by C. G Harris
“I had no idea you were so dangerous. This loser is so scared he brought two friends. Seems a little unfair to me, but he might only have two friends. If I were him, I would have brought a lot more.”
Ushanka bristled at the word “loser,” but he was smart enough to size me up before charging in. That made him two brain cells smarter than I thought.
“Watch your mouth. This is about to be my place. If you ever want to set foot in here again, you’ll mind your own business.”
I shoved my hand in my pocket. I made the move appear casual, almost insulting. As if I were so unconcerned, I didn’t even need my hands to fight.
“Seems like you and your pals are the ones who should shove off. You’re bad for business, as in you smell bad—real bad. I know we’re in Hell and all, but personal hygiene is still a thing.”
I laced my fingers into my Knuckle Stunner. The weapon was a black-market special, but ever since I picked up my gig at the Judas agency, carrying one had become a lot more legit.
The word hygiene must have been this guy’s hot button because he let out a primal yell and charged at me like a three-legged buffalo. He tripped, toppled a chair, and all but bowled over a table, but somehow managed to navigate the complicated labyrinth of dining furniture to continue his charge, arms extended Frankenstein style. This was so easy I almost felt bad putting the guy down—almost.
I whipped the Knuckle Stunner out of my pocket at the last second and landed a punch dead on his chin. The electro-shock that followed did its job, shorting out the half dozen or so working neurons in his tiny brain, and Ushanka went down like a sack of stale beer nuts. All I had to do was step out of the way.
Thing One and Thing Two watched the whole clown show play out without moving a muscle. Dan shook out of their grips as if they weren’t sure if they should continue to carry out the last order of their unconscious commander or not.
“Pick up your boss and beat it.” I shoved Ushanka over onto his back with my foot. “Don’t come back. This place is under the protection of The Judas Agency, understood?”
That got the dynamic duo moving. They offered an emphatic nod and hurried over to pick up their fallen comrade without a word.
“Tell your buddy if he comes back again ... he won’t be coming back again.”
They stared at me with twin expressions of bewilderment.
Should have stopped with The Judas Agency Comment.
“You know what I mean. Beat it, and don’t come back.”
They rushed out the door, or at least moved as fast as they could, carrying a three-hundred-pound pile of unshowered manure in their arms. They all but ran over Jonny as he came in the door.
“You making friends in here?” he asked.
I shrugged. “The guy seemed tired. I sent him home for a nap.”
“Nap nothing.” Dan righted the chair Ushanka had toppled and straightened the table. “Those guys hassled me for months. You have no idea what a favor you did for me. If they’re gone for good, you drink free forever.”
“Thanks.” I laughed. “But not necessary. I’m happy to take out the trash, here and there, when I can.”
“Drinks are on me tonight, at least. You may not be able to get shit-faced, but you can enjoy all the flavor of turpentine and gasoline you want while you’re here.”
“Speaking of turpentine, how about two Jack Daniels?” Jonny held up a couple of fingers and sat down on one of the anti-ergonomic stools. I swear they were designed to be uncomfortable on purpose. They were angled forward just enough so you couldn’t sit on them without sliding off, and I didn’t see one that looked level.
“What’s the deal with these things?” I pointed to the Marquis De Sade torture probes.
“Do you like them? I made them myself. Everything else was here when I took over, but these babies are all mine.” Dan walked to the nearest angular catastrophe and polished it with the towel he still had on his shoulder.
I opened my mouth to offer a bit of tough love when Jonny caught my arm. I glanced over at him, and he shook his head.
“Those things are his pride and joy,” he whispered. “If you want to stay his friend, tell him you love them.”
My eyes went to Dan, still detailing his creation like a doting father. “They’re great. You are quite an artist with metalwork.”
Dan peered back up at me and beamed. “Just for that, I’ll make your drinks a double.”
Jonny and I bellied up to the bar and made ourselves as comfortable as we could on Dan’s stools while he poured our drinks.
