KILLER T

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘You guys OK back there?’ Charlie asked, glancing at Ed’s rigid face as she put the car in drive. Her foot was agony as she pushed the pedal and accelerated down The Strip.

  Ed looked half thrilled, half mortified, while Patrick complained expressively.

  ‘My lip hurts now and my butt hurts all the time.’

  The Strip was one red light after another, so Charlie took an easy right on to Flamingo. As she made the turn, she had a brainwave.

  ‘I know what Patrick’s been complaining about,’ she announced. ‘The pain in his butt.’

  After three blocks, she pulled into an empty lot in front of a dental clinic that wouldn’t open for another hour.

  ‘Ed, have you got anything small and sharp in those bulging pockets?’

  ‘I’ve got one grenade left and a pack of Kleenex.’

  Frustrated, Charlie flipped the Toyota’s glove compartment. It was crammed with junk, including change for parking meters, packs of boiled sweets and a baseball cap. But she got lucky with a floral-patterned zip-up bag, containing make-up and a small pair of nail scissors.

  ‘Patrick, sweetie, I’m gonna need you here on my lap. Let me look at that butt.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ed asked as he helped Patrick step between the two front seats. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting away as fast as possible?’

  Charlie laid Patrick face down in her lap and pulled down his night shorts to expose his buttocks

  ‘Touch the bit where it hurts,’ Charlie said.

  Patrick reached behind and tapped his upper right buttock. Charlie and Rosie had both looked before and just noticed a small red mark, like a zit, but this time Charlie pinched the flesh beneath and felt a hard lump, the size of a rice grain.

  I was right …

  ‘Oww,’ Patrick moaned.

  ‘I know, sweetie,’ Charlie said, taking the nail scissors off the passenger seat. ‘This will sting, but be brave and try to stay still.’

  Patrick bucked and wailed as Charlie dug the sharp little scissors into his buttock.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Charlie said, feeling awful. ‘The more you stay still the quicker it will be.’

  ‘Stop hurting me.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ed blurted, thinking his sister had gone mad. ‘He’s bleeding. Leave him alone!’

  Patrick’s heel kicked Charlie in the head as she pushed two fingers behind the little grain inside his buttocks.

  When it neared the surface, Charlie grabbed tweezers from the make-up bag, pulled out a tiny silver cylinder and dropped it on the passenger seat.

  ‘What is that?’ Ed blurted.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Patrick,’ Charlie said, grabbing a wad of tissues out of a box in the door compartment and pressing it against the wound. ‘I’ve taken the itchy thing out now. You need to press the tissues down hard to stop the bleeding.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Ed said.

  ‘Shh, shh,’ Charlie soothed, rubbing Patrick’s back as he continued to scream. Then she glanced back at Ed.

  ‘It’s a mini transmitter,’ Charlie explained. ‘The guy who killed Juno and Mikey injected it into Patrick’s buttock. Fawn must have known he was my godson and that I’d probably take him home when I found Juno dead at the motel. That’s how they found our house. It’s all my fault. Harry died because I let them track me home.’

  Ed disagreed. ‘Harry was stupid to stab that guy.’

  ‘Take Patrick. I need to keep driving,’ Charlie said, sobbing and shaking as she passed Patrick between the seats to Ed. ‘Try and calm him down. Keep the tissues pressed on the wound until it clots.’

  Charlie wiped her face, then flicked the blood-smeared transmitter out of the car window.

  ‘Fawn’s dead now,’ Ed pointed out as Patrick switched from wailing to sniffling.

  ‘But Janssen people might not like that we killed their boss,’ Charlie said, restarting the motor. ‘So we need to get out of here fast.’

  PART FIVE

  FOUR MONTHS LATER

  69 STONE DEAD

  Vegas Local

  * * *

  MONDAY’S TOP STORIES

  VEGAS NEWS – Fawn Janssen confirmed dead as turf war leads to tragedy.

  Las Vegas Metro Police report that three California men gunned down while leaving a downtown bar late Saturday were likely victims of mistaken identity.

  The shooting is the latest violent outbreak in a four-month turf war that has seen various factions seek control over illegal modding and other criminal activities.

