The Album of Dr. Moreau

by Daryl Gregory

  Track 13: “Killer Track”

  The WyldBoyZ

  Dear Detective Delgado—Excuse me for intruding on the story. Rather than repeating what you told us that night, I thought you might prefer the following, completely true account, fleshed out with telling detail.

  * * *

  Matt stood on the edge of the roof, his toe claws gripping the edge. “Come on, man, you can do this,” he said to himself. He pulled on one elbow, then the other, limbering up. Stretched out his wings. “A one, and a two, and a—”

  He froze. Then, slowly, he leaned over the edge again and looked down along the Matador’s brightly lit walls. They were virulent green, or so he was told. Dr. M’s balcony—the wider one, which led to the lounge—lay thirty feet below him and slightly to the left. The stiff updraft pushed at his wings in a taunting way. He remembered a joke about hotels and updrafts that ended with the punch line “You’re a real dick, Superman.” Not a good thought. Concentrate, Matt!

  He checked the harness again. It was the same contraption he used onstage, but instead of multiple cables connecting him to the rig above the stage, there was a single bungee cord tied around a flagpole. Oh! And no stunt coordinator to watch over him.

  He was naked except for his boxer shorts and the harness, on the theory that lighter = better, but now he wished he’d brought more equipment: a helmet, for example. When he’d practiced bungee jumping at a tourist trap, he’d worn lots of protective gear.

  He checked his watch. Three fifty-seven. Shit! Time to fly.

  He jumped before he could talk himself out of it. The wind caught him—and immediately sent him sluicing sideways. He stifled a scream and stiffened his arms. The wind jerked him nearly upright—stall position—and then he began to plummet. This time he did scream.

  Some bat instinct kicked in and he curled up, which brought his face down. He threw out his wings again and womp! a solid cushion of air buoyed him up.

  Ha! He was flying! Well, gliding.

  But now he was zooming away from the hotel. Suddenly the bungee cord went taut—and jerked him backwards. He was going to slam into the wall! He twisted in a frenzy and managed to turn his body around. His vision filled with the expanse of glowing glass. He fixed his eyes on the balcony. All he had to do was coast up, clear the railing, and then quickly fold his wings and drop onto the cement.

  The wall raced toward him. Too fast! Too fast! He flashed his wings, caught air—and slammed into the sliding glass door, shoulder first.

  The pain was amazing.

  He lay on the balcony, moaning. He was sure he’d blown it; the sound of the crash would have woken the dead and maybe even the (hopefully unconscious) Dr. M.

  He couldn’t move his right arm and was convinced he’d shattered a bone. He managed to unclip from the bungee cord with his left hand, then pushed open the sliding door.

  The lounge was still partially lit—there were too many track lights for any guest to find all the switches. He limped inside, listening hard (and he was the hardest of listeners). He recognized the heavy snore and labored breathing of Dr. M. He looked down the long hall and saw that the door to the master bedroom was ajar.

  Matt went the other way, toward the suite’s front door. Lightly tapped. The person on the other side tapped back.

  Matt swung open the latch and then opened the door. A chipmunk beamed at him with white cloth teeth and huge eyes. The gigantic metal claws gripped in their hands were terrifying. “You’re late,” the chipmunk whispered.

  “Sorry!” he whispered back.

  The chipmunk leaned into the hallway, waved, and then stepped inside. They set down the claws, then removed their head like an astronaut stepping into an air lock. Kat shook out her hair. “Is he up?” she whispered.

  “Asleep.”

  “What did you do?” She started to touch his arm with her costumed paw, then stopped herself. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Hit the door. I’m fine.”

  “Okay, get out of here. You did good, Matty.”

  “I’ll stick around—just in case.” He wasn’t about to make the same mistake they’d made years ago. The boys had run to the lifeboat and left her to do all the hard work. “I can get the CD out.” The CD player lay on the floor, where Tusk had dropped it after he’d torn it from the wall. Matt had tried to retrieve the CD at the end of the party, but Dr. M had spotted him and started yelling. He’d been forced to leave without it.

