City of the Snakes (35 page)

I find myself focusing on the brace of corpses. On some level I think that I can use them, but I’m not sure how. When Wami dropped from the rafters and killed Frank and Wornton, I thought that was the end. Tasso’s and Davern’s right-hand men were slaughtered on my turf, in my company, while under my protection. Their bosses would have no choice but to come gunning for me and all who stood in the way. Invasion still seems inescapable. Except…

I scowl impatiently, then smile as the tumblers click into place. It was
my
turf.
I
invited them to the meeting. As their supposed protector,
I’m
the prime target.

That’s the flaw in the priests’ plan. By setting me up as leader of the Snakes, they’ve made me look more powerful than I am. As far as everyone else is concerned, the Snakes are mine and I’m using them to seize control. What if I could convince Tasso and Davern that there was no profit in this for me, if I could show them that I’m as vulnerable as they are?

The Troops and Kluxers fear and distrust me because they believe I’m in this for gain. Convincing them that I’m not couldn’t be easier. All I have to do is prove how little power means to me by revealing my true limitations. A sacrifice should suffice. I’ll offer them the head they most thirst for—
mine
.

The Snakes outside the police station are startled when I emerge lugging the corpse of Hyde Wornton, but say nothing as I dump him on the front steps and go looking for my motorcycle, a newly acquired model, same design as my original. When I return and strap Wornton to the back of the
bike, the stand-in Cobra (Sard’s still trying to find the renegade Snakes) clears his throat. “Sapa Inca? Are you going somewhere?”

“Taking my sweetheart for a ride,” I grunt.

“Maybe some of us should accompany you. I can—”

“I go alone.”

“But I’m not supposed to—”

“Soldier,” I say softly, “I am giving you an order. Do you acknowledge a higher authority than mine?”

“Well, no, sir, but—”

“That is all there is to say.” I finish with Wornton, tug on him a few times to make sure he’s tied securely, then nod toward the station. “Remain on guard and allow no one in. Not even Sard if he returns.
Absolutely
not the priests. With luck, I will return in a few hours to make another pickup.”

“I don’t understand, Sapa Inca,” the Snake mutters.

“You are not here to understand. You are here to obey. Yes?”

He snaps to attention. “Yes, sir!”

I head west, taking the quieter streets. Bypassing the barricades isn’t a problem but the armed forces beyond pose more of a threat. Several times I’m sighted and ordered to pull over. Each time I accelerate and take unexpected corners, losing my pursuers, before tracking back on course.

With the diversions, it’s an hour before I pull up outside the Kool Kats Klub. Dawn hasn’t broken, but the restaurant’s swarming with anxious-looking Kluxers. I spot a platoon of Davern’s soldiers unloading rifles from the back of a truck. Unleashing the body of their champion, I hold him lengthwise in my arms, like a groom carrying his bride, and stride up to the entrance of the KKK. Remarkably, nobody notices me until I’m almost at the door. Then a Kluxer spots my dark features and the body I’m cradling, and roars disbelievingly, “What the fuck!”

All eyes snap on me. Guns rise automatically and fingers tighten on triggers. Only one thing gives them pause—they’re not sure that Wornton is dead, and don’t want to risk wounding him if he isn’t.

“I’m here to speak with Davern,” I shout, nudging Wornton’s face closer to my chest, hiding his blank expression from his supporters. “Tell him Paucar Wami requests the pleasure of his company.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” the soldier says, but bolts inside the
building, yelling for Davern. The Kluxers around me snarl and spit, muttering murder.

Eugene Davern emerges, looking fragile and stretched. I bet this was never how he planned it when he plotted his takeover. Davern surged up the ranks too quickly and landed far out of his depth. I’m also willing to bet he didn’t surge alone. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking during the ride over, and this all plays too neatly into the
villacs’
hands to be coincidence. I’m sure the priests have been using the leader of the Kluxers, just as they’ve used me, to undermine the power of the Troops and open the city to a force of their choosing. If it weren’t for the innocents Davern would take with him, I’d be tempted to leave him to the mess of his greedy making and let him lead his men to defeat against the Troops.

