“You should not have stopped me,” he said outside. “We do not have long.”
“Don’t worry. The cops aren’t gonna come just because a couple weirdos pestered a receptionist.”
“I am not speaking of the police.” He watched me walk away. “Where are you going?”
“You’ll see,” I said, leading him around to the back of the five-story building. “Sometimes it’s not all about magic.”
I found a key pad next to a solid steel rear door. A camera was perched over the top. If anyone was watching, they’d know as soon as we were in.
“She had the code written down next to the phone,” I said. “I saw it reflected in the glass at the back.” I typed the buttons. “They must change it often enough that she has to write it down to remember.”
The door buzzed, and I pulled it open and we stepped into a large open room with a concrete floor, packed full of numbered storage cages.
“People sure have a lot of crap,” I said, looking for an exit.
“You have done this kind of thing before,” he accused.
“Eh. You know. Once or twice.”
An I-shaped walkway connected all the cages. I looked right but turned left.
“For a while,” I told him, “after I dropped out of school, I was really into street art. Guerrilla stuff, tagging corporate offices with the emblem of the Soviet Union or mall shopping centers with supplicants prostrate before a giant radiant dollar. That kind of thing.”
“I see.”
A young male resident was heading to his cage, key in hand, and I smiled as he passed like I lived there. He glanced to us with a funny look but didn’t change his direction.
We found the stairs to the subbasement at the back and he followed me down.
I stopped on the steps. “You smell that?” I sniffed. “Is that petrol?”
He sniffed. “Kerosene.”
I trotted down faster and tried the heavy steel door marked NO ADMITTANCE in stark red and black letters, but it was locked.
“Let me,” he said.
He pressed a tattooed hand to the door like he was praying over it and mumbled some words.
“What are you doing?”
He stepped back and motioned to the door and I tried the handle.
It opened.
“How did you do that?”
Beyond was a long, low-ceilinged room choked tight with metal plumbing. Some of the pipes were as wide as my head. Lights were spaced regularly across the ceiling, but they did little to illuminate the place, which rumbled with the workings of a distant furnace. To our right was a small office, barely bigger than a walk-in closet, where the older man who had let Bouncerman and I into Lily’s apartment sat listening to Christian talk radio. He had a trimmed beard and a flat cap on his head. He turned when he saw us, and for a moment, there was a very deer-in-headlights look in his eyes. Then he stood.
“Mr. Tully?” I asked.
“You’re not supposed to be down here,” he said sternly. “No one’s supposed to be down here. It’s dangerous. There are—”
“It’s all right,” I said. “We spoke with Mary. She said we could find you here.”
“No one’s supposed to be down here,” he repeated. “Mary knows.”
“We wondered if you could help us. We’re looking for someone.”
“Are you police?” he asked. “You don’t look like police.”
“We’re private investigators,” I said. “Hired by the family of Lily Ann Sobriecki.” I held up her photo. “Do you recognize this girl?”
He barely glanced. “No. Sorry. What’s happened to her?”
“Why do you think something’s happened to her?” I asked, channeling Detective Hammond.
“I don’t, I just—” He shrugged. “You folks are looking for her. I guess I just assumed.”
I made bug eyes at the chef, who scowled at me, and I did it again.
Darren was watching us.
“The thing . . .” I said softly.
“What thing?” he asked.
“Do the thing,” I told him. “You know, the thing. You do.”
“Why?” he said. “He is obviously lying. The girl is clearly here, or at his place of residence.”
Darren ran.
“Why would you say that out loud?” I yelled as I darted forward.
But it was a maze down there, and I’d already lost him. I was slowed by having to stop at each intersection and look both ways. I hadn’t noticed before, but there was another section to the room that broke off to the right. An industrial-sized washer and dryer stood behind several hanging sheets, which made it impossible to see if anyone was hiding. At the back, an exit stood at the top of a concrete staircase, but it was heavy and didn’t seem like it had just been opened.
“Do you see him?” I asked.
