Feeling very tired all of a sudden, Luc shook his head. "No, Tom. No joke."
He unwrapped and inserted the short end of an eighteen-gauge double-pointed phlebotomy needle into the plastic sheath; with two serum separation tubes ready, he approached the arm.
"W-what are you going to do?" Macintosh said.
"What does it look like? I'm going to draw some blood."
The rank smell of the creature mixed with the wet-dog stink of the roustabouts, making him a little queasy. Holding his breath, Luc didn't prep the dark skin, simply trapped a ropy vein between two fingers and worked the needle point through the gritty epidermis—like stabbing through layers of sandpaper. As soon as he was into the vein he snapped the vacuum tube home and watched it fill with dark fluid, much darker than human blood.
When the second tube was full—always an extra, just in case—he backed away and the roustabouts released the thing's arm. The creature snatched it back through the bars, then rolled over onto its side, facing away from them.
Luc held the tube up to the light.
"That's blood?" Macintosh said, leaning over his shoulder. "Looks more like tar."
Although as black, the fluid was nowhere near as thick as tar. In fact, this sample was noticeably thinner than the last. When Luc had started drawing the creature''s blood, the tubes would fill slowly despite the eighteen-gauge needle. Tonight a twenty-two-gauge would have been sufficient. Another depressing sign that the source was failing.
Macintosh straightened and stepped closer—but not too close—to the cage. He peered into the shadowy interior.
"What is it?" he said, his voice hushed.
"No one knows," Luc said, returning the tubes to their padded transport case. "And it's a pity that you don't either."
Macintosh turned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that if you knew something about it, anything at all, you'd be useful. I'd have a reason for letting you live."
"Heh," Macintosh managed through a wobbly smile.
Luc said nothing; he simply stared at him.
Macintosh licked his lips. "That's not funny, Doc."
Luc took profound pleasure in watching the smile fade and the eyes widen as the traitor came to realize he wasn't joking.
Macintosh glanced quickly around, then made a move toward the midway. But the two roustabouts blocked his way. He tried the other direction, but three more identical roustabouts appeared.
"Oh, God!" Macintosh wailed. "You can't be serious!"
"What did you expect?" Luc shouted. Finally he could vent his fury. "You've tried to blackmail me! Did you think I would stand for that?"
"No! Not blackmail! I—"
"'Give me a piece of the action or I go to the police'. That's what you said, wasn't it."
"No, really! I didn't—"
"If you'd simply gone straight to the police, I would have been angry, but at least I could have seen you as a well-meaning citizen. But after I'd hired you, provided you with cutting-edge research technology, and trusted you with my records, you try to dip your filthy hands into what is mine, what I discovered and developed. That's despicable—intolerable."
"Please!" Macintosh dropped to his knees, held up his hands, palms pressed together as if in prayer. "Please, I'm sorry!"
Luc stoked his rage. Without it he might not muster the courage to give Oz the signal to remove Macintosh and dispose of him.
"Or if you'd accomplished what I hired you to do, I would have found a way to cut you in. But you've failed me, Tom—as a researcher… and as a man."
Macintosh sobbed. "Oh, Jesus!"
Luc glanced at Prather and nodded. Prather cocked his head toward Macintosh. In a single fluid motion, one of the roustabouts stepped up behind the kneeling man, raised a balled fist, and slammed it into the back of his neck.
Luc staggered back as he heard bones crunch like peanut shells and saw Macintosh's eyes bulge in their sockets as if his brain were pushing them from behind. Luc had never dreamed Prather's men would kill the man right in front of him. A surge of bile burned the back of his throat as he watched Macintosh pitch forward, his face landing in the dirt. His hands and feet twitched in time to the tune of his choked gurgling; then he lay still.
Luc swallowed and stared at the roustabouts. The killer had stepped back to rejoin his brothers, and Luc couldn't tell now which one had struck Macintosh, but the power behind that single blow had been… inhuman.
He felt weak in his knees. He'd wanted Macintosh gone, but not to watch him die.
A dismissive flick of Prather's wrist set the roustabouts into motion. They grabbed Macintosh's body by its feet and dragged him out like a piece of tarpaulin.
Luc struggled to pull himself together. His life seemed to have been drifting into the Abyss these past months, but with this act he felt he'd accelerated into free fall. And yet, despite his growing despair, he could not deny his relief at no longer having Macintosh's threats hanging over him.
"We'll bury him deep," Prather said. "The ground here will be pocked and scarred when we leave Sunday. No one will notice."
Still speechless, Luc removed a thick envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to him. An oily lock of the big man's lank dark hair fell over his forehead as he opened the envelope and fanned through the wad of bills. The wan light made his pale skin look cadaverish.
"It's all there," Luc said, finding his voice.
"Yes, it appears to be." He stared down at Luc with his icy blue eyes. "Why didn't you have Mr. Dragovic take care of this for you?"
Luc stiffened. "Dragovic? What do you mean?"
Prather smiled—thin, thin lips drawing back over yellow teeth. Not a pleasant sight. "Come now, Doctor. I've done a little research myself. Didn't you think I'd be curious as to why you're so interested in my mystery pet's blood?"
Luc sagged. He could smell another shakedown coming.
"Not to worry," Prather said. "I've no taste for blackmail. Extortion is so sordid. But I can't help wonder why you didn't have your best customer remove this threat to both of you." His smile broadened. "Unless of course you didn't want Mr. Dragovic to know you'd left yourself so vulnerable."
Luc shrugged to mask the bunching of the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Prather had scored a bull's-eye. The last thing Luc needed was for Milos Dragovic to learn that this pig Macintosh had almost blown the whole business. Dragovic must never even imagine that Luc did not have absolute control of his end.
"Just as well," Prather said. "The extra money for removing him will help us meet payroll."
"Business off?" Luc said, trying to steer away from the subject of Milos Dragovic.
Prather nodded. "Bad weather sends people to movies but not to freak shows. And truthfully, some of our attractions become rather… ripe in wet weather."
In wet weather? Luc thought. How about any weather?
"I'll take the next sample on May twenty-fifth," Luc said, paving his way toward the exit. "Where will your troupe be then?"
Prather smiled again. "Virtually in your backyard,
Dr. Monnet. We'll be in a little Long Island town that is one of our favorite annual stops. We'll be quite nearly neighbors for a while. Won't that be special."
Luc shivered at the thought of living anywhere near Ozymandias Prather and his freaks. "Well, it will be nice to simply hop into a car rather than fight through the airports."
"See you then, Dr. Monnet."
Relieved to be leaving, Luc turned and hurried along the dark midway toward the exit.
WEDNESDAY MAY 24