Lieutenant Arkham: Elves and Bullets (12 page)

“You’re making my headache worse.”

“Fuck you, copper!”

More empty minutes pass. Maybe they’ve simply left us here, to die of starvation. I’m getting more and more impatient with every tap of my nail. Perhaps I should just knock the bars down and go.

They’re coming.

There are three of them again, probably the same ones as before and they’ve come for a snack. Predictably, they aren’t carrying any source of light, so I can only make out vague, wheezing silhouettes. Go, fleabag, this is your thirty seconds of glory. Fimir starts screaming at them to let him out, initially to no avail. The three monsters stop a few feet away from both cages and croak. Maybe they can’t agree on a condiment. The junkie only stops every now and again, and only interrupts himself for a good old scratch of his face. In the end his insistence is rewarded and the creatures start to move in his direction. When the three shapes close in on fleabag’s cage I kick the weakened side with both feet, letting out a cry of pain at the same time.

Shit. Only one bar has come off.

The trio has heard me.

Another kick finally makes a hole big enough for me to squeeze through, but there’s not enough time left. The two males are ready to jump as soon as I stick my nose out. However, they don’t know I’m armed. Getting into position so I can shoot causes more moans of agony. It’d probably be funny to someone looking in from the outside. A poor bastard trying to wriggle about in a broken cell with three Odas staring at him with saliva dribbling from their slack mouths. Quickly, I take aim and fire at the first one. Despite the gigantic target, it’s still tricky, what with the lack of light and my awkward position, and to be quite honest, I’m not the world’s best shot. Aldenos was a good shot, God rest his soul. I make do with an average mark at our shooting range.

After all, I’m brandishing a one-of-a-kind weapon. Thanks to the Altra, I’m an infallible sniper. The first of the two males sways momentarily before going down, while the two remaining Odas watch him in confusion. A moment’s delay is enough to bring down the second male, come out and point the torch beam onto the female, who’s getting ready to jump. Even though she doesn’t possess the same power as the other two on the ground, she’s still a potentially lethal opponent. Whom I need alive. Slowly, very slowly, I move closer to the surviving Oda. Both of the dead bodies next to her have a great fat hole in their heads. During all the years of our working partnership, I’ve noticed that my gun has a marked tendency to hit its victims in lethal points on the body, regardless of the accuracy of my aim. ‘My life’s masterpiece’ is how Beron described it when he gave it to me. Considering that we’re talking about one of the greatest master engravers in the world, if not the absolute best, the Altra could be ranked as an actual legendary weapon. If I were a famous king or an important person at least, they’d most likely write a song about it.

“Stop. Let’s discuss this.”

A low, threatening rasping sound.

“All I want is my stuff back, then I’ll go.”

“Oi!” pipes up Fimir. “Come on, get me out of here!”

“He…” the Oda starts, “ no… out… he… scratch.”

“Hey, let me out!”

The Oda crouches in silence.

“Shut your mouth.” I try to keep Fimir quiet.

“What the fuck? We had a deal!”

“Look at yourself, you fuckwit. You’re covered in blood from head to toe, your own blood. It’s a miracle you’re still able to keep on yelling. Where the hell do you think you can go?”

“Dirty bastard, get me out of here!”

“Shut up and die, arsehole. So, shall we go?” I finally ask the Oda, ignoring the renewed protests from the junkie. Slowly, the beast shows me the way, trying not to lose sight of me. Fimir’s insults are on my heels for a few metres, then we enter the maze of tunnels and he becomes a vague vibration in the past.

Just as I feared, the labyrinth of tunnels is vast and intricate. We change direction several times before reaching another cave, smaller than the one with the cages and filled with objects from who knows how many robberies, it’s a sort of treasure chamber. Wonder if they do anything with this stuff or they just accumulate it for the sheer pleasure of doing so. My guide points to the first pile, my stuff is on top.

“Stand still in that corner.” I make her move to one side by gesturing with my gun. She obeys.

I collect my things, and without ever letting my guard down I have a rummage in the pile, I empty a couple of wallets and pocket a handsome wristwatch. There’s almost certainly a load of money here, what with stolen goods and cash, but it’s just as likely that there are other giants around. It breaks my heart – I think to myself, stuffing another banknote in my pocket – but I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave all these goodies right here. Then, like a ray of divine light shining out of the heavens above, my torch beam happens upon a transparent packet, partially hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. It probably isn’t flour, if the Oda’s eating habits are anything to go by.

