Big Boy Did It and Ran Away (55 page)

Later, though. Meantime, there were other carnal desires to be satisfied. He kicked open the door to the observation deck and took hold of the cop by the ponytail, dragging her out on to the gantry. Her feet kicked as she struggled to push herself along, trying to take the weight off her hair. Down below, he could see Lydon, who gave him a thumbs‐
up.

‘Bring him,’ Simon ordered, pointing to below the platform.

Ray walked with his hands in the air, two gunmen behind him, one in front, joined by another when they reached the top of the slope. His mouth was bleeding from the gunbutt blow he’d sustained, but he could be certain he was about to receive a lot worse. The picture was clear. When they didn’t shoot him right away, he knew he was going to be brought before the king, to give Simon his big gloating, wanking moment before he personally pulled the trigger.

From the gunshot Ray had heard, it depressingly didn’t sound as though Angelique had been subject to the same sport. There was always the possibility that she’d been the one who got the shot off, but in his heart he knew it was the other way around: if they’d been lying in wait for him, then they’d have had the drop on her too.

He had to shuffle through the water, which was now up to his shins, prompted by the occasional prod from a gun‐
barrel. Behind him he could still hear the thumps and muffled cries from the storage room. There were children’s voices among them, he was sure, screaming for help with what air was left in the place.

Ray looked up as the party passed beneath the Control Room window. On the gantry ahead, he could see Angelique lying on her back; and, standing over her, pointing a shotgun, face turned away but figure unmistakable, was Simon.

The same narcissistic tosser as ever. He was throwing a fucking shape, frozen there in a carefully struck pose, waiting to turn around and reveal himself to Ray, who was presumably supposed to be impressed/
gobsmacked/
start wanking in sheer admiration/
whatever.

‘On his knees,’ Simon commanded, still not turning round. Ray was thumped brutally between the shoulder blades and fell face‐
down with a splash. A hand grabbed the strap of the speargun and lifted him to his knees, the goon removing the weapon and dropping it contemptuously into the water in front of him.

‘Who were you going to kill with that? The Man from Atlantis?’

Ray said nothing, just looked up. Get it over with, for fuck’s sake. Springsteen doesn’t get a build‐
up like this.

Simon turned, at last, his face composed into a calm smile.

‘Hello, Larry,’ he said.

Ray spat some blood into the water by way of response. Simon ignored it, tried to look slightly quizzical.

‘Don’t you recognise me?’

‘Call me Raymond, ya fuckin’ wank, or I’ll just ignore you. I thought I’d told you that. And you can cut the fuckin’ theatrics as well. Yeah, you’re the big terrorist. The Black Spirit. Rank Bajin. Wow. I swear to God I’m impressed, but if I’m no’ comin’ across that way, it’s because I’ve had kind of a rough day. How’s yours been?’

Simon shrugged, trying to pretend his blood wasn’t boiling.

‘Disappointing.’

‘Chin up, mate. You’ve had worse Saturdays, surely. What about the time you made a cunt of yourself in the QM bar, tryin’ to sing and play guitar at the same time?’

Simon raised a pistol with his right hand, his left still resting the shotgun against Angelique’s head. He held the handgun sideways, which was him to a T: there was no benefit other than it looked cool.

‘I think the era you’re talking about is the one you’d probably file under the time of your life, Raymond. At least one of us has moved on from there. And at least one of us will move on from here.’

‘Cannae see the progress, to be honest. Makin’ a cunt of yourself seems to be the recurrin’ theme. Back then it was musical incompetence. Today you’ve just changed your instrument.’

‘I can play this one pretty well, Larry, as you’re about to find out.’

‘But not until you’ve finished wankin’ aboot it, eh?’

Simon laughed, patronising Ray’s defiance.

‘And what have you got to wank about, in your ordinary, anonymous little life?’ he asked. ‘Tell me that. What the hell have you achieved? A fucking schoolteacher. Wife, mortgage, and a kid now, I understand. You really shine out in the crowd, Ray.’

