Fletcher (16 page)

Not a peep. I was fairly certain he was straddling death in a pain-induced coma. I dragged my fingers up and down the wall.

“Call me xoxo”

And, in smaller writing:

“For heavens sake catch me before I kill more I cannot control myself ha ha ha ha just kidding.”

That ought to grab his attention.

I dialled the emergency number and left the phone off the hook.

***

“You’ve crossed a line.”

Back at the Helix, I reclined in my chair and rotated backwards and forwards in a half-circle. Vincent’s voice wasn’t enraged or furious. It might have been the call quality, but he came across as cold and bitter.

“Have I now?”

“You’ve lost it.”

“Have I, Vincent? Have I really? He was some low-level grunt. Wasn’t doing anything useful with his life.”

“He had a family.”

“A family my heart pumps lumpy heart-custard for. It’s like normal custard, but people die if you take it away from them. I’ve beaten someone to death with the femur of her own son, but
this
is how I cross the line? Fuck right on.”

I could tell he was really angry, because he wasn’t shouting. His voice carried a cool, chillingly murderous tone to it. It sent a joyful shudder through by body.

“Something is very wrong with you.”

“Hey. Watch it.”

“No, K. I will not ‘watch it’. You wanted me to call you. I am calling you. I can hang up any time I want.”

He didn’t seem to be in the mood for games. His comment sat ill with me and I found myself pouting.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“RailTech, Vincent. Eric Strauch.”

“If you’re planning on killing him, I’ll have no part of it.”

“Strange time to grow a conscience.”

I heard him sucking his teeth.

“This has nothing to do with right and wrong. I just…”

“Just what, Vincent?”

“I don’t see an end in sight. You’re an addict, K. Sure, there’s the alcohol and the designers, but your main vice is death. So, let’s say you kill Strauch. What next? The next RailTech top gun who takes his place? And once he’s dead?”

“This isn’t like that.”

“Bullshit it isn’t like that. You’re going to keep killing. I won’t enable you.”

My chest felt hot. My hand squeezed the phone tighter than it should have.

“So that’s that?”

“Almost. If you do go after Strauch, I’ll take you down myself.”

“Like you’re so fucking different. He killed Valerie–” But he had already dropped the line.

I spent a while throwing knives at a board. I had really been hoping for some help from Vincent. He could probably get me into Strauch’s apartment via some form of deception. His reluctance to “enable” me was an infuriating new obstacle.

I went downstairs and electrocuted Quisling until she choked on her own tongue.

#0299

“Trust him, you said. Nothing will go wrong, you said. He’s on your side, you said. You’re an idiot, K, plain and simple. You’re an idiot if you thought that the officer was going to go along with your plan.

“That’s what you get for being a moron. Seriously, how did you not see this coming? Idiot.

“Now you had to leave three witnesses up to their waists in concrete. When they first heard of their fate they seemed relieved, but they’re going to get really dizzy with all the blood rushing to their heads.”

19: Child’s Play

Strauch lived in the penthouse suite of one of the larger apartment blocks in the city. The security was good, and I figured it would be even better in light of my threats.

My first probing investigations led to nothing. I watched Eric’s movement through the days. He would come in to the office in the mornings and head home in the early afternoon. Late at night he would come back at just before midnight. The most logical reason for this was divided time zones. Strauch probably ran point on operations out of the country. He’d want to micromanage them from afar.

I wondered when he slept. He could probably snatch a few hours in the afternoon and a few more between the hours of 02h00 and 08h00. Catching him in the afternoon might be easier than at night, when he’d be expecting an assault.

I browsed the list of residents. Several bachelors lived below him: businessmen. A couple was registered underneath one of the larger flats.

Lots of rooms for only two.

I switched my attention to the Markham couple. A bit of digging, and I corrected myself: the Markham family. The child went to a local school. The father and mother both worked as accountants. Boring as sin, I’m sure. I met the kid after school. If Vincent wanted to paint me as a monster, I’d pose for the portrait.

“Hey, kiddo. Are you Johnny Markham?”

I got a curious glance. I reached out a hand. “Don’t be afraid. Your mommy sent me.”

His face perked up a bit. “She did?”

“Oh yes. She needs you to come get something to eat. She’ll be late to pick you up today.”

Typical stranger danger instinct pushed into the picture.

“Mommy never said anything about you. I’m not to leave with strangers.”

I ruffled his hair and pulled my shot in the dark out of my pocket.

“I’m not a stranger. Would a stranger know to get you your favourite treat ever?”

His eyes shone greedily. “Chocolate peanuts!”

“You betcha, kid. Chocolate peanuts.”

I’d found endless empty packets of them in the garbage dumpster outside the complex. I’d guessed that it was a kid thing. I held my hand out again.

“Let’s roll, kiddo. You like hotdogs?”

***

Thirty minutes later I approached his mother. She was standing by the side of the road, smoking and looking irritable. Some terrible vandal had slashed her tyres, exactly forty-seven minutes ago. I beamed at her, and she looked at me with disdain.

“No change. Not interested in whatever you’re pushing.”

“Ma’am, if I could have a moment of your time.”

“No. Go away.”

I stepped closer. She sized me up.

“All I’m asking is that you react to what I say next calmly and quietly.” I savoured the moment of silence, on the precipice of what I was about to deliver. I showed her a picture on my phone.

“Otherwise, your son is going to die in terrible agony.”

Her eyes widened. The cigarette dropped from her lips.

“I’m glad that got your attention so discreetly.”

