Artful Evil Read online

  There were only a few places I could imagine Zoe, Meg, and Jazzy going for this long. One was Hula Harry’s, but after our last chat, I doubted they were there. That left only one place. The single most dangerous place I knew and also the one place she couldn’t seem to stay away from. The Wax Worx.

  If they had gone over there to stir up trouble, they may have found more than the three of them could handle. I wouldn’t be able to rest peacefully in my oversized Judas Agency comfort coffin if I didn’t go see for myself.

  I sighed and saddled up the wonder tricycle, ready to pedal my way down to the most horrific place in The Nine. My trike was not the kid’s version of the three wheeled conveyance or even the kind animal trainers tortured bears with in the circus. This was an actual adult sized tricycle, complete with a tool/barbie basket slung between the back wheels. Zoe had dug it out for me when I gave up the Rusty Rocket, a Vespa that had moved like a greased oil can on fire and smoked three times as much. I gave it up to a friend in need, but it still stung at moments like this. Pedaling through The Nine was better than walking, but a sweet ride like my Vespa was all but nonexistent. At least I wasn’t riding a unicycle.

  Bile rose in my throat as the Wax Worx complex came into view over the rise. It didn’t matter how much I knew, how many times I saw it, or how I prepared myself, seeing the place always punched me in the gut the way nothing else could. The design resembled a multi-angular circus tent built out of black and purple silk, but physics wouldn’t allow for a normal tent to be this big. Large spires jutted out at random angles on top, and the multi-storied structure covered the better part of a city block. The ever-present circus-style billboard flashed and swirled the club’s name, Wax Worx, in bulbs bright enough to flash burn my retinas. The only Woebegone who could miss seeing this place were blind or in space, and I bet even an astronaut caught a glimpse once in a while.

  I ran my tricycle into a pile of scrap metal and covered it up so no one would take my three wheeled squeaky toy for a joy ride. It was no Maserati, but I wanted it to be there when I got out. Once the trike was stowed, I reached down to streak dirt on my face and pulled my hoodie up over my head.

  My cousins didn’t run the place anymore, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a Woebegone or two here who might recognize me. I had caused my fair share of trouble here. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself. I wanted to get in and out. Check for Zoe and her friends, and that’s it. Then I would be on my way.

  Something inside me wished I had strapped up my Whip Crack. I may not want trouble but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t find me. At least I still had my Knuckle Stunner. It would give me an edge and had the added advantage of not advertising my position with lots of body parts on the floor.

  I hurried up to the door and grunted at the bouncer. He didn’t seem to care who was going in or out. Definitely more lax then it used to be. Last time I had been here, it took every bit of our Judas Agency clout to get us in, and even then, we had to threaten the guy within an inch of his life. Now he just sat on a stool, half asleep, staring out at the gritty landscape. Fine by me. Easy was easy, and I never turned down a free ride.

  Once inside, I realized why I never ever came here. The main floor was recessed into the ground, giving entrants an overall view of the place. There were a multitude of circus rings, each featuring one atrocity worse than the next. Horrors performed for the grotesque entertainment of Hellion and Woebegone spectators alike. The center ring featured three Woebegone all standing naked and entangled in endless loops of razor wire. The gleaming blades wrapped under their arms, around their necks, and tight between their legs in intimate paths of cruelty. I watched as the grates they stood on superheated, forcing them to jump and dance, digging the razors deep into their tender flesh while the bottom of their feet sizzled on the glowing metal. The crowd cheered and laughed. Some even poked at them with canes or staffs, hoping to topple them over in a whole new display of bloody horrors.

  Suddenly, I wanted my Whip Crack, so I could walk down there and offer them a front row seat to a horror show none of them would forget. One in which they would be the headline star instead of the poor Disposables they laughed at on stage.

  I shut my eyes and forced myself to look away. I had to remember the mantra I preached to Zoe. This was Hell. No matter how much I might want to, I could not save them all. I could only control the things I had the ability to change, and this place was not one of those things. I needed to find Zoe, Meg, and Jazzy, if they were here, and get out before something inside me decided this place might be something I needed to change after all.

  I headed down the stairs and shoved my way through the screaming crowd, not bothering to excuse myself. No one cared. I kept my head on a swivel, searching for any sign of my friends while trying not to see what everyone else was so excited to watch.

  A Wax Worx handler shoved two women in front of me. They were barely clothed in rags and tied at the wrists. The handler had a cattle prod, and I heard the snap as he forced them toward one of the far rings. My hand came out of its pocket almost out of instinct. I drove the Knuckle Stunner into the side of the handler’s neck, and he dropped like liquid manure. The two women spun and looked at me, terrified and lost. No one else seemed to care.

  “Untie each other and sneak out one of the side doors. Get away from this building and find a safe place to hide. Don’t trust anyone but each other, understand?”

  They both nodded and began working the bonds at their wrists. I kept moving. There were so many, and I wasn’t there for them. I did what I could—probably too much. They had a chance, and that was all I could give them.