But Etude was strolling some distance behind me, like he was in no hurry.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for the lights,” he said.
And then they went out.
I ducked. It was a reflex. It was much darker now. The only illumination came from the various buttons around the room, along with a bright light inside the dryer. I couldn’t see my companion at all. It was like he disappeared. I stood to search for him and steam erupted after a bullet ricocheted near me.
I yelped and dropped.
“Mr. Tully?” I called from behind cover. “Darren? We know you have her. There’s nowhere to go.”
Frankly, I had no idea if that was true. There could’ve been another exit.
“Mary’s already called the police,” I yelled over the din. “They’ll be here any minute.”
That much, at least, was true.
I had no idea where he was. It was like a maze. And it was his territory, not mine.
Cerise, what are you doing?
I dropped my bag and crept forward on all fours. I caught a figure out of the corner of my eye and turned with a fright, but it was Etude.
I turned back once. “Wait. How did you get over there?”
He was scanning the darkness like he could see in it. I peered over a pipe to see if he had found Darren and instead saw a rolling orange glow in the darkness, as if from a fire, at the far end of the room.
“There was a radiator upstairs, wasn’t there?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said grimly.
“A building this size means there’s a very large boiler.” Keeping low, I shimmied to the next cluster of metal. “He’s going to get rid of her.”
“He will still be caught.”
“Yeah, but with no witnesses and no physical evidence, he can claim someone else did it. We need to get back there.”
“Very well. Stand behind me,” he ordered, and I did so.
Étranger walked straight back like he was bulletproof while I kept low and held onto the tail of his fantastic coat. We could definitely smell the kerosene then. A moment later, we saw it. There were several red plastic canisters. He was going to use it as an accelerant. The door to the boiler’s furnace was already open. Flames flickered around the hole like a jet engine.
“Mr. Tully,” the chef said.
He spun and pointed his gun.
“What are you doing?” I said to the chef.
We could’ve snuck up on him.
But Etude ignored me. “Your bullet has already ricocheted once.” He nodded to the kerosene. “If you fire here and miss, not only will you kill all of us, and yourself, but the boiler will rupture and risk the lives of everyone in this building. I don’t think that’s how you wish to be remembered, is it? As a mass murderer?”
Darren’s hand was shaking. His eyes were crazy wide. He wasn’t a master criminal. He was a desperate, desperate man.
I saw her then. Lily. She sat on an old cushion on the floor behind him, her hands bound by duct tape to a pipe over her head. Her mouth was duct-taped as well. She’d lost weight. Her terrified eyes were dusky with old mascara. Tears had cut rivers down her cheeks. She wore a fancy knit pullover that hung off one shoulder and a very fashionable layered wrap skirt. Her feet were bare, and her panties hung around one ankle.
I stepped out from behind the chef then. I didn’t care anymore.
“Mr. Tully,” I said. There was a heavy plumbing wrench resting against a grate, and I hefted it. “You can’t shoot us both. Not before one of us gets there.”
“Why does she get to have everything?” he demanded. His frantic, shaking voice echoed down the long room. I could see the veins on his neck. “I worked my whole life, and what do I have? I can’t even retire!”
He pointed the gun at Lily and she whimpered and shut her eyes. She was shaking. He wouldn’t miss at that range. We were all silent as the furnace roared.
“I was nice to her!” he screamed. “And she just blew me off. Like they do. All these girls. I know what they do. At that club. With guys who look just like me. Except they got money. But it was okay, ya know? I could live with it. I tried to help them. And they laughed. And then one day she came to me and said she was in trouble. Asked if I was serious about wanting to help. Can you believe it? And I did. I helped. Didn’t I?” He pressed the barrel to her forehead. “Didn’t I?”
She nodded, eyes shut, trembling.
“I wanted to. I wanted to help. Because I’m a nice guy.” He pushed the gun into her skin. “And then . . .” He turned back to us. “And then you know what? You know what happened?”
“Tell us,” I said.