Davern walks straight up to me, ignoring the warnings of his guards, and stares at the pale face of his second-in-command, noting the red marks around his lips where my father ripped his tongue out. “Is he dead?” he asks dully.

“Yes.” I drop the body with calculated disregard. It hits hard and rolls onto its back. There’s an angry, collective gasp from the crowd but I ignore it, focusing on Davern, the only one I have to worry about.

“What happened?” Davern asks quietly.

“Does it matter? He came in answer to my invitation. I guaranteed his safety. I was sure I could control the situation. As you can see”—I nudge the corpse with a foot, provoking a flurry of angry shouts—“I was wrong. He was killed under my protection. I accept full responsibility. You don’t need to send your men east to exact revenge. You have the culprit here.”

Davern shoots a glance at me, then his gaze returns to the face of his friend. “I don’t understand. Why have you come?”

“To afford you satisfaction. Wornton’s murder can’t go unpunished—so punish me. You don’t need to target anyone else.”

“But…” Davern scratches his head, bewildered. “Why kill him and then offer yourself? That doesn’t make sense.”

Exactly the reaction I hoped for.

“You sent Wornton to talk peace. Ford Tasso sent Frank Weld. He’s dead too. They were butchered while negotiating a deal with me.”

“Weld’s dead?”

“Yes. I’m sure Tasso’s gathering his forces even as we speak, just like you are, readying them for war.” I step over Wornton’s body and get as close to Davern as I dare. “I want peace, just like you and Tasso.” I pause to let that sink in, then hit him with the stinger. “But it’s not what the men who control the Snakes want.”

Davern’s eyes narrow. “I thought
you
…”

I shake my head, then gamble. “No more than
you
control the Kluxers.”

He stiffens. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“People assume you came to power because you’re a smart operator making the most of the breaks, but I don’t think you’re flying solo. You had secret backing, didn’t you?” His lips pinch together, confirming what I suspected. “Did you know it was the priests or did they hide behind others?”

“They hid,” he sighs. “I guessed it was them but I never knew for sure. I’m still not certain.”

“You are now,” I smile. “The priests used you, just as they used me. But you’ve served your purpose, so they’re finished with you. They want to take you out. Thus a war in the east with the Troops.”

“With the Snakes,” he corrects me.

I shake my head. “You won’t find any Snakes when you invade. They’ll have slithered away. You’ll only encounter Tasso’s Troops. They’ll be looking for the Snakes too, but who do you think they’ll lay into when they can’t find any?”

Davern doesn’t answer but I know his brain is turning and I anticipate his next question before he asks it.

“Are the priests finished with
me?
” I shrug. “No, but I’m done with them. I’ve had enough of being their stooge. One way or another, I’m ending it. Death can be my escape if you choose to kill me. Or we can make an alliance and fuck them up that way.” I lean in close and whisper. “We can beat the
villacs
at their own game. Trust me, plot with me, and we can profit from this.”

Davern stares at me emotionlessly. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Then he steps aside and nods at a couple of his men. “Take Hyde in, clean him up, then call his mother and ask her to come over. Don’t tell her he’s
dead—I’ll break that news myself.” He starts back into the restaurant. Pauses and looks over his shoulder at me. “Well? You coming or not?”

Grinning sickly, I tip an imaginary hat to the stunned Kluxers, then follow their leader into the sacrosanct halls of the Kool Kats Klub.

We talk fast and truthfully, laying our cards clean on the table. I learn things about Eugene Davern and his rise to the top that nobody else knows, and in return I tell him about my past and why the
villacs
are so interested in me. I don’t have time to explain it all—wouldn’t, even if I had, as I don’t want him thinking I’m crazy—but I cover the basics and outline my plan. It’s not a great plan but it’s better than any he can think of. He’s not convinced it will work, and dislikes the idea of my proposed partnership, but by the end of our talk he agrees to follow my lead “to the bitter end.” We shake hands on the deal—for whatever the gesture’s worth—then Davern goes to explain to his people why they have to trust a black assassin who brought the dead body of Hyde Wornton to the Kool Kats Klub on his motorcycle.

