KOP Killer (35 page)

Carew reached a hand into his shirt pocket, pulled out an empty snail shell. “I told him if anything happens to me, he should start slicing. Give me your gun.”

Shoot him anyway.
That was my first instinct. Who gave a shit about the Samusakas’ youngest? Punk was a junkie blackmailer. Screw him.

Carew put his index finger into the shell, made it dance like a finger puppet. “Give it or I tell him to do it.”

I had to pull the trigger. Kill him and plant my evidence. The Samusaka kid didn’t matter. Let him hack through his carotids. Why should I care?

Carew put the shell back in his pocket and held out his hand. “Gimme.”

My gaze turned back to Ang, knife held in his fist, blade pressed under his chin. Eyes dead as gravestones. “Ang. Put the knife down.”

He didn’t budge.

“Don’t bother,” said Carew. “Keep at him long enough, he might start obeying you. But I’ve been working him for a whole day now.”

Ang was so young. Barely out of school.

Stop thinking that way. He’s a junkie and a blackmailer.
He was disposable. I couldn’t afford to let myself think of him as a victim.

A victim trapped in this hell for a whole day. Victim of a fucked-up home. A domineering asshole of a father.

Just like my father.

And Niki’s father.

Like so much of the misery in this world, all of our collective pain and anguish could be traced back to that one simple cause: assholes having babies.

Carew held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”

“Ang!” I called. “Put the knife down.”

Carew stepped forward, put his hand over my gun’s barrel. “Let go.”

I didn’t want to. This was a time to be hard. Cold. Ruthless. This fucker had to burn. Wu’s little girls demanded it.

Yet there was Ang, his death sentence tied to my trigger finger.

A cockeyed grin broke on Carew’s face. “Ang, this is your brother. When you hear me reach three, start cutting.”

Sweat rolled down the back of my neck, pulse kicking into high gear.
Pull the trigger. Fucking do it.

“One.”

Can’t be helped, Ang. Collateral damage. That’s what you are.

“Two.”

Heartbeats flew by like fence posts at high speed.
You should’ve grown up faster, Ang. Should’ve made your life count for something when you had the chance.

“Th—”

“No!”

His voice stopped short, lips poised to finish the word.

“Fucking take it.” Disgusted, I let him twist my gun from clinging fingers. My hand stayed where it was, reluctant to break aim. I glared at the blank-faced Ang.
You better be worth it.

Carew took a step back and trained the lase-pistol on my head. “Move away from the door.”

I complied. Plan B was already formulating. Cops were coming. Soon. All I had to do was keep us alive for another ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. No fucking problem. Son of a bitch like him had to play with his prey before feeding.

“Don’t want you running away. Go over to the window. Get on your knees.”

I walked to the window, a row of wrought iron bars twisted by a strangle of viny roots. I stole a look out, praying for the sight of approaching flashlights. No luck.

I set my plastic bag on the floor and dropped to my knees next to a short stack of canned goods, Ang little more than a meter away. “Tell him to put the knife down.”

Keeping the gun trained on my head, Carew took a seat on a short stool by the door. “Ang, my darling brother, it’s time to cut your throat.”

Before I could react, Ang dragged the blade across his flesh, plowing a deep red furrow.

I jumped for him, reached too late, caught a warm spray on my hand. “What the fuck!”

Carew laughed, a childlike giggle etching into my eardrums. “You should see the look on your face.”

Helpless, I watched Ang fall forward, bumping one of the canoes partly off its shelf before he flopped to the left and hit the floor, a bent-back leg pinned underneath as his blood and life drained into the dirt.

Bile scorched my throat. I’d fucked up royally.
Never give up control. Never!

The sound of screeching lizards drew my eyes to the wall, a half dozen stripe-faced man-eaters reacting to the ruckus, strings running from a stake in the ground to tiny leather collars around their necks. To their right sat a small terrarium, slimy glass walls dotted with snails.

God, I was such a dumb fuck. I wiped my hand on my pant leg, white linen stained red. Just like my burning cheeks. I should’ve known better, dammit.

“You should’ve shot me,” he said.

“No fucking kidding.” Cops are coming, I told myself. This wasn’t over. They’d be here soon. They’d see the light in the window just like I did.

