Drake (7 page)

“Do you know–?” the Burned Man began, but I cut it off.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, actually I do as it happens.”

I smiled grimly to myself as I used the brush to draw the necessary sigils on the pebble, muttering the word over and over again under my breath as I worked.

Fuck her, I'd had about enough of this.

I
t was
a good job I hadn't left it any longer, as it turned out. It had just got dark that evening when she came back. I was sitting on the sofa in my office with a cup of nearly cold coffee in my hand and my new amulet lying cold and heavy against my chest on a leather thong under my shirt. She didn't ring the bell, but by then I wasn't really expecting her to.

“Hello Trixie,” I said as she opened the door to my office and stepped inside.

“The door was open,” she said.

“No,” I said, “it wasn't.”

I'd checked it not half an hour ago, for maybe the eighth time since Gold Steevie had left. I'd even set the deadlock just to be sure.

“Well,” she said, and smiled at me. “No, perhaps it wasn't.”

She opened her bag and took out her cigarette case.

“What do you want, Trixie?” I said.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just checking in.”

She lit her cigarette and blew a plume of acrid Russian smoke at the ceiling.

“Well don't,” I said. “I'm a big boy, I can look after myself.”

“No you can't,” she said. “Are you going to invite me to sit down?”

“No,” I said.

“How about a drink then?”

“No, Trixie.”

“Oh dear,” she sighed. “That horrible thing told you I saw it, didn't it?”

“Don't know what you're talking about,” I said.

She tutted and perched on the edge of my desk. She was wearing her leather coat again, with black patent high heels. Her legs were bare, and I couldn't help wondering what exactly she had on under the coat. If anything.

Damn it, Don, stop that!

I could feel that weird, not-quite-all-there feeling trying to creep up on me again when I looked at her. I focused my Will on my amulet instead and forced myself to be strong. It was a lot, lot harder than it should have been, but whatever she was trying to do to me I managed to overpower her this time.

“I think you and I need to have a good long chat,” she said.

“I don't,” I said. “Go away, Trixie.”

She flicked ash on the floor and gave me a long, cool look. I focused on the amulet again and gave her a subtle shove with my Will. Nothing overtly hostile like I had used on that night creature – I didn't want to provoke an open confrontation until I knew for sure what she was, and how dangerous she might be. I doubt she even consciously felt it, but it was enough to do the job. Sometimes subtlety is best. Not often, granted, but now and again.

“I'm sure you know best,” she said at last. “I'll be around.”

She got up and stalked out of my office without another word.

I sighed and leaned my head back against the sofa. I listened to her high heels click down the stairs, then to the very deliberate sound of the front door opening and closing behind her. Funnily enough she hadn't make a sound coming in.

The thing that really worried me was that the Burned Man obviously didn't know what she was either. I didn't always much like the Burned Man, but at least I understood it. In the same way I understood vorehounds and screamers and Wormwood and Gold Steevie and their ilk, I knew what made the Burned Man tick. I didn't understand Trixie at all, and that was starting to seriously bother me, given the sudden interest she seemed to have taken in my life. She was absolutely not human but she was obviously
something,
and I really didn't like not knowing what. I drained the cold dregs of my coffee and looked at my watch. It was only half nine. Ten minutes later I had my coat on and was halfway down the street.

Debbie opened the door in her pyjamas and a big fluffy dressing gown that had probably been pink once. I was ridiculously pleased to see her, but I could see straight away that the feeling wasn't exactly mutual.

“You've got to be taking the piss,” she said.

“Debs, look…” I started, but she cut me dead.

“Don't you Debs me, you bastard,” she said. “You think I haven't heard? You think
everyone
hasn't heard?”

“I–” I said.

“You
bastard!
” she shouted at me.

The flats where Debbie lived weren't in a much better area than where I lived, so some woman screaming at her bloke on the doorstep was hardly likely to draw much attention. Even so, I can't say I liked the thought of curtains twitching behind me.

“I'm so sorry,” I said at last. “I didn't know. You have to believe me, I didn't know.”

She glared at me, and didn't say anything. She glared at me for so long I was starting to wonder whether I ought to say something else, but just then she punched me full in the face. I was so tired and so relieved to see her and so weirded out in general that I never saw it coming. Debbie isn't a big woman but she works with her hands in noxious chemicals all day every day, and her fist was like a lump of rock. Her knuckles slammed into my nose hard enough to snap my head back and make me see stars.

