A Passing Curse (2011) (53 page)

Quickly, quickly now Ajax stepped on Reese’s free hand, exposing the crook of the arm. He shoved in the needle and pulled back the plunger. Reese calling him names. Terrible names. Just filth.

He held the syringe to the bare light bulb and saw yellow clumps. “Hamburgers again?” He emptied the syringe into his mouth. He danced. He clapped his hands above his head. He had not been this happy, this strong in years. He was light. He was dark. He was the World.

Reese twisted his free hand underneath himself. Flatten the hand, he thought. Get the pistol. Still too tight. Ajax had taken his blood as if he were a child. Ajax now doing a weirdo tap dance in his face. He shifted. The pistol gouged his spleen. He tried to kick himself from the hole. He squirmed, got his left arm loose. Good. But his legs were still wedged and growing numb.

Ajax had disappeared into the shadows, but he still heard him laughing. He snapped the goggles down and turned them on but all he got was a dull red screen. Broken in the cave-in. Ajax lightly stepped back into the light, grinning.

He pulled the night goggles off and threw them at Ajax. Ajax laughed and nimbly danced out of the way.

Ted pulled his head out of sight, behind the open door. She heard Reese shouting up from below, a throaty, old lion sound and then silence.

Ted peeked around the door again, looking back and forth, making sure the coast was clear. He walked in carrying a cardboard box.

“You want some of this BOY?” she yelled at him.

Ted dropped the box and stumbled to her. Sewer breath. Wheezing as he breathed. Asthmatic. His tongue long. On her toes with it. The broken needle a lance in her thigh as he slowly licked the blood off her leg.

“Unbuckle my hand,” she said. “I’ll hold your head. Come on, baby.” Ted faltered. She hollered, “Do it boy!” Ted nervously looked around. “You’re afraid of Ajax aren’t you?”

“I’m not, not, afraid.”

“Then let me loose. Turn me loose, Ted. Do it, baby. Come on. You want to. I can make you feel good. You know I can make you feel good.”

Ted wiped his wet mouth. She ran her tongue over cracked lips and smiled. It was goddamned pathetic, but Ted unbuckled the strap and slobbered on her hand.

Move his head down and don’t think about it. He was lapping at her now, she patted his head once, soothing him. There, there. She clearly saw him kicking Reese off the cliff. She saw him killing Thomkins.

She grabbed the heavy needle with thumb and forefinger, surprised how easily it slipped from her leg, how easily it found his moving ear, the slight tug piercing the ear drum, then smoothly into the brain.

Ted looked up very surprised. A flicker behind the eyes. Two inches of thin steel sprouting from his ear. She slapped hard, driving the needle flush.

His eyes flashed, a long sigh, a trickle of blood from his nose as he slipped away.

His legs collapsed. He hit the floor dead. She tore at the other strap, got it loose, undid her feet. She rolled off the bed, tried to stand, fell. The room spun. She felt drained, blood empty.

Her hands were bloody. Slippery with it. Her blood was everywhere. She heard Reese yelling at Ajax to stay the fuck back. She slowly pulled herself back onto the bed. She rested a moment, made it to her pack, ripped it open. Find a shirt. Khaki. She slipped into pants, hoping they’d help soak the blood.

No time for shoes. She scattered through her tools, grabbing the pick. She found the jade whale, still in the pocket of her tattered pants.

She limped down the hall, using the pick as a half-assed crutch, past the Hispanic head framed by two flower vases filled with angel’s breath and hyacinths. The eyes stared openly beneath the brim of a ridiculous floppy hat. A pirate’s hat?

She followed Reese’s yelling down two flights of stairs to an open door, Ajax in the middle of a rock-strewn room. Flinging back his head, howling. Blood flying from his mouth. Reese sticking halfway from a wall of rocks, not looking good, but looking much better than the headless body hanging beside him, wrists handcuffed over a cast-iron pipe.

Reese saw her in the door, twenty feet away. Her legs blood wet, her pants red with it. Leaning against a pick. She looked stunned, confused. She needed time. Ajax started towards her.

If she died, he died. There it was. “Watch him!”

She swung the pick. Ajax cleared his throat as steel came out his back.

She raised her foot to kick him off the point, but he came alive, spinning, jerking the handle from her hands. He pulled the pick from his chest and held it two-handed above his head as if to drive her through the solid rock.

