22

On their way to the sealed-off mansion in Long Island, Marcus and Carl made a brief stop at the market. Marcus waited in the car with three Indigenes—the waif with the telepathic ability, and two males, including Johan—while Carl went in to check with Jenny that the prices had been put up. The vendors looked up to her as some leader.

When Carl returned, he nodded. ‘Jenny wasn’t there but the bitch hadn’t done it. So I waited till they all put their prices up. Twenty percent.’ He was out of breath.

‘Who did you hit?’

‘Whoever was nearest.’ Carl flashed a decayed smile at him.

Jenny’s insolence irritated him. ‘What the fuck’s she playing at?’

‘One vendor said Jenny warned a bunch of the residents the prices were goin’ up and t’ buy early.’

Marcus gritted his teeth. ‘Next time I see that bitch, she’s going to get it. Let’s move.’

Carl programmed their destination into the car’s navigator.

Marcus’ plan to mark Albert’s property would have to wait. Gaetano’s job came first.

A short while later, the car pulled up outside the interrogation mansion. Carl led the three Indigenes, their hands and feet shackled and wearing shock collars, inside the building that had been Gaetano’s former safe house after the last World Government ship had left and anarchy hit the streets. The criminals had just come out of hiding and were killing off rival factions. The scant military presence left on Earth was no match for the gang warfare. Everything settled down when the factions finally agreed on land division.

The air inside was clean enough for Marcus not to need his mask. The three Indigenes, including Johan and a younger male stood before him. The waif female had a feral look in her eye; the quantity of human blood Marcus fed her was never enough to satiate her appetite. With her still refusing synthesised blood, Marcus had her right where he wanted her: starving and desperate.

Johan stared at the ground. There was something about the Indigene that Marcus didn’t like. He’d been helpful enough at the house, but he sensed there was more to him. A third male, Matthieu, skinnier and younger than Johan, had told Marcus he was an IT expert. But he couldn’t seem to figure out the junk code that rendered the DPads inoperable. Both males hadn’t fully transformed back to human with a skin tone that had a slightly opaque, and human, look to it. But their smooth, hairless skin and yellow eyes made them look more Indigene than human. Marcus shuddered at having them so close.

‘Grab three chairs,’ he said to Carl.

The male Indigenes stood eerily still.

Too still. Like the residents in Waverley. It unnerved him.

Carl dragged three chairs to the middle of the room and arranged them so they faced Marcus. Marcus pointed to the chairs with his Buzz Gun. He gripped the controller for the shock collars in his other hand; even though they were shackled together, he felt safer with it in his control.

The trio sat down, their restraints restricting their movements.

He started with Matthieu, who looked no older than twenty-three.

‘What’s your skill?’

‘IT,’ said Matthieu.

‘Yet you don’t seem to understand the concept of IT. When I asked you to run diagnostics on the force field, you drew a blank.’

‘I was working up to it. I don’t like to be rushed.’

Marcus pressed a button on the controller and delivered a shock to all three. Matthieu shuddered and panted like the dog Marcus knew he was. The waif screamed. Johan gritted his teeth.

‘You’re no more fucking IT than I am. So how about you drop the bullshit and tell me what I want to know?’

‘I told you,’ said Matthieu between gasps. ‘I know computers, technology. I’m not lying.’

Marcus knew nothing about technology and it was possible Matthieu was being truthful. But the male didn’t work fast enough for Gaetano’s liking. And their failings reflected badly on Marcus. Maybe a little torture would change Matthieu’s mind.

He switched his focus to Johan. ‘You told me you were a cook.’

Johan nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘Yet you seem to be at ease with technology.’

‘I learned about it before I became a cook.’

‘And where did you practise these culinary skills on Earth before you were changed into this?’

‘Cantaloupe restaurant,’ said Johan without missing a beat.

Marcus had heard of Les Fontaines. It was Charles Deighton’s favourite restaurant and a place Gaetano used to visit apparently. But Marcus had never stayed in the nicer parts of town for long in the early days. He was too busy hiding out with the other associates, learning his craft.

‘You heard of Cantaloupe, Carl?’

‘Yeah, nice. Not as pricey during the day. They used to hike it up come six.’

‘How the fuck do you know that?’

‘My brother worked there for a while.’

‘The dead one?’

Carl shook his head. ‘The other fucker. Although he could be dead too for all I know or care.’ Marcus wouldn’t have cared either except he needed to get confirmation of Johan’s claims.

