Pornopsychedelica

by Chris Johnson

  It was a good cigar, it smelled of old leaf and history. Peter thought about the party, Dooley painting a canvas with his own blood, the woman in the tight outfit with those perfect legs. He was thinking he should have got her number, at least found out where she lived or what hotel she was staying in. He would have liked Tomoko to have been there as his personal bodyguard, maybe dressed in black, dark glasses, standing somewhere behind him when the media took their pictures. That's what the whole deal was about, the media shooting footage of Fernandez and his staff, making him look the part, convince the Off World authorities that he was a genuine celebrity icon. He took another slow drag on the cigar, smoke hanging now in unbroken veils around him. He could see Jefferson in the corner, stood with his arms crossed, another man he knew worked for him but he couldn't recall his name leaning against a cabinet. Peter reckoned he'd waited long enough, he'd make his entrance.

  The doctor said, 'Good evening, Mr. Yang.'

  He circled the three silver trolleys, tools on there for slicing, sawing through bone and hammering out joints, clamps for opening tracts of flesh. The doctor had the theatre work lights on a low setting, maybe so as not to dazzle the two patients while they were awake. Jimmy didn't seem to know where he was, the man on the table next to him wide-eyed and shaking. That was good.

  Peter said, 'Where did you find him?'

  'At his factory with a suitcase full of money and a ticket to Shanghai,' said Jefferson. 'Looks like he was getting ready to run, hide out.'

  'Not a good move, Jimmy,' said Peter, leaning close to him for a moment. 'I'd have found you eventually. I'm not going to ask you where Tomoko is because I don't expect you would know.' He looked around, at the instruments, the mechs for monitoring heart-rate, breathing, cycling blood. 'Do you have any idea how hard it is now to acquire Off World tickets at this moment in time?'

  Jimmy kept his eyes on the ceiling. 'Am I supposed to give a shit? Just have done with me so I can get some peace.'

  'Not all at once, Jimmy. Some things have to be done slowly. That's the problem, you only get to die once.' He blew cigar smoke over the old man's face.

  'You shouldn't be smoking in the theatre,' said the doctor.

  'Tobacco is the new health craze. Research has proven that with no exercise and five cigars a day a man can lead a much fuller and happier life.'

  'I'm not familiar with this research.'

  'Of course not,' said Peter. 'You don't get out much.' He moved closer to the man on the other bed, straining against the leather straps that held his wrists and ankles. 'So you're the man that tried to kill me.' He looked across to Jefferson. 'Has he told you everything?'

  Jefferson made a nod.

  'Good,' said Peter, finally feeling like he was making progress. All he needed now was a call from Travis to say that he had Tomoko. 'What I suggest, doctor, is a transplant. Our friend here has a liver condition, and Mr. Ho has kindly offered his own as a replacement.'

  The doctor rolled forward. 'It's very rare to have a live donor.'

  If the doctor was human you'd swear he was insane, but as an automech he could probably get away with being called misguided. It was a strange-looking machine, chrome finish dented and tarnished, multiple arms with various attachments. What was more weird was how you ended up calling the machine 'he' or 'doctor', like it was a person. It probably had something to do with the human face stretched over the metal skull-shaped head, the scalp with brown hair flapping like a cheap toupee when it moved. Peter didn't know who the face used to belong to. Having your face peeled off while you were still alive would make anyone talk.

  Peter sucked on the cigar slowly, warm smoke filling his mouth, picturing the doctor at work. No emotion, no thoughts, cutting through flesh with absolute precision. Jimmy Ho was too quiet, Peter would have preferred him lucid when this moment came. He looked drunk, drugged maybe from whatever the doctor had given him.

  He had a passing thought to take a gun and drill a bullet straight through Jimmy's head. Ten years ago that's what he would have done. Now you had to be more imaginative if you wanted respect. When he was younger the rules of the gang were so much simpler. If a man didn't show you the proper respect you either punched him in the nose or shot him dead. He reminded himself that he'd moved up in the world, made his money from owning banks and property, making million dollar deals. All he had to worry about now was the colour of his tie and that his staff were seen with the latest technology.