“Fucksake!” I gasped, my eyes full of tears and hot blood welling out of my nose. “Debbie please, I didn't know!”

“If I thought you
had
known, I'd have thrown acid at you,” she said.

She stepped back and yanked me into her flat by the lapels of my coat. The door thumped shut behind me and she thrust a tissue into my hand.

“Wipe your nose,” she said. “You're making a mess.”

I pressed the tissue to my face and tipped my head back, pinching the bridge of my nose until the blood stopped. It hurt like hell.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“Tell me why, Don,” she said. “Tell me why the
hell
I should listen to you any more?”

I swallowed, coughed, and looked at her. She looked so fierce, so angry, and so bloody scared I didn't know whether I should hug her or hide from her. I just sighed instead.

“I've packed it in,” I said.

She blinked at me. “You've packed what in, exactly?”

“Work,” I said, for want of a better word for it. “The whole… you know. What I do. What I
did
, anyway.”

“Oh,” she said.

She sat down in her armchair with the table full of pipes and tubes and bottles behind her, and waved vaguely at the only other chair in the room. It was an old dining chair that had presumably once belonged to the table behind her, and it creaked alarmingly under my weight. I settled gratefully into it anyway.

“I had Gold Steevie round today, offering me a job,” I said. “I told him no. Ten grand for a day's work and I told him no.”

“Oh,” she said again, and blinked. “That's the least you can do I suppose, after what happened.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I think it is. I've had… someone else round, too. This woman, Trixie. She… she
knows
things
,
Debs. Things she shouldn't know. I dunno who she is, but she's starting to frighten the bloody life out of me.”

“Trixie?” Debbie echoed. “Stupid name. What does she look like, this frightening Trixie?”

Gorgeous,
I thought, but I knew that wouldn't be a clever thing to say.
Captivating. Otherworldly. So special I can hardly think about anything else, and that's the most frightening part.
No, that really wouldn't do either. I focused on my amulet again and forced myself to think straight.

“Blonde,” I said at last. “Sort of Swedish looking. Creepy.”

Debbie shrugged. “Could be anyone,” she said, although I knew damn well that it really couldn't. “Anyone else?”

I knew that mentioning Ally would have been even stupider than telling her I'd spent the last however many days it had been mooning about over Trixie before I had come to my senses and done something about it.

“No,” I said. “I've just been keeping my head down, to be honest.”

“And not working,” Debbie said.

“That's right,” I said. “And not working.”

She looked at me. “Don, how are you going to live?”

I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. “I have no fucking idea,” I said.

B
less her
, Debbie let me stay the night. Just sitting up in her armchair, mind you, with her spare summer duvet chucked over me, but it was better than nothing. It was a hell of a lot better than going home would have been, that was for certain. I didn't
think
Trixie would come here looking for me, although I still had a nasty suspicion that she could have found me if she'd really wanted to.

When I woke up from my cold, fitful sleep, Debbie was sitting on the other chair staring at me. I winced and stretched, feeling my spine crunch unpleasantly. I'm too old to be sleeping in armchairs and that's all there is to it. Debbie was already dressed, in jeans and trainers and a big sloppy brown jumper with burn marks on the front.

“What time is it?” I asked her.

“Gone eight,” she said. “There's coffee in the kitchen if you want it.”

I nodded. Not so long ago she'd have brought me that coffee in bed, and then got back in with me to wish me a happy morning. I almost smiled at the thought, but in that momentary little fantasy she kept turning into Trixie and that just got me scared all over again.

“Thanks,” I said, hoping the rough shake in my voice just sounded like morning mouth. “Uh, can I use your bathroom?”

“You've spent enough nights here before that I don't think you have to ask to go pee,” Debbie said, and I spotted the shadow of a smile on her face.

When I came back from the bathroom she'd brought my coffee through, and pinched the armchair. I sat on the rickety dining chair and sipped my drink gratefully.

“Look, thanks Debs,” I said. “I mean, you didn't have to. I'd have understood if….”

“I nearly didn't,” she said.

Oh.
That was harsh, really.
For fuck's sake, Don, no it isn't,
I told myself.
Think yourself lucky.

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm sorry. I really, really am sorry.”

“Mmmm,” she said. “I've heard that somewhere before.”

“That's not fair,” I said. “I mean, well, maybe it is, but… oh c'mon Debs, nothing like this has ever
happened
before.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said. “Look, Don, I've been thinking. What I mean by that is I've been awake all night, which is your fault, but while I was awake all night I was thinking. You need to hide for a bit, don't you?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I sort of do.”