‘Aye, I suppose I should have strived harder for distinction. Maybe if I’d killed a few hundred people, that would have made my life more worthwhile. Instead I’ve just had to settle for havin’ a few folk around that like me. Friends. Do you remember the concept? Or how about conscience? That one ring any bells?’

‘Conscience. What a load of bollocks. What is a conscience, but an attempt to protect your standing in the fucking tribe, the investment you’ve made in a reputation. Just another chain to hold you back from making your life what you want. I don’t have those chains, Ray. The world is a far more interesting place when you’re not bound by an identity.’

It was Ray’s turn to laugh.

‘Are you guys gettin’ this?’ he asked, looking round. The goons remained stone‐
faced, but there was plenty going on behind their eyes, he could tell. ‘No identity, Simon? Don’t talk shite. What you want more than anythin’ else is for people to know who you are. That’s why you’ve been pissin’ about playin’ games with me all week. You never took my advice about learnin’ to button it, did you? Did you tell your mates here about your track record for blabbin’ to the polis?’

Ray looked for a response from his guards, but they remained impassive; irritatingly disciplined. Any problem they had with the Dark Man would presumably be dealt with when other business was concluded. Simon could see that Ray had understood this, and it was hard to imagine anyone looking more smug. The fact that he was doing so after such a monumental failure confirmed everything Ray and Angelique had supposed. Getting Ray on his knees before him meant more to the wanker than anything else here today.

‘That’s the whole point, Raymond,’ he said. ‘I’ve left that person behind, and I’m somebody else. I can play whatever games I want with you, because Simon Darcourt no longer exists.’

‘Oh aye, that’s right, I forgot. It’s not the first time you’ve tried to erase the past and reinvent yourself. I saw all those Queen albums in your wardrobe, mate. You’re a fraud. If Simon Darcourt doesnae exist, it’s because you never knew who you really were. I know who Raymond Ash is.’

‘No,’ Simon said, cocking his pistol. ‘You know who Raymond Ash was. So tell me, just before we’re done here, is there anything you’d like me to pass on to dear Felicia when I pop by later?’

Ray swallowed. All his anger and defiance was drained, little good that it had done him while it lasted. The thought of Kate brought home the completeness of his loss, and of Simon’s victory. It should have been a consolation that his last acts on this earth had saved all those lives, but at that moment he’d have traded every one of them for his own, his wife’s and Martin’s.

He hung his head disconsolately and looked down into the gloomy water, hiding his face to deny Simon the sight of his submission. He was submerged to his lap where he knelt amid the four gunmen, two in front and two behind. The speargun was inches from his knees, pointing forward. Dead ahead, running down the wall, were the cables powering the overhead lighting rig. And golly, must that thing use a lot of juice.

‘No,’ he finally answered, looking up and reaching his right hand subtly forward under the water. ‘But I’ve got one last thing I’d like to ask you.’

‘Fire away.’

Ray’s fingers felt the handle of the gun and dragged it gently back along the floor until the grip was against his palm.

‘Have any of your men here ever played The Cistern or The Abandoned Base?’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘I thought not. Too bad.’

Ray squeezed the trigger and sent the spear whizzing, unseen and unheard beneath the surface, pulling his hand immediately back out of the water. The spear ripped into one of the cables, which instantly discharged enough electricity to kill all four of his guards with a flash, a fizzing and a very nasty smell. Ray, in his neck‐
to‐
toe wetsuit, was wearing the Pentagram of Protection.

Up above, he glimpsed the briefest flash of black‐
clad limbs, before the lighting power shorted out and the cavern was plunged into total darkness. After a couple of seconds, the emergency system kicked in, bathing the place in a dim glow from a series of wall‐
mounted panels. They might even have been on the whole time, unnoticed under the blaze of the rig, and automatically switched to a back‐
up circuit after the main supply got terminally rerouted through the four llamas.