While Davern does all in his power to win over his supporters—if he fails, it’s curtains for everyone—I hightail it across the city to collect the body of Frank Weld. Sard hasn’t returned and the Snakes are on guard outside the station, alert as ever. Once I have Frank strapped to the back of my bike, I tell them to get some rest. They depart, yawning and stretching. I watch them go, hoping they make it through the next few turbulent days—hoping we all make it—then set out for Party Central and my second do-or-die meeting of the infant day.

There’s an angry skirmish on the border of the east at Stroud Square, between the Snakes and the police. A bank on the west side was broken into and the culprits made a run east. The police tried to follow but the Snakes had other ideas. A fight ensued and is quickly gathering pace. Another time, I’d stop and sort it out, but the confusion aids my purpose and I slip by the battling crowds unnoticed.

After an uneventful journey I park outside the main doors of Party Central—which hang in scraps in the wake of the bomb attack—unstrap Frank and walk in past the wary Troops on duty. Marching straight through reception, I lay Frank on top of a counter—the receptionists
behind it scatter, shrieking—and wait for a braver soul to come see what I want. Finally a seasoned secretary edges toward me. “May I help you… sir?” she asks.

“Tell Mr. Tasso that Paucar Wami and Frank Weld are here to see him.”

“Is he expecting you?” she asks, studying my tattooed face, shaved scalp and green eyes.

“No, but he’ll see me.”

She hesitates, then picks up a phone and dials. I hear her murmur, “He says he’s Paucar Wami,” and “I think he’s
dead.
” Then she nods and hangs up. “You can go up now, and you’re to take Mr. Weld with you.”

I lug Frank’s body to the elevator—Jerry Falstaff’s buddy, Mike Kones, is on duty again, but he doesn’t recognize me—and rise in silence to the fifteenth floor. I make the long walk to Tasso’s office, past dozens of ogling Troops, secretaries and execs, all anxious to see if the quickly spreading rumors are true.

Mags is waiting for me at the door to the office. She steps forward to check on Frank, takes his pulse, rolls up his eyelids, then sighs. “He was a good man.”

“Yes. He was.”

“You knew him?” Like Mike Kones, she doesn’t take me for Al Jeery.

“He was my friend.”

She stares at me, then returns to her desk. “Mr. Tasso will see you now. Be advised, the room is under armed surveillance and you
will
be targeted without warning if you make any threatening moves.”

Letting out a deep breath, I clear my head, turn the handle, push the door open with Frank’s legs and enter.

Tasso’s waiting for me in his chair, massaging his dead right arm, face even stonier than normal. He says nothing as I clear a space on the long desk and lay Frank on it. When I step away, he shuffles over to examine his dead colleague. After a few seconds he mutters, “I always thought he’d outlive me. He had the luck of the devil.” He returns to his chair and trains his Cyclopean gaze on me. “This means war, Algiers.”

“I know.”

“Who killed him?”

“My father. He killed Hyde Wornton too.”

“So it’s not all bad news.” He chuckles drily. “Much as I like you, I can’t let this slide. We have to hit now. There’s no other way.”

“Again, I know.”

“So why’d you come? To beg forgiveness? Plead for your life?” I don’t answer. He’s not expecting me to. “I can’t let you walk away. People believe you’re head of the Snakes. I know that’s bullshit but I’ve got to play to the public on this one.”

“You’ve never played to the public,” I demur, “and unless it suits your purpose, you won’t play to them now. You’ll kill me because it’s what
you
want, not because it’s what others expect.”

His lips spread in a granite-cold smile. “We know one another too well. Next to impossible for either of us to surprise the other.” He frowns. “But you surprised me by turning up today. What gives, Algiers?”

“I can return Capac Raimi to you.”

His frown deepens. “That won’t save you. It’s too late for—”