The Secret History of Las Vegas (21 page)

T
he peacocks were screaming again and Water rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. He shuffled to the window but there were no birds in sight. He yawned and hit the Nurse Call button.

Fire's caul snapped back and he yawned too, breath extra funky from the heat of the caul.

Jesus, those fucking birds! I swear if I could I would kill the entire gaggle, he wheezed.

Ostentation, Water reminded him. Not gaggle, ostentation.

Fuck you too, Fire said. Did you call the nurse? I would kill for a cup of coffee. Or at the very least, break a few knees.

Babies are born without kneecaps, Water said.

Really, Fire said. This early? Fuck, I'm too old for this shit.

“Senectitude” means old age, Water said.

And shut up or I'll fuck you up means shut up or I'll fuck you up.

We shed skin particles as we get older, Water continued, as though Fire hadn't spoken. We shed two pounds a year and by the time we're seventy, we've shed one hundred and five pounds of dead skin.

Jesus, you fucker. I'm trying to think about breakfast.

The food that is digested in your stomach is called chyme.

Fire took a swing at Water's face, but his arms weren't coordinated and it just looked like Water was swinging a puppet around.

Good morning, gentlemen, the nurse said, responding to the call button. How can I help?

Coffee and some food, Fire wheezed.

It's too early for breakfast, but I'll rustle up some coffee and see if I can't find a couple of cookies.

Do you all have special courses in talking to patients in a condescending tone?

In 1670, Dorothy Jones of Boston was granted the first American license to sell coffee, Water said.

Why can't you be nice like your brother, the nurse asked, smiling at Water, before shutting the door behind him.

And where the fuck is the doctor, Fire asked. He's been gone a whole day. How are we going to get out of here?

Water smiled. Fred is coming for us, he said.

T
he crucified horned figure stopped Sunil.

I know, Salazar said gently, handing him a cup of coffee. It's pretty grim.

Naked except for white boxer shorts, the horned figure was nailed to a rough wooden cross, his tattooed arms spread like wings. His throat had been cut nearly through, so that the horned head dangled dangerously close to falling off.

The cross itself was rising out of a heap of corpses.

What the fuck! Sunil said.

Are you going to be okay?

Yes. Is that Horny Nick?

Yes.

Why would anyone want to do this?

I don't know. You're the expert on sick fucks, Salazar said.

Sunil shook his head, watching as the forensic unit took photos and collected samples as though they were inspecting an elaborate movie set. Shit, he said.

I know, right, Salazar said.

Shaking his head, Sunil tried to focus, forcing himself into damage-control mode.

I'm not sure this killing is related to the ones from two years ago. For a start, those body dumps weren't ritualized like this; neither was the most recent one you saw two months ago, right? This is so radically different. Completely different pattern, different signature. Serial killers are very fixed in their patterns. If this is a serial killer, then you have two different people, Sunil said.

Don't tell me that, Salazar said. I don't want to have to think that there may be more than one.

Sunil wanted to allay Salazar's fears, to tell him that the killings from two years earlier, as well as these, were the work of the institute. His work. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again. This wasn't Brewster's work. At least, Horny Nick wasn't. There had to be another killer. Probably the same one who killed that girl two years before.

Anything you want to tell me, he asked.

At least we know the twins aren't the killers you're looking for, Sunil said. They've been locked up.

Why do you think the killer targeted Horny Nick?

I don't know. Are the other kids safe?

Yes.

Good, Sunil said, not knowing why.

Salazar was watching him closely.

What is it, Detective, Sunil asked.

Salazar shrugged. Nothing, he said.

Sunil turned his attention to the crucified kid. Poor devil, he muttered.

Listen, I looked into your situation on your way here.

What situation, Sunil asked.

You know, your concerns about your apartment and your worry about being targeted. I mean, normally I wouldn't do that, but you asked me to assign protection to your girlfriend and I needed to know. Anyway, turns out several apartments in your building were vandalized too, so I don't think you are the target. It was just random. Unless there's something you're not telling me.

You have to trust me on this one, Detective.

See, now, that's the kind of crazy talk that just sends up red flags to old policemen like me. I don't even trust the evidence half the time, so why should I trust you?

There are things I can't tell you.

