunnel that goes straight into the buildings on his property. He followed the old track though, so we still know where the train is going.
“Here’s another interesting bit.” Cassius traced his finger along the private track until he was back inside the city limits. “There’s another small platform here.”
He tapped the screen. “If we overlay the surface map we can see what’s above it.”
A transparent overlay flipped down over the subway map.
“See this foot print here? The Hauptmann family had a city residence as well as their country estate. It was built in 1912. The neighborhood started to go downhill in the late sixties, so they closed it up and moved to the country full time. It was sold when the family business started to go bad. The area gentrified in the mid-nineties and now it’s the hot place to live. Guess who owns the house now?”
“Zaki Kiriyenko?” Bishop asked.
Cassius shook his head.
“Nicolai Tesslovich,” Ariel said with grim certainty.
“Bingo.”
“So where are they takin’ the kids?” Ez asked. “The city or the country.”
“I’m betting the country. There’s a lot of unexplained activity out there. Plus Zaki built several large research type buildings on the property where he can develop his ‘personal projects’. No one’s quite sure what those projects are.”
“So we could go in through the tunnel and get Mouser and those other kids out of there,” Bishop said.
“Sorry, it’s not as easy as that. Not only haven’t we been able to tap into Zaki’s security cameras, there are traps in the tunnel.”
“What kind of traps?” Ariel asked. Bishop could sense her thinking there had to be a way to follow the track and get Mouser back.
“Besides surveillance cameras and lasers, Zaki installed steam traps. We lost two scouts before we figured it out. When the train hits a certain point in the tunnel it triggers a series of high pressure steam jets. Zaki uses the original Hauptmann train, but it’s been retrofitted with watertight steel plating, thick Plexiglas windows and tight door seals. The jets are designed to hit it from all angles as it goes past. Anybody walking down the tunnel or hitchhiking on the outside of the train would be instantly parboiled.”
“So we can’t get to Mouser from this direction?” Ariel said. “Can we get into the tunnel beyond the steam trap?”
“The tunnel is all underground at that point. It’s concrete surrounded by solid earth, no way in from any direction.”
“I can still get in from the air.”
“Gargoyles, laser motion detectors, surveillance cameras, wards. Very hard, possibly fatal.”
“I flew over it before.”
“Well, Zaki’s not the president. He doesn’t get a no-fly zone, but believe me he has the hardware to take out anything he recognizes as a threat. If you were high enough you might not have been noticed, or maybe they thought you were just a big bird.”
“So you can get caught going in and coming out.”
“Well, they’ve probably made some adjustment for animals and birds. Otherwise their alarm system would be going off every five minutes. Mouser might be able to fly out if he could avoid the Gargoyles.”
“We should have taken them on the platform before they got the kids on the train,” Ariel told Ez. She glared at Cassius. “Screw being seen!”
“I understand your feelings, Ariel, and your natural instinct as a Raptor, but there’s a serious war brewing out there and hardly anyone knows about it except the enemy. Our only edge is surprise, but we need more information.”
“You want to stay down here and play with your cameras and computers, fine! I can’t do that. There’s information about Zaki and Tesslovich on the street right now and I’m not staying down here until it filters through the grates so you can add it to your database.”
Ariel stalked out of the map room and through the library, toenails clicking an angry staccato on the cement floor. Over her shoulder she said, “You want to know what I find out, give Ez your email. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”
A few minutes later Ez and Bishop found her pacing the corridor outside the library. “Nice exit.” Bishop said, tucking a short cardboard tube up one sleeve. “Too bad you had to wait for one of the native guides to lead us out of this place.”
A boy of about twelve, dressed in the brownish-grey mufti that seemed so popular in The Deeps, joined them. The neutral color made him almost invisible against the stained cement walls of the underground tunnels.
“I’m here to take you out,” the boy said. “I’m also ‘sposed to introduce you to Old Bill topside. He doesn’t move more’n four blocks in either direction. If you need to come back down he’ll get you in, but he’s clasterphobic so he won’t come down hisself.”
“Lead on, B’wana,” Bishop told the kid. “Our fearless leader needs to stretch her wings.”
The boy handed Ez a jacket. “We got all your stuff off the roof,” he said. “That’s ‘goyle blood on there isn’t it?” He pointed to a spatter of acid holes in the cloth. “Man, those things are meaner’n a rat on crack. You got to watch out for them when you go topside or they’ll take you out.”
“Not if you have a Raptor and a werewolf along,” Bishop told him, and left it at that.
- 5 -
Old Bill turned out to be a derelict living behind a dumpster in an alley off Sixth and Franklin. He was grizzled by weather, neglect and alcohol but, if you looked beyond that Bishop thought, he wasn’t all that old. His pale blue eyes went from bleary to intelligent when he realized there was a purpose to his being sought out.
“Cassius says these guys are okay,” the scout told him.
“Copy that,” Old Bill looked at each one of their faces for a long moment before he burrowed back into his filthy sleeping bag. “Tell them next time to bring me something to drink.”