  The turf war was triggered by a power vacuum following the disappearance of Fawn Janssen, who took control of the Janssen family’s alleged criminal interests, following the death of her father-in-law.

  Fawn hadn’t been seen alive since August. Yesterday, a forensics team confirmed that Janssen’s DNA and that of three known associates was identified among human remains found in a garbage incinerator at the shuttered UrbanScape casino complex.

  The search followed a successful operation that unearthed several modding labs operating in the resort’s disused hotel towers.

  FULL STORY AND PHOTOS (WARNING: GRAPHIC IMAGES)

  WEATHER – WHITE CHRISTMAS ON THE CARDS FOR VEGAS?

  A cold front that has brought unusually low temperatures to Texas and Arizona is set to reach Nevada this weekend. Clark County Transit has warned drivers to be prepared for icy conditions.

  Snowfall at higher elevations may spread to the city over the coming days.

  WEATHER LATEST

  ADVERTISEMENT – Rex’s Quarantine & Survival

  Show this ad to save 15% on all kids’ outdoor safety suits and top brand virus masks including Gucci, Nike, Timberland and Ray-Ban.

  DISEASE UPDATE – Alert Status Amber

  ASMB – No signs of recent mutation, but ensure all sexual partners have been vaccinated within last 30 days.

  Killer-T – Strains 3B and 5A are active in south-west United States. Update vaccine weekly.

  Melbourne Virus – Current vaccine NOT effective against strain 4C-2. Follow 8min sterilisation procedure before eating raw produce.

  SNor – No current threat, but exercise cold-weather precautions in kitchens and communal environments.

  Superflu – No current outbreak.

  Other threats – Stone Dead jumping spider outbreak continues in the Henderson area. Keep insecticide spray on hand and do not allow children under 50lb to play outside as bite may be fatal. MUST be tackled by professional exterminators.

  Charlie was balled up under a mound of covers wishing she’d never existed. Patrick lay on the motel suite’s grubby carpet, watching cartoons on a tablet, while Ed had an ancient episode of Big Bang Theory going on the main TV.

  ‘Charlie, you’ve got a call,’ Ed said, scratching his sack as he took her vibrating phone off charge and flung it towards the bed.

  Ed put his show back on and audience laughter erupted as Charlie dragged her phone under the covers, hating the light from the screen.

  ‘Yeah, hi.’

  Gwen’s voice was painfully cheerful. ‘Charlie, how’s it going?’

  ‘Good,’ she lied.

  ‘It’s past noon. I thought you were coming into the office today,’ Gwen said. ‘The accounts are piling up. And we were going to discuss a staff Christmas bonus. I know money is tight, but I think they deserve it.’

  Charlie couldn’t cope with getting out of bed, let alone doing accounts for five coffee shops. But she felt horribly guilty. Gwen had been a loyal soldier, from the morning four months earlier when she’d turned up in a hijacked Toyota covered in blood, to the previous afternoon when Gwen picked up Patrick for a play date with her six-year-old daughter, Wendy.

  ‘I’ve got a headache and pre-school is out for Christmas,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll come in early tomorrow, so I can have a proper go at them.’

  ‘Shall I pick you up on my way in?’ Gwen suggested. It was out of Gwen’s way, but she knew Charlie might not show if sh
e didn’t. ‘I can cover most things, but I don’t understand the wages and accounts.’

  ‘No …’ Charlie mumbled. ‘Actually, yes. I don’t feel so great. But I know you’ve got your own problems.’

  ‘I drove over to check the shop by the university,’ Gwen said. ‘It was doing OK, though the students are on break. There’s not been a major virus outbreak this whole year. It’s Christmas and people are getting their confidence back.’

  ‘Not me,’ Charlie said sourly. ‘I’m a potato.’

  ‘You went through a horrific experience,’ Gwen soothed. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Charlie. Getting over this will take time.’

  ‘I guess,’ Charlie said. She kicked some of the covers off and stared up at the motel suite’s cracked ceiling.

  ‘Did you see Vegas Local? They identified your sister’s DNA.’

  Charlie felt like her heart was being sucked out when Gwen said Vegas Local. It would always be something she associated with Harry.

  ‘It’s lucky someone cleaned up the mess,’ Gwen said. ‘Your DNA would have been all over the gun and the office.’