  Jefferson said, 'We're ready when you are, Mr. Yang.'

  'Good.' He looked at the man on the table next to Jimmy, around forty, white, maybe wishing he'd stayed where he was born and taken his chances with the disease and the crazy people. 'Look at you,' he said to the guy. 'You think Asia is some great whore you can fuck whenever you like. It must feel strange to be second class.'

  He joined Jefferson at the door. The operating lights brightened, appendages and tendrils moved out from the doctor's back and connected with other machines. A drill on a silver arm hovered over Jimmy's chest, another arm bringing snapping scissors into position. Jimmy screamed, Peter thought it a strange sound, and the doctor had only just gone to work, a scalpel slicing across Jimmy's exposed abdomen.

  'You know that dog, Jefferson, we saw sniffing around the garbage when we came in? See if it’s still there and bring it in here.' Peter waited until the door had fully rolled up before he turned to the doctor, said, 'Canine to human, heart and liver transplant, doctor. Make it work.' A remote attachment hovered down from the ceiling, needles bristling like the back of a porcupine. 'That face doesn’t suit you any more, doctor.'

  Bellows moved, pumps hummed into action. The man screamed when the first needle slid into him. Peter watched, the cigar in his mouth. A laser seared the flesh under the man's chin, around his ears, shiny pincers gripping the loose skin and slowly peeling it back like a wet mask. A scalpel sliced a red line down his chest, a bone saw and rib cutters moving into place. It was like watching a giant insect, everything clicking and whirring, appendages moving quickly, coiled tubes and cables flexing. Jimmy had his eyes closed, but at least he got to hear everything before it was his turn.

  Outside, Peter threw the cigar away from him, said to Jefferson, 'So who was it?'

  'We know who’s connected. A group of businessmen who feel they’d be able to operate better if you were out of the way. The Kuala Lumpur Trading Executive, fancy title for a small-time gang, but they own a few nightclubs and do a lot of deals from across the borders. And Rowland Buckwheat.'

  'The actor? Didn’t he end up doing coffee commercials?'

  'Yeah. He tried porn for a while, but nobody wants to pay to see a middle-aged fat guy fucking a bimbo.'

  'Have you found him yet?'

  'He drifts around a lot.'

  There were three cars outside the doctor’s, automatics and shotguns in the trunk. His men would visit the easy targets first, the small-time gang members who’d be in bed at this time, or hunched up in smoke-filled dens playing poker. The bigger targets would be assigned to hits, only this time the jobs wouldn’t go to Tomoko. Just thinking about her made his fist clench and he felt the dull throbbing in his side, where he’d taken a seven stitches, like a reminder that she’d turned against him.

  'Have you heard from Travis? He should have called by now.'

  Jefferson was about to answer when Peter’s cell phone chirped a tune.

  'I’ll find this dog,' said Jefferson.

  Katalyst Part Two

  34

  Wasp Sting

  Tomoko said into the phone, 'Hello, Peter.' She let him talk. She couldn't feel the pain from the car crash in her arm any more, her thoughts on other things. She glanced at Teja for a moment, trying to catch the stars. 'Shut the fuck up and listen,' she said. 'I'll trade for Kameko. If you don't understand, I'll burn the tickets and bury the artist. I'll contact you when you get to Japan.'

  She tossed the phone into the vegetation at the side of the road, pulled out another one that co
uldn't be traced.

  It was cool up here at the top of the hill overlooking the city, in the darkness where nobody would stray. Not at this time, when the crazy people wandered over the borders from the Waste Lands. The rain had stopped.

  She pulled Teja close, smelled the alcohol on her breath, slid her arm around her waist and watched her smile. She felt Teja's lips brushing her cheek. The wasp came down from the black sky, hovering over the tree line for a second before dropping toward the beacon Tomoko had placed at the side of the car. It sat Fernandez on the ground, rotors humming.

  He was still high, singing to himself in Spanish, wearing some weird octopus suit with bio-mechanical tentacles, dripping lube. Tomoko pulled a syringe from a plastic case, neatly slid the needle into him.

  35

  Hit Girl Blues

  There was something different about Japan, as though those huge atmosphere scrubbers actually worked and the air smelled cleaner.

