"I don't usually use language like this but fuck you."
The King showed broken teeth. He was used to dealing with hard cases. He pressed a panel under the console. A drawer eased open. His gray hand reached in and retrieved an automatic-something old and powerful from Smith and Wesson. The smile had remained dead upon his face. "Now, shall we do this while you can still draw a breath? Or will we do it when each injury precipitated upon you will become an eternal scar that will not heal. A hole or tear that remains open-jagged-baring your raw red secrets to every prying eye. Do not toy with me. I have an understandable contempt for all things living. One look at me should dispel any doubts about whether or not I will take great joy in killing you."
I smiled. He was correct. His dead face held secret anticipation. "What do you want to know?"
The King sighed two clouds of formaldehyde gas, set the gun down on the edge of the tub beside him and shook his head. "Where is my property?"
"Look, I'm not stalling or anything. I just don't think I'll be around long after I talk. Would it be possible for you to explain how Grey met his end?"
The King smirked. "You posses hubris, Wildclown. I'll give you that." He sighed. "Grey became a nuisance. He was pestering me, and, he was drawing the attention of one or two factions in Authority. Now, the Hawksbridges are not of my stature, in wealth, but they did have enough pull to cause me minimal damage. I couldn't have that. So I encouraged Mr. Willieboy to hire a gun to take Grey out. Who was it?"
"Some psychopath. Wiry little guy called himself Jimmy Jay. I don't know much about him, but that he talked a mean streak about religion, and the end of the world. He was in an asylum before the Change, killed his little brother, or some soap opera. Drank like a fish, and oh shit, there was something…" Willieboy rubbed his chin. "Can't remember. Anyway, he was homicidal, pure and simple. Kill at the drop of a dime. He did Grey for a hundred dollars. Something must have happened to him, because he never collected the money. Grey was out of the way though. I saw the body. Jay called me, told me where to find it. Fucking psychopath. Grey was burned up pretty good."
"Why did you pay Grey's bills?" I was beset with weird images of Grey's ignoble end. The gasoline dousing the body. The vapor igniting. "It's not unusual for someone, especially someone in Grey's line of work to welsh on a bet, or skip on the rent."
Willieboy smiled. "That was the King's idea."
I turned to him. "Bought you time."
"Certainly. I didn't know how much trouble Grey had already caused, or whether or not he actually enlisted some aid. If his bills were paid, the chances of someone missing him were fewer." He laughed, "As it turned out, he didn't have a friend in the world. But, I don't believe in taking chances, and his bills were so small as to be nonexistent. It was an excellent investment."
"Who made the call to the Hawksbridges?" I stared at Willieboy. "Why kill them?"
The King spoke to my back. "They had become a nuisance as well. I believe Grey convinced them that they could find their daughter if they looked hard enough. They turned out to be a larger threat than Grey. Mr. Willieboy called." Willieboy gave the King a dark look.
"What did you do? Fix their brakes, or just run them off the road?"
"That's inconsequential. They pushed hard at something that was bigger than they were, and it rolled back on them. It's simple physics," the King chuckled.
"And the girl. Is she alive?" I turned to the corpse.
He shook his head. "You're boring me." The King bobbed in his tank. "Now it's your turn to answer a few questions."
Transition.
I was floating over Tommy's head. I immediately tried to possess him. He was a wall. I tried again. Below me Tommy had dropped into a catatonic state. His jaw dropped. His lips seemed to try and work around a word. "Where am I?" He winced as he experienced his wounds for the first time. He reached up to his left shoulder, hissed.
I watched the King. He stared, fascinated, and then swam in for a closer look. Perturbed amusement writhed over his crosshatched features. "Wildclown?" The clown's face had become feral, apish. The King frowned. "Oh God! Willieboy would you look at…"
But Tommy was already moving. He leapt up the remaining steps and landed on top of the King-pushing the dead monarch beneath the surface. His hand moved lightning fast onto the gun by the console. It whipped up, pointed at Willieboy. Willieboy had his half out of his holster. He froze-a queer smile on his lips.
"Now, just a minute…hang on Wildclown. We're both bit players here. This is perfect!"
I watched as the King's hands climbed spider-like, up and down Tommy's legs. Tommy looked down. He murmured. "Spiders…" Then he looked up. Willieboy had used the split second to get his own gun clear, but he hadn't moved fast enough. Tommy fired six shots into Willieboy's chest. The. 44 slugs tore his rib cage to pieces. The gun almost kicked itself free of Tommy's damp grip in the process. Willieboy staggered back, vomiting blood until the volley ended. He stood in place a moment looking down at the ruin that his chest had become, befuddled. He looked up-anger gripped his brow, then he grinned. Willieboy sat down with his legs crossed. His head fell forward. Blood spilled from his mouth.
Tommy threw the gun onto the stairs, then looked down at the King's scrabbling hands. "What have we, what have we? Demons from the pit?" He reached down and grabbed both arms by the wrists. He yanked the King up and out of the formaldehyde. The corpse hung there looking grotesque and fragile. Fluid poured from its orifices. His face was an inch from Tommy's.
"You can have anything. Anything." Formaldehyde spattered from the dead King's lips. Tommy held him higher. The King's legs had withered and atrophied in the constant bath. They were bowed and twisted like driftwood. I realized in a moment, how ridiculous his notion of a new life was.
"Please," the King's said, voice was soft. "Please, I will pay you any sum. I will give you anything."
"You stink…" Tommy sniffled.
The King smiled, chuckled even. "Oh, yes, oh yes, I do. That's right I do. Just tell me what you'd like. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me go, that's all I ask."
"I killed your friend." The clown roughly twisted the King's head toward Willieboy's body. The cadaver's neck clicked audibly.
"Oh, that's all right. He and I weren't close. I didn't even like him. That's okay, what you did. I'm not angry, Mr. Wildclown." The King forced a ghastly smile.
"He was your friend," Tommy said, then with righteous fervor rising. "You're disgusting!"
Tommy pulled the King's left arm off. The body was fragile, and the shoulder tore like boiled cabbage. The King shrieked. Tommy took the arm by the wrist and mashed it against the console. The King cried aloud. Tommy tossed the severed arm, wrapped his own around the King's torso, and then with a loud twisting wrench pulled off the King's right. He nonchalantly dropped that member into the bath-it bobbed, fingers twitching. Tommy sat on the edge of the tub panting, bewilderment on his features. His right hand held the King's body by its neck. He bent the King's rubbery legs and sat him on his right knee. The phone started ringing. Tommy looked at it, sneered.
The King was sobbing. "Oh God. I'll do anything. I'll do anything. There's still time. Don't do this. Don't do this. There's nothing after this. Nothing. Please, I beg of you. I have riches, I'll give you anything." His weeping face twisted into a mask of grief.
"Anything?" Tommy asked. He smiled. I noticed now that the formaldehyde had dissolved much of his make-up. Tommy's face was blotted with black and white. The features streamed away distorted-skull-like. "Anything at all?" He shook the dead king's corpse.