As they spoke, Horny Nick was taken down from the cross. Sunil watched as the coroner and his officers stood on the other bodies to get him. He was laid out on a stretcher, and slowly the other bodies were laid out too. He and Salazar watched the men work, the careful attention to detail as they dismantled the rise of corpses, as though solving a puzzle, each step carefully photographed, each body systematically mined for evidence. It was slow, the work, and it took nearly an hour for the bodies to be separated. Sunil counted twelve lying there, with Horny Nick making thirteen.

Twelve bodies, Sunil said out loud.

What's that, Salazar asked.

The twelve bodies match the twelve apostles, with the crucified Christ making thirteen. Except this was no Christ but a horned figure, a devil on a cross. The devil and his twelve apostles.

Fuck, that's some dark shit, Salazar said. You have to give me something.

Sunil shook his head. I'm not a profiler, he said. You might need an expert from the FBI. I've given you all I have.

I don't trust the fucking FBI. You helped me two years ago, and I need your help now.

No, I didn't help two years ago. If I had, we wouldn't be here today.

We have to try, Salazar said. He grabbed Sunil by the arm and dragged him over to where Horny Nick lay. Look at him. That kid didn't deserve to die. Look at him! Now, tell me, do you think you might know who did this?

Sunil stared at the lifeless eyes of the teenager and the jagged line where his throat had been cut.

No, Sunil said. No, I don't know who could have done this.

A
sia was gone by the time Sunil got back. She had left a note saying she was going home. In that moment he had to confront the fact that he had no idea where Asia lived. It was true that she had always deflected his attempts to come round, but still, in retrospect, he could have tried harder.

He called her. It went straight to voice mail.

Asia, he said. You aren't safe on your own. When you get this, ditch this phone—it can be tracked—and then pack some things and come stay here with me. It was stupid and he knew it. She was no safer with him than at her place. Fuck, he said, and hung up. He had to get to the institute, but first a shower and change of clothing.

On the way out, he stopped by the doorman's desk. There was a new guy, which he didn't mind since he hated the last one.

Good morning, Dr. Singh.

Could you arrange for a reliable service to clean my apartment?

On the way to the institute he called Sheila's cell. It went straight to voice mail.

Sheila, it's Sunil. Call me, he said, trying to sound casual—no need to cause any panic.

Good morning, Dr. Singh, the receptionist said as he walked in, a little too cheerfully.

Sunil smiled. Brewster on the warpath?

The receptionist nodded, her smile frozen.

Good, Sunil said.

And it was good. Dealing with Brewster, and the twins, would be a welcome distraction from the events of the past twenty-four hours. He was about to walk away when he remembered Fred was coming.

Listen, Janice, he said to the receptionist. I'm expecting a visitor today. Fred Jacobs. I'll just fill in this visitor request form with all her information. Please make sure she is shown to my office when she comes.

Of course, Dr. Singh.

Brewster was waiting in Sunil's office, pacing back and forth, taking deep drags on the oxygen canister stuffed into his lab-coat pocket. Sunil stood on the threshold and watched him, thinking it would be relatively easy to kill Brewster. All one would need to do would be to substitute liquid nitrogen for the oxygen.

Dr. Brewster, Sunil said, shutting the door behind him and crossing to his desk. To what do I owe the honor?

Where have you been?

On my day off?

You have no days off until the twins have been dealt with. I thought I made that clear.

No, no, I don't remember us agreeing to that. Still, no harm done, eh? They were busy getting an MRI anyway, as I remember.

Your tone is more confrontational than usual, Dr. Singh, Brewster said, sitting down suddenly.

Are you okay, Sunil asked, wanting to, but not saying: You look closer to death than usual.

Tired, Brewster said.

There have been more body dumps. Another teenager among them. Throat slit. Plus twelve men, Sunil said.

I see. Well, we have the MRIs back, Brewster said.

Sunil sat behind his desk and turned his computer on. With a few clicks, he had accessed the images from the MRI. Did you see these yet, Sunil asked.

The MRIs? Of course.

Doesn't look like they are joined by much. They don't seem to share any vital organs.

No, they don't. We could probably separate them very easily.

Not very easily, no, Sunil said. It's still a risky operation given how long they've been conjoined, and at their age, a separation has never been tried. They could die.

I'm just pointing out that we could if our research depended upon it.

I can't imagine why it would, Sunil said.

Well. It's worth noting, Brewster said.

Did you notice that although Water's brain lights up pretty well, Fire's stays mostly dormant, Sunil asked. That's very strange. These results are accurate, right?

Yes, they are accurate. I noticed that too and I thought it was strange since Fire is the animated one. Of course, since he is smaller they could have overdosed him with the anesthetic.