  ‘I’ve been worried about that,’ Charlie admitted. ‘I acted in self-defence, but Ed’s my only witness and, with my luck, the cops probably would have tried to do me for murder.’

  ‘Who cleaned up, though?’ Gwen wondered.

  ‘Anyone who’d gain some advantage by knowing Fawn was dead before anyone else,’ Charlie suggested. ‘Any other news?’

  ‘Just some strip-mall lady. She called saying she likes your business. She’s got three dead coffee shops that she’s willing to lease cheap.’

  ‘I can’t face that now …’ Charlie groaned.

  ‘At least one of them is a good location,’ Gwen said. ‘Opening another shop might give you something to focus on. And everyone says the economy is growing again. I even got stuck in traffic crossing The Strip last weekend.’

  ‘Until the next quarantine sends it all down the pan,’ Charlie said, then more encouragingly. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. I don’t pay you enough for what you do, Gwen.’

  Gwen laughed. ‘That’s easily fixed, boss.’

  As Gwen hung up, Charlie peered over her mound of covers. Patrick now stood at the foot of her bed, scowling.

  ‘Are we doing anything today?’ the five-year-old groaned. ‘I’m so bored.’

  Patrick was a great-looking kid, and Charlie couldn’t help smiling because he’d got his T-shirt on back to front.

  ‘Come here – put your arms up,’ Charlie said, swinging her legs out of bed and catching her own funk. ‘How about a game?’

  Patrick grinned as Charlie put his shirt right. ‘What game?’

  ‘It’s a game called pick all the dirty clothes and crap up off the floor.’

  ‘Aww!’ Patrick moaned. ‘What about a proper game?’

  ‘This room is a pit,’ Charlie said, mildly motivated as she grabbed the mound of bedding and flicked it to straighten up.

  Patrick and Ed laughed as one of Charlie’s bras and a half-eaten pack of fries flew into the air.

  ‘Yeah, we’re the messy ones,’ Ed said. ‘Can I go across to the gym, now you’re up?’

  Charlie felt weighed down as she rested on one knee and picked ketchup-daubed fries off the carpet. She loved Patrick and Ed, but she was only twenty and looking after them was a twenty-four/seven job.

  ‘Hold off on the gym,’ Charlie said, wiping salty ketchup fingers on her T-shirt. ‘We’re living in a sty. Did you shower when you came back from the gym yesterday?’

  ‘I told him he stinks!’ Patrick blurted cheerfully.

  ‘Shut up, squirt, or I’ll fart on you,’ Ed said.

  ‘You’ll have to catch me first, lumbering ape!’ Patrick grinned.

  Patrick shrieked as Ed stood up with his hands in a grabbing position. It was good-natured, but the suite was two beds, a sofa and a tiny kitchenette. Charlie couldn’t stand the idea of Patrick leaping between the beds and squealing.

  ‘Quit it!’ Charlie yelled, clapping twice and stepping between the boys. ‘Ed, turn that damned show off, then wipe down the kitchen. Patrick, get the laundry bag out of the bathroom. Help me grab the wet towels and clothes off the floor. I’m gonna go down and do a load of laundry.’

  ‘So can I go to the gym?’ Ed asked as he sprayed Clorox over the kitchen cabinets.

  ‘You’ll have to stay here with Patrick.’

  ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on him all day,’ Ed protested. ‘Can’t you take him to the laundry?’

  The motel’s stuffy laundry room was Patrick’s idea of hell.

  ‘Nooooo,’ Patrick whined. ‘Can I go to the gym?’

  ‘He can come if he wants,’ Ed said.

  ‘Yessssss,’ Patrick said, pumping a fist as he leapt on to Charlie’s bed.

  The gym was across the street from the motel. It was a guys-lifting-weights-type place, rather than StairMasters and girls in Lycra. Ed had started lifting weights with Harry and asked if he could try the gym when they’d first moved in. Charlie worried he’d get teased by a bunch of jocks, but the gym’s sixty-something-year-old owner, Bryan, gave Ed training programmes and kept an eye on him.

  ‘Patrick, you’re too young for the gym,’ Charlie said.