She was trying to make word-things with her mouth-organ. I put a finger on her lips and kept talking.

“Shhh. I’m the one who does the talking. I’m also the one who does the skin peeling. Don’t take that away from me. Follow my instructions and I’ll only do the first.”

My smile remained, no longer forced but now sustained through tangible enjoyment. This prim-smug fuck was dying inside. It was beautiful.

“I need two things from you: your access card and your cell phone number. I need to get inside your building and settle a score. Once I’m done, I’ll tell you where your son is. If I hear the authorities in your building before I’m done, I erase this number and leave your son for the rats.”

She numbly gave me two cards: access and business. She looked like she was about to have a stroke. Her misery—controlled only by terror—was palpably arousing.

“Take a seat. I won’t be long. Oh, and for everyone’s sake, I hope that phone of yours is charged. Thanks for being on board with this.”

I winked and skipped off. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that the tears had started.

***

“And that’s why, if you ever want to see your child alive again, you’re going to follow those instructions to the letter.”

The father was only doing marginally better than his wife. I had cornered him in his lunchroom, around the water cooler.

“I’m aware that this may not be typical water-cooler talk, but if you don’t listen to me I’m going to send you your son’s face.” As icebreakers went, I think I did the trick. I showed him the picture before he could say anything. The words didn’t cross his lips.

He seemed to be struggling with my plan.

“So you want me to—”

              “Yes.”

              “But it’s my own—”

              “Aware of it.”

              “But—”

              “Oh no-no, Mister M. ‘But’ is not a word that we use in this discussion. You have your orders. Don’t disappoint Johnny, he really does love the use of his limbs.”

***

The pieces were in place. I selected an attic in the gutterage and stashed my belongings under the boards: a spare set of clothes, some ammunition and my Helix access tags. Then, I dressed myself in a jaunty turtleneck and styled my hair over my eyes before heading over to Strauch’s apartment complex.

Visitors got searched, but I wasn’t a visitor. I lived here, and I had the access card to prove it. I stopped the elevator at the Markhams’ floor and waited in the entrance. The doors started to ping indignantly, pushing gently against my back.

On my phone screen, I watched the lobby through a camera I’d placed in the flowerpot. Markham was almost late.

There was an explosion of glass as his car rammed through the front doors. Screams came from all directions. He got out of the car, wrapped head-to-toe in a dark balaclava, and held up a shotgun.

The weapon was empty. He knew this. The hotel staff did not. He shouted at them angrily and told the guards to drop their guns. They hadn’t been expecting an entrance like this, and slowly lowered them.

He advanced into the hall and backed into the second elevator. The doors closed, and the staff began to shout into walkie-talkies and phone handsets.

The sliding door was positively straining at my back now. I put a hand on the elevator wall and waited until the rumble of the second box passed me by, before drawing a heavy blade from my trouser leg and stepping back into the shaft.

Time to act.

Markham was headed—as per instructions—to the top floor. I had to arrive moments after him in order to take advantage of—

Gunshots were heard to my left as I came to a stop. Strauch’s posted protectors had just leadlined Markham all over the elevator walls. The doors opened and I stepped out into the confusion.

Three of them—of course—had waited outside the doors of the second shaft. Markham had been taken by surprise, most likely. I hadn’t told him about the extra security.

The noise had masked my arrival. Two of the team were still outside, looking in. The third was checking the body. I twirled the knife, holding it tightly in my right hand. In my left I held my favourite pistol.

I took two bounding steps and drove the knife through Nameless Redshirt #1. As expected—I’d tested on the armour Dante had sent—it drove under the armpit and punched through to his heart. He went down without a noise; not that the others hadn’t immediately noticed my presence.

I let go of the knife handle and tossed the pistol from my left hand to my right. Slamming the butt into the back of Nameless Redshirt #2, I pulled my arm around his throat and hoisted him to his feet. I planted one shot directly into the helmet of #3, sending him crashing back into the elevator, before exploiting the weakness at the neck to finish #2. #3 got to his feet, unsteadily, and fired a round in my direction. His aim was off, completely, and I shot him in the face again. He dropped, dazed. I kneeled next to him, gripped his helmet tightly, and twisted. The resistance died and he went limp.

And then there were… Twenty one? How many people does RailTech have?

I lifted Strauch’s apartment card from the captain and swiped in. So, maybe the event wasn’t as obscure as I’d planned. Maybe Strauch wouldn’t be sleeping. So what? He was going to die.

The apartment was immaculately maintained. Even the air felt clean. I cautiously stepped through the kitchen and living room until I found a locked door. All signs pointed towards the bedroom. I sighed and burst into sing-song.

“Yes, Eric. A lock is going to keep me from redecorating your wall with skull fragments. What is this, amateur hour?”

I fired around the lock, reloaded and kicked the door in. The bedroom spread out before me. I stepped inside.

Crunch.

Something made a noise underfoot. It wasn’t carpet. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes forward, and picked something up.

Small, golden-brown and brittle. Crouton?

I felt the dart hit my neck. Incredible pain flooded my system. The world was spinning. I started firing wildly. I don’t know if I hit anyone.

I staggered against the door. Suddenly I was on my back. Everything was rotating and flipping and I was falling towards the ceiling and getting sucked into the floor all at once.

Fuck.

The spinning persisted, but I managed to focus on a dark figure above me. The
psst
of the tranquiliser gun sounded and I felt a sharp pain in my chest. The universe-swirling intensified.

“I warned you, K. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Vincent.

I spiralled into the void.