The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (55 page)

“We must distribute things of value in such
an equitable fashion so people can be as equal in life as they
become in death.” The minister’s face made quiet crackling sounds
as he spoke. “So that it does not matter whether you live on Zero
or occupy a penthouse on Level Seven. All citizens have equal
value.” The minister got up and took two hesitant steps across the
deep pile carpet. “Power is equated with wealth and people are
deluded into believing that equation. It is our mission. It is
God’s mission to clear away that illusion. The only power is God’s.
You have it in
you
.” He clawed at his chest. “It is in
me.”

“Reverend Stoneworthy, you are an idealist,
and I am as always impressed. Idealism is fool’s gold polished by
the poor—and the overly educated.” The Prime almost snickered.
“Truth is wealth. It is no illusion—and once truth is realized,
idealism falls to the wayside.”

“Truth is love.” The minister’s eyes gleamed.
“Wealth is corruption”

“But how can you say that Reverend
Stoneworthy when occupying Sunsight offices that were constructed
by your church, using wealth collected through donations from the
poor. Or is
some
wealth good?”

“It is not wealth that builds a church.”
Stoneworthy’s face was blank. “Or a monument to faith. It is a gift
of faith. It is a need to belong. It is belief.” The minister had
crossed the floor, and now stood directly opposite the Prime’s
desk. “But, you are right. I feel in hindsight that the Tower was a
mistake. The funds could have been better used. And I believe we
are all close to punishment for our errors.”

Dead man, you have no idea
! The Prime
drifted a moment, caught on a wave of pleasurable power. He had
agreed to the deal with Balg. The Demon’s legions were preparing
for the coming conflict. The Prime’s second organ flexed snakelike
between his legs at the prospect. But he turned back to
Stoneworthy; caution was necessary when an opponent surrendered a
point. Something else was coming. He sat quietly before the dead
man bleeding away the impact of his statement by ignoring it.

“As judgment draws near, “ Stoneworthy said,
pushing the point. His voice had an unpleasant, reedy quality that
would bother the Prime if he had more than one conversation to
endure. “We should not compound our errors. The wealth I speak of
is the richness of the human spirit. The separation between the
living and the dead has come back to haunt us, now the division
between the rich and the poor returns to exact justice.” His eyes
held the Prime’s unblinking. “Have you read the Bible, sir?”

“Uh, yes, Reverend, I have a passing
knowledge. I could hardly occupy offices in Archangel Tower without
giving it a glance.” The Prime knew the Bible very well, in fact.
But he knew that feigned ignorance caused others to show their
own.

“Wickedness proceeds from the wicked,”
Stoneworthy pronounced. “Greed today will be answered by greed in
the future.” He looked up, sadness in his eyes. “And Prime, I feel
our future is ending.”

The Prime was way ahead of Stoneworthy on
that one. He could quote from memory coordinates that he had
ordered fed into nuclear missiles—coordinates that would explode
those devices a quarter mile above their heads—collapse the City’s
Levels like some gargantuan house of cards. He knew all about
Judgment Day; he was a major player in it now. Not like this grimy
little foot soldier—this tattered marionette. “Reverend, are you
familiar with the International Credit Company?”

The minister nodded. Revulsion pinched his
eyes and nose.

“The International Credit Company owns
Westprime, and I own the corporation.” The Prime could feel passion
growing rigid in him like sex. “The City of Light,
your
city
leases property and services from my corporation. These are paid
for with various taxes—just like a government, except for one
important thing. This municipal land, like so much land in
Westprime, is
my
land.” A red wave swam over the Prime’s
vision. “Your zombies are trespassing. I have already dealt with
one group of traitors, and stand poised to do the same to those
that remain.” The Prime walked around his desk. The minister stood
there like a broken puppet. The leader of Westprime loomed over
him. He thrust his face close enough to the dead man to smell
preservatives. Creosote?

“Listen to me, you arrogant little corpse. I
thank you for the Tower. I will enjoy its many conveniences. But,
you have your nerve coming here and giving ultimatums still!” His
tone was suddenly volcanic—spit flew from him like magma. “Here’s
an ultimatum. Get those rotting piles of bones off my property or I
will burn them utterly with every destructive technology at my
disposal!” Primitive lust flickered along the Prime’s nerves. He
could tear the dead preacher limb from limb if he wanted. “Now this
offer expires in…oh, the hell with it. It’s already expired!” He
laughed grimly. “I’m sorry Reverend, that you were unable to comply
with
my
demands. But, I do thank you for supplying me with a
climate of dialogue from which I can launch a surprise attack!”