  ‘But it’s school holidays so Marty’s there,’ Patrick pleaded. ‘I can play with him.’

  ‘Who’s Marty?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Bryan’s grandson,’ Ed said, as if Charlie was stupid. ‘He was hanging around the motel pool half the summer.’

  Charlie felt frustrated with herself. Besides feeling sad all the time and the daily fight to get out of bed, she forgot simple stuff, like people’s names and picking Patrick up from pre-school.

  She was wary of sending Patrick to the gym without checking, but she liked the idea of getting the boys out of her hair for a few hours. Bryan’s number was in her phone and he said his bored grandson would be delighted with some company.

  ‘All right,’ Charlie said, faking cheer. ‘Patrick, put on your virus mask and keep it on like you have to at pre-school. Ed, when you get back here after your workout, put those stinking clothes in a bucket with hot water and some disinfectant. Then take a shower, and wash your hair properly with shampoo.’

  Charlie smiled as her two energetic boys put on shoes, and grabbed their virus masks and gloves.

  ‘How many times, Ed? Turn that TV off,’ Charlie barked, throwing a hoodie at Patrick. ‘Put that on – it’s cold out. And, Ed, take your key in case I’m still downstairs. And hold Patrick’s hand when you cross. The road is quiet, but the cars come round that corner so fast.’

  ‘All right, mommykins,’ Ed said, balancing Patrick on his stocky shoulders and ducking so he didn’t thump the five-year-old’s head on the door frame.

  70 NO MODS ALLOWED

  Charlie realised how cold it was when she stood barefoot on the first-floor balcony. She was pleased to see Patrick holding Ed’s hand as they crossed the street, and turned back after they’d vanished through a door with a weightlifter logo and a white-on-black banner that read 100% Natural. NO MODS ALLOWED.

  Charlie shivered as she shut the door with her heel, then felt conned when she realised the boys had escaped without helping to clean up. A huge part of her wanted to burrow under the covers and go back to hiding from the world, but she knew she’d spend the rest of the day there if she did and she hoped a shower would give her a jolt.

  The erratic hot water at the house in the desert meant Charlie had often showered with Harry. The Kuchler Motel’s never-ending supply was one of its best features, but if Charlie lingered too long an imaginary Harry would join her and the feels would leave her slumped in the shower tray, sobbing hopelessly.

  That time Harry put one of my waxing strips on his chest and yelped so much he fell off the bed …

  Charlie almost jumped out of the shower, knowing fond thoughts of Harry led nowhere but pain.

  Keep busy.

  After drying on the least grung
y towel and dressing in her least grungy leggings and last clean T-shirt, Charlie grabbed the laundry basket and started gathering towels and dirty clothes scattered across the bathroom.

  The basket was stuffed before she got to the clothes spread around the beds, but Charlie was on a laundry mission, so she grabbed a trash-can liner from the cupboard under the sink and began filling up with Patrick’s Spider-Man underpants and Ed’s aromatic socks.

  After waddling down two flights with laundry in each hand, Charlie crossed the parking lot to the motel’s other building and stepped through a basic UV quarantine gate into a laundry room.

  One of the three dryers was rumbling and a chunky guy sat in the only plastic bucket chair that wasn’t cracked at the back. He was average height, thirties, with a stocky build and a dark-brown shirt with R&M Haulage embroidered on the pocket.

  ‘Hey, Charlie,’ he said, peering over a comic book.

  His beard had grown and he was dressed for winter, so Charlie took a second to mark him as a guy who’d hit on her when she’d taken Patrick for a pre-bedtime splash in the motel pool, back when it was still hot.

  ‘Alex?’ Charlie ventured.

  ‘Rex,’ he corrected as Charlie raised the metal lid on a washer and started dropping stuff in.

  The easy smile reminded her that Rex had a one-one-seven, the socially acceptable zombie mod that kept you functioning while life floated happily by.

  People with one-one-sevens tended to make good employees in mundane, non-creative jobs, though their optimistic bias gave them a poor sense of danger and their relentless smiles and trite observations made them a goldmine for stand-up comedians.

  ‘I heard it might snow for Christmas.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Charlie said as she sprinkled powder on top of her first load, then opened another machine to take her whites.