Skullcrack City (12 page)

“You think it’s too soon for more perphenadol?”

“Not if we slow drip it and give him an ice bath.”

“Sounds good. After that?”

“Maybe we scan the other bag, count that money, and wait to see if this guy is ever coming back from the big black.”

“Hey!”

“What’d you find?”

“Check it.”

“Damn. That’s just… that’s officially too much Hex.”

“More at the bottom of the backpack, too. Looks like he ripped the bag open to get at his last fix. Who knows how many he took?”

“Maybe he’s a dealer who didn’t pay attention at orientation?”

“Can’t be. Check his hands—that’s a full set of fingers. None of the other marks, either, and I think our dealer database is current. Besides, habit like this, they would have culled him a long time ago.”

“Then how the hell did he get that kind of supply?”

“Well, bags of money have certain capabilities.”

“No. I mean, they’d give it away free if it weren’t for the connection rites. There’s got to be something else. Whatever this guy was doing, they needed him in their sphere of influence. They wanted a non-stop feed.”

“Speaking of, he started showing signs of regular REM like ten minutes ago.”

“Told you. One more round of perphenadol, a fluid push, and if he’s still breathing tomorrow morning we bring in Ms. A. and cut those fuckers off.”

“You think he’s still in there?”

“I hope. I don’t think they could send a mimic signal with this much blocker in his system. Besides, if they were running the body, why would they force it into an O.D.?”

“Shit. Well…would it be paranoia to say maybe they wanted us to take him in? Like they’re on to us…”

“No, if they were on to us they’d send some Vakhtang goon. Or maybe they’d rig him or his turtle with a cell bomb, in which case we’d both be mushed, because they’d blow
that
before the perphenadol kicked in.”

“Right?”

“Right. So, we’ll keep pulling for this guy and maybe tomorrow he can answer some questions. Did you crack his hard drive yet?”

“Maybe twenty more minutes and I think we’ll have something.”

“Alright. That’s enough time to take care of
this
shit.”

“Okay. I’m with you. I’ll grab the rest of the pills from his bag and meet you out at the barrel.”

“No!”

“Whoa.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just…No, we need to stay dual custody with the stash until it’s gone. It’s kind of talking to me right now.”

“Goddamn. Okay, I’m glad you said it. I was thinking about pocketing one from his bag. Seriously. After everything else, still…”

“It’s not your fault. Shit’s persuasive. Must be some part of the connection rites hanging on. We’ll have Ms. A. check us out tomorrow, make sure we’re at full break.”

“Okay.”

“Right now, let’s burn this batch before we convince each other to make an awful mistake.”

“Agreed. We should drag the burn barrel to the back of the building first, run it through the exhaust fan filters. That much Hex smoke might send out a creeper signal if we take it to the alley.”

“Let’s do it.”

“That’s the last handful.”

“You’re sure.”

“One hundred percent. I can already feel the itch disappearing from my shoulder.”

“Shit. I can smell it through the mask.”

“Yeah. I can smell it too. Filters should be working, though.”

“What’s it smell like to you?”

“The crash. Hot metal, gasoline…Marco…”

“Burning?”

“Yeah…Yup…”

“…”

“What do you smell?”

“My sister’s campfire accident, when we were kids. We were twenty miles out from the hospital. That’s how she lost her arm.”

“Christ.”

“Weird thing is, it doesn’t smell like the fire, or her arm. It smells like her breath, when she was crying, before she went into shock. My mom held her in the back seat and they had her arm wrapped in a wet towel. I sat next to them, tried to help hold her still so she wouldn’t hurt herself any worse, and she kept crying and yelling with this big open mouth and I remember her breath had this warm electric smell, like she was screaming the life out of her body.”

“I don’t want to stand here anymore.”

“Me either. You want to risk leaving before it’s all ash?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.”

“You notice the smoke, too?”

“The spiral? Yeah. Trying to ignore it, though.”

“But you can’t ignore it, and they know that.”

“Right?”

“Right. Those fuckers.”

“They ruin everything.”

“BP and respiration are borderline normal. Pulse is
way
lower. He’s definitely hanging in there.”

“I guess next thing we have to address is that smell.”

“Ladies love my natural musk.”