In fact it is half a kilo of Onirò. A winning fucking ticket to the national fucking lottery. I stuff it in my pocket after preparing a super fast line on the back of my hand, being very careful not to completely split the packaging. Half a kilo! Fuck me, so, all things considered, the battering I got wasn’t in vain. Actually, it was well worth it. My pain starts to ease off. I might even go and kiss that slathering monster watching me inscrutably. Or then again, maybe not. Who knows how many drugs there are here. Tens of thousands of crowns’ worth, without a doubt. Maybe even enough to get that wanker Ugube off my back for good. Ah, shit, if only I could talk to these dribbling beasts.

I’m wasting time here. I’m better off getting out with what I’ve managed to seize, than staying and risk getting beaten up again. And then I’ve got a job to finish…

“Fuck, I
hate
this!” I exclaim in frustration in the female’s direction who, as usual, shows no sign of having understood. Even in this kind of situation that bastard magical contract doesn’t let up.

“Come on, take me back to where you captured me.”

With the barrel of my gun aimed squarely on the Oda’s back, I leave the room, wondering if I had a choice would I really have wanted to leave straightaway. Another five minutes of nondescript tunnels, then another cave, much bigger than the previous one, takes me by surprise after turning left. Fifty or so monsters slowly turn round to look at me and growl. Shit, the grey bitch has brought me straight into a trap.

Smack bang into the dining room.

A large bonfire in the middle of the room is giving off thick black smoke, I’m surprised to see that there’s a strange, homemade ventilation system. A humanoid body, virtually unrecognizable, is in the heart of the fire, burnt to a crisp. On closer examination, the Odas must be in the middle of some weird ritual, led by a female (she’s heavily pregnant too) she’s wearing lots more coloured trinkets than my guide. Anyway, whatever they were doing to that poor sap, they certainly weren’t about to eat him, unless the bejewelled chef got the cooking time wrong and nobody else noticed. My guide croaks something or other, I reply by raising the barrel of my gun. I know one thing for sure: the two and a half cartridges I’ve got left will never be enough for all of them.

“I just want to get out of here, clear?” I enunciate the words for my tricky audience, and to hide the tremble in my voice. The crowd breaks into a chorus of croaking, until the female restores order by thumping the ground with her hand. The air sacs on the giants’ necks immediately stop inflating, and disappear like slimy bubbles on the surface of a swamp, replacing the previous debate with a collective hum of breathing. The Oda takes a few steps closer to me, with no clear signs of hostile intentions. I stand still and gulp.

“You no scratch,” the head of the clan addresses me, surprising me with pretty decent language. Wonder why it interests her so much.

“No, no scratch.”

“You can go.” She delivers her sentence swiftly, expertly squashing the subsequent croaks of disagreement from my guide. ‘He killed my friends’, they must be saying in protest. After the umpteenth exchange of incomprehensible grunting, the guide lowers her head and invites me to follow her with her hulking great hand. Hesitantly I follow her in this surreal environment, with hundreds of black eyes boring into me, I’m in a cold sweat. We walk the length of the room keeping close to the wall, passing in front of the clan’s sharp, threatening teeth. Apart from my feet, the only other sounds I can here are the crackling flames of the bonfire and the chorus of gasping. Anybody would crap their pants in this situation, surrounded by dozens of telephone boxes with mouths as big as manhole covers. When we finally enter a new tunnel, I heave a sigh of relief and blaspheme. From here, the rest of the journey is very short, unless my guide has simply stopped making me go round in circles, hoping to find help.

We come out into an old abandoned cellar, there’s a manhole in the ceiling. Access to the underground complex is via a simple hole in the wall, barely big enough for an Oda to get through. Presumably, it would be mistaken for one of the City’s numerous examples of structural instability during a routine inspection.

The grey giant, on the other hand, slips through with surprising agility. Unlike myself, I clumsily look for stable bits to grab hold of, accompanied by the occasional gasp for the pain the Onirò still hasn’t blanked out completely. The creature even offers his hand to help me get out, but I respond by pointing my gun at him, making him retreat a few steps.