She pulled the whale from her pocket and blew, a high pitched wail, stunning Ajax. He cocked his head, hearing a tune he couldn’t place. He paused, suddenly immobile. He threw the pick at the light above the door, shattering the bulb, and running into darkness.

She grabbed the pick, walking backward, barefoot through the broken glass, crackling like dried leaves, through the door and back into the light.

In the dim light, she could barely make out Reese trapped in the rocks. He had to be trapped or he’d be on Ajax. She imagined Ajax slipping by and swung the pick, hitting nothing but air.

“Rusty!”

“I’m here.”

“Call the police! Get out of here! Go!”

“No.” She was not leaving him with Ajax. She advanced, walking toward his voice, jabbing the air in front of her with the pick.

Reese saw her backlit against the door, fish in a barrel. “Get back into the light. Do it now. He’s got a needle. A spike. Move!”

“Keep talking,” she said.

He turned on the flashlight but it barely glowed. Frustrated, he slammed it on rock, the lens popping out. He reached out and touched Hernandez’s shoe, the rough sock, up the dry ankle, the stiff hair, the ballistic nylon holster, the checkered plastic stock.

He fired three rounds into the black yaw before the pistol jammed. The strobe flash of the shots lit Ajax like an onyx cutout, posing in the corner, using his jacket as a cape, ten feet from her. A heartbeat. “There he is!” Reese yelled to her.

Ajax screamed, “No light! No light!”

Reese yelled again, “There’s a shotgun in the rocks. Use it.”

She didn’t move. “I can’t turn my back on him.” He cleared the jam and fired, emptying the clip, trying to hit Ajax, missing but lighting him up as he ran down the tunnel. She saw Ajax moving, dodging lead, the muzzle flash pointing the way.

Reese spun Hernandez, reaching up the other ankle, finding nothing - all this time Hernandez bragging he carried two backups. “Get back here, Rusty,” he said, knowing it would do no good.

She kept moving. She could not turn her back to get the shotgun. He was too fast. The pick would have to do. She swung against the darkness, then took a step, then another swing, moving down the tunnel.

Ajax felt her warmth, the whisper of the pick. He flattened against the cold rock and let her pass. He smelled her now, sweet bloody copper and deadly. He slipped in behind and raised the needle.

She felt trapped. So goddamn black. Reese’s voice far behind, “Get out! Goddamnit, Rusty, get out of here!” She swung, hitting solid rock. Steel rang, sparks flew, the brief flash lighting a blank wall. Dead end. She’d passed him.

She turned. Ajax backlit, smiling. The needle coming quickly. She planted her feet and followed through.

Ajax felt cold steel inside his lung and dropped the syringe. His hands slipped on the wet steel, hard in his chest, she running past him, gone. He grabbed the handle, jerked the steel loose.

She ran past Ajax and into the light, positive he was on her tail, pick raised, coming fast. Coming now. She grabbed the shotgun and turned. Ajax coming quickly, low and empty-handed.

Before she could fire, he snatched her up by the neck, shaking her like a doll, both feet off the ground. She tried to bring the barrel around but he was too close. She felt weak, hanging there, but tightened her grip on the shotgun, a death grip.

“Let her go,” Reese yelled to him. “And then you go and we’ll follow. You need a doctor. I need a doctor. We’ll sort things out.”

Her neck was breaking. She felt light. Made of paper. His fingers like bone, crushing her. The breath down her neck, fire hot. She tried to yell but couldn’t. Kicking did no good, her legs catching air, no purchase. She held the gun.

She reached for the whistle one-handed, tasting the mint, blowing with her last breath, all she was worth, watching his face screw in on itself, the pressure easing on her neck, she landing and turning, clicking the safety, jacking the slide. This was it.

Ajax Rasmussen looked at her, entranced. He grabbed the barrel as if to push it away, but his touch was soft, a lover’s touch. She shoved the barrel under his chin and fired.

His face flared yellow from the blast. His hair flew up in surprise. The buckshot mushroomed, a disc of scalp spiraled out of sight, his face fell inside itself.

She worked the action, pressing the barrel to his chest, forcing him down with each blast, lighting him up with each shot.

Ajax marveled at the scorching barrel, his hand over the muzzle to stop the pellets. Hands to shape a new world, he thought. Hands to touch heaven.

He wanted to scream at her - the madness - she was losing a lifetime. Eternity, the waste. She could rule the word, if….

