City of the Snakes (34 page)

“You know I borrowed the name, that there was a serial killer before me?”

“I heard stories but I never believed them.”

“Believe. Paucar Wami was real and is real again. The
villacs
used him to lead the Snakes. I stepped in on the understanding that I was to replace him, but he’s still hanging around. He’s to blame for this mess. I had nothing to do with it.”

“This is bullshit,” Wornton growls. “How can this other fucker give orders if you’re in charge?”

“
I’m
not in charge,” I sigh. “
Paucar Wami
is. The Snakes rally to the image of the assassin. I’ve assumed his image, so to that extent I control them, but since the real Wami looks just like me, he can obviously step in when I’m not around and issue conflicting orders.”

Wornton raises an eyebrow at Frank. “You buying any of this shit?”

Frank nods slowly. “Ford explained some of the situation to me before sending me over. I can’t say I understand it all, but he’s telling the truth about Wami.”

“So why isn’t the other guy here?” Wornton asks. “If he’s the real leader, why aren’t we talking to him instead of this pretender?”

“Paucar Wami doesn’t talk,” I answer softly. “He kills. To most intents and purposes, I control the Snakes. I’m the one who can get us out of this mess. Strike a deal with me and I’ll do all in my power to call off the renegades. But if you charge in, I’ll be helpless. You’ll give the
villacs
what they want—a war—and regardless of who wins, we’ll all suffer.”

Frank clears his throat. “What guarantee can you make? If we hold off, how do we know the priests won’t use the real Paucar Wami to send more Snakes to attack us?”

“I can’t make any guarantees,” I tell them honestly. “I’ll do all I can to curtail the Snakes but I could fail. If I do, the city goes to war and it will be horrendous. But if I’m not given a chance, we’re definitely screwed. It will be a war of the
villacs’
choosing and they’re the only ones who’ll profit in the end.”

Frank lets out a long, uneasy breath and shakes his head thoughtfully. Wornton eyes him, smirking, then studies his nails as if they’re of far more importance to him than this meeting.

“The longer we wait,” Frank says, “the stronger the Snakes will get. If we’re to attack, it should be now.”

“The Snakes shouldn’t have hit you until they’d established a stronghold in the east,” I counter. “The normal rules don’t apply here.”

“What do you think?” Frank growls at Wornton. “Or do you plan to sit there all night, paring your nails?”

Wornton puts his knife away. “I never trusted a
colored man
before, but this one’s different. He wants to keep the blacks in the east, which is what we want too. Our reasons are different, but as long as our aims are the same, that’s what matters. Eugene has final say, but I’ll advise him to leave things be, at least for a couple of days. If Jeery can prove he’s in control, fine. If not…”

“Frank?” I ask.

“I don’t want to wait,” he mutters, then sighs. “But if the Kluxers are willing to hold back, I’ll discuss it with Ford. I can’t make any promises, but I think he’ll grant you a stay of execution.”

I let my head fall back and smile at the sky through the holes in the
roof. I’ve done it! I’m not out of the woods—the Snakes have to be recalled, and I have to think of a way to stop others from obeying the orders of my father—but I have time to play with. I can go on from here and…

The self-congratulation dies prematurely as I spy a shadowy figure on the rafters. It’s too dark to be sure, but my gut tells me instantly who it is, and I guess what he’s here for.

“
No!”
I scream, leaping to my feet and whipping out my .45. Before I can target him, he drops and knocks the gun from my hand. He rolls away from me and rises smoothly. Turns and grins, his luminous green eyes sparkling with twisted delight. I dive after him as Frank and Wornton struggle to their feet. He waits for me to close and throws a lazy punch. I ignore the fist—not enough power to harm me—but then his fingers fly apart and dirt sprays from his hand, into my eyes.

While I’m momentarily blinded, the real Paucar Wami kicks me in the stomach and I crash backward. I’m up again a mere four or five seconds later, but that’s an eternity to a killer of my father’s caliber.

