Fantasmagoria (11 page)

“Is she okay?” Gilbert called.

“She’s with the tinker. She’ll be fine. Hopefully. After a lengthy decontamination.”

Gilbert pulled up his pants. “I’m going to be killed, aren’t I?” He sniffed.

“For this?” Marcelline turned to look at the smoking brothel. “It’s possible. He’s certainly killed people for less.”

“Not just this.” Gilbert lifted the hood over his head. It reeked of smoke.

Marcelline walked closer. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t kill Pugs.”

“Why not?”

“How the hell am I supposed to get close to him?” Gilbert threw his arms up.

“How did you kill the Futurian ambassador?”

“What do you mean?” Gilbert wasn’t sure how to answer that. He didn’t remember that file. “The same way as everyone else.”

“No, how did you get close to him?”

Gilbert hoped Marcelline didn’t remember the details either. But then, if she caught him in a lie, he could always claim he had simply been mixed up. “Not him. Her. She was speaking at a conference. Those things last awhile, and even ambassadors need to go to the bathroom.”

“You hid?”

Gilbert nodded. “I dressed as a janitor. I kind of look like one in the suit anyway.”

“So, do that.”

“I’m pretty sure Pugs has his own bathroom.” He did. Gilbert had seen it. “I need something I can give him, something he really, really wants. That way I can get clos--”

“No.” Marcelline shook her head.

“You’re the one who gave me this job.”

“You’ll have to find another way.”

“There isn’t another way.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Fine.” Gilbert shrugged. “Then take me out,” he mumbled through the hood.

Marcelline squinted with her good eye.

Gilbert knelt. “I’m serious. You have a gun on you, in your purse or something, right? I’m sick of this.”

“Of what?”

“Of feeling like I’m going to be killed at any moment.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.”

“You drug me, kidnap me, order me to kill someone, but then you won’t share any risk. Put yourself in my shoes. What would you think?”

“All right.” Marcelline rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ll talk to our employer.”

“You mean Erasmus Pimpernel. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I’ll be back soon.” Marcelline started for her car.

“It has to be something good, something you’re sure Pugs wants.”

“I know how these things work, Mr. Tubers.”

“And I want some of my stuff back.” Gilbert threw the words at her like putty as she walked away.

Marcelline turned in the alley. “Don’t get greedy.”

“You need me.”

“Mr. Pimpernel has a number of killers in his employ, men who haven’t set his most profitable brothel on fire.”

“Yeah, but the one who counts is out of commission, isn’t he?”

Marcelline didn’t respond.

“And Pugs knows all your other tricks. That’s why you bought me from the Hand.” Gilbert nodded and pointed at the gangstress. “I see what’s going on. You guys are trying to take over all of the Butcher’s rackets. You need to act fast before Pugs consolidates everything.”

Marcelline took a step toward Gilbert. “None of that entitles you to a damned thing.”

“I want some of my stuff.” Gilbert stood straight. “I don’t care what. I want a sign that he intends to hold up his end of the bargain. That, and something I can use to get close to Pugs, and then it’s a deal.” It would have to work. Gilbert was out of ideas.

Marcelline folded her arms. Then she turned and walked toward the street. “I hope you realize what a dangerous game you’re playing.”

(TWELVE) The Canyons of the Afternoon

“Jackals?”

“That’s what I said. A whole den of ’em.”

“You saw them?”

“I saw the bodies. They had them all laid out covered in sheets, but the cops kept coming over and lifting the sheets off to have a look.”

“Why were you there?”

“The place was a mess. Bones and corpses and shit piled up everywhere, like old ones from the cemetery. Some of them had rags and clothing and crap still attached like they were hundreds of years old.”

“Yeah, they’re scavengers. They raid the graves for food.”

“I know what Jackals do.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you were there.”

“’Cuz you won’t let me finish, dickhead. They wanted a sanitation crew to wipe the whole place clean once the crime scene guys were done.”

“City Hall is trying to hide it from the Empire.”

“Jeez. And you call me a cynic about your girlfriend. They said it was to prevent diseases or something.”

“What did they look like?”

“It was all detectives and officers. Nobody we know.”

“Not the cops. The Jackals.”

“Oh. I couldn’t really tell.”

“I thought you said you got a good look.”

“I did. But they were all skinned.”

“Skinned? You’re joking.”

“I am not, man. My mouth to Goyen’s ears. Twenty or so skinned Jackals with their pets. But that’s not the worst of it. Inside the den, like underground, there were these ropes hanging over this pit that was filled with blood.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And there were bloody footprints coming out.”

“Man, don’t start with all that Fury business again.”

“Who else would bathe in blood? They love that shit. It calms them down.”

“I’m sick of hearing about the Fury. Everybody is blaming every bad thing that happens in the city on her.”

“Yeah, well, who could kill and skin an entire pack of Jackals?”

“All I’m saying, plenty of bad stuff happened before anyone saw a Fury.”

“True. But nobody wants to go out. I tried—hey, where were you, by the way?”

“I left early. We wanted to beat the traffic to Doubler’s Cross.”