“Bill likes his Beam,” the kid said and slid around the corner out of sight.
The three looked at each other.
Bishop felt like a guest who’d just found out the party was over but didn’t quite know what to do about it. “Anybody need a ride?” he said.
“Never liked the tunnels.” Ez raised his nose to some scent on the wind. “I’ll walk.”
Ariel gave Bishop an evaluative stare as if she were turning a decision over in her mind. She started to walk away. “I have a date,” she said over her shoulder. “Want to come along?”
“Why?”
“You did just offer me a ride didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then shut up and drive.”
* * *
There was no conversation. Bishop wondered why a trip in a motor vehicle with Ariel was like waiting for a car bomb to go off -- the kind that didn’t get you when you turned on the ignition, but exploded just at the point in the journey when you started to relax.
Bishop glanced at Ariel’s bare feet, which she’d put up against the dashboard as soon as she slumped into the passenger seat. They were filthy from the tunnels. In Bishop’s imagination, he saw the claws on her toes slash deep grooves through the vinyl covering into the metal itself. He’d already had to explain a couple of bullet holes in the trunk to his in
surance company, replacing the dashboard because of claw marks would be a whole other problem.
“Um,” he said. “Could you put those away they’re making me nervous.”
Ariel gave him a put-upon sigh, but retracted her nails, letting her feet return to normal.
“Look, about Mouser . . .”
“This is about Mouser, Frank, and heads up, when we go into the bar don’t stare, don’t order anything but beer in an unopened bottle and be the strong silent type, okay? If you go all freaky-geeky on me we might get in a lot of trouble. Park over there,” she told him, indicating the mouth of an alley. This time she waited until he turned the ignition off before getting out of the car.
“Bring the gun,” she said.
- 6 -
The fog of smoke inside the bar was so thick Bishop thought he might need a lung transplant if he stayed too long. He could see a band on a small stage in one corner. The female singer had a sort of glitter-goth-metal-ska thing going with a screechy edge to it like bad wheel bearings. She was dressed in a purple prom formal with a fluffy net overlay, black, elbow high gloves and lace up leather boots with six inch heels. Her blonde hair was streaked with black and her eye makeup looked like she’d paid someone to punch her out and the bruises were three days old. Her back-up singers were shaped like Bowling Ball Barbies, long blond hair, long limbs and short, round bodies in pastel spandex. The lead guitar had six fingers on each hand and the drummer looked like a squid.
He decided not to look too closely at the people at the tables. It didn’t take being a rocket scientist to know he wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
Bishop followed Ariel to the bar. “T’Jon,” Ariel said, sliding onto a stool next to a thin man in a fuchsia leisure suit, royal blue shirt and yellow silk pocket handkerchief.
The unfortunate T’Jon immediately turned a lighter shade of pale.
Bishop took the stool on the other side of the man and held up two fingers for the bartender -- the universal signal for two beers.
“Polyester,” Ariel said, as if appalled. “Timmy! Are you robbing trailer parks again?”
“It’s retro,” Timmy Jon told her, defensively. “It’s all the rage in some circles.”
. . . of hell, Bishop thought.
When the bartender appeared with the beer he told him, “and another of whatever our friend here is drinking.”
One of the bartender’s eyeballs rolled over to look in Ariel’s direction.
“Go ahead,” she said. “We’re all friends here.” Neither Timmy or the bartender looked convinced.
“Who’s your butch-looking companion?” T’Jon asked, looking Bishop up and down. “Don’t go for the GQ type I see. Ruff!” he gave Bishop a little bark.
“Careful, Sparky,” Bishop said. “I bite.”
Timmy Jon took out a short, black onyx cigarette holder, screwed an unfiltered pink cigarette into it, lit it and blew a stream of smoke at the mirror over the back bar.
“So do I, honey. Call me anytime and we can compare the length of our incisors.”
“Oh God, stop it!” Ariel said. “Get a table,” she ordered Timmy Jon. “Shep here will bring your drink.”
Bishop raised one side of his upper lip in a mock snarl as Timmy Jon swished past him.
“Grow up!” Ariel hissed as she followed the psychedelic glow of the demon’s petroleum-based fashion statement over to a booth along the wall.
Bishop threw a few bills on the bar, picked up his beer and scooped up the large martini glass the bartender had delivered for Timmy Jon. Something stuck on a toothpick was bobbing in the drink’s grey-green depths. Bishop peered into the glass and swore he saw something looking back.
He slid into the booth next to Ariel and pushed Timmy Jon’s drink across the table. The toothpick waggled back and forth until Timmy reached out and held it against the side of the glass with one finger.
Bishop checked his beer before he took another swallow: All clear. He’d have to thank Ariel later for the warning.
* * *
Timmy Jon’s eyes kept checking the room. He’d already smoked his loathsome pink cigarette down to the holder. He ground it out in the ashtray in front of him. His long thief’s fingers tapped restlessly against the martini glass.
Ariel leaned forward. “I think you have some information for me,” she said. “Cough it up or I’ll sic the dog on you.” She hoped Bishop was looking suitably threatening.