Johan may have been a cook, but Marcus still didn’t like him. So he gave him a shock. Johan muffled his scream with his hand.

He turned to the waif with the feral eyes. She stared at the ground. Marcus slid into her line of sight and her attention snapped to his hand, close to his pocket.

‘I need you to read these two.’ He pointed at Johan and Matthieu.

Her eyes widened as he slipped a synthesised blood bag from his pocket. She sniffed the air, then turned her face away. Marcus pushed it under her nose and she squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Why won’t you drink this?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Synthesised blood not good enough for you?’

She growled at Marcus, bared her teeth. ‘It makes me physically sick. You know it does.’

Marcus’ eyes trailed the length of her. ‘The sight of you makes me sick, yet here I am holding my lunch down. We all have to make sacrifices. Drink this or you don’t eat today.’

‘I need real blood.’

Marcus was all out, and he hated carrying around real blood. It turned his stomach to touch something that used to be inside another person.

She looked up at the bag. Marcus turned it upside down and a drop appeared at the narrow end. It didn’t fall. The waif parted her lips and Marcus squeezed three drops onto her tongue. She tasted it, swallowed.

‘See, that wasn’t too difficult was it?’

The waif turned her head sharply and vomited on the floor—a disgusting mix of bile and clear fluid. Marcus almost threw up on himself.

She breathed unevenly and looked up at Marcus through sunken eyes. ‘I told you I need real blood.’ Her hollow cheeks moved as she spoke.

‘Read them.’

‘I’m too weak. My telepathy skills work better with real blood.’

Marcus ran a hand through his greasy hair. ‘I’m not about to drain my men to give it to you. It’s this or nothing.’

‘I can’t.’

He raised his Buzz Gun and pointed it at her head.

‘Wait!’ Her eyes shifted. ‘Let me try.’ She turned to the pair and studied them for a moment. Marcus noticed Matthieu flinch, but Johan’s expression was neutral.

‘They’re both lying to you,’ said the waif.

‘Shit, Marcus, I could’ve told you that,’ said Carl.

‘Tell me,’ said Marcus to the waif.

‘The younger one is not IT and the older one is not a cook.’ She breathed hard from the exertion of reading their minds. ‘They’re something else.’

Marcus’ patience wore thin. ‘Well, what are they?’

The waif shook her head. ‘They’re blocking me. I can’t get any further. Maybe with some real blood...’

Something else occurred to Marcus. ‘Who sent them to Earth?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who are they working for on Exilon 5?’

The waif shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed like she was about to be sick again.

The stench on the floor turned Marcus’s stomach. ‘Clean up your mess or I’ll kill you on the spot.’

Carl disappeared from the room for a minute. He returned with a scrubbing brush, a bucket and a cloth, and handed them to the waif. She dropped to her hands and knees and scrubbed at the mess. She did the best she could in her weakened state and after, she slumped on the chair.

‘So you’ve been lying about your skills?’ said Marcus to the male pair.

Johan straightened up. ‘No. We are who we say we are.’ He nodded to the half-dead waif. ‘And it’s not her fault she’s caught between the effects of the reversal treatment. She’s neither Indigene nor human.’

‘I don’t care what’s wrong with her. She says you’re hiding something.’

‘She needs to eat. She doesn’t want to die,’ said Johan. ‘She’s telling you what she thinks you want to hear. Did it ever occur to you that we’ve been telling the truth all along?’

Marcus eyeballed Johan. His argument seemed plausible. But something about him still irritated Marcus.

Carl stood by Marcus’ shoulder. ‘So what now? Who’s lying, who’s telling the truth?’

Marcus checked the time. ‘Let’s move this up a notch.’

‘Phase two?’ Carl rubbed his hands together. ‘About time.’

The next part lasted through the night and into morning. Marcus liked to give his prisoners a chance to be truthful—he was a fair businessman after all—but he preferred it when they didn’t cooperate during the first phase. It gave him an excuse to use his toys.

Marcus’ hand ached from hitting Matthieu and Johan too many times with the brass knuckles. His joy at seeing their open wounds was short-lived as their cuts healed before his eyes.

Both males refused to talk. No matter what Marcus did, he couldn’t break their spirits. The waif had become too weak for him to torture; he would gain no satisfaction or advantage from killing her.