I leave the Oda at the foot of the manhole, and throw caution to the wind in a bid to get back to my old banger as soon as possible. There’s quite a lot going on in the square, which means that it must be morning. Some ragbags look interested when I walk past, intrigued by my face, all black-and-blue, but no one wants to get into trouble. It’s clear to all that I got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning. I hop into my car, lock the doors and finally allow myself to breathe. I got out alive this time too. I should go and make a donation at the Temple of Zadro, the God of luck. I pull out the package of dope and look at it with satisfaction.

Surely Zadro will still be happy enough if I snort a couple of nice fat lines off the back of my hand. I reckon.

Following the report, it takes twenty minutes for the immigration squad to arrive. ‘Lieutenant Arkham from the Guard has discovered a clandestine nest of Odas who kidnapped and consumed innocent citizens’, the newspaper article could have said, perhaps adding something about me not heeding the risk of the structure collapsing and my contempt for danger. Inevitably, I ended up doing my good deed of the month, it keeps the captain sweet, enhances my prospects of promotion and appeases what is left of my conscience. As a bonus, my stash was guaranteed for a good long while, I had a good excuse for skipping two days’ work, and, the icing on the cake, the same excuse was valid for not going in to work the following week. Well played Arkham. I was very pleased with myself indeed, this sensation was undoubtedly amplified by the generous snort I had only a few moments earlier. Not that I didn’t deserve that moment of relaxation, of course.

The nurse, who insisted on putting a blanket round my shoulders and making me comfortable inside the ambulance and took care of the cut above my eye, was full of admiration for my heroic refusal of an anaesthetic while she stitched me up. The only reason I said no was because I was already sedated, but she didn’t know that. The immigration officer was somewhat pessimistic about the possibility of catching the Odas, they had already blocked the exit I escaped through. The clandestines were probably already emptying the caves, and escaping through alternative tunnels to who knows where, it’ll be hours before they manage to unblock the entrance. They could have maybe caught some of them making their escape. Useless wankers.

I took advantage of this compulsory break and called Cohl, who surprised me with the unexpected news that MetroPo had managed to catch Betto; a patrol car parked on the ramp on Seventh caught him with false ID while he was trying to get out of the City and head south. Our hero was driving down the hard shoulder: for once the council’s constant thirst for driving offences had proved useful for the coffers. I let the boy go, and gave him permission to grill our dear friend, take him a new toothpick and if resources could stretch to it, a nice cup of coffee as well. I would have seen to the bad cop part soon enough.

The nurse’s insistence that I went home, at least have a shower and change my clothes highlighted the sorry state I was in. Crumpled clothes, blood-stained collar, a button ripped off my raincoat, all held together with sweat. Going home was out of the question, but new clothes were essential, so I made another call and went to wait in the car. A line and a couple of cigarettes.

There isn’t a lot to do while the council workers are still busy clearing the rubble. When she arrives, I’m messing about with the immigration lot, who are smoking, drinking coffee and discussing football while they wait. As usual, all eyes are on her.

Dark glasses, bright lipstick. The Brunette is walking quickly despite heels, she’s practically running towards me. Mini skirt, a mink jacket which hugs her hips and offers a good view of her cleavage underneath. I stop to ponder the mole on her cheek and her milky-white complexion. Just when they’ve all stopped drooling and started to wonder who the lucky bastard is, the Brunette throws her arms around my neck and kisses me. She doesn’t hold back. No doubt when our lips separate, she has already found out how happy I am to see her by copping a feel between my legs, so I only go as far as giving her a greedy look. She reciprocates with a worried expression, lightly touching the cut above my eye.

“Arky, baby, have you been fighting again?”

“For a good cause, honey,” I answer in a husky voice, pulling her close.

“That’s a nasty cut…” she purrs, brushing it with her lips. A shiver of excitement creeps up my spine. Quickly, we get the change of clothes from her car and put it into mine, then I pull her into a nearby alleyway and push her against the wall, lifting her skirt as high as I need to and bypassing the thong underneath. It’s a very satisfying quickie, perfect for putting a nightmare adventure in the company of slavering cannibalistic monsters behind me.