“Who are you?”

“Juno.” All I needed was time.

“You a cop?”

“Used to be.” Just keep him talking.

“Cops are liars.”

“Yes, they are.” Time.

“You were in Wu’s apartment when I brought back his head.”

“I was.” Every second my odds got better.

“You saw his wife and daughters.”

“I did.”
Tick, tick, tick.

“He killed them all himself, you know. You should’ve seen it.”

I opened my mouth to respond but his words drilled deep. Some suspicions didn’t need confirmation. The thought of those poor girls waking up in bed, their father standing over them, a lase-blade in his hand. The confusion. The betrayal. The terror.

I couldn’t stand to look at him, had to look away, my eyes landing on Ang’s lifeless body.

His gaze followed mine. “Now I regret killing him so soon.” He pulled a tube of glue from his pants pocket and gave it a good whiff. “I wasn’t done with him. Barely got started. But I couldn’t resist fucking with your head.”

I turned back to him; his grin was knotted and twisted like the gnarled roots hanging overhead. “He was your brother.”

Carew made like he wanted to spit. “He was spoiled. Undeserving.”

“Sounds like every rich kid I ever met. What did he ever do to you?”

“He wouldn’t respect me.
Me.
His own brother. I’m no street trash.” He rapped the gun against his chest. “I’m a Samusaka! He and his asshole brother lived in
my
rightful home. They ate for free. They fucked for free. They got everything they ever wanted, cars and clothes. Money. I deserved to live that life. I’m his son too.”

“Did they even know you were their brother?”

He brushed the question away with a wave of the gun. “Why are you here?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure how to play it. Decided I had nothing to lose by playing it straight. “I came here to kill you.”

“Ha!” He waved the gun at me. “How did that work out?”

“Not good.”

“Why do you want to kill me?”

“You’re a monster.”

He leveled the lase-pistol. “That’s not true. Take it back.”

I stared into the barrel, wanting to wilt, wanting to melt into the dirt. But I had to keep him talking. I fished for courage, summoned enough to look him in the eye. “You kill people for no reason.”

“Bullshit! They deserved it. Every one of them deserved to die.”

“Wu’s family didn’t deserve it.”

“Detective Wu was a liar. His wife deserved it for fucking him. His spawn was tainted.”

“Those girls were innocent.”

“Don’t give me that. I bet you didn’t even know them. What were their names?”

I didn’t know.

“You’re a fucking idiot. You live in a dream world like all the other fucking idiots, thinking children are magical little angels. My brothers weren’t angels. They stole my whole life. My father. My home. They took my mother and made her nanny them instead of me.” His tone turned caustic, corrosive. “I was her son, goddamnit. That was my food she cooked and fed to them. That was my play time they stole. Those were my smiles and hugs.”

I sharpened my tongue, the only weapon I had left. “That’s because she loved them more than she loved you.”

I thought I saw an eye twitch, the only sign that my blow might’ve landed.

He stood and walked to his dead brother; the exposed parts were already covered with flies and geckos. Nearby, the man-eaters strained at their collars, feet scratching at the dirt, desperate to go in for a feed. “Well, now she’ll have no choice who to love most. Same with my father.”

Carew moved the gun to his left hand, kept it and one eye on me while his right hand shifted into the steel trap that took my hand. “I’m the only one left.”

He opened the jaws wide and reached for his brother’s thigh.

I closed my eyes, heard the snap, heard the thump of meat landing in the dirt, the excited squeals of lizards.

Jesus. I rubbed my arm, told myself not to panic. The cops were coming, had to be getting close. When I opened my eyes, he was back on the stool, his hand returned to normal.

Buy time. Keep him talking. “You get that steel trap from Dr. Franklin?”

“I got
two
steel traps.” He gave me a wink. “I was getting ready to use my favorite on my dear brother, but now I’ll have to use it on you.”

A chill came over me, nerves coated in frost.

He startled me by jumping up from his seat. “I want to show you something.” He grabbed hold of a low-to-the-ground canoe and pulled it off its shelf to the floor. I heard the sound of clanking glass. “Look.”