“I caught her stealing. From me. She needed money so she could go meet some guy! I heard her. On the phone. Some big score. She’s a thief. She used me to hide out, prancing around in her underwear the whole time like a slut. Like it was no big deal. Like I just had to take it! I got nuthin. Little bit of cash I saved. She was just gonna steal it and ditch me and run off and be rich!” He raised his chin and glowered down at her. “Well, someone needed to teach her a lesson. That’s all it was. A lesson.”
“Look at her,” I said, stepping closer.
He spun to point the shaking gun at me. I was close enough to smell the gunpowder from his last shot.
“Look at her,” I said. “Don’t you think she learned the lesson?”
When he turned, confusedly, to check, I swung the wrench, which struck his hand hard enough to knock the gun free, and it slid under a row of pipes. Etude stepped between us immediately, forcing him back. I ran to Lily.
“Are you okay?” I asked, pulling the tape from her mouth.
Darren screamed. I turned and saw him wild-eyed, hands to his head. The chef stood stoically between us as Darren stumbled and looked around, confused.
“What’s happened to me?” He was massaging his temples so hard with his palms that it was turning his eyes bloodshot. “What’s happened to me?”
His foot hit one of the kerosene tanks, knocking it over. I thought the fuel would spill everywhere, but the cap was still firmly attached and the liquid merely sloshed inside.
Darren looked insane. He was staring at Lily. But it wasn’t anger. It was confusion.
“What did I do?”
His lips turned down. He collapsed to his knees.
“Don’t just stand there, get me out of here!” Lily yelled.
The squeaky door opened at the far end of the room, and everything seemed to get quiet.
“What is that?” Lily asked. “Who’s there? GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
I stood.
“What are you doing?” Lily shouted, squirming. “You didn’t fin—”
Then she saw them, too. I think Étranger knew they were there the whole time. He just stood with his hands in his pockets.
It was the dark figures from the theater. The shadows cast by the furnace flames danced over them, pulling them in and out of the dark. But they didn’t move. They were still, like hunting spiders.
“Shit.”
I dropped again to tug at her bonds. That’s when I heard the splatter. One of the other cannisters was open, it seemed, and Darren was dumping it over himself.
“DEVILS!” he screamed. “SATAN, you do not have me!”
Darren didn’t even have to cover half the short distance to the furnace before the flames licked his clothes and he caught on fire. It engulfed him, screaming, and he ran in circles for only a moment or two before collapsing to the floor.
The light from his burning corpse lit the room much brighter than it had been before, and we could see the figures clearly.
“No,” Lily breathed, pulling on her bonds. “Nonononono get me out of here!”
I yanked on the tape as the figures moved forward and my hand slipped.
“Hurry up!”
“Stop squirming!”
I pulled again and the tape came free. Lily didn’t wait. She scrambled for the gun. She stood, shaking, and pointed it at me, then the chef, who hadn’t moved, and then the figures. With the gun raised, she stumbled toward them, making her way to the side exit.
“It will do no good,” Étranger said.
The approaching figures had stretched into a line to force us to the back, and she fired several times at the first, but she was a crap shot and bullets bounced off pipes and machinery until finally the only one that would’ve connected was deflected by a flash of metal.
Lily ran for the side door as Etude pulled his hands from his coat. The looming, white-faced figures stopped.
“How the fuck do they always know where I am?” I asked.
“You signed a contract,” he said, watching them.
“What?” I remembered it saying something about me authorizing any surveillance on myself as might be necessary to complete the job. “I didn’t know that’s what it meant!”
The invaders raised shining swords.
Swords.
That was what had deflected the shot.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“You can do nothing,” he said, flexing his tattooed hands. “This is my battle. You must get the girl. Find the dagger.” He turned. “No matter the cost.”
“Cost. Right.” I was actually incredibly relieved he didn’t expect me to stay. But then I felt terribly guilty about it. I watched the dark figures approach. “Right,” I repeated.
“Go,” he said. “There is nothing more you can do here.”