“So, are we here to chat, or did you find any interesting information.” I wanted to play it cool but finding that locket again meant everything to me. Playing it cool wasn’t in my repertoire.
Jonny nodded. “They have your locket in the Skin Quarry Warehouse.” No one hung within earshot, but he lowered his voice anyway. “They keep it on display as some kind of trophy. It’s inside a glass case in the ground floor office. I work there, cleaning up every once in a while. Keeps me in the right place to hear things, you know? There’s a backway in. I can jam the lock while I’m at work tonight. There should only be a couple of guards inside the warehouse to deal with.”
I nodded, considering. “You sure you can do this without risking your own neck? I don’t want you winding up in the sulfur pools for me.”
Jonny smiled. “You’ve done more for Scrapyard City than anyone I know. I would do it if I were guaranteed to hit the pools, but no one will catch me. If I thought I could lift the locket for you, I would. I just don’t have your talent with the guards. The last thing I want to do is get caught and clue them in on your visit.”
“Thanks, Jonny. I owe you one.” I tossed back my Jack Daniels and marveled at the burn, wondering how in the world the important part of alcohol didn’t work when everything else did. “Come by the shop sometime, and I will hook you up with something good.”
Jonny downed his own shot and stood up, waving me off. “Consider this one on the house. I heard about what they did to your place. Give them a little payback for me.”
I grinned. “Guaranteed.”
I waved as Jonny headed out the door, and I motioned Dan over for another pour. If I didn’t need to worry about getting smashed, why not have another? Or why have another at all? The whole conundrum made my head hurt.
He picked up a bottle and filled my glass again.
“Mind If I ask you a question?”
Dan eyed me and nodded. I guess it depended on what the question was.
“Those bruisers. They said they wanted the good stuff. What were they talking about?”
Dan’s eyes scanned the room then he settled his gaze back on me. “That stuff about The Judas Agency. You serious about that?”
“Serious as a stroke patient. But don’t worry. I’m only on the job when douchebags like that show up. I have a little shop of my own, so I understand how things work out here.”
Dan shot me a wary expression, then sighed. “I guess if you were here to shut me down, you’d have done it already.”
He leaned in resting his arms on the counter and whispered. “Coca-Cola.”
Dan pressed a finger to his lips and looked around as if someone might overhear him. “I had a supplier, but he must have gotten caught. I haven’t had a delivery in months. This other stuff.” He motioned to the rows of bottles lined up on polished chrome shelves behind him. “It’s all swill with a burn. Doesn’t get you drunk and tastes like shit, but the you-know-what?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s something Woebegone will die for. I could pack this place three times over if I had that stuff flowing again.”
I knew what he meant. My black-market shop revolved around soda, not to mention Twinkies, and the occasional Ho-Ho. They were black-market gold. Get your hands on some of that, and a Woebegone would fess up or find out any secret you wanted, the very thing that made my little shop thrive. Secrets for soda. A ridiculous concept, but I had built a whole afterlife around it.
I was about to explain a few of my business philosophies when a hand dropped on my shoulder.
“I hope I’m not interrupting. But I overheard your chat with Jonny, and I wondered if you have room for one more in your crew?”
Chapter Eighteen
I turned toward the familiar voice to see Zoe lowering her hood. She had picked up a greasy looking poncho from someplace and used it as a disguise. I wasn’t even sure when she snuck in. I didn’t know whether to be impressed that she had enough skill to shadow me without getting caught or be alarmed that I could be followed without knowing it. Was I getting sloppy, or was Zoe that good?
“You know I am going with you, right?” She walked around and perched herself on the barstool next to me.
“What? Oh no, you’re not.” I grumbled, wishing more than ever that the Jack in my glass had its medicinal qualities. “You’re going to hang back and watch the shop.”
“Come on. I can help. I want to go back and deal those guys a little pain. What’s the harm in me going if you’re going to be there anyway?”