I raised up on my knees to peer over the canoe’s rail. Glass jars gathered at the boat’s low point, flesh souvenirs preserved in formaldehyde. Hair stood up on my arms and the back of my neck.

“I’m going to add yours to my collection.”

I looked to the door. What the fuck was taking them so long?

“What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“Why don’t you come see?”

“Nice try. Throw it over here.”

I grabbed the plastic handles and tossed it in his direction. He snatched it up and poured the contents out onto the ground, the dirt acting like a sieve, water running into the earth while a few last ice cubes stayed on the surface along with what I’d taken from Mota’s corpse.

Carew’s face bunched in puzzlement. “What have you brought me?”

“What does it look like?”

He bent down and picked it up. He held it to the light, licked his lips. “I don’t understand.”

“Consider it a gift.”

His dark eyes didn’t know what to make of that, but he couldn’t resist. He carried it to the far corner, set it on a shelf, and grabbed an empty jar with his now free hand. He raised the jar to his mouth and blew out the dust before setting it on the ground and reaching for a glass jug. He removed the stopper and did a sloppy job of pouring with one hand, formaldehyde splashing and spraying, a rotten pickling smell wafting through the room.

He dropped my “gift” into the jar and sealed it. “We’re more alike than I thought.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

A crooked grin. “Whose is it?”

I shook my head, no intention of answering.

“I can make you talk.” He stepped to the terrarium and lifted the lid.

No fucking way. I’d make him shoot me first.

He nabbed a snail, tossed it at my feet. “Eat.”

I picked up the snail, held it up to study it. “Franz made you eat one of these, didn’t he?”

“Franz.” He said the name like it was a bitter pill. “He pretended to like me, acted like he was happy to have a new brother. He brought me to the house a few times, introduced me to Ang. Then he invited me to a party at an abandoned house near his old school.”

I turned the shell in my fingers.

He shook his head to fling hair out of venomous eyes. “He told me it would get me high, like sniffing glue.” His voice choked on emotion, the gun trembling in his hand. “Then he took me upstairs an … and he kept me there.”

“But you made him pay.”

“Damn straight. First I took his weapon.” He aimed the lase-pistol at my crotch. “Then I took his life. He learned his lesson. Believe me, he learned his lesson. Now eat.”

Fuck that. I threw the snail out the window.

The air exploded with fire. I closed my eyes against the flash of heat, the spray of stone shrapnel and burned moss. I covered my head, lungs choking on smoke.

The smoke cleared and I straightened up, the warmth of hot stone at my back. He shook his head like he was disappointed in me before tossing another snail my way. “Eat.”

I reached for the snail, tossed it back at him. “No.”

He came at me, the gun trained on my head the whole time. He stepped straight up to me, pressed the lase-pistol’s barrel against my left eye like I’d once done to him. I felt wet snail pushing against my lips. I kept my mouth closed, lips pinched tight like steel doors against the pressure.

“Eat!”

No fucking way.

A voice sounded from somewhere outside. I felt the lase-pistol lift off my eye, the snail off my lips. He leaned toward the window.

I didn’t hesitate, arms reaching, feet centering underneath me. I had him around the hips, shoulder in his gut, knees extending, legs surging forward. The lase-pistol fired, a sizzling explosion somewhere behind me. I lifted him off the ground and threw him down with all the force I could.

He hit with a thump, a cloud of dirt dusting up. I kicked at the weapon in his hand and made contact with the toe of my shoe. The gun bounced free.

I lunged for the lase-pistol, reached for it with the wrong hand, reached with fingers that weren’t fucking there. I switched hands, but he was on me before I could grab hold, the two of us tumbling to the ground, roots jabbing into my shoulder and backbone.

He was on top of me, skin like slate, forked tongue flicking. He punched with his steel trap hand, my jaw taking a bricklike impact. My vision went hazy, my arms and legs weak. A blur of jagged steel came for my throat.

I couldn’t stop him, my reflexes soaked in molasses.

The room went bright with lase-fire, shouts all around. I saw double-vision uniforms. Heard garbled voices I couldn’t understand.

I closed my eyes and let sleep come on a draft of charred meat.

twenty-nine

A
PRIL 29, 2789