He moved on to other techniques he’d learned when he had first joined the Kings. In the early days he had to fight for power, for respect. Challenged to prove his loyalty. Slashed on his arms, his belly. Not enough to bleed out, but it had still hurt. Then there was the scar on his neck. Gaetano had done that after he’d got above his station, challenged Enzo to a fight, tried to take over Enzo’s role in the mansion. Gaetano didn’t like disloyalty or direct attacks on his family. Marcus had barely survived. Lost a lot of blood. Enzo had used a surgical laser to knit the wound closed. He’d done a bad job on purpose. But in one way it was the best thing to happen to him. His wound reminded others of his confrontation with Gaetano and Gaetano had let him live.

Marcus produced a rare hunting knife from Gaetano’s collection and inflicted deeper cuts on the males’ skin. Before the wounds had time to close, Carl doused them with hydrochloric acid. Johan and Matthieu’s screams hurt Marcus’ ears. The acid weakened them, but it wouldn’t be fatal. Their immune systems could deal with just about anything—except a shot to the head.

Sixteen hours had passed since they’d arrived at the interrogation house, and Marcus was ready to call it quits. The waif was almost dead and Marcus was spent.

Carl poked the waif in the chest. ‘Why don’t we put this one out of its misery? She’s no use to us if she won’t eat.’

Marcus panted. The bruises on their skin grew fainter as the power behind his punches waned.

‘Tell me your real skills. Who are you loyal to?’

Matthieu’s energy had faded but Johan was still talking, slower than before. ‘I told you everything and I’m loyal to you. I’ll prove it to you if you just let us go.’

Marcus needed less talk, more results; Gaetano would accept nothing less. He pulled out an old-fashioned gun from his pocket and pointed it at Johan. ‘You’re not impervious to dying, are you?’

‘No,’ said Johan, his voice breaking.

‘Well, since you refuse to tell me what I want to know, I don’t see why I should keep you alive.’ He pointed the barrel at a weak and semi-conscious Matthieu and fired. The shot skimmed over his head and hit the wall. Matthieu barely noticed.

Johan gritted his teeth.

‘Your friend here gets the next one. Got it?’

‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know,’ said Johan. ‘But I can tell you something that’s far more valuable to you.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Your days are numbered at HQ. Enzo is cleaning house for Gaetano.’

Marcus lowered the gun. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Gaetano has put some of you on a kill list. Won’t be long before you’re in my position, answering questions for someone else with a twitchier finger and a better aim.’

Carl lunged at the male and shook him. ‘You lying sack of shit.’

Marcus pulled Carl off him.

‘Let us go and I’ll tell you everything I know,’ said Johan. Marcus could see his strength slowly returned. He glanced at the waif. ‘You should kill her. She’s almost dead, anyway.’

Marcus pointed the gun at Johan’s head. ‘No. You stay put at the mansion and act as my eyes and ears. I’ll tell Gaetano you’ve passed my test and are loyal to the family. And if you don’t do what I ask, I’ll skip the interrogation and go straight to the end. You get me?’

Johan lifted his chin. His eyes were half closed. ‘I will help you in exchange for my freedom.’

Marcus laughed hard. ‘Where would you go? Who’ll want someone like you?’

‘It doesn’t matter where. But you need me and I need to get out of the mansion.’

Marcus mulled it over.

‘You considerin’ this, Marcus?’ said a shocked Carl. ‘What if he’s lyin’ again?’

‘Well, if he is, he’ll be a dead liar.’ Marcus turned to Johan. ‘Agreed. Now, tell me what you heard.’

Johan sat up straight. ‘I heard Gaetano say that he’s prepared to eliminate associates if the situation in Waverley doesn’t improve. I assume that means you and your dog here.’

‘Who you callin’ a dog?’

Carl ran at Johan, but Marcus held him back. ‘Why?’

‘Waverley is the weak link in his network and the other factions are starting to notice, to the point that they think the Kings are ripe for a takeover.’

Of course Waverley was the weak link, it was why Gaetano had given it to Marcus to manage, not Enzo, but he’d no idea it was that bad. Gaetano hadn’t mentioned anything. He wondered if this little excursion was just to get him and Carl out of the mansion. Right now, the others could be sat around Gaetano’s table discussing plans to get rid of them.

‘When’s this elimination supposed to happen?’ said Marcus.

‘Any day now.’