That wouldn't explain why his brain looks dead, like the only things alive are the instinctual circuitry—like respiration.

I told you these twins would be fascinating for our study.

About that, Sunil said. I don't think I want them in my study. I'm thinking I should just let them go. Let the police and county deal with them. Tomorrow is Tuesday anyway, which is the last day we can keep them without admitting them.

Then admit them.

For what? I don't need them in my study and I don't think they are crazy. Odd, eccentric even, but not crazy.

I wasn't asking.

Sunil looked at Brewster for a minute, sizing him up. We need to talk, he began.

Do we? Think carefully before you speak, Sunil.

I think you've started the trials up again.

That's a serious accusation, Sunil, Brewster said.

And yet you're not denying it.

You're right. I have been running live tests again. Your research is taking too long, particularly the control dose. The military contract that funds you moved the timetable up and I knew that I couldn't depend on you to do the tests. You aren't the risk taker I had hoped for. You are far too deliberate, even for a scientist.

Are you responsible for the dead homeless men?

No, Sunil, Brewster said, smiling. It's your research, your doing, so I would say you are responsible.

I can't believe you would be this irresponsible with my work and my reputation. Do you know this could damage me irrevocably if it gets out, Sunil said, his voice higher than he meant for it to be.

Stop being so excitable. I've made you a very rich man. Not bad for a black from the slums of Soweto. The army likes the tests so far. I told them you could have the antidote ready in a month. They're ready to begin tests on their soldiers.

I need more time, more research. Rage is not just chemical. It might be mimetic, too, do you understand? If we start administering that drug to soldiers, they will go berserk and kill each other. There is no controlling that kind of rage.

Well, the U.S. military is not going to wait.

I am close to a breakthrough. I just need more time and no more distractions. We have everything we need from them. MRIs, DNA, X-rays—

I'm still not convinced.

Well, I will give it one last shot. An interview today and then if you want them to stay, you'll have to sign the papers, Sunil said.

Brewster got up and walked over to the door. Pausing, he turned. It's nice to have you back on board, Sunil, he said and closed the door behind him.

F
red parked her jeep in the visitors' lot, mentally noting the rental parked two cars down. She could always spot rentals and cop cars. She could also tell that the guy sitting in the front seat was up to no good. That was her true gift in the carnival, besides running everything. An unerring insight into human nature and a true gift for the con: a formidable combination. She lit a cigarette and walked over to the rental.

Hello, she said.

Hello, Eskia said.

She touched the bridge of his glasses. Anyone ever tell you that you look like Superman with those glasses, she asked.

Superman didn't wear glasses.

Fred smiled. All right, Clark Kent, then.

So who are you?

More important, who the fuck are you? Who do you work for, a rival institute? Are you some kind of industrial spy?

I'm just bird-watching.

I don't need you fucking up my deal here.

And what is your deal?

That is none of your business. What is your business is not fucking up mine. So what are you anyway, some kind of private eye? I know you're not a cop. All I want to know is will you be moving on?

When I'm done, Eskia said, smiling. He wanted to ram his fist into Fred's face. Who did she think she was, coming over to him and talking shit? How did she spot him anyway? That could mean only one thing; she was very well trained. Was she CIA or DOD?

All the time they were talking, Fred was scanning Eskia's car for clues. She noted the laptop and reached into her bag and switched on the hard-drive copier she always carried. She could tell he was spooked that she had spotted him, which meant that his laptop probably didn't have any real firewalls or protection. Copying it would be easy.

Eskia reached into the messenger bag next to him on the seat and took out a gun with a silencer on it. Nothing could jeopardize his mission here. Even as he leveled the barrel at her chest as she leaned in, he was scanning the parking lot to see if it was empty. It was.

Clever, Fred said, seeing the gun. Just what every girl needs. A hole in her breast implants.

Well, I guess that's one way of ending this unpleasant conversation, Eskia said.

I guess, Fred said. What's the other option?

I'm sorry, did I suggest there was another option?

Fred smiled and blew cigarette smoke in his face. I have no idea who you are or what you're about, she said. But I have some business here today that cannot be interrupted. Can you stay out of it for today?

Or I could just shoot you now, Eskia said.

I'm a downwinder and a freak, she said. That means I've been paranoid and driven my whole life.

I don't know what that means, Eskia said, smiling and adjusting his glasses.

Fred watched his finger tighten slowly on the trigger and thought, What a fucker, he is one of those sick puppies who loves killing.