Stoneworthy’s eyes widened, his shoulders
sagged. He stepped back and almost lost his balance.

“You know.” The Prime couldn’t resist
pressing the issue. “I think the Bible errs in this. Rather than
speak in terms of good and evil—it should break the argument down
the middle between losers and winners. Let me tell you something.”
His teeth flared reflexively in a snarl. “I’m only interested in
things winners have to say.”

“May God have mercy on your soul,”
Stoneworthy said, defeated.

“And may
I
have mercy on
yours
.” He turned away, momentarily sickened by the dead
man’s resignation—then a thought: “Stoneworthy, since you’ll be my
guest until the end, I wonder if you could help? Someone’s trying
to sell me a nun and you might be able to identify her for me.”

78 – Dealmaker

Tiny was nervous enough to sweat cats and
dogs. At least that was the way Driver would have put it. He felt
naked after the grim-faced Central Authority Operatives took his
.38 snub nose.

The salesman was taken to the top floor of
Archangel Tower and shown into a luxurious boardroom. They barely
got the doors open when the whole building shook. The Prime’s men
looked at each other, told him to fix a drink, then left in a
hurry. Tiny sauntered up to the enormous lacquered bar. Stools
topped with shiny red leather marched along its face beneath an oak
valance that held every kind of glass.

Tiny stepped behind it and turned to mix
something. He needed a drink to break the tension so searched for
his favorite under the bar. He had never sold a nun before and the
deal had him on edge.

There was a large fireplace beside the
entrance. Four armchairs and a long couch—all cowhide, flanked its
flickering orange flames. A long table with many chairs stretched
away from the doors. A pink stone patio opened beyond.

“There you are!” Tiny found a gallon-sized
bottle of Grand Marnier. “Class all the way round.” The salesman
poured, took a sip. He set the glass down and lit a cigarette.

The whole deal was fluttering along on a wing
and a prayer. It was on the elevator he started questioning his
choices. If he hadn’t seen those Eyesore things he wouldn’t have
believed half the other shit that had happened. “Barter what you
have,” Lucifer had said. Bartering usually didn’t involve money,
but Tiny would see about that.

One phone call to the Central Authority
Offices in the Tower had told Tiny that the Prime was looking for
Sister Cawood.
The Prime would be happy to discuss your
claim
.

But why did the Prime want her? Generally,
men didn’t fuck nuns. Though rich men fucked whatever they
wanted.

Tiny had ruled out going to the Catholic
Church with her. Those bastards weren’t likely to deal. And what
did they have that he wanted?

“She’s worth something…Balg was going to
kidnap her,” he said to himself and wished he paid more attention
to the news. Felon said she was a Tower Builder—whatever that
was—important at least, but how do you put a price on her?

With Felon gone to Davy Jones’ Locker, the
nun became a fallback position for him and the boys. At the moment
she was in a safe location with Driver and Bloody playing bank
guards. Driver had been concerned about Tiny making the deal
without body armor, but the salesman insisted that just encouraged
gunplay. His job was to get prices flying, not bullets. The Prime
owned International Credit Co. and just about everything else.
Maybe that was why he wanted to own a nun. It was the only thing he
hadn’t sewn his name on.

But the deal could get sticky. Tiny knew he
was selling a product with uncertain value to a man he desperately
needed to be friends with. He couldn’t be inflexible, but he
couldn’t show a single sign of weakness. Tiny drank off the rest of
his drink, and had just finished refilling it when the Prime
entered.

He was a big buffalo of a man, as Driver
would say, with black hair in a bang cut gun barrel straight. His
cheeks were puffy and red, but looked heavier than soft. The Prime
wore a black suit, white shirt and pencil-thin tie. His dark eyes
roved the room, before fixing on Tiny behind the bar.

“Drink, Mr. Prime?” Tiny’s voice was a cool
and calm baritone. “I’m mixing!”