  I continued searching the shoulder to shoulder Woebegone on the entertainment floor for any sign of Zoe or the girls. It didn’t take long to realize I might never see them. There had to be hundreds of Woebegone all packed in like cattle. I could walk within a few feet of them and never know the difference. The more I thought about it, I doubted they were here at all. My imagination had likely run away with itself and had brought me along for the ride. They were probably safe in their bedrolls, and here I was, wading through the sewage of The Wax Worx for nothing.

  I skirted my way to the outside of the floor, ready to give up for the evening and head back to the shop, when a door opened almost knocking me off my feet.

  “Watch it.” A pair of handlers, both of them NFL huge and carrying a load of attitude in each ham sized fist, poured through the door.

  I ducked my head and waved in apology. “Sorry about that. Won’t happen again.”

  I caught the door and held it for them as they washed into the crowd, parting the Woebegone like whitecaps on the sea. I almost let the door close, but caught it just before it did, suddenly realizing what was inside.

  In a normal club, the door might lead to a storeroom or even a kitchen, but this one was different. It led to a supply of an appalling sort. The Skin Quarry warehouse. The place where all the Disposables were held captive before they were sold or used in the Wax Worx shows.

  In the past, they had been in two separate places, but my cousins had taken over the industry and consolidated. They must have moved everything to one location. I saw the old warehouse. It was a travesty even here in The Nine, stacked with row after row of human cages, full of filth and lost souls. This however was different. This was so much worse.

  It still contained rows of Woebegone trapped in cages barely fit for animals, but this new place was bigger—much bigger. I couldn’t see where it ended, and the cages were stacked on multiple levels rather than one. The smell of feces and fear alone made me want to retch. These Woebegone were trapped and sold, having no idea where they were or what was happening. They were helpless and had no hope for escape, and I could not help them.

  Zoe understood this in a way I never could. She had been a captive in one of these cages. Knew first-hand what it was like to be a Disposable. She wanted to free them all. So did I, but it just wasn’t possible. Tears rolled down my
face as I let the door close before me, helpless to stop the atrocities that only seemed to grow in this hell I called home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “First night in the apartments?” A fellow Agent standing next to me at the communal sinks grinned in the mirror. “I can always tell.”

  I stood up a little straighter and looked myself over. “What gave me away? The company sweats with the folded crease, or my face that hasn’t seen a real razor in forty years?”

  The stranger chuckled. “Neither. It’s that look in your eyes. Everybody has it. That expectation that everything is about to be pulled out from underneath you. I had it too. Trust me. You get to keep this one.”

  He turned and offered his hand. “I’m Barry. Folks around here call me ‘Bear.’”

  He was aptly named. Taller than me and twice as wide. No refrigerator would stand in his way, and it seemed a razor was no friend of his either. His dark skin was covered with enough body hair to insulate against an arctic winter. It was no wonder he waited to put his shirt on till the last minute. He was probably hot even with the bone chilling curse of The Nine.

  “Good to meet you. I’m Gabe.” I shook his hand in return. “No cool nickname though. I make it a rule to only collect the stupid ones.”

  “I have a few of those myself.” He let out a deep baritone laugh. “Sometimes they’re harder to live down than the good ones.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “I saw you with your partner earlier.” Bear nodded in the direction of the apartments. “We’re neighbors. I’m in the pod just below you. If you need anything, let me know.”

  I gathered my things off the sink, turned to pile it all into the small locker behind me, and then slammed the door.

  “I will, thanks.”

  I waved at him on the way out, taken aback by the normalcy of the encounter. Less than an hour ago, I had waded neck deep in the worst atrocities The Nine had to offer, and now I was chatting it up in a locker room with a guy named Bear. If my afterlife could get any weirder, I didn’t know how.

  I headed into the long, vast hall of the apartment area. The sound dampening effect gave me that head drenched in cotton feeling, and it made me want to tip toe rather than walk to my pod.

  When I got there, I had to admit, Bear was right. Part of me kept waiting for Mastema to show up or some jack-in-the box demon to pop out and say, “Just kidding,” then throw me back out into the cold of The Nine.

  My apartment was no suite at the Brown Palace, but compared to roughing it outside, it looked like a little slice of paradise. Very little—tiny in fact.

  I managed to open the door to my pod, turn on the light, and climb up, but getting in felt like trying to slide myself into a second story sausage casing with mittens on. I wriggled and writhed, finally inching my way into the tube using the small handles provided on the outside wall. At one point, I almost fell out, evoking images of a worm monster spitting me out onto the floor because I didn’t taste good. After that, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being eaten. I just couldn’t win.

  I did my best to push the oral fixations out of my mind and tried to think of something else. Zoe came to mind. I had stopped by the shop on my way back to The Agency, and sure enough, she, Meg, and Jazzy were all sound asleep inside. I didn’t bother to wake them. It wasn’t their fault that my imagination had kicked off into overprotective overdrive. They had probably been running around town, turning up new clients or helping one of Zoe’s Freshborns find a job. Anything but slumming it at the Wax Worx.

  Still, why did she want to run down blueprints of the place? Could she be working out a whole underground railroad thing? Was she getting herself in even deeper than she was now? After seeing the Wax Worx again in all its horrific glory, anything that had to do with that cesspool seemed over her head. It was over any one person’s head.