But the lead weighed him down. Each shot bright on their faces from long ago. The bucking ship. The cross high on the mast. Serra and the rest, huddled and triumphant as the storm passed and the tiny ship slid for home. Serra, in a voice so far away, but close now, accusing him, “Santa Marina! Santa Marina! Santa Marina!”

The thunder stopped, the storm quit. The cross high above on the mast. He sought her eyes, inquiring, “Give up eternity?”

Above him still the cross, its shadow falling, falling, breaking him.

Reese exhaled. The shooting was over. Ajax was down. Rusty prodded the body with the tip of the shotgun. He heard heavy feet down the stairs. The Chief at the door, holding a flashlight, late for the dance.

She dropped the shotgun and ran to him. Her face pale but determined. “The fucker’s dead,” she told him and then, “I hope you weren’t taking a break. I hope that’s not why you’re letting me do all the work.”

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “But I’m stuck.”

“So, I’ll unstick you.” She grabbed one arm, put her foot against the rock, and pulled. He pushed with his feet and moved a little. The Chief grabbed his other arm and tugged. He yelled from the pain, almost passing out before they pulled him loose.

The Chief stood back and held his light on them. “You two all right?”

He tried to stand but fell. He sat there rubbing his thigh, trying to get the feeling back. It didn’t feel broken. “Thanks for coming,” he told her.

“My pleasure.” She sat beside him, kissed his lips. “You were coming for me.”

The Chief shook his head as if disgusted with them. He looked at Ajax’s body. “You really did it now.” He looked at the hanging man and shook his head.

He tried to stand. At first she held him there, “Don’t move,” and then she helped him up. He steadied himself, felt for his pistol, pulled it out. He thumbed back the hammer. The pistol felt heavier than it ever had.

The Chief raised his hand, tried to stop him with a feeble, “He’s dead.”

He let her go. By himself he limped to the body and fired the first silver bullet into what had once been Ajax’s head. He fired the other five rounds into the chest.

“Goddamn it, he’s dead!” the Chief yelled, then sullenly, “He’s dead. How many times do you have to kill somebody. Jesus Christ. This is going to be one holy fuck-up.”

“He’s dead now,” she said.

“It’s not over,” Reese said.

“Oh, it is over,” the Chief said. “It’s definitely over, hotshot. You are both under arrest. I’ve still got the governor upstairs. I can’t have you two running around shooting at whatever moves.”

“Arrest?” Reese asked and looked at Rusty. “Did you hear that? We are under arrest.” He looked back at the Chief. “So, you showed up. I figured you would. You’re still a cop.”

“Yes,” she said. “Arresting us would not be the good move. The Chief is mixed up. He’s got it all wrong. He won’t be mixed up when we tell everyone how close he was to Ajax. Like how he covered up for him for years?” she said, all sweetness. “Like how they were bosom buddies?”

“Do they still use that expression?” he asked her. “Bosom buddies?”

“In this case, I think it’s accurate.”

“Yes,” he said. “And the money. I’ll bet the Chief has plenty of it. A little auditing can do wonders in a case like this. Follow the money and you generally find the facts.”

The Chief stared at them. “That’s enough out of you two.”

She held out her hands. “I’ll go peacefully,” she said. “Hook me up.”

The Chief ignored her. He looked from Hernandez to Ajax’s body. “I’ll have enough explaining to do without you two in the way.”

“Can we leave then?” she asked.

“We can’t leave, yet,” Reese said. “I have to find the rest of the poison.”

“Yeah, right,” the Chief said absently, “the poison.” He bent over and picked up his expensive night goggles. They were broken and hung limply from his hand. “Goddamn it, anyway,” he said and threw the goggles to the floor in disgust. “Stay away from the party until I evacuate the guests. Leave the governor out of this mess. Then I have to figure out how to keep you two out of jail.”

Rusty helped him to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m looking for a box addressed to Unicorn Medical,” he told her. “It’s filled with vials. Should have some markings about containing human blood.”

“Unicorn Medical? I saw the box. Upstairs, I think. Full of vials? Had ‘medical supplies’ marked on it. But, other than that, just another cardboard box. Ted was carrying it.”

“Where is he?”

“Dead.”

“Show me.”

He noticed how pale she was. Her eyes were shot. “I don’t have any blood left,” she said casually, as if complaining about a headache.

He yelled to the Chief, “Call an ambulance.”

The Chief said, bored with them now, “They’re coming.”

“Where?” he asked her.