“And you're broke, aren't you?”

I still had my tenner in my pocket, and the two fifties that Gold Steevie had given me. In case you didn't know, a hundred and ten quid doesn't go very far in London these days. I nodded.

“Well,” she said, “I could, you know, use a hand here. Maybe you ought to stick around for a bit, just keep your head down and do some honest work for a change. How does that sound?”

“I'm no alchemist,” I said.

“Dear God, I know that,” Debbie said. “I'm not going to let you near anything that actually matters, Don. I'm sure you can grind herbs and write labels and bleed a goat though, can't you?”

I supposed I could, at that. I nodded.

“Thanks Debs,” I said.

“I mean,” she went on, “I can't afford to actually pay you but I'll let you sleep here, and I'll feed you and…”

“Damn,” I said suddenly.

She raised an eyebrow. “I'm not a minimum wage employer you know,” she said.

“No, no it's not that,” I said. “Look Debs, I really appreciate it, and yeah sure I'll take you up on it, but I've just remembered something. I'll have to pop back to my office once a day, OK?”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” she asked me.

It wasn't, but nor was forgetting to feed the Burned Man again. I think I'd only got away with it last time because it had been spending just as much time thinking about Trixie as I had. Which, now that I thought about it, was bloody odd. Oh the Burned Man could be a lecherous little bastard, that was true enough, but beyond the odd reference to “a nice bit of skirt”, I'd never known it to take that much interest in any one particular woman before. There was definitely something about our Trixie that appealed to all comers.

“Can't be helped,” I said. “I need to check my messages and stuff.”

I'm a bit of a technophobe, as you might have gathered. My answering machine was at least twenty years old, a proper one with the little cassette tape in it. The point was I couldn't phone it and get it to read me my messages, I had to be there to listen to them. Which was pretty handy just then.

“Tell me again why you haven't got a mobile like normal people?” Debbie said.

I snorted. I hate bloody mobile phones. “I don't like being bothered by the phone when I'm at home,” I said. “Why the hell would I want to be bothered by it when I'm out?”

Businessman of the year I know, but there you are.

“Well, OK,” Debbie said, “but be careful.”

I nodded. I'd be careful all right.

I
t actually went
OK for a few days. I worked for Debbie during the day then nipped back to the office afterwards to give the Burned Man its feed while she was cooking our dinner. There was nothing on the answering machine, and while the Burned Man was obviously getting bored and starting to feel neglected, it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I certainly wasn't about to tell it I wasn't in business anymore – the Burned Man loved its work far too much for it to be at all happy about that.

“Business is dead,” I told it with a shrug on the fourth day. “Can't be helped. It'll pick up again, it always does.”

It had grimaced at me, but nothing further came of it, and I didn't see or hear any more from Trixie. Subtlety I tell you, there's definitely a place for it now and again.

On the sixth day, I'd just finished feeding the horrible little thing when the phone rang. My heart sank, but I hurried through to the office to pick it up anyway.
Don't be Steevie, please don't be Steevie,
I thought as I reached for the handset. It wasn't Steevie. It was much worse than that.

“Don Drake,” I said.

“About bloody time,” said Wormwood. “Where've you been, fucking Timbuktu?”

“Um,” I said, my heart starting to beat double time in my chest.

He was phoning me personally instead of getting Selina to do it, I realized, so it must be important. I remembered that Wormwood refused to talk to answering machines for some reason. He could have been calling for days for all I knew.

“I've been seeing someone,” I said lamely.

Wormwood's laugh was one of the most disgusting noises I think I've ever heard, full of phlegm and malice. “So you're hip deep in cunt and I'm left wondering where the fuck you are, that's bleeding marvellous that is,” he said. “Get your arse down the club, I need to talk to you.”

“Um,” I said again. “What, now?”

“No, a week on Tuesday, you fucking prick,” Wormwood snapped. “Yes, now.”

He hung up, leaving me staring stupidly at the handset. I groaned and punched Debbie's number.

“I'm, um, not going to make it back for dinner,” I said.

There was an arctic pause. “Oh?” she said, at last.

“Look, I'm sorry OK,” I said. “It's Wormwood. I dunno what he wants but I can't stand him up, you know that.”

“You've retired,” Debbie reminded me.

“I know, I know,” I said. “I'll just nip over to the club and tell him that, and I'll be back before you go to bed, OK?”

