Wrong Ways Down (20 page)

Ten minutes or so later he heard the car pull up outside. Brian’s car, so he guessed. He got up from the chair in the corner—he’d been having a smoke, tryna think on what all Roley had said and what it might mean iffen Slick’s death had nothing to do with the rapes—and crossed the room to stand next to the door. Right where he could grab Brian soon’s Brian walked in.

He didn’t bother moving Roley’s body. What difference it made? None. Bump said on the phone that Lacey and Vole didn’t want to see it or any like that, that he thought they ain’t knew what Roley was doing. Terrible guessed he’d be talking to them later just the same.

The door opened. Terrible was already moving, driving his left fist into the face of—

Some dude he’d never seen. 

I
T WASN'T UNTIL
he’d finished tying the dude up—he’d dumped Roley in the corner to clear the chair—that he really noticed that smell Essie’d mentioned, sickly-sweet like cheap soap. Noticed how itchy he felt, too. Not bad; well, obviously not bad or he’d have noticed it faster. But still there, an irritation just under his skin, getting worse every second.

Uncomfortable. The way he’d felt out at Chester Airport. The way he felt sometimes when Chess opened that box she had with all the dark magic in it to show him something.

Made sense, he guessed, if the dude were a witch or worked at that Peace Factory. Even if their magic were shitty, he still might have enough power for Terrible to feel it. Chess told him he had some “ability,” was the way she said; not a lot but more than some. Which was kinda cool, he guessed, but it ain’t felt so good then, touching this dude who had magic himself. 

But touching Chess ain’t made him feel that way—well, no, touching Chess made him feel like somebody shoved a live wire down his throat and electricity was sizzling through his whole body, but not causen of magic. Or not causen of that kind of magic. Were some other kind of magic did that. The kind a lot more dangerous, a lot fucking scarier. The kind nobody could just do a spell to get rid of, because she carried it around with her everywhere she went and it made her glow from the inside when he looked at her.

Was this Brian, he’d tied up? And he’d been wrong on Archie and Brian being the same—well, aye, he were definitely wrong on that. 

And aye, were Brian, causen he had a driver’s license in the wallet Terrible dug out of he pocket just before he stirred. Terrible reached out and gave him a light smack on the cheek, then another, to speed the process. Or maybe just causen it were fun.

Brian’s eyes opened. He looked at Terrible all dazed and heavy-lidded.

Fast, before he could recall where he was, what was happening, Terrible said, “Where the magic at?”

Brian blinked.

Terrible cocked his fist. “The magic you doing. Where you keeping it.”

Brian caught sight of Roley’s body; his eyes got real wide as he stared at it. So wide Terrible could see the whites all around. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Felt real fucking good when his nose crunched under Terrible’s fist. “Where you keeping the magic you made. Oughta just gimme the tell now, dig, be easier for you.”

Tears ran down Brian’s cheeks; blood ran over his mouth and chin from his nose. He looked at Roley’s body again. “Please don’t kill me.”

Another one who ain’t could just die like a man. Terrible sighed. “Won’t kill you, iffen you give me what I’m asking for. Where you keeping the magic? At the Factory?”

“Yeah,” Brian said, after a pause. “It’s there.”

“Who you got working it with you? Wanting names, dig.”

Brian hesitated, but only for a second before listing eight people. Terrible found them names in Brian’s phone, and sent em all a text to meet Brian at the Factory in half an hour.

Then he picked up the roll of duct tape he’d bound Brian to the chair with. He could just knock Brian out again to take him to the Peace Factory, but he still had some questions to ask and he wanted to get moving. Timmy Vee oughta be close to ready now, and a chance always existed somebody might see what were happening so best to move fast.

Besides, now he was in it he just wanted to get it done. He ain’t had to think or plan anymore; this were the good part, the best part, where he just got to do he job however he wanted.