He takes Wornton first. The Kluxer has slipped out his knife and jabs at the assassin, keeping his cool, using his free hand to grab his chair by a leg, using it as a shield. Wami kicks the chair from Wornton’s hand, leaving himself open to attack on his left. Wornton seizes the bait and drives his knife at Wami’s heart. Wami shimmies, grabs Wornton’s forearm and rams an elbow into the Kluxer’s jaw, thrusting his head back, snapping his neck, dropping him to the floor, where he groans, alive but helpless.

Frank has drawn a gun, which he fires several times in quick succession, opting for volume over accuracy. Wami rolls across the floor, inches ahead of the bullets. Frank carries on shooting, getting closer each time. I wipe dirt from my eyes and start forward, scrabbling after my .45. Then Frank stops firing. I assume he’s out of ammunition, until his arm drops to his side and his pistol falls to the floor.

“Frank?” I pause, eyes flicking between my friend and my father, who’s come to a rest. “Frank, are you…?”

He turns slowly and the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest comes into view. “Al?” he says dully. “I think the fucker’s killed me.”

I stare at him, appalled. The fingers that were holding the gun rise and
clasp the knife. He starts to pull it out, grimaces, drops to his knees. “Killed me,” he whispers, then collapses—dead.

I stumble across the room, ease Frank’s fingers off the knife and press them to my chest, as though I can extend my heartbeat to his and bring him back to life. “Sorry, Frank,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean for it to end like this.”

I’m dimly aware of Wami working on Hyde Wornton, finishing him off. Out of the corner of my eye I see him rip out the Kluxer’s tongue with his bare fingers. Wearily I turn away.

I don’t think about revenge. It’d be pointless. Even on the off chance that I got the better of my father, what good would it achieve? Weld and Wornton are dead. Any hopes of a peaceful outcome have been shattered. This means war, bitter and bloody, and neither Tasso nor Eugene Davern will stop until all the Snakes—me included—are dead.

Wami concludes his business with Wornton and stands, wiping his hands clean. “I would have liked to work on him longer,” he says, “but time is of the essence.”

“You bastard,” I hiss, not looking at him. “Frank was my friend.”

“That is why I killed him quickly. I am always thinking of you, Al m’boy.”

I close Frank’s eyes, extract the knife and lay his hands over the hole in his chest, covering it discreetly. “You’ve pushed me too far this time. What makes you think I won’t fight to the death?”

“Actually, I think you might,” he answers. “Part of me thrills at the prospect. It has been many years since I tested myself against a worthy opponent. But the priests would surely destroy me if I won, and I am not ready for my final demise. So many countries to visit, so many people to kill. I hope you have enough sense not to force the issue, but if you attack, I will meet your challenge fairly.”

“Tell me why you did it.” My fingers are tight on the handle of the knife.

“The
villacs
told me to. The final part of our bargain. I am free now, to leave and torment the good people of the world as I please.”

“But why? What’s in this for them? They want to control the city. How can they if chaos is raging and their Snakes are annihilated?”

“The Snakes will not be harmed,” Wami chuckles. “You are clever, Al m’boy, but not clued in. The priests wish to run the whole of the city, not just the east. They must create an army greater than the Troops and the Kluxers. That could not happen if the Snakes remained in the east—it would merely lead to a three-way standoff. Now that their lieutenants have been slaughtered, Tasso and Davern will send in their forces for revenge, but the Snakes will disappear. The priests will lead them underground, leaving only the common folk for the invaders to attack.”

“They’ll take it out on them,” I mutter, seeing it now. “They’ll kill hundreds of gang members and any others who get in their way. But that won’t be enough, so they’ll wage war on each other.”

Wami nods smugly. “The titans will meet on the field of battle and fight to the death. The Troops will probably win, but their losses will be great. As they try to recover—”

“—The Snakes will reemerge,” I cut in. “Recruit new members from among the embittered survivors of the east. Maybe forge alliances with allies of Davern, men prepared to go to any lengths to get even with the Troops.”

