The Cutting Crew (35 page)

So I cultivated that rage now, folding and tightening it until the thought of Eli and his men made the air in my head ring like a struck tuning fork. Killing him would be a very easy thing to do.

But then frustration set in, and I stopped rubbing my hands. I'd seen the photographs that Sean had marked, so I knew what Eli looked like. But I didn't know where to find him. And so what was the point in feeling much of anything right now, when there was nobody here to knock around, nobody to shoot in the head? There was just me and those fucking birds.

I looked up and saw that the branches of the tree were bare even the birds had gone. I didn't blame them. The spreading pools of shadow between the gravestones had met, merged, and now everything looked black and dead. The breeze remained, though, feeling more threatening than before.

This was no place to spend the night doing nothing. Whatever happened next, it was time to go.

I left the cemetery and found the most deserted street I could, and then I stole another car. I was getting good at that - and even better at not caring. Any vestiges of civic morality were rapidly disappearing in the face of an enormous private need. I knocked the car into gear and set off, glancing at my watch. I was surprised - it was only eight o'clock, yet it felt like midnight.

As I turned the corner and headed for the northern edge of Snake, I felt the pull of death from the district behind me, like a black cloud you couldn't see for the night. And when I crossed the border into the edge of Lion, it seemed that the cloud was following me.

Whatever happened next, I needed some money.

There was a cashpoint in Lion that I knew would be safe - or as safe as these things get. The machine would take a photograph of me withdrawing funds, but that was okay: nobody knew about my secret accounts and there would be no alert tags on the numbers. It was fine. I could smile for the camera, happy in the knowledge that nobody would ever scan these particular files for someone of my description.

The streets were busy, which was pretty standard for Lion. It is the city's smallest district - smaller even than Mouse - and it was originally named in honour of the abandoned zoo at its heart.

There had been a siege at some ancient point in the city's history, and after too much time had passed the residents had resorted to killing and eating the animals in order to stay alive. For whatever reason - legend says respect, but I imagine that a certain healthy fear came into it as well - the lions were the only creatures not to end up on the menu. Nowadays, it is like a mini-Elephant. The zoo is a concrete park - all fountains and benches - and at lunchtime you would find executives there, reading in quiet repose or talking on their phones. The small number of streets around it are full of expensive, exclusive bars and restaurants packed with people who could afford to eat exotic animals for pleasure rather than out of desperation.

Eight-twenty, and the streets were thriving and lively. I pulled up by the cashpoint and left the engine running.

I had three fake accounts in all. Each of the individuals in question had been born somewhere different - a long way away from this city - and they had deposited the money in cash at over nine different banks, spreading the payments out over a few weeks.

The first man was called Michael Hutchinson. I slipped his card into the machine and tapped in the PIN I'd given him. And then I waited.

The blue screen pulsed slightly.

we are dealing with your request...

I glanced around at the well-dressed people passing me, feeling uneasy. There was music from bars; conversations from groups of drinkers. Laughter. It was subdued, civilised debauchery. There was nobody anywhere near me. In fact, nobody was paying me even the slightest attention, beyond the cautious curiosity that a man with an obviously broken nose has to expect.

But something was wrong.

we are dealing with your request...

I pressed cancel.

The screen stayed the same.

'Shit.'

I pressed the button again and again, tapping it furiously.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then the words disappeared.

The blue stayed for a moment - blank and featureless, and it seemed as though someone was staring right out through it. Then the bank logo flashed up, followed by a message inviting me to insert my card.

Get out of here.

I moved straight back to the car, glancing left and right. There was a steady stream of traffic, but all of it was ignoring me. A group of people were approaching from further up the street: young, clubby, rich.

Get the fuck out of here.

I got in and drove away, tyres screeching slightly. This was shit. I had two more cards, but I didn't fancy my chances with either of them. It could have been coincidence, but I knew deep down that it wasn't. How had they found me so quickly? How had they found me at all?

Gideon, I thought. Gideon runs finance and business, and traditionally, there was an alignment between Gideon and Eli. As brothers they had been close, and when Kama had made his move in the past it had been against both of them. It made sense that the alignment would stand now, and that if I was up against Eli then I was up against Gideon as well.

It was bullshit, of course - a part of me had been telling myself that ever since I'd found Sean's notes and met Kama. People might be explaining things they had no obvious reason to, and other people might be appearing out of thin air to back them up, but there was a sensible, logical explanation for all of it. Whatever was really going on, there were no brothers and nothing supernatural was happening. It was just a bunch of criminals at war with a bunch of cops, with me and my friends stuck in the middle for being a little bit of both. That was all.

The result was the same, though. I had the small amount of money in my pocket to live on. Eli - or whoever he was - had already taken back the money we'd stolen from him. It brought it home that this was simply about revenge now. Revenge, and surgery.

So where does a cancer like me go, I wondered, when the doctors have seen me and are working to remove me? They wanted me to run, but what if I didn't? Obviously, Eli wasn't intending to kill me just yet: he was going to leave that to my friends and colleagues - a far more elegant way of dealing with us. If I ran, I had nothing. If I didn't, I had a little time to ask some questions. And who knew maybe get close enough to Eli to make all that rage I'd felt worthwhile and useful. It wasn't exactly a fantastic set of choices.

