“Detective Wu was a liar. His wife deserved it for fucking him. His spawn was tainted.”
“Those girls were innocent.”
“Don’t give me that. I bet you didn’t even know them. What were their names?”
I didn’t know.
“You’re a fucking idiot. You live in a dream world like all the other fucking idiots, thinking children are magical little angels. My brothers weren’t angels. They stole my whole life. My father. My home. They took my mother and made her nanny them instead of me.” His tone turned caustic, corrosive. “I was her son, goddamnit. That was my food she cooked and fed to them. That was my play time they stole. Those were my smiles and hugs.”
I sharpened my tongue, the only weapon I had left. “That’s because she loved them more than she loved you.”
I thought I saw an eye twitch, the only sign that my blow might’ve landed.
He stood and walked to his dead brother; the exposed parts were already covered with flies and geckos. Nearby, the man-eaters strained at their collars, feet scratching at the dirt, desperate to go in for a feed. “Well, now she’ll have no choice who to love most. Same with my father.”
Carew moved the gun to his left hand, kept it and one eye on me while his right hand shifted into the steel trap that took my hand. “I’m the only one left.”
He opened the jaws wide and reached for his brother’s thigh.
I closed my eyes, heard the snap, heard the thump of meat landing in the dirt, the excited squeals of lizards.
Jesus. I rubbed my arm, told myself not to panic. The cops were coming, had to be getting close. When I opened my eyes, he was back on the stool, his hand returned to normal.
Buy time. Keep him talking. “You get that steel trap from Dr. Franklin?”
“I got two steel traps.” He gave me a wink. “I was getting ready to use my favorite on my dear brother, but now I’ll have to use it on you.”
A chill came over me, nerves coated in frost.
He startled me by jumping up from his seat. “I want to show you something.” He grabbed hold of a low-to-the-ground canoe and pulled it off its shelf to the floor. I heard the sound of clanking glass. “Look.”
I raised up on my knees to peer over the canoe’s rail. Glass jars gathered at the boat’s low point, flesh souvenirs preserved in formaldehyde. Hair stood up on my arms and the back of my neck.
“I’m going to add yours to my collection.”
I looked to the door. What the fuck was taking them so long?
“What’s in the bag?” he asked.
“Why don’t you come see?”
“Nice try. Throw it over here.”
I grabbed the plastic handles and tossed it in his direction. He snatched it up and poured the contents out onto the ground, the dirt acting like a sieve, water running into the earth while a few last ice cubes stayed on the surface along with what I’d taken from Mota’s corpse.
Carew’s face bunched in puzzlement. “What have you brought me?”
“What does it look like?”
He bent down and picked it up. He held it to the light, licked his lips. “I don’t understand.”
“Consider it a gift.”
His dark eyes didn’t know what to make of that, but he couldn’t resist. He carried it to the far corner, set it on a shelf, and grabbed an empty jar with his now free hand. He raised the jar to his mouth and blew out the dust before setting it on the ground and reaching for a glass jug. He removed the stopper and did a sloppy job of pouring with one hand, formaldehyde splashing and spraying, a rotten pickling smell wafting through the room.
He dropped my “gift” into the jar and sealed it. “We’re more alike than I thought.”
“We’re nothing alike.”
A crooked grin. “Whose is it?”
I shook my head, no intention of answering.
“I can make you talk.” He stepped to the terrarium and lifted the lid.
No fucking way. I’d make him shoot me first.
He nabbed a snail, tossed it at my feet. “Eat.”
I picked up the snail, held it up to study it. “Franz made you eat one of these, didn’t he?”
“Franz.” He said the name like it was a bitter pill. “He pretended to like me, acted like he was happy to have a new brother. He brought me to the house a few times, introduced me to Ang. Then he invited me to a party at an abandoned house near his old school.”
I turned the shell in my fingers.
He shook his head to fling hair out of venomous eyes. “He told me it would get me high, like sniffing glue.” His voice choked on emotion, the gun trembling in his hand. “Then he took me upstairs an… and he kept me there.”
“But you made him pay.”
“Damn straight. First I took his weapon.” He aimed the lase-pistol at my crotch. “Then I took his life. He learned his lesson. Believe me, he learned his lesson. Now eat.”
Fuck that. I threw the snail out the window.
The air exploded with fire. I closed my eyes against the flash of heat, the spray of stone shrapnel and burned moss. I covered my head, lungs choking on smoke.
The smoke cleared and I straightened up, the warmth of hot stone at my back. He shook his head like he was disappointed in me before tossing another snail my way. “Eat.”
I reached for the snail, tossed it back at him. “No.”
He came at me, the gun trained on my head the whole time. He stepped straight up to me, pressed the lase-pistol’s barrel against my left eye like I’d once done to him. I felt wet snail pushing against my lips. I kept my mouth closed, lips pinched tight like steel doors against the pressure.
“Eat!”
No fucking way.
A voice sounded from somewhere outside. I felt the lase-pistol lift off my eye, the snail off my lips. He leaned toward the window.
I didn’t hesitate, arms reaching, feet centering underneath me. I had him around the hips, shoulder in his gut, knees extending, legs surging forward. The lase-pistol fired, a sizzling explosion somewhere behind me. I lifted him off the ground and threw him down with all the force I could.
He hit with a thump, a cloud of dirt dusting up. I kicked at the weapon in his hand and made contact with the toe of my shoe. The gun bounced free.
I lunged for the lase-pistol, reached for it with the wrong hand, reached with fingers that weren’t fucking there. I switched hands, but he was on me before I could grab hold, the two of us tumbling to the ground, roots jabbing into my shoulder and backbone.
He was on top of me, skin like slate, forked tongue flicking. He punched with his steel trap hand, my jaw taking a bricklike impact. My vision went hazy, my arms and legs weak. A blur of jagged steel came for my throat.
I couldn’t stop him, my reflexes soaked in molasses.
The room went bright with lase-fire, shouts all around. I saw double-vision uniforms. Heard garbled voices I couldn’t understand.
I closed my eyes and let sleep come on a draft of charred meat.
Twenty-nine
April 29, 2789
We faced the curtain of strung monitor teeth, light leaking out from Chicho’s office. We’d already chased out all the hookers from the lobby. The johns too.
“You ready?” whispered Maria.
I was. Chicho had to be tamed once and for all. Prick thought he could welsh on our deal? Thought a little case of buyer’s remorse entitled him to dump me for Mota? This asshole cut up Maria’s sister and set me up to die.
But the business wasn’t mine anymore. I put my hand on Maria’s shoulder. “You need to do this on your own.”
She turned her eyes on me, heavily inked lashes and painted lids, little worry lines in the corners.
“You’ll do fine. I’ll wait right here.”
“But-”
“Remember what he did to your sister.”
She nodded and erased the fear from her face, the lines becoming deep, angry cuts. She extended the telescoping steel baton in her hand.
“Be strong but stay under control. Never lose control.”
She tilted my way to give me a peck on the cheek. I leaned into the kiss, took a welcome shot of perfume up the nose.