  Kat frowned, thinking it through. “Fine. Grab it, then get back to your room.” She put on the big chipmunk head, then pulled on the first claw, then the other. She’d welded them herself backstage, two cities ago, working early in the morning when the roadies were sleeping in. It was the part of the plan that most disturbed him, but Kat had convinced him it was necessary. They needed the cops to look for a raging psycho zoomie.

  “Stay out here,” she said, and walked into the bedroom.

  Matt stooped over the CD player. He slid his index claw into the top of the tray and pulled. The tray remained closed. He didn’t have enough leverage with only one hand.

  He heard a noise from the bedroom. A small, meaty noise. And then another, and another. Anyone else would have missed those noises, but not Matt.

  Don’t listen! he thought. Concentrate on the job!

  He turned the player onto its side and gripped it between his knees. Then he worked three claws into the gap, pulled up. Something plastic snapped inside and the tray popped out, halfway. One of the CDs fell out.

  Huh, he thought. Beastie Boys.

  In the bedroom, Kat was moving around. He heard luggage being unzipped. Not his worry. He gritted his teeth and pulled on the tray again. The fucking CD had to be in the back slot, where the laser was.

  The door to the hallway creaked open, and Matt stifled a screech of surprise.

  “What is going on?” Tusk whispered. “Where’s Kat?”

  “She still in there,” Matt said. “Help me open this.”

  Tusk picked up the CD player. He nodded toward the bedroom. “Is he going to hear this?”

  “No,” Matt said. “Maury’s not going to hear anything.”

  “Okay.” Tusk yanked, and the drawer opened with a crack. CDs spun into the air. Matt picked up one that was labeled with black Magic Marker: BARGE.

  The bedroom door opened. The chipmunk stepped out, still grinning. The front fur was coated in blood. Kat stood for a long time, the claws heavy at her sides. Then she said, “I can’t find the laptop.” Her words were muffled by the head.

  “What did you say?” Tusk said.

  She lifted off the head. “I can’t find the laptop. We need it.”

  “We’re out of time,” Tusk said. “The security guards can come back any moment.”

  “Come back?” Matt said. “When were they here?”

  “Fifteen minutes ago. Bobby was making a lot of noise, and someone on the floor below complained. He just settled down, but who knows when he’ll start back up.”

  “Fuck,” Matt said.

  “Fuck,” Kat agreed.

  “Did you check inside the computer bag?” Tusk asked. “That’s where he keeps it.”

  “I know where he keeps it. The computer bag is empty. I went through the luggage, too, and checked under the bed, and in the closets.”

  “It’s four ten,” Tusk said. “We’re behind schedule.” Tusk hated to be behind schedule.

  “I know, I know,” Kat said. “Okay. We have to hope the police don’t go through all the files. We’ll get it back when they return it to Mrs. M.”

  When they stepped into the hallway, Matt said, “Last chance.”

  “Close it,” Kat said.

  He quietly pulled the door shut. It was good to not have to worry about fingerprints—his were pretty distinctive. Now all he had to worry about was a broken shoulder.

  Tim was standing in the hallway. “Is he dead?” he asked.

  “Yes, love,” Kat answered.

  “Good.”


  Kat helped Matt out of the harness. Then she said, “Shit. I forgot a pillowcase.”

  “I’ll get one,” Tim said. Kat followed him into the room.

  Tusk looked at Matt. “Are we bad people?”

  “We’re not entirely good.”

  “But we had to do this, yes?”

  “He would have destroyed her,” Matt said. “And the baby. Just to keep us under his thumb. So I say: Fuck him.”

  Tusk nodded. “Indeed.”

  Tim and Kat emerged, Kat now holding a pillowcase full of claws in one hand and the chipmunk head in the other.

  Kat pursed her lips. She looked into each of their faces. “You risked your lives for me. You risked your freedom. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  “You did the same for us,” Tim said.

  “Let’s just not make a habit of this,” Matt said. He was sorry that Devin and Bobby couldn’t be out here, but Devin had his job keeping Mrs. M out of the way, and Bobby . . . Bobby was too sweet and too naive to be trusted.