Lion rests between Snake and Horse. At the last major turning before the northern border with Horse, I headed east instead, cutting back into Turtle, undecided where I wanted to end up. But I didn't get far. After a minute, the music on the radio faded out, segueing into the station's news update. I listened carefully, expecting the main item to be about me and the shootout earlier in the day. But it wasn't - the newsreader went straight into the buildup to the annual competition the next day. I listened for a while, incredulous. Two cops were injured or dead, another man had been killed, and a neighbourhood was shot to pieces. If anything in the world constituted main - item material, this afternoon must surely be it. If it had been covered up, I didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned. How much power did it take to keep something like that off the news?

Perhaps it would be the second item. I listened carefully as the newsreader moved on.

A few seconds later, as the car began to swerve, I gathered myself as best I could, indicated and pulled over onto the hard shoulder.

Then, I sat there and listened, feeling an emotion that was too intense and complicated to name, and I started to shake.

Earlier in the evening, on the outskirts of Fish, police had found the mutilated body of a woman in her twenties. It had been dumped on the canal side in plain view, where it was bound to be discovered. She hadn't been identified yet, but I knew that it was Rachel.

I sat there and cried. I wasn't thinking about anything - I just let my body respond however it wanted, and it turned out to be that.

So I cried, and only my seatbelt kept me from falling sideways and curling up across the seats. I let this first, uncoordinated burst of anger and grief run its course, and then after a while I pulled myself into enough of a state to start driving again. My hands were trembling as I rejoined the stream of traffic, but I could hold the wheel steady if I concentrated and I thought it would be okay.

There wasn't that far to go. And so, a little more slowly than before, but decided now, I took another turning and made my way north.

Wasp at night time was the same as during the day, except busier and - strangely - more beautiful. It was the lights, I thought, as I made my way through the crowds. There were hundreds of lights in hundreds of colours, all reflecting off puddles and windows, off the sheen of rain that had soaked into the yellow flagstones and made them look like bars of gold. The pubs were dark caves that had fires burning at the mouths. In the buildings between them, women were dancing slowly in illuminated shopfronts, lit up in gorgeous red monochrome like pieces of art. Even the porn shops were bright and pink and inviting. The chill air was warmed by the shouts and the music.

'Young lovers. Come inside, young lovers. We have the best shows, we have the best everything. We--'

The barker cut off his speech mid-sentence as he saw me coming, and he looked like he was about to run. But I didn't give him the chance - stepping into his way as the young lovers in question moved on, oblivious.

'Hi there,' I said. 'Remember me?'

The controlled panic on his face suggested that he did. He started rubbing his wrist slightly as he cast his gaze around for help.

'Young sir.'

I put my hand in my pocket and glared at him. Hopefully the message was clear. I was just as crazy and dangerous as I'd been this afternoon, and now I had a gun as well.

'You do remember me,' I said. 'I can see you're really busy, so this won't take long.'

He gave up looking for assistance. Instead, resigned to the situation, he took a drag on his thin roll-up and said: 'What do you want?'

'You saw me this afternoon.'

'Yes, I remember.'

'You remember me being brought back here.'

He blew out some smoke and looked unhappy. It was clearly an area he didn't much want to comment on. That was too bad.

Kama's men had delivered me here, and if he knew them then maybe he knew about Eli too.

'I don't--'

'I'm not asking you.' I gave him a patient smile that wouldn't last. 'I'm telling you. You remember me being brought back. Now, I want to know about the guys who did the bringing. Who they were, and what you know about them - what?'

He was quickly shaking his head.

'I don't know about any guys. You come to the club and you cause trouble. That's all I know.'

'I got brought back here by people. You do know.'

'Please move on, young sir.' He sounded frightened, and he was looking around again for assistance. Or maybe to see who might be listening. 'We don't want any more trouble here.'

I thought: Eli killed Rachel.

And then in one fluid movement I had him by the throat, slamming him back into the wall with one hand and holding him there.

'Young sir, please!'

The anger was uncontrollable and it was good. Multi-textured, colourful anger: rage and resentment and self-hatred and guilt all thrown in for good measure.

Keeping the gun inside my coat pocket, I pushed the barrel into his gut.

'No "young sir",' I said quietly. 'No fucking "please". You just tell me, or I'll kill you right here.'

I felt the people walking past on the pavement behind us, their steps faltering a little as they debated whether to stop and watch, or maybe even intervene. And I felt them wisely decide to keep moving. Of course they did. Nobody ever intervenes in this city.

'Please.'

'I'll kill you right here, you piece of shit.'

'I can't say about that!'

I jammed the gun into him even harder, and he started to cry.

'That won't work,' I said, and then again: 'I'll kill you right here.'

'You come here on your own.' He was sobbing pitifully, working through his script. 'You come here, you pay, you go in.'

'Don't fucking lie to me.' I wanted to pull the trigger a hundred times, until he was in pieces. 'You tell me what I want to know.