“I could get in a lot of trouble for this.”
“More trouble than us taking you out in the alley and beating the crap out of you?” Bishop asked.
“Yeah,” Timmy said. “A lot more trouble than that. You need to make the information worth my while.” He rubbed his fingers together. “I’m used to getting beat up.”
Ariel was a little surprised. Timmy Jon had always been a bit on the cringey side, but she could see the demon was genuinely scared.
“How much?” she asked.
“I need a vacation, know what I mean? Someplace warm and far away. Just for a few weeks until things blow over. I think I might have asked the wrong person, the wrong question.”
“You want a plane ticket?”
“No, I want money. This information is worth a lot, but all I want is $5,000 and to keep my head.”
“That’s a lot of money, T’Jon. You need to tell me something that’s worth that kind of flash.”
Timmy looked down for a long minute, like he was considering his options and the pickings were slim. He took a big gulp of his drink and pushed it aside. Released, the toothpick started to do laps around the glass. Ariel could see Bishop out of the corner of her eye staring at it with glassy fascination.
The demon glanced around the barroom then leaned forward. “It’s a resurrection bug.”
“It’s a bug?” Ariel repeated.
“Not a bug, bug!” Timmy Jon hissed. “It’s some kind of technology that brings you back from the dead, heals you up, makes you stronger. That’s what happened to Tesslovich. They sewed his head back on and voila! He’s a new demon.”
“And Zaki’s behind this?” Bishop asked.
“He invented it. He’s been testing it. Tesslovich is his front man to the demon community. It’s gonna cost a lot, but demons like Tesslovich are gonna be able to buy immortality. Maybe rule the world.”
“Lab Rats.” Ariel said, her stomach twisting into a knot, heart sinking. “They’re using the kids as lab rats.”
She leaned closer to Timmy Jon. “We need to get onto Zaki’s estate, T’Jon. Do you know how we can do that?”
The demon’s eyes went wide. “Are you crazy? That place is tighter than Fort Knox’s asshole. The man’s a technology genius; he’s got security up the wazootie, to say nothing of having attack-everything patrolling the grounds.”
“He’s got a friend of ours, Timmy. I need to get him back.”
Timmy shook his head. “Let him go, sweetie. Even if you got him out he wouldn’t be the same person you knew.”
Ariel reached across the table, grabbed Timmy Jon by the lapels and pulled him toward her. “Yes he will!” she hissed. “If he’s not, I will personally kill every fucking demon in this town including you.”
“People are noticing,” Bishop said softly, pulling gently at Ariel’s arm.
Ariel released Timmy Jon who thumped back down onto the bench. The demon quickly straightened his jacket, smoothed the lapels and adjusted his handkerchief. “This is a vintage outfit,” he huffed. “You’ll ruin the line!”
Ariel rolled her eyes. “Imagine how it will look on you with no head over it.”
“Okay. Okay! There might be one way.” He hunched forward. “Zaki’s big into sports. He built himself a stadium on the property so he can hold events; boxing, wrestling, ice hockey, soccer. Stuff like that. It’s no fun if he’s the only one who sees the games, so he invites people to come watch. The stadium holds one, maybe two hundred. Lots of security; the invitations have some kind of chip in them and you can’t get in wit
hout one. Nobody’s allowed to drive in, buses take people straight from the gate to the stadium. Then there’s cameras, metal detectors, bomb sniffers. It’s a hard party to crash, but if you can figure out a way you might be able to get in that way.”
“When’s the next event?”
“Do I look like I’d be invited?”
“Timmy,” Ariel warned. “You know everything that happens around here. When’s the next event?”
“Saturday.”
“That’s three days from now. Who knows what they’ll do to Mouser in three days!”
Timmy spread his hands, palm up. “I can’t change the schedule, doll face. This week it’s some kind of combat sport marathon. Wrestling, kick boxing, kung fu, bare knuckles, half naked sweaty men, bruised and bloody.” He fanned himself with a hand. “Zaki makes the rules, so there aren’t many and there’s always big betting going on. The people he invites can afford it.”
“We need three tickets.” Ariel told him.
“What?! I can’t do that. How am I supposed to do that?”
“You’re a thief, Timmy Jon,” Bishop said. “Steal some.”
“You get me the tickets and I’ll get you the $5,000.” Ariel said. “I expect them by tomorrow night.” Ariel slid out of the booth and Bishop followed.
“You’re going to get me killed!”
“Eye on the prize, Timmy,” Ariel told him. “Picture yourself in a vintage Speedo on some tropical beach, naked kelpies bringing you Pina Coladas and roast bat on a skewer or whatever it is you eat.”
“You always appeal to my baser fantasies,” he said.
“Tomorrow night, T’ Jon.”
Timmy nodded, disconsolate.
As they left the bar the demon was franticly waving over a waitress to order another drink.
- 7 -
“You think he can do it?” Bishop asked as they walked back to his car.
“He’s a pretty good thief.”
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 14