Antenna Syndrome (29 page)

“I thought I tucked you in for the night.”

“I’m an insomniac,” I said. “I need to go for a
walk.”

“This time I’ll give you a dose that’ll put you
asleep for a week.” Crabner smiled and pushed back his upper lip to
reveal barbed canines.

“Watch out,” Marielle said. “Globik gave him dental
implants with spider venom.”

“Shut up, bitch. You want a taste of it too?”

“Try some of your own medicine,” I said. “You look
like you need some beauty sleep.”

He rushed me with arms outstretched. I’d have
preferred a baseball bat but all I had was the restraining strap. I
snapped it like a whip in his face, and the buckle tore a piece of
flesh from his nose.

He bellowed with pain, touched his face and saw
bloody fingers. He dove for my knees. I leapfrogged over him and
looped the strap around his neck. We tumbled head-over-heels across
the floor, me ending on top of him, the strap noosed around his
neck, but his hands around my throat. It was a Mexican choke-off,
mutually-assured strangulation.

As his face turned purple, he started hollering his
head off. Someone could show up any minute.

Marielle rolled up in her chair, a tube of oil paint
in her fist. Crabner kicked a wheel, and the chair toppled,
spilling her onto the floor. She crawled to him, thrust the tube of
paint into his mouth and squeezed. A lava of red oil paint boiled
over his lips as he gagged and coughed, spattering both of us.

His grip on me slackened. He yanked the paint tube
from his mouth and flung it across the room. He grabbed Marielle’s
arm and tried to bite her. I freed a hand and smashed my fist into
his bloody nose. She yanked her arm back and scrabbled away. His
face was now a big smear of red – paint mixed with blood – in his
mouth, eyes and nose. He gagged crimson as I tightened the noose
again, but he began to thrash so violently I couldn’t hold him. I
flung myself clear and backed into a corner with Marielle.

Crabner staggered upright and lurched in circles
around the room, coughing and groping blindly for us. Something was
wrong with him. He smacked headfirst into the wall, leaving a red
splotch where he’d made impact. Sudden spasms shook him like an
epileptic. He shrieked and fell convulsing to the floor.

“He’s going into anaphylactic shock,” I said.

“It was the vermilion,” she said. “The pigment
contains highly toxic mercuric sulfide.”

I joined the third strap to the other two and
scooped Marielle up. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on
tight.” I had one leg over the windowsill when Globik appeared in
the doorway.

He raised a gun at me. I saw a suppressor and
realized it was my own Heckler & Koch. He pulled the trigger
but nothing happened. Maybe he’d forgotten to take off the
safety.

“You fool,” he shouted at Crabner. “Stop them.”

In his convulsive state, Crabner couldn’t have known
who it was. He crashed into Globik’s legs and knocked the doctor to
the floor. The last thing I saw as I climbed out the window was
Crabner crouched over his patron, blindly driving his venomous
teeth again and again into the screaming, then silent, Dr.
Globik.

Chapter 50

When I reached the limit of the straps, I dropped
heavily but unharmed to the street. With Marielle in my arms I ran
up Collister to Laight. My car was gone, Major nowhere to be seen.
I looked up and down the street, wondering if EDGAR was on the
prowl. What else could have scared Major off?

A car horn tapped twice. I looked east and saw a car
further up Laight blink its lights. I waved. The Charger rocketed
toward us and squealed to a stop in front of me. The passenger door
swung open and Major beckoned urgently. I jumped in with Marielle
and he hit the gas. At the end of Laight, Major turned up West
Street and pulled over.

Werewolf thrust his head over the back of my seat
and lathered Marielle’s face with his slobbery tongue. She giggled
and ruffled his ears and we all heaved a collective sigh of relief.
I realized I’d been hugging her so tight the poor thing could
hardly breathe. I helped her into the back seat where she proceeded
to give Werewolf a neck rub.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Major grumbled.
“I thought you were dead.”

I told him what had happened. “Why didn’t you come
looking for me?”