“Yeah, yeah, cute. But you know what I mean. Ms. A.’s going to want him clean for the sacraments anyway.”

“I’ll help you rotate and lift him, but I’m not doing the sponge part.”

“Tell you what—you wash his hair and I’ll cover the rest.”

“I don’t know. His head smells like a fucking slaughterhouse mop, and I’ll probably have to clean it three or four times to get that crust out. How about you do the whole guy and I’ll take care of his turtle?”

“What?”

“Turtle needs some fresh water and I have to figure out how to get it to eat those weird little food flakes. And then I can take a look at what’s on his hard drive.”

“That seems comparable to a Hex coma sponge bath to you?”

“Are you forgetting I cleaned up the last rescue? And that she was a repeat voider?”

“Okay. No. That’s true.”

“Plus, when I clean the guys, sometimes they pop a flagpole.”

“Must be your natural musk.”

“Haha. I mean, I know it’s autonomic or whatever, but it just makes me feel like I’m up to something with their body.”

“But you’re not. You’re helping them. It’s a loving act.”

“Turtle needs a loving act, too, and I won’t feel like a creepy orderly.”

“This is your issue, much more than it is anyone else’s. Unless, you know, you’re secretly sitting on those flagpoles, wearing an adult diaper on your head, and posting pictures of that to the internet.”

“That’s a negative, and fuck you, asshole.”

“What?”

“…”

“That was really abrupt.”

“Yeah. I…uh…sorry. I feel off. I don’t think those gas masks are quite equipped to deal with Hex smoke.”

“Okay, let’s chill out, then. I’ll make some tea. We’ll say nothing for the next hour, just in case we inhaled something.”

“Tea it is. And we feed the turtle.”

“Alright, I’m done reading it.”

“And? He’s crazy, right?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard for me to discount anything as crazy anymore…”

“But?”

“But this guy seems fucking bonkers. The state we found him in, I’m seeing this more as mental illness. Too much Hex for too long. Some of their chaos slipped right through.”

“What about the bruising on his chest? That’s starting to look like a handprint to me.”

“Really? And exactly who would have a hand that size? You think this guy found some bank secrets and they decided to have a Kodiak bear take him out? Come on.”

“All I’m saying is, it could be the bruising is deepest where his ribs were compressed. Could be the bank has a couple of giant motherfuckers on staff.”

“What about all the medical stuff in there?”

“There’s never been any link between Delta and the Hex trade. MyGenix, sure. Abett, probably. But they’re both Canadian. Delta’s Canadian arm doesn’t have any tie to them.”

“Yeah, but Hungarian Minor
was
a 5
^th
Shelter Vakhtang. And he was on the Delta payroll.”

“Only according to Captain Overdose over there.”

“Sure, the source is questionable, but those transfer records are pretty clear, and Hungo was about as squirrely as any Vakhtang out there. If they needed bodies…”

“True. He might have done it for kicks.”

“Plus, the missing brain thing never sat right with me. If Hungo violated Vakhtang code they would have spilled his guts and read his secrets.
And
they left his tongue.
It didn’t match up
.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly—something is off here. Then there’s the weird bruising at the base of this guy’s skull, and the fact that he appears to have his possessions with him, including all that money.”

“Yeah, the money kind of kills the roaming homeless madman theory. He was so close to 45
^th
when I found him, it was a miracle he had anything.”

“So maybe he’s not crazy.”

“Oh, I’m not saying that. I mean, the Robbie Dawn stuff…
come fucking on
.”

“Late-stage Hex dementia?”

“You add up the mess of a man, his turtle, and the massive quantities of Hex and money and there’s only one thing you’ve got for sure—deep fucking trouble.”

“Right?”

“Right.”

“Christ…I don’t know. I’m exhausted. Let’s get a couple of hours’ sleep before Ms. A. arrives.”

“Should we put sleeping beauty in restraints?”

“Yeah. Post-haste.”

“Sister. Brother. We must begin immediately. His connection to their realm is so strong I could see its haze above your building. And if I could see it…”

“Yes, Ms. A. We understand.”

“Thank you for cleaning the body. I see the first sacrament has been applied.”

“Speaking of which, Ms. A., we’re running fucking scary low on perphenado—OW!”