  Tusk ahemmed, and tapped his wrist.

  “You’re right, you’re right.” She pressed the elevator button. “Matt, don’t forget to get the bungee off the roof—I’ll take it back to the stage in the morning and we’ll pack it up.”

  “I know,” Matt said.

  “Just checking.” She lifted the costume head, and paused. “You’re good boys.”

  Tim said, “We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Track 14: “Where Do We Go from Here?”

  Featuring Detective Delgado

  “After she hid the costume and the claws,” Luce said, “she then walked up fifty-six flights of stairs to the penthouse level, where one of you let her in.” She’d been talking for ten minutes. In that time she never released her grip on her side arm. “How’d I do?”

  Tusk and Matt looked at each other. Matt said, “Was there a hidden camera?” Devin put his face in his hands. Tim stared at his feet, which were encased in steel-toed work boots.

  “Wait a minute,” Bobby said. “You guys did all this, and you didn’t tell me?!”

  Kat said, “We tried to keep you out of it, love.”

  “Can you prove any of it?” Tusk asked Luce. He sounded genuinely curious.

  “I’m afraid I can. Some of Dr. M’s blood showed up where it had no business being.” The blood samples from Tim’s room were still in her jacket pocket. “Also, we found hair inside the chipmunk suit. Our guy thought it might be from Devin. I’m betting DNA analysis would confirm it’s from Kat.”

  “If they got a sample from Kat to compare,” Matt said.

  “True,” Luce said.

  “How quickly did you suspect us?” Matt asked.

  “From almost the beginning, this thing had the whiff of a magic act. Quick changes, scary props, drama. Plus, everyone was everyone else’s alibi, which was very tidy. I had the feeling I was getting played. Then you went and mentioned Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr, which is always suspicious.”

  “Argh! Dammit!”

  “How soon did you suspect Kat?” Tim asked.

  “The chipmunk costume really pushed me toward her,” Luce told him. “Matt or Tusk couldn’t fit in it, so that left you or Devin. But then I ruled out both of you—whoever wore it would have to be non-famous and be able to pass for a normal human. Sorry.”

  “I know what I look like,” Tim said.

  “And I don’t take offense,” Devin said.

  “The point is,” Luce said, “if either of you stepped out into the lobby after ditching the costume in the restroom, you’d be mobbed.”

  “But the killer could have just as easily have been Mrs. M,” Matt said. “You always gotta suspect the spouse in a homicide.”

  “Oh, she was on my short list,” Luce said. “She had a great motive for killing her husband, and Kat had no reason that I could see. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a lot to Kat’s story that I didn’t understand. The way you all listened to her, the baby bump she was hiding, the paramedical tattoos covering the scars . . .”

  “My first introduction to Western science,” Kat said, “was at the hands of a surgeon.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry.” Luce took a breath. “Anyway, all these details made me think I was missing something. Maybe it was because I started my career as my father’s assistant. Do you know how much dirty work the assistant gets away with? Nobody pays attention to the girl carrying the props on and off the stage.”

  “I do,” Devin said. “I always appreciate and respect the roadies.”

  “Noted, Dev,” Matt said.

  “Keep going,” Kat said. “You suspected me, but didn’t know why, until . . .”

  “Until I got Dr. M’s laptop,” Luce said.

  “So you got past the password,” Kat said. “Already.”

  Luce tilted her head. “I know people. I listened to the songs first. Those were recorded on the barge, right? I could hear a low background rumble. I wondered if it was the engine.”

  “Our captors were interested enough to record it,” Kat said. Her voice had changed. The punk snarl had dropped out of it. “They thought it was amusing.”

  “My daughter recognized the songs,” Luce said. “I hope she’ll be happy someday to find out a woman wrote the music she loves. You know, Tusk admitted to me he wasn’t the composer, but I thought he was being modest.”

  “I don’t write music,” Tusk said. “I remember it.”

  “Stop it,” Kat said. “You’re an amazing musician and engineer.”

  “So much of what you all said to me was the truth,” Luce said. “What Matt told me about your genetics, what Kat told me about the PTSD you’d all experienced. When Tim got so angry defending the songs I should have realized he was defending his . . . Kat.”