“Hey,” Brian said, as Terrible cut the tape on his ankle and squeezed it hard enough to send the message that Brian shouldn’t try kicking, “you know, this isn’t necessary. We’re going to make a lot of money off this. I mean a
lot
. Maybe millions. Why don’t you take a cut? Just look the other way, and we give you, say, ten percent.”

Terrible ignored him and kept wrapping the tape around his ankles and then connecting them, leaving enough tape between that Brian’d still be able to hobble but not enough that he could run.

“Fifteen. Fifteen percent, how about that? You have no idea how successful this is going to be. This sex spell has to be felt to be believed, and we have the marketing—why don’t you try it out? I’ll give you a sample. Women will throw themselves at you. You’ll see. They’ll be begging you for sex, and then begging for more. And you’ll be just as satisfied. Guaranteed.”

Terrible didn’t respond cepting cutting the tape over Brian’s left wrist and yanking his arm behind his back. Not only was he not interested, he wouldn’t be interested even if he
was
interested. What was the point of having a woman beg for more if it were all a lie? Iffen all he wanted was getting inside some random dame, he could do it himself. He had, for years. But he wanted more than that now. He did. He wanted it to matter, to … to mean something.  

And what was the point of an easy answer like that. Where did it lead. Nowhere good, in his experience. Easy answers got to be an addiction; Terrible had spent his whole life seeing people reach for
easy
but find they really grabbed
hard
without realizing it. 

The day he couldn’t satisfy a woman on his own was the day he gave up, anyway.

“Seriously.” Brian’s voice got faster, his words more jerky, as Terrible’s silence started registering and the tape binding his wrists together got tighter. Brian’s skin were all dry and flaked, like he washed he hands dozens of times a day or some shit. Why he used cheap soap, probably, went through so much of it. “I—I know the way we started the spell isn’t the best, okay? Nobody likes what that required. But we couldn’t get the power we needed any other way. Believe me, we tried.”

Terrible grabbed Brian under the arm and jerked him to his feet. That awful itchy-sweet smell got worse. Fuck, the Chevelle were gonna smell like that when he were done.  “’sgo.”

He started shoving Brian toward the door, tuning out Brian’s babble as they went. More shit on how amazing his spell was, how rich Terrible could be. As Chess would say, blah blah blah.

He waited til they was in the car and out of the parking lot, away from the storage spaces, before he started asking more questions. Waited til he got a text from Timmy Vee saying he were all set up at the Factory. Best to hold the silence as long as he could. Dudes like Brian were used to fighting with words, using them to fuck with people and cheat em; it scared em when they found somebody who wouldn’t talk.

Besides, talking weren’t Terrible’s strong suit anyroad.

But he finally had to. “How you meet up with Roley? How’d this start up?”

Brian hesitated. Terrible pulled his knife, spun it in his hand. Didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“We’d been working on it for a while.” Brian shifted in his seat. “Trying different formulations, different energies to get things started. We posted a call for volunteers to test it, ten bucks a shot. He was one of them. We got to know him. He’s—he was—a smart kid, had some good ideas. When we realized what kind of energy we needed, he was the one who suggested we use prostitutes instead of regular women. It worked. We gave him a few grand as a bonus and promised him a job, a real one. That was it.”

Spending time with Roley musta been how he’d learned to talk like Downside enough to fool Essie, iffen he’d needed to learn it. But no mention of Slobag, or Lex. Shit. Meant he’d have to ask. “How’d Slobag get involved?”

“Who?” Brian looked puzzled, true thing. But puzzled could be faked.

“Slobag. Lex. Roley set up that one? You ever meeting them? How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I honestly don’t.” Panic filled the car, riding Brian’s voice higher and higher. “Roley was the only one I ever talked to. He seemed to have the connections. He told us to wait for his call, and then one night he called and said if we could be there fast he had a girl we could try. We’d had one of our men rent an apartment in the area so we could be ready, so … he headed over. And it worked.”

Archie, just like he’d thought. “What he name?”

