Dirty Work: Volume 2

Story Three - Speed Demon - 7

We were slowly forced back from the boxes. Berwhal climbed down to us. I felt Kerra shivering with anger, and I held an arm out to keep her from lashing out and earning a nice new burning hole through her stomach.

'You look familiar,' he said to me. 'Have we met?'

'In the old days before your unsuccessful conversion to honest society,' I said. I was looking around for a distraction, a way to get out of his line of fire. I had no doubt that he would shoot us in seconds, and with his influence over Draddas, I didn't fancy the chances of our deaths' circumstances coming to light. Two dead bodies are easy to cover up in Celestria.

Berwhal smiled. 'The good old days? Yeah, they're hard to leave behind. It's the smell of nostalgia; it's intoxicating.'

'I don't believe on holding onto things as much as you.'

'Really? Are you sure about that? Rumour has it that you're still involved in some fairly shady deals yourself.'

I stopped. The deal we had done in the sewers was only a one-off deal, and there's no way that he followed up on us. Let alone recognised me.

'That's right. I know who you are, Xayne,' he snarled with Craniniul venom. 'My boss has got his eye on Dirty Work. Has done for quite a while.'

I looked him over. I couldn't see a red rose, but that didn't mean that he didn't have one, wasn't one of Vayn Baron's thugs. Markro had Spyder do some digging after the sewers incident to check the crack-head that attacked us hadn't been a set-up to grab the shit and keep the cash. They were independent, of that Spyder was sure. Still, it didn't mean that he hadn't switched sides since.

Were they the anonymous 'other side' that Euphero was warring with?

We were retreating into the shadow of the rider accommodation. I began to move slightly in front of Kerra; If she got a chance to run, she would be able to, myself a shield against incoming fire.

'Don't block the bitch,' Berwhal said, waving the gun. 'Move.'

I've never felt such a change from someone in such a short space of time. The rage that had been building inside Kerra suddenly rocketed, like a seismograph suddenly finding a 9.0 earthquake.

'Bitch,' she whispered, so quietly that only ghosts could hear it. 'Who are you calling a bitch?'

I looked at her and saw her eyes had disappeared. All I saw now were great black holes devoid of any rational thought. She felt only wrath, a searing, burning desire to kill the man before her.

'You, Kerra,' he said. 'All so precious, cleaning every single nut and bolt and putting it back in its place like a freak. Self-righteous bitch, you couldn't fix a doorbell unless you had someone holding your hands.'

That was what did it. Not the name-calling, not the gun. The questioning of her competency. That was what tipped her over the edge.

***

She told me in the police station later that she had begun to hear a grating drone in her head after he'd said that. It started as nothing more than a low rumble, like the sound of a Magna-Train overhead, barely audible. She hadn't dropped her gaze, and as we backed up into the thick shadow, she'd felt the weight of my gun at my hip.

'It was getting louder and louder,' she said, 'like it was beginning to get confidence. And then it was screeching, going right through my head. It was shaking my heart. Can you believe that? An imaginary noise was actually making my heart physically move. I know it sounds like I'm making it up, like I'm crazy, but I'm not. I swear on my life.'

I believed her. I believed her because I remember hearing the same thing in my head as we went to get Flora back from Red Rose. It's the sound of killing, coming up on you like a predator stalking its prey. You can't do anything about it; you've got to ride the wave.

There hadn't been a contest. In the dark she'd slowly extracted my gun. I'd kept my silence; wanting to tell her to stay still, don't even think about it, he'd shoot us both dead. I didn't get a chance.

Berwhal was down before he'd even recognised the threat was present. The gun smoked in Kerra's hand. Her draw speed had been, truly, the speed of a racer.

I ran to Berwhal. I knelt next to him, blood trickling from his mouth. He looked up at me with disgust, his hatred and violence and anger there in one, single gaze.

'He'll come for you,' Berwhal spluttered like a fish on the deck. 'He's... watching you.'

I wanted to scan the rooftops, and then stopped the ridiculous urge before I followed it. 'Who?' I asked. 'Tell me.'

Berwhal grinned. My blood chilled.

'The Phantasm,' he said, 'will take what lives he pleases.' That was his last breath. Blood trickled from his skull towards the light, clawing for some last reprieve from the dark. It never made it.