“It’s the pain part, that’s the problem. As soon as we show up, you’ll try to free every disposable in the warehouse.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” She raised her eyebrows.
“You know what’s wrong with that. Stealing my locket back may sting their pride a little, but it won’t launch all-out war. Freeing their disposables will call down the wrath of their whole organization. The Wax Worx and the Skin Quarries are now one rotted entity.” I took a sip of my impotent drink. “Something like taking on the New York City Mafia and LA Gangland at the same time. We’re two lonely Woebegone out in the open. We may as well be naked on their doorstep if they decide to come after us.”
“They wouldn’t dare. Not with your ties to The Disaster Factory.” She said the name like a pissy teenage girl. “If they came after you, they would answer to them.”
I nodded. “To a point, but even that has its limits. You poke an angry bear hard enough, and it’ll bite no matter what the consequences. And that’s another reason I don’t want you going in with me. They might not hunt us down at the shop, but that doesn’t mean they won’t nab us in their territory. I’m marching right into their back yard.”
Zoe brooded, staring down at the top of the bar. “What’s so important about that stupid necklace? Why do you want it back so bad? And don’t tell me you’re just looking for payback, or I’ll hit you so hard you won’t be able to spell the word hypocrite.”
I thought about telling her the truth, but the more people that knew about that locket, the more people would want it—and get hurt for it. Better that the secret stayed with me, at least until I could figure out what or why the thing was supposed to be so powerful.
“It’s sentimental. Something personal, that’s all.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes and stared at me. “I’m not buying a word of it. That thing means something to you, but it’s not your Aunt Betty’s heirloom. Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because you don’t need to know, all right? Can we drop it?”
I didn’t mean to snap at her, but somehow, she brought that out in me. Not anger so much as an instinct to protect her, and the last thing Zoe wanted was to be protected.
We sat in silence for a while, me nursing my Jack Daniels and her staring at her hands folded on the bar. After a few minutes, we both started to speak at the same time.
“Look, I’m sorry ...”
“I didn’t mean to ...”
We both laughed.
“You go first,” she said.
“I’m sorry I snapped. I just don’t want you to take unnecessary risks for me.”
“And I didn’t mean to pry. I know you’re trying to watch out for me.”
We both smiled, knowing we understood the other more than we sometimes let on.
“I know you want to do this alone.” Zoe turned to face me. “But going in by yourself is stupid. Take me along, at least as a lookout. I promise I won’t go all Barbie Freedom Fighter on you. If you wind up trapped, I’ll be ready to call in the cavalry.”
I sighed. She was right. She was usually right, at least about stuff like this. Here I chastised her for wanting to take on the Skin Quarries single-handed, and I wanted to do the same thing, and in their territory no less.
“All right. You can come with me, but only as a lookout.”
The excitement in her eyes was so evident you would have thought I promised her a free trip to Disneyland.
“No stands for freedom, not even a fist in the air. And you don’t go inside the building. You post up outside the door and signal if there’s trouble. If I don’t come out in ten minutes, you head back and find Alex. Tell her what happened. She’ll pull me out.”
Or at least, I hoped she would. Asking Alex to march into that den of greasy beasts was a lot to ask even for her.
“Deal. What about Jazzy and Meg?”
“They’re staying home. It’s bad enough that I’m marching one freed disposable back into the lion’s den, I don’t want to bring three. It’d be like heading in with a spotlight on our heads. They would love nothing more than to put all three of you right back into circulation. Their guys would spot one of you for sure.”
Zoe flipped her hood back up and smiled. “Not me. I have a disguise.”
I shot her half a grin as I stood to massage a knot in my lower back from sitting on Dan’s stool.
“Let’s go. We have a lot to do.”
Zoe nodded. “Great. And we can discuss Jazzy and Meg more on the way back to the shop.”
I slumped with frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose as I watched Zoe bounce out the door.