“Patrol cops showed up right after I returned to the
car, asked me why I was parked there. I said I’d had a fight with
the wife and gone out for a drive. They asked for license and
registration, wanted to know why I was driving
your
car.
Although I swore you’d loaned it to me, I thought they were going
to search the car. I had to play the veteran’s card, told them a
sob story about my tours of duty, my PTSD, my three divorces...
They let me go, but followed me halfway to Hell’s Kitchen before
they returned to their beat.

“I kept calling you but got no answer. I drove back
down here but couldn’t park for fear they’d spot me again. I
thought I’d have to stash your ride in a parking compound and
return on foot to rescue your sorry ass.”

“Thanks for not giving up on me.”

“I was just thinking about my
per diem
.”

“You want to get paid? Then let’s go back and take
care of unfinished business.”

“You’ve got the girl. What else do you want?”

“We need to find Buzz, to capture or kill him. If I
don’t come up with something to prove how Boyle and Mundt died, the
cops will take the shortcut to justice and fry the guy who last saw
them alive – me.” Earlier I’d glossed over the detectives’ deaths,
but now I told Major what Buzz had done to Boyle and Mundt in my
office.

“For real?” Major stared at me. “Or have you been
skipping your meds?”

“It’s true,” Marielle said. “Buzz is a killing
machine.”

“Jesus.” Major shook his head and put the car back
in gear.

We went around the block and returned to Laight,
finding a parking place opposite the Holland Tunnel approach, two
blocks from the clinic. I didn’t want to leave Marielle alone in
the car but she said she’d be fine if Werewolf stayed with her.
Originally I’d thought we’d take him along for the hunt, but I took
a Taser from my glove compartment and left her with it, suggesting
she stay low and out of sight.

Major and I walked back to the Avatar Clinic,
shotguns slung from our shoulders, him with the case of Molotov
cocktails in his arms.

The straps still hung from the third-story window in
the back. I climbed up and entered the room. Globik and Crabner lay
in a messy heap near the door, both dead. I recovered my pistol and
toggled the safety switch. The Heckler & Koch was ready for
some wet work.

I returned to the window. Major had tied the case
onto the end of the straps. I pulled it up and dropped the line
down to him. He came up hand over hand like a gorilla on steroids.
He reeled the straps in but left the window open in case we needed
a quick exit.

We discussed tactics and then got on with it. After
I’d disabled the central alarm system, we went upstairs, easing
open doors and going in with guns ready. All of the rooms contained
a creature or two, some in cages, some shackled to rings embedded
in the floor. Hard to say exactly what they were, but the general
consensus was, abominations.

I recalled what Yamazaki had found in Globik’s lab
notes – design sketches for athletes with grasshopper legs, spies
with moth-like antennae, fighter pilots with compound eyes… The
Avatar Clinic had been developing prototypes, but none of them
looked healthy. We didn’t hesitate more than a New York heartbeat
to put them out of their misery.

Morality didn’t get in the way. Major had served
three tours of combat, and I’d spent five years in the underbelly
of the city, exterminating things that threatened human health and
safety. These were man-made vermin that never should have seen the
light of day.

We went from room to room, our silenced pistols
killing as we went. We were pretty quiet and our victims, if they
had voices at all, died with barely a squeak. We reloaded and took
the Molotov cocktails to the top of the stairs. We lit the wicks of
two bottles and threw a pair at each end of the third floor
hallway. The carpet and walls caught fire and spread.

We repeated our scorched-floor policy on the second
level. Another dozen mutants put down, but still no sign of Buzz. I
feared he was lying in wait, and the next door I opened, I’d see
only the blur of his mandible jaws before I lost my head.

I returned to the ground floor, leaving Major on the
second to serve more Molotov cocktails. I could hear the growing
fire on the third floor. It wouldn’t be long before the police and
fire department would arrive.

I grabbed my tote bag as I passed the receptionist’s
desk and hurried to Globik’s office. I spotted my iFocals on his
desk. I put them on and scanned the room. In the corner behind his
desk, the red spiders in the translucent globe danced in a
frenzy.

Thus far, we’d used our suppressed pistols to kill
in relative silence, retaining the advantage of surprise as we
moved between floors. But by now the fire was in full roar on the
top floors, and there were no more residents to awaken. I racked a
shotgun load and blew the globe to smithereens. A handful of
spiders clung to the walls in a sticky clot. I fired again,
smearing them to oblivion.

