The Nine Page 15

  Alex narrowed her eyes in a look of controlled anger and chuckled as she took a step back. “I understand how you feel, but I don’t think you’re equipped to deal with the sort of people you’re going to meet in a place like that. Trust me, I’ve been there—more times than I would like to admit—and not as a paying client.”

  I took another step forward, closing the gap between us again. “I know precisely the type of people who are in there. I was one.”

  I let that sink in for a moment, then the anger on Alex’s face began to look as if it might come to a boil. “You need to explain what you mean by that statement.”

  “We all have skeletons, Alex. You want to hear about mine? When I was alive, I worked with my cousins trafficking humans in the slave trade. They pulled me in to work the books for them, telling me they owned an import export business. By the time I realized what they imported and exported, I was in as deep as they were.”

  I spun around and reached deep into the hidden compartment, jerking out another little toy I had saved for a rainy day. At the moment, it poured.

  “I could have turned them in and made a deal for a reduced sentence, or maybe no sentence at all, but I was scared. My cousins kept me out of the mud, as they called it, so I just dealt with the books—until they got drunk one night and thought it would be funny to lock me in for a little trip with the cargo.”

  Tears threatened to well into my eyes, but I willed them back. I didn’t deserve even that much release. I clenched my fists and met Alex’s eyes, red and full of fury. Her fists had clenched into tight balls as well. I understood why. She had been one of them. No different from the human cargo we had traded in that truck, and I was no better that the low life Disposable dealer who had ruined her.

  “That’s when I was forced to face what I was doing. When I couldn't ignore the kind of monster I’d become. There were maybe a hundred illegals crammed into that truck. Too many to allow anyone to sit down. The trailer was dark and smelled like sweat and blood and shit, but I didn’t care. I deserved every minute. I wanted to be there. To face the thing my self-imposed ignorance had twisted me into. I crouched next to a little girl who’d lost her mother. The ship’s crew threw her overboard when she got too mouthy. Another woman lost her son. A different set of smugglers shot him in the head to show others what happens when a slave takes an extra sip of water without asking. Most of the people in that truck were destined for the sex trade, then the drug trade, and then they’d be dead before thirty. I had helped deliver thousands just like them. I couldn’t fix the past, but I was determined to change those people’s future.”

  “So, what did you do?” Alex’s voice came out as a dark whisper. I wasn’t sure if her fury was aimed at me or the heartless cruelty of my story, but the words I said next held more weight than I could imagine.

  “Once my cousins had their fun, they let me out at one of their out-of-the-way rest houses. A smelly, old mobile-home tucked deep in the woods. They even locked me into a room with a sixteen-year-old girl as some sort of an apology. It made me sick. I wanted to go after them right there, but I waited. I couldn’t take them alone, but later ...

  “They spent the night drinking, and I watched and listened. When they passed out, I jimmied the door and stole the keys to the truck. I told the sixteen-year-old that she, her family, and the rest of them were not headed for a better life. I told her what would to become of them if they stayed. I opened the back, found a driver for the truck, and had her enlighten the rest of the passengers. Stray reminds me a lot of that girl. Strong, but kind—overly innocent. I gave the driver directions to the nearest city, all the cash in my pocket along with my credit cards, and I sent them on their way. It was the best I could do—almost the best I could do.”

  “And your cousins got off scot free?”

  I stared down at my feet. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t meet Alex’s eyes anymore. Whether it was for what I was or the cowardly thing I was about to do.

  “My cousins still slept in the mobile-home. I went in ready to make sure their business was closed for good. I didn’t have a gun, so I settled for a full gas can and a match. The trailer went up like dry tinder. Unfortunately, my cousins did have a gun. They shot me through a window because I was stupid enough to hang around for the show.”

  Alex relaxed her hands, but anger still lurked in her eyes. When I stepped back, she glanced away as if she could not bear to look at me any longer.