“Why were you at Doubler’s Cross?”

“It’s a cool place.”

“You went all the way uptown to go shopping? Why not just go to the Old Arcade?”

“It’s dirty.”

“It’s cheap.”

“Exactly. It’s cheap.”

“And you were looking for something nice. I get it.”

“The point is, everyone’s taking this Fury business way too seriously.”

“The point is, you were shopping for jewelry for your ’noid girlfriend.”

“We weren’t shopping for jewelry.”

“Have you fucked her? Without paying for it, I mean.”

“We all pay for it.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“It’s not like we were looking at engagement rings or something.”

“You buy her jewelry, but she won’t fucking fuck you?”

“It wasn’t jewelry. And I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t answer either, so we all know what that means.”

“Who the hell is ‘we’?”

“This is what you do.”

“Don’t start with me today, all right? It still hurts.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t do more than kick your head in a few times.”

“I wouldn’t call getting a boot to the face lucky.”

“Look, you owe that much god-damned money, you’re lucky they didn’t do something permanent.”

“They did do something permanent. How hard is it for you to show a little sympathy?”

“Sympathy? For what?”

“I got run over!”

“They didn’t run you over. They held you down and grazed you with a motorcycle tire.”

“Fuck you. Same difference.”

“It’s not the same difference. If they ran you over, you’d be dead.”

“I have to shave my head for the rest of my life because the hair over here won’t ever grow back.”

“Is that why you were buying her jewelry? Afraid she’s gonna dump your ugly ass? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“You know, I did what you said. I talked to Dobie. He told me about defending myself.”

“Yeah? And what did he say?”

“He said I needed to stop hanging around you.”

“What the fuck? He did not.”

“Did so. He said you’re funny as shit but you’re a fucking dick, and you’d just keep making me feel bad about myself.”

“Me? I’m making you feel bad about yourself?”

“That’s what Dobie said.”

“You got your scalp ground off because you owe money to the scariest bastards in town and, instead of paying them off, you give the money to your whore girlfriend—the same girlfriend, by the way, who won’t even fuck you unless you pay for it, same as everyone else—and when I call you out on it, I’m the fucking asshole.”

“I’m just telling you what Dobie said.”

“Dobie’s a fighter.”

“So?”

“So, fighters are assholes.”

“Then why did you tell me to talk to him?”

“What does your girlfriend say about the Fury?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her today.”

“Is that so?”

“Shut up. She had to work. It’s free blowjob night or something like that. They expect a crowd.”

“I heard that. What the hell? Kinda defeats the purpose of being a hooker, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re trying to bring in new business. Whatever. She said she might not be around much the next couple days, and I should wait for her to call.”

“You don’t think anything happened to her, do you? You gave her a lot of money.”

“I’m sure Dobie has it safe.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He went with us. You know, for protection.”

“You’re such a moron.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“She’s fucking with Dobie now. She ditched you. She got you all mangled up and shit, and she’s gone. Hell, you even fuckin’ introduced her to her next victim.”

“She’s not with Dobie.”

“Of course she’s with Dobie.”

“She doesn’t even like Dobie.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s idea was it to bring him to Doubler’s Cross?”

“It was for protection. We had a lot of money.”

“What were you gonna buy?”

“Like luggage and clothes and stuff. For our trip.”

“You didn’t say you were going on a trip.”

“It was Yunique’s idea. Since I’m in trouble with Pugs she thought we could get away for awhile, just get out of the Empire and enjoy ourselves. I’m telling you, she’s not what you think. She’s real sweet.”

“So you bought two tickets and gave them to Dobie. For protection.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And instead of paying back LaMana--”

“It’s Pugs now.”

“Whatever. Instead of paying back the money you owe fucking gangsters, you bought two tickets out of the Empire, neither of which are currently in your possession, is that right?”

“Why do you always assume the worst in people?”

“And she says to bring fuckin’ Dobie the fighter for protection.”

“I’m really worried about you.”

“Fuck you.”

“She doesn’t like Dobie.”

“All women like Dobie. He’s six-foot-six and carved out of rock.”

“Yunique doesn’t.”

“You’re a fucking moron. What’s that?”

“I wrote her a poem. I’m gonna swing by the club tonight and give it to her.”

“Fuck. A poem. You’re gonna try to win her back from Dobie the rock-hard fighter with a poem.”

“She’s not wit--never mind. I’m leaving.”

“Read it to me.”

“No! I’m not gonna read it to you. You’re just gonna make fun. I’m going.”

“Sit down, asshole. Read me your poem.”

“No.”

“Read it. Please. I wanna hear it.”

“Really?”

“Really. Come on. Sit down. Put your stupid jacket down and read me the god-damned poem.”

“Okay. I spent a lot of time on it. I think she’ll really like it. I saw a book of poetry in her room when I was waiting for her to finish with a client.”

“Just read it already.”

“
I thought you were there.

In Parkus

In Adamour

In Old Amazonus

I thought I passed you in Doubler’s Cross,

But I turned and you were gone.

And there was the meat and the birds and plenty of empty fingers, but no you.