I met Major at the receptionist’s desk. I lit a
Molotov cocktail, went down the hall and hurled it at Globik’s
credenza. As the flames enveloped the wooden cabinet, I hurried
back to join Major.

We entered the basement lab and acted like vandals.
We opened the refrigeration units, yanked their shelves from the
racks, spilled their contents onto the floor. Insect bodies and
parts of all sizes crunched under our feet as we moved up and down
the aisles, smashing everything.

In the operating room I opened the valves on the
oxygen tanks. It whistled out under high pressure and I felt giddy
with destructive power. We broke the cisterns of ethyl alcohol. It
spilled and spread across the floor, filling the air with a
throat-tightening acrid vapor.

We retreated to the stairs, lit the wicks on our
last Molotov cocktails and flung them simultaneously. We slammed
the door shut and ran. The basement door billowed open in a cloud
of flame that singed our heels as we scrambled into the ground
floor hallway. The air was thick with a noxious cumulus of smoke
descending from the upper floors.

Knowing the fire department would arrive any moment,
we went out the back door, leaping from the loading bay to hit the
ground running. We crossed Hudson and climbed an iron fence that
kept pedestrian traffic out of the traffic loop circling St. John’s
Park. We stumbled through a construction site in the dark, sprinted
across the Holland Tunnel approach, and climbed another fence to
get to the car.

I unlocked the doors and we jumped in. Down the
block, two fire trucks arrived in front of the Avatar Clinic.
Flames were shooting from the third story windows, and a pall of
smoke rose against the sky. More sirens were coming. I took the
first right at Hudson and headed uptown as fast as the traffic
lights would let me.

Chapter 51

My heart stopped pounding around 14th Street. I
headed toward 11th Avenue and the Hutton Hotel. It was only then
that I noticed Marielle crying in the back seat.

I looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you
okay?”

“I killed Eddie,” she sobbed.

“Like you said, he wasn’t the same Eddie
anymore.”

“He was my friend,” she wailed.

Major and I exchanged looks. Some friend, I thought,
but said nothing.

She sniffled. Major found tissues in the glove
compartment and passed them back. She blew her nose and sniffled
some more. Werewolf tried to lick the tears from her cheeks but she
pushed him away and slumped against the window, staring out into
the dark streets.

“Listen up, Marielle,” I said. “We need to take care
of unfinished business. I’m dropping you at Natalie’s hotel. You’ll
be safe with her.”

“Take me home. Viv’s probably worried sick about me.
I miss her.”

“Sorry, not an option. The police are looking for
me, and your father’s house will be high on their watch list.”

“Then send me home in a taxi.”

“Buzz is still out there. I can’t risk him getting
his hands on you again.”

I called Natalie Jordan, waking her up, saying we’d
be there in minutes. At the hotel, I left Major with the car,
wrapped Marielle in my jacket and carried her into the lobby. To
her credit, Natalie had already cleared me with hotel security. A
few minutes later, I delivered Marielle to Natalie’s suite.

She greeted us in a dressing gown, her face still
pillow-flushed. “You poor darling.” She opened her arms to take
Marielle from me. “You look exhausted. Let’s make you a cup of tea,
and then run a bath. You’ve been through a lot.”

Marielle’s face crinkled and then she was crying
again, great tear-jerking sobs this time, as Natalie rocked her in
her arms and stroked her hair. “You’re safe now. Your big sister
will take care of you.”

I stood there feeling like a third party on a
honeymoon while Natalie nestled Marielle among the sofa pillows.
The sideboard had a cartridge machine for coffee and teas. Natalie
selected a chamomile and started the machine

“I want the whole story, start to finish,” she
said.

“I’ll fill you in later. I gotta go.”

“You still work for me,” she said.

“No, we’re done. I delivered Marielle into your
hands. Mission accomplished. Next stop, payday.”

“You’ll have to wait till the banks open.”

“Get the money ready. I’ll be back later.”

“Where are you going?”