  “I don’t expect you to forgive me for the things I did. No one should. But this shop has been my way of making up for a few of those mistakes, and I’ll be damned if I let Stray become one of their Disposables again. I don’t care if you come with me or not. I’ll sleep in the bed I’ve made, but I need to find Stray. So, I am asking you one ... last ... time. Where is Scarecrow and his crew?”

  Alex took a breath and then looked up at me. To my surprise, she had an evil grin plastered on her face. “If you think I’m going to miss fun like this, you’re crazy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The club was called the Wax Worx and, unlike the shanties most Woebegone had to suffer in, places like this enjoyed the full backing of The Nine and all the Hellion management. The outside resembled a multi-angular circus tent built out of black and purple silk, except the place was much larger than physics would allow a normal tent to be. The structure stood several stories tall with large spires jutting up at random angles and looked as if it might cover the better part of a city block. A huge circus-style billboard flashed the club’s name in bright white bulbs that chased themselves in rapid waves and circles. It was like Vegas, only less audacious and in your face. Let’s be real, no one can beat Vegas. Not even Hell has that much money.

  Alex hopped off the back of The Rocket and I pulled the trusty 98 up onto its stand. “I know we’ve been over this but listen.” Alex grabbed my arm and pulled me around to look at her. I tried to keep myself from shaking apart. I felt as if standing in one place too long might cause my anger and adrenaline to ignite and blow my head off.

  “I know what you said, but if you’ve never been in a place like this ... Well, this is like nothing you’ve ever seen ... like nothing no one should ever have to see.”

  “We’re wasting time,” I said, cutting her off.

  “Fine.” Alex’s face went cold. I hadn’t made her angry. She just flipped the switch. I needed the agent I saw in the ring. The one with ice in her veins and vengeance in her eyes. She had triggered that part of her personality and locked everything else away. I knew it, because I did the same thing. I became cold, fearless, and ready to do anything to get Stray back. Alex gestured toward the flap marking the entrance to the club. I marched toward the door and met the eyes of a tall bouncer. I never broke contact once he spotted me. He was about my height, but he looked like he ground oak trees into mulch with his bare hands when he wanted a little light exercise.

  He put a hand on my chest and glanced over at Alex. “Do you two have an invitation? I’m sure I can get you in, but your boyfriend will have to stay out here and keep me company.”

  I twisted my face in disgust. In this place, that statement could mean about anything. “We don’t need an appointment. We’re with the Judas Agency.”

  I reached into my pocket and palmed my rainy-day toy so Mulch Machine wouldn’t spot it and patted him on the arm. He winced when the device took its sample and jerked away.

  “What was that?” Mulch Machine made a grab for my hand, but Alex threw a quick jab and knocked his arm to the side.

  I rounded on him and stepped right up to his face. “Do we have a problem here? If we do, I can call half a dozen Hellions here to discuss the reason you are denying two Judas agents entry to your club.”

  Mulch Machine rubbed his arm and considered this for a moment, then he stepped to the side. “Don’t cause any trouble in there.”

  “If I want to burn the whole place down and plant your ugly corpse in the middle, I will.” Alex waited for me to march in
through the dark opening and then she followed. Mulch Machine must have run out of witty retorts because he didn’t say anything else.

  We emerged from a long, draped hall into a huge circus-style arena. The entrance was elevated and allowed spectators to walk the entire perimeter of the entertainment floor on a wide catwalk for a view of everything going on below. And below ... Well, Alex was right. I had spent so much time in my little corner of Scrapyard City that I had forgotten that this was Hell, and in Hell, places like the Wax Worx were as common as a neighborhood bar and grill.

  The floor of this particular club housed a multitude of circus rings. Each one featured an atrocity being played out for the grotesque entertainment of Hellion and Woebegone spectators. One had a man strapped to a table with multiple torture instruments hanging over his head. Next to him a woman dressed in an evening gown spun a wheel that picked the particular torture the victim would endure. The little red clicker clacked down and landed on disembowelment. The crowd went wild. The woman walked over, selected a rusty looking bail hook from the array of instruments, and handed it to a smiling man in a tuxedo standing next to the table. The crowd chanted something like Rex or Tex. I assume this was the torture master’s name. His arm went up in the air. I turned my head, unwilling to witness the rest.