“OK,” Debbie sighed, and hung up.

Needless to say it wasn't that simple.

At least I still had enough money for a taxi. I got out at the end of Wormwood's alley and walked into the bar feeling no more nervous than I ever did coming here. I'd paid my debt, after all, and if he wanted another favour he was just shit out of luck, and that was all there was to it. It was only seven-ish and the bar was empty, but Connie was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

“Evening Connie,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could manage. “Wormwood wanted to see me.”

“That's right, he did,” said Connie.

The huge minder took me by the arm with a hand that went all the way around my bicep with ease. He steered me away from the stairs and through a door beside the bar that I didn't think I'd ever noticed before. There was an office on the other side of the door, and Wormwood was sitting behind a desk with a cigarette in his hand and the
Financial Times
spread out in front of him.

“Evening,” he said, without looking up. “Hurt him, Connie.”

“What?” I managed, before Connie belted me in the guts.

I actually felt my feet leave the ground, and the back of my head cracked painfully into the wall when I flew backwards into it. My knees collapsed under me and I sagged to the floor, retching and gasping.

“That's for missing my calls,” Wormwood said in a mild voice. “And again, Connie.”

This time Connie kicked me. I've had a few beatings in my time but I'd never known anything quite like that, and I'll be quite happy to never know it again. I crashed sideways into a filing cabinet this time, and lay there curled into a foetal position with both my hands clamped to my midriff. I drew an agonizing breath and wondered if anything was broken inside me.

“That's for being off cunting when I wanted you,” Wormwood said. “Want another?”

I heaved in another breath and shook my head.

“No,” I croaked.

“Nah, didn't think so,” Wormwood said. “Get him up, Connie.”

Connie yanked me to my feet and dropped me into the chair opposite Wormwood. I gagged and whimpered and tried very hard not to puke on the ornately scrolled leather top of Wormwood's desk. I had a feeling he wouldn't appreciate that very much.

“Right then, down to business,” Wormwood said. “It's time to talk about your next instalment.”

“Instalment?” I gaped at him. “Now look Wormwood, I did that job for you. Vincent and Danny McRoth for fucksake, that's a thirty grand job easily. An angel's skull isn't worth any more than that!”

“Two things,” said Wormwood, holding up two fingers that were stained a dark, treacly brown with nicotine. “One, you fucked it up and now everyone in the business hates you on account of that kid. I'll let you off that, because I don't give a fuck. Two, and this is the important one, you're forgetting interest.”

“Interest,” I repeated, with a sick feeling in my stomach.

“You'll have heard of the notion I'm sure,” Wormwood said. “It's like a bank loan, only I ain't no fucking bank, Drake. You've paid the interest due to date, that's all. You still owe me for that skull.”

“Oh for fuck's–” I managed, before Connie's enormous arm snaked around my neck and yanked me bodily up out of the chair.

I dangled helplessly in his grip, fighting for breath as he slowly crushed my larynx in the crook of his elbow. A few more seconds of that and I'd simply be dead, no two ways about it.

“Put him down, Connie,” Wormwood said.

Connie dropped me back in the chair and I heaved in a great lungful of air, not even caring that the air in the room was mostly Wormwood's recycled cigarette smoke. There were great big black patches floating in front of my eyes, and tiny points of light that made me feel faint. I breathed again, and put my head between my legs until I got myself under control.

“Little bit too much there, Connie,” I heard Wormwood say.

“Sorry, Mr Wormwood,” said Connie.

“Now then,” Wormwood said, “pay attention, Drake.”

He folded the huge salmon-pink expanse of newspaper and turned it around on the desk to show me a photograph. It was some youngish bloke in a suit, smiling smugly for the camera outside an office block. From what my watering eyes could make out of the text under the photo, he seemed to be something to do with hedge funds or some bullshit like that.

“Him?” I asked.

“Him,” Wormwood agreed. “He's single, lives alone, only fucks posh whores. You won't run into any little kids on this one.”

“What's he to you?” I asked.

Wormwood lurched forward over the desk towards me with a feral snarl, his rancid breath blowing hot in my face. He had far too many teeth, did Wormwood, and they were all very rotten but very sharp.

“That's my business,” he hissed. “Do your fucking job.”

I squirmed back into my seat to get away from him, and nodded helplessly. There really wasn't a lot else I could do. So much for remorse, and redemption's a mug's game anyway.