“Take it easy, Gabe.” Dan gave me nod. “Come back and see me again some time. Maybe I’ll have some of that other stuff for you to sample.”
I waved to Dan, suddenly wishing I could stay right here on his torturous stool rather than debate why Jazzy and Meg shouldn’t come with us to the Skin Quarries. The conversation would be friendlier, and all things considered, the stools would be far less painful.
Chapter Nineteen
“These masks are ridiculous. I can barely see anything.” Zoe fussed and pulled on the burlap sack I had fashioned into a disguise for the two of us. By fashioned, I mean cut eye holes and managed a little hoop stitching with red string around the edges to keep the fabric from unraveling into our eyeballs.
“Keep it on. If anyone sees us on our way out, at least they won’t be able to identify us.”
“I still don’t understand why I can’t use my poncho. Don’t you think we’re a little suspicious wandering around the back of the Skin Quarries looking like a couple of deranged scarecrows?”
The name Scarecrow gave me a chill. It was the name of an unpleasant disposable handler that had abused and controlled Zoe and many other Woebegone before we took care of him. He had managed to cause us a great deal of trouble, including kidnapping Zoe and almost melting Alex into goo. If I ever ran into him again, it would be too soon. He would want some payback. That was one huge downside to The Nine. No one was ever actually gone. Dying meant a perceived eternity in indescribable torture in the sulfur pools, then you were reborn in the Gnashing Fields a few weeks later. Sort of a green earth plan gone horribly wrong.
“Yo.” Zoe snapped her fingers. “You awake or what?”
I shook off my thoughts and refocused on the task at hand.
“Sorry. You’re right. Maybe you should wait inside, so you’re out of sight. This should be the door Jonny told me about.”
There was no outside handle, so I had to pry my fingers around the edge to pull it open. Once I did, the door creaked free with little effort at all.
“Shut the door behind us. We don’t want anyone wandering in while we’re here.”
Zoe was already on it. She had the door halfway closed, bracing it with her hand to keep it from slamming.
My eyes had to adjust to the dark for a moment before I dared to move.
When they did, my stomach knotted with sickened dread. Cages faded into view. They were stacked on top of one another and stood several rows deep. Each one held at least three Woebegone, looking utterly lost and frightened in their threadbare rags. I didn’t have to look at Zoe to know what she was thinking. I thought it too. Even if freeing them wasn’t suicide, we had no way to get them out. Every cage had been secured by a huge padlock, and we had no key, no crowbar, not so much as a bobby pin to pick at the tumblers.
The sight of them made me want to cry. It made me want to scream. These Woebegone would have no idea where they were or what had happened to them, no recollection of dying. And their penance for such ignorance? They would be used as disposables for any number of heinous atrocities and crimes. Their handlers would ensure the freshborns were killed before ever regaining their memories, allowing them to be recycled again and again in the torturous sulfur of the Gnashing Fields. Any sane person would break under the strain.
Zoe was one such person. She had lived as a disposable for years, but I unwittingly broke the cycle, and now here she stood, back at the scene of her worst nightmares.
“Maybe you should wait outside after all.”
Zoe peered at me with stone cold eyes beneath her mask. “I stay. I made a promise, and I won’t break it. At least not today.”
I nodded. “If anything happens, don’t come after me. Just go for help.”
Zoe nodded in affirmation, and I hurried forward, not wanting to draw out our time here any longer than I had to. The main office sat in the center of the main floor. The lighting was dim, but I could see through the cages to pretty much every corner of the warehouse. As long as I managed to stay down, the captive Woebegone wandering in their cells should mask my movements from a guard patrolling the aisles. My footfalls were quiet as a whisper, and the captives seemed too fearful of me to raise an alarm or ask any questions. Maybe the mask was good for something after all.
There wasn’t much to the office. A basic desk, a couple of chairs, but off to the left stood a display case. Inside sat some photos, a ribbon-wrapped lock of hair, several rings, and other jewelry items. In the middle of it all, hung my locket.