Wami smiles. “You take a while to catch on but move quickly once you do.”

“Those whoresons,” I growl, thinking of the
villacs.
“They don’t care about all the people who’ll die.”

“Of course not,” Wami laughs. “Nor should you. Life is a game, and humans are the pieces on the board. That has always been your failing—you were never able to separate yourself from the common cattle. It holds you back, Al m’boy.”

Wami claps loudly, startling me. “I would love to stay and shoot the breeze, but the world calls. I do not know what the priests plan for you, but I imagine they are not finished. You might want to consider hitting the road with your dear ol’ pappy. In the unlikely event that the
villacs
do not ruin you, there will be many eager to string you up.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“As you wish.”

My father crouches, leaps, grabs hold of a low-hanging rafter and pulls himself up. “Wait!” I call before he vanishes forever into the night. There’s
an itching at the back of my skull. I don’t know what it means, but I’ve got a feeling this isn’t as done-and-dusted as Wami believes. “Why are you in such a rush to leave?”

“The priests do not want me hanging around. They were clear on that point.”

“All the more reason to stay.”

“I do not want to anger them,” he mutters.

“But what if you could hurt them as they’ve hurt you?”

There’s a long pause. “You think you can turn the tables on the
villacs
?” he asks eagerly. He’s played along with them because he had to, but I know he hates the blind priests and would love to find a way to thwart them.

“I don’t have a plan yet, but I’ll work on one. Stick around a few days and I’ll cut you in on the action.”

“And if I do not want cutting in?”

I shrug. “If you don’t like the look of things, you can leave.”

Wami’s silent a few seconds. Then he reaches for the roof. My heart sinks, but lifts a moment later when he looks down again. “I will stay for three days. If you search for me, I will be found. But do not waste my time.”

With that he slips away, leaving me with the two corpses, on the brink of a total disaster, but with the slightest glimmer of hope at the back of my mind. Pushing regrets for Frank and fears for the future from my thoughts, I retreat to one of the small holding cells, immerse myself in darkness, and cast around desperately for a way out of this mess before the walls collapse and the vengeful hordes crash in around me.

M
y thoughts keep wandering back to Frank. I’ve spent the last decade living with death. I know all its moves and moods. But with a friend it’s different. I want to keep Frank’s corpse company, arrange for a safe escort to his family so he can be properly mourned. But this is a pivotal moment. I can surrender to self-pity and waste time on the dead, or focus on the living and maybe prevent the waves of bloody destruction from breaking over this city.

With an effort I fade Frank out and concentrate on the task at hand. I don’t see what I can do to counter the carefully laid plans of the blind priests—it’s insanely egotistical of me to presume I can outwit them—but a rage burns in my chest, filling me with self-belief. I agreed to assist them. For the sake of my friends and neighbors, I pledged myself to the
villacs’
warped cause. As my reward, they set about wrecking that which we were meant to save.

Thinking ahead, I can imagine the conversation they have planned for me when the Troops and Kluxers invade. “This is bad, but it will be worse if we don’t intervene. We misled you, Flesh of Dreams, but you must stay true to us or chaos will rule completely.”

And the bastards will be right. If it gets that far, they’ll be the only ones who can quell the riots. If I don’t play along, they’ll hold the Snakes in reserve and let Tasso’s and Davern’s men do as they please. I shouldn’t
have agreed to lead the Troops. That proved that I truly cared for these people. Now that the
villacs
have exposed my weakness, they’ll exploit it, do as they like and expect me to dance to their tune.

Maybe
that’s
what I can use against them.

My eyes grow cold in the gloom of the cell. Sending Wami to kill Frank and Wornton while they were in discussion with me was an act of contempt, an open admission that the priests believe they can use me any way they wish. Even if that’s true, they shouldn’t have let me know. The
villacs
are masters at masking their thoughts and feelings. This time they miscalculated and showed their hand. Maybe that one slip is enough.