  I sighed. Maybe Alex was right. I needed to stop worrying about her so much. Zoe could make her own decisions. Take her own risks. It was not my afterlife to live. At least she tried to save people rather than kill them like Alex and her plan to derail the coal train. Hundreds of people might be killed if they didn’t get out of the way in time. Maybe more. I understood wanting to keep a stable position in The Agency, but this went too far. Alex and Judas could both go to ... didn’t matter. I would stop that train from derailing in that town whatever I had to do.

  I tossed and turned in my pod, trying to find a comfortable position. The door hung just out of reach, so I stretched out and pulled it closed before wriggling myself back into the mouth of the covers and mattress, trying not to imagine a worm gullet.

  The apartment was comfortable, no doubt about it. The air smelled fresh and cool, the mattress felt soft, and the covers were warm and inviting. I felt safe and somehow exposed at the same time because I was in a place with so many other Woebegone. Either way, I suspected this would be the best night sleep I’d had in years—providing Judas didn’t make good on his promise to send Mastema on a late-night visit. No one wanted that kind of teddy bear.

  I turned out the light, pulled the covers up to my neck, and closed my eyes. Three seconds later, my bladder yelled at me, ensuring I would get to enjoy the whole worm eating ritual all over again before I finally settled in a second time and got to sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alex met me at the elevators the next morning. I stepped off into the cubicle grey wilderness and marveled once again at the contrast of her hair and tattoos to the rest of the office area surroundings. She stuck out up here like a unicorn in a New York City sewer. Somehow the two just didn’t jive.

  “So how was your first night in the apartment?” She crossed her arms, barring me from going any further until I gave her an answer. The smug look of satisfaction on her face told me she already knew what I would say.

  I sighed. “It was awesome.”

  She raised an eyebrow as if to say that better not be all.

  “And you were right.” I groaned. “It was safe and comfortable, and I didn’t have to worry about Charlie Manson sneaking in to paint the walls with my innards.”

  Alex smiled. “Actually, Mr. Manson works for The Judas Agency, so he has full access to the apartment areas, but try not to think about that.”

  I blinked.

  Alex laughed. “Relax. No one messes with each other in the living quarters. It’s a sort of hallowed ground. It’s also a means for immediate dismissal, or at the very least, a loss of all Judas Agency privileges, and who would want that?”

  “Nobody, but don’t you ever worry about—” I cut myself short, cursing my tongue for running away before my brain had a chance to review the tapes.

  “Worry about what?” Alex leveled an eye at me, and I knew it was too late to turn around now.

  “Worry about going soft?” I almost flinched despite myself, thinking she would respond via a nonverbal communique instead. When she didn’t, I went on. “I mean a guy could get used to those cushy mattresses and comfy covers. Don’t you worry about losing your edge, you know, out there?” I motioned toward the untamed wilds of The Nine.

  To my surprise, Alex nodded in agreement. “Why do you think I work out so hard? I keep my fighting skills sharp and make it a point to spend my fair share of time out in the waste. Staying connected keeps me from getting soft and reminds me why I do what I have to in order to stay employed here. Having a little comfort doesn’t make you soft, that only happens when you can’t survive without it.”

  I nodded. “Fair enough. I guess we’ll have to keep up those sparing lessons then.”

  Alex huffed and headed off down one of the endless aisles of drab, grey cubicles. “After the way you handled yourself with those thugs, we definitely need to keep up the sparring lessons.”

  I followed her and let out a gasp. “What do you mean? I took on six guys by myself.”

  “Four. Two of them ran like half-starved chickens.”

  “Because they were terrified.”

  Alex laughed. “Of
what? Your chair fighting techniques? I still think they were all drunk.”

  I glared back at her. “Not possible down here, and you know it. If booze worked, everyone would be hammered. You just can’t admit that I did a good job.”

  Alex shrugged and rounded a corner. “You did all right. You want to impress me, make the karate master want to beat the two starving chickens out the door.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to be a better teacher.”

  That one drew an evil grin. “You remember you said that next time we’re on the sparing mat.”

  I regretted it already.

  We walked the length of what felt like several aircraft carriers before Alex stopped and presented me with a whole grey cube of my own. I wandered in and took stock of the accoutrements. A grey framed computer screen, some sort of darker grey interface hardware, a light grey desktop, medium grey walls and cabinets. The Agency had gone all in with the ultra-depression color scheme.

  I sat down in the off-grey chair facing the desk and leaned back. The recline feature almost dumped me out onto the floor, but I threw my arms and legs out like a frightened cat and managed to save myself the embarrassment.

  “A ninja in the making.” Alex pulled up the guest chair and shoved mine upright so hard I almost kissed the computer screen.

  “Pay attention. If you’re going to work here, you need to be able to access the Judas Agency systems and do your own research.”

  Alex shoved my face toward the monitor, and I began to wonder if this would be an urban sparing session in the middle of our work area.

  “I’m not blind.” I tried to pull away from her, but she had a pit-bull grip on the back of my neck. “You don’t have to paste my eyeballs to the screen.”

  “Stay still. It should be coded to your retina pattern.”