Blood On Borrowed Wings: A Dark Fantasy Thriller (12 page)

A friend in need is a friend who has long out-served his purpose in the relationship.

Blackwing Jingoism; An Exposition

Colonel Hundt

‘Ah, it’s good to be in the air again.’ Croel threw his shoulders back and dropped his head forward, plummeting a hundred feet in a wing-beat. The air rushed around him and his feathers rattled from resistance, flapping like a black quill flag in high winds. He arched his back and flew up, once again alongside Mckeever. ‘My arm still hurts but it is not affecting my flight too much.’

‘I can see that.’

They both looked down as they crossed the Edgelands of Nimbus. Trees downscaled to bushes and then disappeared in a brush waterfall over the lip of the circular land mass. Greens blurred then gave way to more distant browns and greys. A thermal draft hit them both at the same time, and without shock or comment, they circled clockwise in ascent. They did not speak to each other. It would have been pointless at this height and speed. Words would be whipped to the horizon before the keenest of ears had a chance to snatch them from the tumult. Up here words easily became insignificant; whispers into a hurricane’s wall.

They did not look for windsharks. Fresh blood was no longer issuing from Mckeever’s eye and without that to attract them, they assessed the risk of an attack as negligible, despite Loope's recent, exaggerated tales. If Mckeever and Croel had spotted a windshark, there would be very little they could do anyway, other than shout their last goodbyes to each other’s heads before they were departed from their respective shoulders. Instead they used the thermals to stay in motion. They kept their speed up and hoped for the best. Newton’s wings barely slowed Mckeever down at all.

The credits were worth the risk.

As they circled higher they enjoyed the solitude and time for personal reflection. Mckeever dwelled on his new disability and wondered if his auditory perception would be improved by way of compensation for his semi-loss of vision. Maybe that could even help his hunting. He also wondered if working for Vedett was such a good idea. He hated politics and religion and Groundbounders, and this current assignment was getting him embroiled in the former and latter far too much for him to be comfortable. But the credits were good, and whilst he was flying everything seemed more acceptable, less important. Concerns were relegated to minor inconveniences nagging at the back of his well-paid, liberated mind. He listened to the sound of the rushing wind fill his ears and tried to discern if it was now, just a little, louder.

Croel followed Mckeever’s circles. He thought about how he would dispatch the guards at the cells when they landed, and decided that catching birds and people was not that different after all. He thought about whether his partner was up to the task and figured ways he could test his skills and usefulness or uselessness. He was angry with Mckeever for lessening their team's effectiveness. His thin, pinched face cut a slipstream through the cold, coursing air and his brittle teeth were blasted dry as the wind forced his thin, joyless slit of a grin wider. He was even more superior now.

They levelled out and used their altitude to glide west and down towards the ground, to the place where the ash plains met the reed grass and the swamp. They were looking for a concrete structure, low and rectangular and at the heart of the Deadlands, an abandoned low rise tomb on the barren plains, the cells.

They flew following their noses, the sulphuric discharge belching acrimony into the atmosphere, a miasmic pointer telling them their heading and hinting at the foulness that might be in store once they arrived. And whilst Mckeever smiled, feeling good to be back in the air, revelling in the simple freedom and satisfaction of flight, Croel plotted and scanned the horizon for their destination through squinted eyes. Once on the ground they would take care of the guards, Drake and the girl as Vedett had requested. He had not ordered, he knew better than that.
Only Drake alive
, he had said,
do as you wish with the others
.

Croel especially looked forward to working on the girl and found a reason deep in the darkness of his being to beat his wings more vigorously and catch up to his partner.

Mckeever started as Croel pulled alongside him and watched as he then used his afforded element of surprise to move slightly ahead. Mckeever, though a stronger flyer, happily tucked in behind.

He did not see Croel’s smile spread like a wound. A sickly red gash hacked into his angular, pale face, full of slyness and dark glee. But somehow, maybe due to an overactive imagination or possibly an overcompensating sense and even despite the wind, he thought he heard, very faintly, a chuckle drift down to him from his partner up ahead.

They both left the time for more personal reflection up in the underbellies of the barely existent clouds and began their descent.