  I lead Alex down the stairs, not bothering to excuse myself as I pushed through the screaming throng of people. None of them seemed to notice. I stopped once to allow a naked woman, blindfolded and bound in rough ropes, to be paraded past me. Behind her, a child followed close behind. My stomach churned, and I wanted to throw up. These people weren’t even cattle. Cattle were treated with mercy. These Woebegone were treated like trash. Useless pieces of rotted meat fit for nothing but the gutter.

  Burning the place down began to feel like a very real possibility, even if I had to go down with it.

  Alex hit me in the arm, and I realized I stood in the middle of the room glaring at ... pretty much everyone. The main bar was a few feet to our left, so I figured that would be as good a place to start as anywhere. I made my way over to a vacant spot, and the bartender made a beeline toward me. He was a fat man with a bald head and a bad complexion. He wore a butcher’s apron covered in blood and cleaned a glass with a towel made of black terry cloth.

  “We don’t serve the entertainment here.” His voice sounded like he had swallowed half a dozen beer mugs and burped out glass gravel. “Beat it.”

  Alex walked up behind me a millisecond later, and Gravel Voice changed his tune. “Ms. Alex. I didn’t realize he was with you. I’m sorry. What can I get you?”

  I lifted an eyebrow and glanced over at her. She didn’t bat an eyelash. “You can get me some information. I’m looking for Scarecrow. Have you seen him?”

  Gravel Voice flicked his eyes in my direction. Alex reached out with a finger and touched Gravel Voice’s cheek. He jerked so hard he dropped the glass in his hand.

  “Please.” His voice became all twisted and pleading. “I don’t want any trouble. You know I can’t tell you that. If word got around that I’m handing out information to the Agency ...”

  “I understand,” I interrupted. “I run a little side business myself. Reputation is everything.”

  I smiled and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder, backing her off a step.

  Gravel Voice nodded and smiled like an idiot. “See, your partner gets it. He understands.”

  “Right,” I continued. “If word got out that you gave up information, or if some of your high paying clients wound up as part of the entertainment, your business would be ruined.”

  I reached into my pocket and fastened my new gadget around my neck. Gravel Voice began to register that this conversation might not be going the way he had thought it was.

  The device, called a Skin Shroud, was an out of this world expensive, one time use product that sampled the DNA of a Woebegone, and temporarily restructured the user’s face and body to match the DNA in the device, as long as the general mass of the two subjects were similar. Not a common or comfortable piece of equipment to use, but right now, it was just the tool for the job.

  I hit the button to activate the Skin Shroud. Fatty tissue, bone, and muscle began to shift under my skin. The pain brought me to my knees, and Gravel Voice grinned as he watched me go down. I’m sure he thought something had gone wrong. I held in a scream, huddled on the filthy floor, trapped on all fours. My insides felt like they had been sucked into an industrial toffee pull and cranked up to 11. Things cracked and tore and twisted for what felt like an eternity. When the torture machine stopped, the pain subsided as fast as it had started. I staggered to my feet. Gravel Voice’s face went pock mark white. My reflection in the bar mirror told me the Skin Shroud had done its job. I was now Mulch Monster, the door man. When Gravel Voice noticed the Whip-Crack in my hand, he fell back against the bar and fumbled for something under the counter.

  Alex leapt over the bar and shoved him back as I uncoiled the Whip-Crack. Alex simultaneously held Gravel Voice against the back wall with one forearm while retrieving a sawed-off pump style shotgun from under the counter. She racked the hand cannon, planted the barrel under his chin, and gave me a wink.