“What he means to say is that this man required most of our supply of the first sacrament, and we will need more if we are to continue our rescues.”

“Thank you, sister—I will see to it that your outpost receives a package.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry to interrupt the proceedings, but we also had another concern. Since this man arrived, and since we destroyed his supply of the dark signal, we’ve noticed certain urges and feelings, and we’re concerned that our own lights have suffered some corruption.”

“Hold still for a moment and I will put hands to each of you.”

“…”

“…”

“Sister and Brother, I am afraid that particular darkness is your own. Now, we must begin. Please remove your robes and stand at the head of the table.”

“Yes, Ms. A.”

“Now, each of you open your boxes, breathe light into your scarabs, and set them upon our brother’s eyes.”

“BY SMOKE FROM LIPS BY LIGHT FROM BLOOD BY THOUGHT FROM THOUGHT ALONE WE CALL YOU BACK. BY SMOKE FROM LIPS BY LIGHT FROM BLOOD BY THOUGHT FROM THOUGHT ALONE WE CLOSE THIS GATE AS STONE. BY SMOKE FROM LIPS BY LIGHT FROM BLOOD BY THOUGHT FROM THOUGHT ALONE WE CALL YOU BACK.”

“Do you believe he’ll return to his body, Ms. A.?”

“What I believe makes no difference. We’ve done what can be done. Their signal was as strong as I’ve seen it since the camp collapse ten years back.”

“There’s something else?”

“You can see it in my face, I suppose. You’ve always been the most attuned at this outpost.”

“Thank you.”

“You’d thank me for your burden? Haven’t you found that your perceptiveness makes all suffering seem more awful?”

“Well…I…yes, I suppose you’re right. I just want to do well by our mission.”

“You have, sister. You have.”

“Will you tell me what is troubling you?”

“Yes. I think I recognize that man on the table, that he is a thief and a junkie and a murderer with close ties to the Vakhtang, that his name is S.P. Doyle, and that his presence here may bring great danger.”

“You saw all this in his connection to their realm?”

“No—I saw this on last night’s news. Based on that report, I would recommend that you keep him in those restraints until we know the rites were successful. Beyond that, if you confirm that this is indeed Mr. Doyle, you may want to ask him how he managed to crush the heads of four men, and what he might have done with their brains.”

“You should be more formal with Ms. A.”

“Like wear a tux and speak only in high elvish or something?”

“You know what I’m saying. We’re supposed to speak to her with reverence, not act casual and drop f-bombs.”

“Why? So she can have power over us? I thought power was off the worship list. Aren’t we all light here?”

“No, it’s not for power. She says language is a reflection of order from the chaos of thought.”

“Hey, I was super tired. And you’ll notice I had no trouble stripping naked and blowing on beetles and chanting and doing all the rites. I
believe
, you know. I’ve seen enough. Sometimes I just get weary of all the mystic jibber jabber.”

“You want to join the Vakhtang, then? You can dodge the ‘jibber jabber’ while they feed you to the grinder.”

“Come on, you know that’s not what I’m saying. But I think we could, within reason, be a little more modern. Seems like everything we do has some kind of scientific analog and…wait a minute…did you hear that?”

“Is it him?”

“This soon after the rites? No way. Probably noise from the pipes. You finish putting away the ceremony bundle and I’ll go check it out.”

“Dearest, most formal sister of the light, I requesteth thine olde tymey presence over here right now!”

“He’s back?”

“Yeah, bring some water. He can barely talk. Hold on…what…hold on, my partner here is bringing you something to drink.”

“Here you go. I put a straw in it.”

“Okay, pal, here’s some water. Don’t drink too fast or you’ll end up horking it back up.”

“There you go.”

“…”

“What’s that? You’re too croaky, pal. I’m going to lean in so you can whisper. First, you gotta promise no biting or spitting or anything. You promise? Shake your head ‘yes.’ Okay, I’m listening.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Be quiet. I can barely hear him.”

“…”

“Shit, he passed out. We pushed him too fast. What did he say?”

“I couldn’t quite tell. Something about ‘black wolf ate me,’ which, you know, we could have expected. After that, I swear he said, ‘I love you, angels.’ So maybe that’s about us. And then after that he said something about ‘Deckert’ or ‘deck hard’ or something.”