  The electric motors on the Airstream were dying down to a low growl when Tomoko descended the steps, Teja right behind her. Tomoko caught sight of Jack, the pilot waving to her from the cockpit before the Airstream turned and taxied to the take-off platform. An ex-combat pilot with a metal plate in his head, he'd once promised he'd take her to his private island if she'd married him. He'd promised a lot of things.

  Martin looked bored, like he'd been waiting for hours, rucksack dumped between his legs. Jessica smiled, pulling out her earphones and admiring Tomoko's short Gucci skirt and a blue silk blouse, Italian shoes and a long cotton overcoat. 'Hey, Tomoko, you look nice.'

  'Thank you, Jessica,' she said.

  'You look nice too, Teja. You look different.'

  Martin glanced around, to the buildings at the edge of the landing field. Tomoko could tell he was edgy, like he expected something to happen.

  From across the field two cars were approaching, headlights cutting through darkness. They vanished for a moment behind a hangar, appearing a minute later and following the crumbling runway. They stopped one behind the other, two men getting out of one car, three out of the other. All wearing suit coats and ties.

  'Who the fuck are they?' asked Martin. He pulled his daughter close to him.

  'Take it easy,' said Tomoko. 'I'll handle it.'

  She recognised some of her old associates. Maybe they were still loyal, maybe they weren't. Gangs merged and forged new allegiances all the time. It was hard to tell what Jiro was thinking, the man rarely smiled. He was an old-style yakuza, spent most of his time drifting between bars, gambling, and women. It showed on his face now. Tomoko caught a tiny hint of a smile at the corner of his thin lips, relaxed her grip a little from the gun tucked into the back of her skirt.

  'Jiro, you've barely changed,' she said.

  'A little older.'

  'I see new faces.'

  'Shiro is my nephew. Maki needed somewhere to stay so I took him in.'

  'Good.'

  They were all moving closer now, men she was glad to see. Mitsuhiro and Kado were taking an interest in Martin and she felt him squeezing her arm, asking what they were saying. 'They want to know what happened to your hand. Want me to tell them something that makes you look cool?'

  'You think that'll help?'

  Teja responded in perfect Japanese when Shiro asked who she was. She was getting tactile with him already, moving in close and talking softly. Tomoko noticed she did that a lot, didn't waste time in getting friendly, in taking control. After only two minutes with Shiro, Tomoko could already tell he'd do anything Teja asked.

  The Airstream took off, everybody quiet for a moment until the craft was far enough away so they could hear each other again. Two red beacons slowly disappeared into the night.

  'You can put Fernandez in the trunk,' said Tomoko. 'I told you to bring my car.'

  Jiro looked at Fernandez, sat on the ground. 'The red one? Hachi sold it.'

  'Where are Hachi and Yasui?' asked Tomoko.

  'Yasui's dead, Ichiro killed him?'

  'Why?'

  'For the hell of it. Our gangs aren't even in competition. He just likes to cause trouble. Hachi's the other problem. He works for Ichiro now. I need you to do something about that.'

  'You want me to remove Ichiro and Hachi? I agreed to do one job, that's all.'

  'Getting you here wasn't cheap. We took a huge risk organising an Airstream to fly you out of Malaysia under Peter Yang's nose.'

  'Who else has joined Ichiro?'

  'Just Hachi.' Jiro looked at the ground for a time. 'A lot of things have changed, Tomoko. We try to keep out of Ichiro's way, but you know what he's like, goes looking for trouble. Hachi's changed, he turned into an asshole like Ichiro.'

  'What's he saying?' asked Martin.

  Tomoko ignored him. 'Do you know where Hachi is?'

  'You might be able to find him in his studio,' said Jiro.

  'Does he have security?'

  'You might find one or two hanging around.'

  'What about the police?'

  'They don't care.'

  'So why don't you put a hole in him?'

  'I think we've done you a lot of favours, Tomoko. Consider this part of the payment. It'll look as though you killed him for selling your car or switching loyalties.'

  She sighed. 'And Ichiro?'

  'We'll find out where Ichiro is and let you know.'