The Prime stared. The salesman’s heart rate
surged waiting for a response. He had to keep the proceedings
friendly. After all, the Prime had the right to
order
the
woman’s return. As the leader of Westprime he had ultimate
authority, and Tiny had nothing to back him up. He had the nun
stashed, that was it; but Tiny knew he’d give her up if he had
to.

Finally the Prime smiled—the lines around his
eyes were crimson. “Rusty Nail.” His voice was husky.

“I’ll get the hammer!” A mountain lifted off
the salesman’s shoulders. Tiny chuckled and grabbed the Drambuie
and Scotch, keeping one eye on the man. The Prime had a plain set
of features that were somehow arranged to disturb. It was probably
their unremarkable qualities set on the shoulders of a man with
ultimate power. That, and the way he jigged his weight from leg to
leg, nothing ridiculous, just a nervous background twitch that
hinted at the man’s inner state. He had his steam up.

“You
act
very familiar, but you’re
not
.” The Prime moved toward the bar, his dark eyes showed
green in the light.

“Friends call me Tiny.” The salesman poured
Drambuie over ice.

The Prime frowned, looked him over. “You’re
almost average height, why
Tiny
?” He slid his bulk onto a
barstool.

“Irony, Mr. Prime.” Tiny stirred the drink,
laid out a napkin, set the glass on it. “I’m taller when I’m lying
on my back.” He covered his apprehension with a laugh.

The Prime sipped his drink, fidgeted on the
barstool and watched him. A shadow of humor quivered at the corner
of his mouth.

“I noticed there were road blocks.” Tiny
tasted the Grand Marnier. “You expecting trouble?” Something
flashed in the Prime’s eye. “Or have you
got
it?”

The Prime looked at his drink. Something
flickered behind the man’s features; a hint of red soaked his
cheeks.

“This is a great little boardroom you’ve got
here. First class all the way.” Tiny pulled out his cigarettes and
offered one to the Prime, who declined. “I guess this is where you
do all of your…”

“Mr. Tiny,” the Prime said, cutting him off.
His expression held dangerous possibilities. “You have Sister
Cawood and want payment for her return. If you don’t like
blackmail, pick another line of work.”

“I admire plain talk, Mr. Prime.” Tiny
smiled, shrugged his shoulders and lit one of his cigarettes. He
rattled a small ceramic barrel full of toothpicks. “But I’m
shocked. If I were to discuss money at all it would only be in
regards to any out-of-pocket expenses incurred during our
expedition to retrieve Sister Cawood from her prior bondage.”

The Prime leveled his gaze. “How did you do
it? Or did
you
do it? What happened at Towerview Terrace?
What made the burn marks?” A gleam lit the Prime’s eyes. “Why’d you
take
her
?”

“Hold on there.” Tiny threw up his hands.
“You’re getting ahead of ourselves. What are you talking
about?”

“Murder. City Authority found a dead woman
there, and only recently, Reverend Able Stoneworthy returned—dead!
Last seen alive at Towerview Terrace in Cawood’s company.”

Murder?
Well shit
. Tiny recoiled from
the idea. He should have known someone died if Felon was
involved.

“I don’t know about murder.” Tiny leaned
against the bar. Cigarette smoke made a bitter shape in the air.
“But I believe the killer kidnapped Sister Cawood. Last I saw the
him a bunch of dead guys were dragging him into a sewer.”

“You said earlier that you were recovering
expenses incurred during ‘our’ expedition.” The Prime snorted.

“Partners.” Tiny smiled hesitantly,
proceeding with care. “Gentlemen looking to Sister Cawood’s needs
for the duration of our negotiations.”

“How much do you want?” The Prime’s face
gleamed with sweat.

“Whoa there, Mr. Prime.” Tiny shook his head,
smiling. “I’m not here to sell anything. I want you to have the
nun,
free of charge
!”

“Free?” The Prime frowned. “Why?”

“Well we went to considerable trouble to get
her. And I’m not about to try to sell you something that you can
take.” For impact, Tiny squinted his eyes. “But, I’ve always wanted
to meet one of the big players in the world. Those I’ve met are
ants compared to you.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “Mr. Prime,
you got the weight of the world on your shoulders, but I want you
to consider something.” The salesman set his palms flat on the bar
top. “We can help you out.”