Look at your shirt. It looks like you spilled something, she said.

Eskia looked down and saw the red dot of a laser scope.

Oh no wait, Fred continued, that's my sniper. Silly me. Told you I was paranoid. Now, my advice is to lay low and forget your business here for today. Okay?

With that she was gone, headed for the main entrance to the institute, leaving Eskia to wonder who she was and how she could have one-upped him.

Across the lot, in a blue Volkswagen borrowed from a rookie, Salazar watched Fred. Who is that guy, he thought, and what the fuck was going on? He called in a favor with an old friend in the FBI to run the tags for him. Same guy he had looking into Sunil. He liked Sunil, but something was off about him. Something Salazar couldn't ignore.

Salazar adjusted the telephoto lens of the camera. Was that a targeting dot on the driver's shirt? He swung the camera around, scanning the rows of parked cars for the source. Sure enough, in a black SUV, a midget with a rifle pointed at the silver car was visible in the window. He guessed that was one of Fred's fighting midgets. Why she needed this kind of backup was unclear, but there was nothing he could do about it without compromising his cover in some way. Best to wait. He returned to looking at the rental just in time to see Fred disappear into the institute.

Salazar put down the camera with the telescopic and reached for his coffee. It could be a while. With the air off in the car, he was getting a little too hot. Fuck.

 • • • 

D
r. Singh is expecting you, Janice said, handing Fred her pass. John over here will escort you to his office.

Fred turned to look at John. Clearly security, she thought—black suit, black T-shirt, all a tad too obvious.

Hi, John said. Before we go, I need to look in your bag. Is that okay?

Sure, Fred said, handing over her snakeskin bag. While John expertly went through the bag, Janice tried to make small talk.

On the form Dr. Singh filled out it says you run a carnival, she said.

Yes, Fred said, smiling. That was the snake boy until he displeased me, she said, pointing to her bag.

Janice winced and smiled tightly. John didn't pause in his search. Fred noticed the look on Janice's face and smiled at her sweetly.

This way, please, John said, handing her back her bag. Fred took it, glad that John hadn't thought to take her cell phone apart. If he had, in the place where the battery should be he would have found a small wedge of Semtex flattened and a small detonator that was activated by pushing the Call and pound-sign buttons simultaneously.

The elevator ride up was fast and silent. Like bad sex, Fred thought. The door opened up on the sixth floor.

This way, John said.

Soon they were outside Sunil's door. John knocked.

Enter, Sunil called.

Your guest, John said, leaving them alone.

Sunil crossed from behind his desk.

Welcome, he said, offering Fred his hand. How are you? Good trip?

Yeah, sure, thanks. Hey, nice office.

Thank you. Can I offer you a drink? Coffee?

Something stronger?

Yes, of course, he said, going to fetch the single malt from the sideboard. As he poured, Fred crossed to the wall of photographs.

Why cows, she asked, touching their hides through the frames.

Sunil looked up. Just something from my childhood, he said, handing her a glass.

She clinked it against his and took a swig. Good stuff, she said,
very
good. Is it single malt?

Yes.

So tell me about the cows, she said.

They're nothing, he said.

They take up a whole lot of wall space to be nothing, she said.

They're good photos. That's all it is sometimes, he said.

Yes, she said. Sometimes.

Please sit down, he said.

She sat in an armchair and crossed her legs. In jeans, knee-high boots, white shirt, and a simple necklace of turquoise, pale blue against her tanned chest, she looked casual, relaxed.

Are you married, Dr. Singh, she asked.

Sunil was taken aback by the question, and he mumbled his answer. No, he said, holding up his ring finger as proof, absently wondering to himself why he had bothered to do that.

Why not?

I don't know, he said. Work?

She smiled. Me too. Work.

Why do you ask?

Just making small talk, she said, finishing her drink in one gulp and holding out her glass for a refill.

Of course, he said, taking her glass and getting up. It wasn't clear if he meant of course I'll get you a refill, or of course you're making small talk.

I'm quite anxious to see the twins, she said as he handed her the refilled glass.

Yes. I'll have them brought up. This is going to be my last interview with them. If I sign them out you'll be able to take them home tomorrow. You might want to find a place to stay for the night.

Are you offering?

That would be inappropriate, Sunil said.

Of course, she said, and laughed.

Sunil went to his desk and picked up the telephone and dialed. Bring Fire and Water to my office now, he said.