  “You can use the word,” Kat said.

  “All right,” Luce said. “His mother.”

  “Try again.”

  “Father?”

  “Let’s go with ‘parent.’”

  “Finally!” Bobby said. “Do we get to tell people now?”

  “Still a secret, love,” Kat said.

  “So what do I call you?” Luce asked the woman. “Kat? Sofia? Subject One?”

  “I doubt you could pronounce my original name,” Kat said. “And I’ve had many since. Male names, female names, names no one could pin down. I lived free for many years, in whatever country I chose—and I could have remained free if not for a fit of misplaced altruism. I was living in England during the war, and volunteered for a project. The Americans, unfortunately, learned of my true nature. Afterward, they decided to keep me for themselves.”

  “Until you broke out. I’m guessing the explosion was no accident.”

  “They were going to terminate the boyz, there was a moment of lax security, and I seized the opportunity.”

  And how many people did you kill? Luce wondered. Did any of those scientists make it out alive?

  “I made it off the barge well after the boyz,” Kat continued. “Yet I landed in Peru well before they were rescued.”

  “Sure, you pick the lifeboat with a motor,” Matt said.

  Kat grimaced. “I thought they’d been recaptured, or . . . worse. Then I saw them on television and made my way to Ecuador. I decided I needed a rock and roll persona to convince Maury to take me on. I shouldn’t have worried—he was desperate for help.”

  “And so you became Kat, Queen of the Roadies,” Luce said.

  “I’m a little sad to give her up—before I was her, I didn’t know the pleasure of using ‘fuck’ to spice up every sentence.”

  “It’s an all-purpose condiment,” Matt said. “Like Tabasco.”

  “You know federal agents are taking over the case,” Luce said. “They’re looking for someone named Jorge Heriberto.”

  “We’re aware,” Tusk said. “One of our crew spotted them in the hotel. They’re not from the Fish and Wildlife Service.”

  “I figured.”

  “I’ve
been hunted by men like them for a long time,” Kat said. “I’ve spent too much of my life behind bars. I’ll die before I go back. I won’t let them have another child. How much have you read of the files Dr. M stole from us?”

  “Enough to know what they did.”

  “They were terrified we’d breed,” Kat said. “The daughters they let live a month or two. The boys they killed when they reached adolescence. And the ones in between, the ones like me? They were so afraid of them that they killed them immediately.”

  Luce couldn’t speak. The WyldBoyZ were all looking somewhere else.

  “Dr. M had copied the files from Tusk when he first met them, in Ecuador,” Kat said. “Maury sat on them, not really understanding all that he had, but sensing it was valuable. He had the music producer’s natural gift for blackmail.”

  “But he didn’t know who you were,” Luce said.

  Kat nodded. “Not until a few weeks ago, when one of us slipped up, and let him know that I was on the barge, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bobby said. “I said I was sorry!”

  “It’s not your fault,” Kat said to him. “Maury’s a predator.”

  “It’s a little his fault,” Tim said.

  “Dr. M threatened to expose Kat,” Luce guessed. “Turn her over to the government unless you all stayed in the band.”

  “She’s the valuable one,” Matt said. “Me and the boyz, we’re locked-in, genetically. But Sofia—she’s protean. Endlessly mutable.”

  “I don’t know why I’m this way,” Kat said. “Why my children are so varied and beautiful, and why I . . . keep going. Perhaps, one day, Matt will be able to explain what I am—what we all are. But I do know this. For the first time in my very long life, my children and I have the means to create a home for ourselves, a means to protect ourselves, and Dr. M threatened all of that. All of us.”

  “Tusk’s dream,” Luce said. “The remote studio where no one can bother you.”

  “We’ve pooled our money and purchased a home,” Tusk said.

  Kat leaned forward and locked eyes with Luce. “What you need to decide, Detective, is whether you’re going to choose the simple solution, or—” Her eyes flicked to the left, past Luce’s shoulder. Suddenly Kat straightened. “Hey there,” she said.