Pause. Terrible spun the knife again.

“Tom. Tom Grant.”

“But calling heself Archie, aye?”

Brian shrugged. “Archie was another employee. He agreed to let Tom use his name and information to rent an apartment, but he … he became a problem.”

And Terrible knew just what kinda problem he’d become. The kind who felt guilty and wanted to report what was happening to the Church. Or maybe the kind wanted more lashers to keep he mouth shut. Either way, he’d become the kind of problem best solved by death. Terrible ain’t had to wonder no more whose body he’d found earlier. “Gav were a problem, too?”

“Of the same type, yes.” Brian looked out the window, ducked his head a little. “We had to take care of it. With this much money involved …  Look, I can’t offer you more than twenty percent, but I don’t think you realize the numbers we’re talking about here. Enough that you never have to work again, ever. This spell is—come on. You’re a businessman, right? So am I. Let’s make a deal. Let’s—”

The words ended in a scream as Terrible’s knife sank into his thigh. Deep in. Were a loud scream, too, high-pitched, ending in choked sobs. Pussy. 

Brian didn’t talk again until they got to the Peace Factory, a big red brick square with an empty parking lot in front and a chain-link fence around the back. That were the employee lot, and a patio with some picnic tables; Terrible had seen those when he checked the place out before. The gates to that opened with one a them codeboxes. Most of those had an override for ambulances and cops and like that, the same for all of them. Terrible rolled down his window and punched those numbers. The gate opened, and he drove through, nice and slow, switching off the headlights. 

The back door were even easier, seeing as it were made of glass. Terrible pulled the gun from his bag with his left hand. No real need to aim. It were a big door, and all glass. Aye, it’d probably set off an alarm, but he’d have at least three or four minutes before he had to worry on that. More, even, causen the Peace Factory weren’t too far outta Downside, and cops and ambulances and shit never responded to calls from there. Besides, Timmy Vee would start everything up as soon as Terrible were inside.

The gunshot echoed loud over the empty lot, the crash of glass like applause coming right after. Brian fell over. The urge to kick him while he lay there cringing was real strong, but … no. He needed to get moving, and he needed Brian to believe he still might live to see the sun come up.

He yanked Brian offen the ground and pushed him through the doors. No alarm sounded, but that ain’t meant there wasn’t one. “Where? Where the magic at, an all the paperwork on it and shit?”

“Upstairs.”

The Peace Factory were an actual factory, looked like, set up a lot like the slaughterhouse except instead of chutes and death-machines this place were full of conveyer belts and big rotating drums, long boxes of steel with knobs and switches on the side and plain iron tables ringed with stools. 

Being in there made him uncomfortable, like he were wearing clothes that ain’t quite fit right or had an itch he ain’t could find. Woulda been way worse for Chess, and she had to deal with shit like that all the time. He was real fucking glad he ain’t had to, that he ain’t had to figure out how they made their magic or think on it too hard. Made him feel sick just considering it. 

“Lead the way,” he said to Brian, keeping his grip on Brian’s arm.

They walked past the silent machines to a rattly metal staircase, then up the stairs and down a hall with a bunch of other halls leading off. The itchy feeling increased. Not magic this time. Nerves. Anticipation. 

Brian headed straight down to the end. Terrible followed, all the way to a door with “DEVELOPMENT” on it in black letters.

Brian turned to him. “The key’s in my pocket.”

Terrible reached out and rested his right hand on Brian’s shoulder to keep him from tryna run or knock Terrible over or whatany other things he might have in mind, fished out the keys, and unlocked the door.

S
EX
.

It crawled over him, raced through him, so strong he thought for a second he were gonna fall down. Brian hadn’t been lying about how powerful that spell was; he’d felt sex magic more’n a few times—coursen he had, at Berta’s place, or when he touched the whores or hung around with them—but this was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Like his first time multiplied by a hundred, like finally having someone he wanted worse than breathing—like Chess.