  I winked back and turned toward the crowd. Before me stood the elite. The worst Hell had to offer. Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini; they had nothing on the people in this arena. The Woebegone here were masters of torture and ruthless death. Saying they were responsible for the tormented recycling of millions would not even scratch the surface, and those who they didn’t kill—they liked to watch. Time for me to give them a show.

  I swung the Whip-Crack around, spinning the blades into a frenzy, then snapped the whip through the crowd before me. A million whirring teeth chewed waist high through a dozen Woebegone and never slowed. I stepped forward, helicoptering the weapon over my head as I surrounded myself with the dredges of the underworld and lowered the Whip-Crack in a perfect arc around my position. This time two dozen Woebegone dressed in the finest Hell had to offer went down, and others began to take notice. I walked forward, spinning the Whip-Crack to increase the momentum. I thought the crowd would run screaming, but they didn’t. Instead, the twisted Woebegone turned toward me and began to cheer. A staff member came at me. I flicked the blades in his direction, removing an arm and most of his shoulder. Two more charged from the rear. A quick flip of my wrist sent the whip careening toward their ankles. They went down in a cacophony of screams. The crowd cheered more. They moved in my direction, careful to give me a wide enough berth to remain spectators, but eager to see who I would mow down next.

  I made for the closest stage and cut through the main entertainment. The torture master stood in his tux, looking stunned and confused. The Whip-Crack bisected him, his lovely assistant, and all of the tools along with the rack that held them. It was too late for the Woebegone on the table. The gruesome wheel had already claimed his life.

  The crowd went wild, and more high-class losers were drawn to my show. I jumped to the next ring. The woman I had seen in the audience had been strapped to a board but looked otherwise unharmed. There were six men standing on stage with her, all dressed in gas masks that covered their faces and nothing else. The head entertainer approached me with his arms out as if to say, what are you doing? I removed his arms with a flick of my wrist and ended the show by removing the masks of the six men, along with their heads.

  Rage spun the world around me. Bloodlust and hate filled my head like a hot viscous liquid, penetrating my every thought and action. Some of the other stages had not yet caught on to what was happening behind them. I prepared to cut a path through the crowd and interrupt the festivities there as well. Something grabbed hold of my arm, and I turned, ready to remove the hand that dared to hold me back. When I recognized the face connected to it, the realization hit me like a physical blow, real enough to stagger me backward.

  “Garlin,” he shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

  My cousin, Franco, stood there, looking exactly the
way he had when I burned him to death in that mobile home. The day I had killed them all, and I had died.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I jerked my arm out of Franco’s hand and teetered back several steps, ready to run. Even with the Whip-Crack in my hand, panic overran all logic. Only the look of utter confusion on Franco’s face stopped me. I set my feet and forced a crooked smile. I had almost blown everything. Franco didn’t know me. To him, I was just the Mulch Monster gone wild, which was precisely what he was supposed to think.

  I glanced toward Alex and caught a glimpse of her engaged in a close up and personal conversation with the bartender. I hoped she was explaining what would happen if he divulged our little secret.

  “I asked you a question,” Franco said.

  I wrestled my nerves into submission and steadied my legs. “Just thought I’d spice up the show, Boss.”

  I raised my arms into a victory V and let the Whip-Crack play out at my side. The crowd roared to life, and I pointed to another ring full of performers. Their arms went limp and their faces became white as they shook their heads in an emphatic no. My blood thirsty fans redoubled their cheers, urging me forward, but Franco grabbed my arm and forced it down.

  Alex backed away from the bartender at the same time. At first, he seemed compliant, then he rolled away and made a sloppy dive over the bar. For a fat man, he did pretty well. He managed to wind up on his feet and start a short stride sprint in my direction. Alex didn’t bother to catch him. She gestured in his direction, and I brought the Whip-Crack around to meet him half-way. It was a surgical strike that took off his head, fast and clean. The crowd responded in kind, cheering and shouting anew. I also noticed the performers had conspicuously disappeared. I could not imagine a more satisfying night on the town.