  'Did you make all the arrangements at the airport?'

  'Just like you asked. The riots are getting worse.'

  Martin was squeezing her arm, talking to her in English, but she'd tuned him out to listen to Jiro and Mitsuhiro.

  Jiro said he'd drive her to Hachi's himself. She'd told Shiro and Maki to drive Martin and Jessica to a bar she knew in Kobacho.

  'You gonna come and meet us?' said Martin. He was sat on the back seat of the car with Jessica. 'What if something happens to you?'

  'I won't be long, an hour at the most. I'll meet you at the bar. Get yourself something to eat.'

  'That still doesn't tell me what I should do if you don't come back. How do I read the fucking menu?'

  She leaned into the car and kissed Jessica on the lips, smiling at Martin when he grimaced. 'Look after him, okay.'

  •

  Jiro dropped Tomoko and Teja at the building where Hachi lived, saying he'd park a few blocks down. It'd look bad if he was recognised waiting outside Hachi's place.

  'What are you expecting?' Teja asked Tomoko.

  'Hachi doesn't know I'm back. It should be easy. Walk in. Do some shooting. Walk out.'

  'You have such a casual attitude toward violence.'

  Tomoko looked up at the building. Four stories, square windows overlooking the street. 'Whatever I have to do in here, they'd be just as happy doing the same to me.'

  Teja pulled back her jacket and touched the gun at her side. 'Maybe the inhibitors prevent me from understanding.'

  Tomoko opened the door to the building and they stepped onto a small lobby, a staircase winding up. Piles of garbage here, boxes and black bags. Two cats sniffing for leftovers.

  Teja said, 'I think your friend Hachi needs a cleaner. When we get to the New World, think we can get a cat?'

  Tomoko could hear a radio, footfalls on wooden flooring. 'Do they have cats?'

  'Yes. What do you think we'll do over there?'

  'We'll get jobs and play with our new cat.'

  'What sort of jobs?'

  They started up the steps. Jiro had said Hachi's studio was on the top floor.

  'Maybe I'll open a dōjō,' said Tomoko, 'and at night I'll deliver pizza. What about you?'

  'Maybe I'll work as a programmer, and on an evening I'll cook and wait for you to come home.'

  A white guy in a denim jacket came down the stairs, didn't pay them any attention. Tomoko heard the door at the bottom opening and closing.

  'Then we'll drink wine and go to bed early,' said Teja.

  They reached the top, single door here with a cat pacing up and down.

  Tomoko
said, 'You sure you don't want to come in, see if something can trigger you to adapt.'

  Teja shook her head, backing into a corner. 'I can't adapt with inhibitor blocks. Just the thought of harming a human makes me feel sick.'

  Tomoko held her hand. 'But you killed a man.'

  'Self-preservation. The inhibitors are there to protect you from me, but I can protect myself if I feel in danger.' She moved closer, pressed her lips to Tomoko's, whispered, 'When the inhibitors are removed we can do everything.'

  Teja's breath felt warm in Tomoko's mouth.

  'If I'm not out in three minutes, just leave. You know what to do.'

  'Please don't say that.'

  Teja quickly kissed Tomoko before she opened the door, the cat running between her legs. Tomoko watched it walking quickly down a corridor. She drew the Glock and edged inside. The corridor went on for about twenty feet, opening into a large open-plan apartment.

  She looked down over the top of an armchair, Hachi sat there with his pants down, a girl she couldn't see at first bobbing her head on his crotch. Hachi moaned on the chair, swearing. The girl saw Tomoko, who showed her the gun.

  Tomoko walked round, picked up a plastic bowl from the coffee table and gave it to the girl. She tilted her head and Hachi's milky semen trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

  'That's not much, Hachi,' said Tomoko.

  He was still catching his breath. 'She isn't very good.'

  Tomoko had been wondering how Hachi had changed, and now she could see. She remembered him in good-fitting shirts, clean-shaven. He'd lost weight, cheekbones more visible now, didn't have the paunch that he had before. The extra pounds had made him look healthier. Generic tattoos all the way up his arms, like he'd walked into a shop and flipped through a catalogue. Drugs had given him too many highs and lows.