I ran after Lily, who had ascended the steps on the wall behind the industrial washer and fled down a hall. At the top, I saw a door to my right had been opened. It was slowly sliding closed. I heard the sound of rain and ran out into it. The chef had been right. It was pouring. The first time in weeks. The storm had driven most people inside, at least for the time being, and there were only a handful of pedestrians on the sidewalk. It was easy enough to spot her. She still had the gun in her hand and people were fleeing her every step. She was also barefoot and weak from lack of food, and she stumbled several times before I caught up to her.
“Stay back!”
She spun the gun around. Honestly, in the confusion, I had no idea how many shots she’d fired. I didn’t remember the gun clicking empty. But then I also didn’t know if that was really something guns did, or even how many shots a gun like that had.
“Lily!” I held up my hands. “I’m not going to hurt you!”
I had to yell over the rain, which was drenching us both.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Cerise. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Stay away from me!”
A couple guys were creeping in at the side to try to subdue her and she fired once in the air. The sound cracked loudly and everyone jumped and ran back.
“STAY AWAY!” she screamed. “Stay away!”
She ran toward the next corner, where people sheltering from the rain inside a covered bus stop looked on worriedly, unsure of what to do. Several ran into the storm to escape. Lily stumbled again, weak, and fell. She pointed the gun back at me.
I stopped.
“Listen to me,” I said. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You can’t!” she cried. Her mouth was frozen in a sob that wouldn’t come, as if she were all out. “You can’t help me,” she said desperately. “No one can. There’s no place you can hide. Do you understand? Anyone who comes near me gets hurt. Nothing can stop it. I checked. I checked everything. Once it has you . . .”
She lifted the gun under her chin and pulled.
“NO!” I screamed.
But nothing happened. The gun was empty. She fell to her butt and tossed it into the street, crying. I heard sirens in the distance.
“Why-won’t-it-let-me-die?” she panted between sighs. “I-just-want-it-to-stop.” She looked to me, defeated. “No more. Please . . .”
“I’ll help you.”
I knelt beside her. Both our heads were so wet that our hair hung long and straight in front of our faces. The heavy rain beat us.
“I know someone who can help you.”
She produced a small key then, barely an inch long, like something that might open a mailbox. It rested in her palm, and she held it out to me like an offering to a god.
“It’s yours now,” she said through squinted eyes. She seemed elated. “I give it to you.” The key fell to the pavement, and she stood, arms raised, head to the sky.
“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity!” she declared.
In the moment I glanced to the key, hoping something about it would explain her curious behavior, she stepped back into the road. A passing car, unaware of the scene unfolding in the rain, hit its breaks and swerved into the oncoming lane to avoid her, forcing the approaching city bus to do the same. I saw it smack into her with a thud. Glass cracked and she disappeared under the bus tires, which squealed to a halt.
Everything stopped.
I covered my mouth. I could see her still fingers jut out limply from under the vehicle. The driver ran out and looked under and took off her hat as the rain soaked her uniform.
“Oh God,” she said, rocking back and forth. “Oh, heavenly God.”
And there was the key on the wet asphalt, drops dribbling over it. I didn’t dare touch it. The police arrived. I saw the flashing red and blue reflected off the rain water, but I didn’t hear them. I didn’t hear anything, not even the rain. All I heard was the clink of heavy coins in a pocket. And a cane.
Clink.
Tap.
Clink.
Tap.
The man in the alligator boots stepped off the curb next to me and walked to the bus. The driver was directing an officer’s attention to the body, to the gun, to me. The man in the alligator boots tapped Lily’s still hand twice with the tip of his cane, like she was a dog and he was her telling to move on. He reached into his change pocket then and took out a silver piece and set it in her hand. He turned to me and smiled a long, long smile—as wide as his ears. His thin black skin stretched over his skeleton.
“You sure keeping me busy,” he said. Then he chuckled and turned down the street.
Clink.
Tap.
Clink.
“See ya real soon, Cerise.”