Oh, how bankers with silken tongues and ties,

Purvey the dream you had no wish to know.

Housed, clothed and rich by your darling enterprise,

Having sold their souls and darlings so very long ago.

Morals for Sale

S.Walker

I put my empty whisky tumbler down on top of one of the monitors. Their screens were black, reflecting the contents and dour mood of the security room. We looked like warped monochrome apparitions reflected in the glass; ghosts stalking some removed, distant dimension; nobody talking or even making eye contact.

We looked like we were waiting for absolution or bad news.

Pan broke the silence.

‘So where is the recording from that night? I want to make sure my hair looked OK.’

Lacroix produced a disc from his pocket.

‘Here it is. It’s on quarter time, so it will appear slightly jerky but it allows us to fit more onto one disc. The resolution should be sufficient to identify whatever you need to.’

I picked up my empty glass and handed it to Pan.

‘Can you get me another one of these, please?’

‘I’m not your slave, you can’t just...’

‘No ice,’ I said.

She looked at me for a few moments, flicked her hair to show her disapproval and snatched the glass out of my hand. Thankfully she left the room with little more fuss than that.

Lacroix shifted uneasily in his chair as she closed the door and I took the opportunity to use the silence to my advantage and said nothing. I folded my arms, swivelled my chair to face him and stared. I could almost hear the cogs of his brain clunking around to process why I needed to be alone with him and the computation process was making him sweat. His eyes started to retreat into his skull and I noticed him try to take a drink from his already empty coffee cup. Twice.

‘I was set up.’

He jumped, looked confused.

‘But the recording…’

‘I was set up and you fucking know it.’

‘I do not know what you are talking about, Mr Theron. Why not watch the recording and you will see…’ he swallowed nervously.

‘I do not need to. I know exactly what happened.’

Lacroix looked at his coffee cup again.

‘Without looking I can tell you a number of things.’ I stood and was surprised to see that Lacroix did not flinch. ‘On fight night, the two empty seats next to Miss Socorro meant Box Office were in on it. Someone had bought or left those two seats open for a reason. Prime seats do not get left empty like that. Not on a Brawl night.’

I did not ask him any direct questions, I was not interested in his responses or excuses. Instead I was examining the twitches and ticks and the instrument panel of his face that was telling me all I needed to know. Good card players don’t play the cards, they play the man. I wanted to see what he had.

‘They also managed to remove Miss Socorro and me from the building without so much as a scuffle.’

‘You were lost in the affray.’

‘Affray? It was full on war. It far outweighed any brutality going on in the meshed ring and probably drew more attention. The security team knew where I was and what I was doing. No-one helped or intervened. No police either.’

Lacroix was suddenly overly interested in his shoes.

‘Now I must assume, personal vendettas aside, that the chief of security would normally be all over an event like this?’

Lacroix did not recognise this as a rhetorical question and tried to answer. ‘When questioned he said he assumed you knew what you were doing and he did not want to, how did he put it? “Cramp your style.”’

‘Some style, I had enough drugs in me to stop a small battalion of Blackwings and, to all intents and purposes, they won. They took me out. But what about Pan? How did you let her get taken too?’

Lacroix recognised this as a rhetorical question and remained silent.

‘Fire your Security Chief. He is on the take and he is inept. Both are grounds for dismissal. Get rid of his two assistant managers too, no doubt they are in on this as well. Dig the rotten core out and the pips too, get some decent people in. I’ll give you some names if you like.’

‘I’ll discuss it with the board first thing,’ Lacroix said, relieved.

‘Someone on the board is in on this, too.’

Lacroix said nothing.

‘That does not exclude you.’

‘I have not, at any time…’

‘Save it,’ I said. ‘Just sort your security so women stop getting killed, OK?’

‘Yes, OK,’ Lacroix said, almost apologetically.

‘You will discuss your security overhaul with the Board today, or I will be calling some media favours in. Think they would like this kind of scoop. Then we can both watch as your sales plummet again. The public, after all, is a fickle animal.’

‘I'll call an emergency meeting.’

‘They'll come,’ I said. ‘It involves money.’

‘Your payment is all in the reception safe, waiting as arranged. Even accounting for the furore you exceeded expectations, Mr Theron. The bookings for the next few bouts have gone ballistic, off the scale. Our shareholders and audiences have never been happier. There is a substantial bonus in there in light of the extra trauma and inconvenience.’

I closed my eyes for a second trying to surmount the uprush of bile I felt at having to deal with this over indulged wallflower in a suit.

Extra trauma and inconvenience made it sound like a ticket mix up, like an often repeated, spurious apology for a bad show. People had died.

‘That pleases me no end,’ I said without even the smallest hint of sarcasm, making it an all the more effective jibe. ‘Now give me ten minutes to watch this video nasty and I’ll meet you and Pan by reception. Tell her to have my drink if she hasn’t already.’

‘It’s all set up, in the right place,’ said Lacroix as he stood to leave. ‘I’ll see you outside then?’ He wiped his hands down his trousers. He seemed reluctant to go, but when he was not met with an acknowledgement of any kind, he slid around the edge of the open door in the effete way only high level businessmen and small girls can manage.

I depressed the playback button, sat back and folded my arms. The centre monitor sprang into life with a crackle and whir and then, after a small grey leader denoted the time and date of the recording, the scene was revealed. I entered from the bottom left hand corner in a scratchy, monochrome grey, chewing candied nuts.

 
I hoped I would see something to confirm my already cementing suspicions.

I was not disappointed.

Always make sure you finish what you finish.

Blackwing motto

‘Wait,’ said Croel.

He raised one of his hands and pointed to the cell building.

Mckeever noticed the door standing ajar and nodded, ‘I’ll do another fly-by.’ He gave Newton’s wings to Croel then ran and took to the air, the beats of his wings so close to the ground that the scorched grass and weeds seemed to bend out of his way, acquiescing, as he flew. His midday shadow stayed close. He banked sharply at the first corner, and again, and returned to his starting point before the first grasses had settled back to attention.

‘Well?’

‘No signs of life,’ said Mckeever.

‘Or death?’ said Croel.
          

 
Mckeever shook his head, 'Not out here anyway.'

‘Well then, after you,’ said Croel pointing at the open door.

Mckeever knew he was being tested and rather than make an issue of it, instead, sat into the challenge like he would a well-used armchair. He approached the entrance, folded his black wings tightly into his back and pushed the door further ajar so the midday light invaded the narrow corridor beyond. He knew his eye would take a while to become accustomed to the gloom, so squinting, he ducked inside, squatting low, not wanting to make a target silhouette for any waiting crossbow or thrown dagger from an unseen assailant. He had done too much underestimating lately.

He did not want to proceed too far along the corridor’s dark course that he would not be able to detect danger, so he rested on his haunches, allowing his eye to adjust fully before declaring the coast clear for Croel to join him.

Croel leaned Newton’s wings up in the doorway. He slowly ambled in rubbing his shoulder and signalled that he would watch the door whilst Mckeever checked the concrete holding cells.

Mckeever shouted what he was finding as he proceeded;

‘Surveillance room monitors smashed, discs destroyed, keys and goggles gone, it’s a mess.’ His voice sounded tinny as it reverberated along the runnels of the concrete box.

He moved to the next room.

‘First cell’s empty, though it smells like the woman was in here.’

He moved to the opposite cell door.

‘Empty. Never been used.’

As he moved further inside he noticed the next cell door was open on its corner axes. And though light struggled to penetrate fully into the furthest reaches of the gloom, Mckeever could see in the doorway, the dark unmistakeable swathe of blood staining the concrete floor.

He stepped inside to survey the scene.

‘I think you better come and see this, Croel.’

Croel peered into the dimly lit room. Light struggled into the corners.

Mckeever stepped over a guard who had had his throat cut. ‘Looks like our guy did not stay put.’

‘Rage has been here, indeed,’ said Croel looking at two severed fingers on the cell floor. He was intrigued and excited by the carnage he found.

And though he knew the credits would not be as easily earned for rounding up Drake and Pan as he had first thought, he admired their work just the same.