He watched Angelique disappear into the Control Room as he climbed to his feet, surveying the carnage. Simon was out of sight, but Ray didn’t fancy his chances with a pissed‐
off Angel X on his tail, especially as she now had possession of the shotgun. The four corpses lay around Ray like petals on a flower, with him the stamen. Their hands were practically welded to their weapons, as he found out when he knelt down to try and lift one. He placed a foot on the corpse’s chest, taking hold of the machine gun with both hands, and was about to give it a good tug when he heard a splashing surge behind him.

Ray turned around to see Simon rise from the knee‐
deep water and lunge towards him, pistol in hand. He slammed into Ray’s body like he was a Superbowl quarterback, knocking him off his feet, his momentum carrying both of them sideways until they crashed against the mangled railings overlooking the drop. Ray was pinned by Simon’s weight, his feet off the ground and his back leaning over the edge. There was nothing he could do to regain balance, so he directed all his strength to gripping Simon’s right wrist and forcing the muzzle of the pistol away from himself. Simon punched him in the face with his free left hand, his feet pushing against the floor to bend Ray further over the balcony. The sound of the pouring water seemed deafening, but maybe it was just the blood inside his head as he strained with all he had to keep hold of that wrist.

Simon tried punching him in the side instead, and in a reflex response, Ray brought a knee up from amid the tangle. This further weight‐
shift was enough to buckle the already straining barrier, and the pair of them tumbled over the edge as it collapsed beneath them. Ray, being closer, was able to grab a handful of metal as he fell, but Simon was tossed head‐
first into the water, six or seven feet below.

Ray heard a grinding, rumbling sound as he hung on to the stump of the barrier, water cascading over his hand where he gripped. His feet dangled above the dark surface, which now appeared to be swirling, clockwise. The sound vibrated through the concrete floor, making him sure it was imminently about to disintegrate.

In the meantime, he had a more immediate problem. He twisted as he dangled, turning around to face the water, where he could see Simon swimming towards an exposed, jutting shard of the crippled turbine. Simon got an arm around the metallic outcrop and was able to take a grip with one hand, steadying his aim with the other as the growing swirl tugged at his body.

‘I’ve one last question for you, Larry,’ he shouted, finger on the trigger. ‘How does it feel to know you’ll never see your son grow up?’

Ray looked him in the eye one last time.

‘You tell me, Simon.’

Even across the foaming, spraying water, Ray could see the doubt, the confusion, the questions suddenly written on Simon’s face, but he never got to ask them. A second, more powerful rumbling shuddered around the cavern, upon which Simon lost his grip on the shard and was pulled into the quickening swirl. He fired two shots but missed by more than ninety degrees as he was spun wildly in the current. After that, he let go of the gun, needing both hands to try and stay above the surface. Both hands, however, weren’t enough.

Ray looked down at his feet, which were now at least a yard higher above the water than when he first fell. The rumbling had been caused by the tailrace reopening, causing rapid changes in pressure all through the submerged levels as the excavation began to rapidly drain. He scanned back across the spiralling pool, but could not see any sign of life. Then the artist formerly known as Simon Darcourt resurfaced one last time, before being swallowed up and flushed away like the piece of shite he was.

‘Suck it down,’ was Ray’s parting shot.

‘You talkin’ to me?’

Ray looked up to see Angelique standing over him, bending to grip his wrist with both hands.

‘You took your time,’ he complained, judiciously waiting until she had helped him back over the edge before doing so.

‘I lost him when the lights went out. I thought he’d gone back into the Control Room.’

‘I could have used your leet skillz.’

‘Who am I compared to you? Four guys with one shot. Sign of a misspent youth, I reckon.’

‘No. You need to misspend your teen years, late adolescence and much of adulthood to learn tricks like that.’

‘Come on, let’s get those hostages. And grab a gun; we don’t want any more last‐
minute surprises.’

Ray forcefully prised a machine gun from one of his electrocuted victims, the process of looting a fallen foe again proving a lot more bother than online, where you just walked over them and at the most pressed your ‘Use’ key. He checked the safety was off and took hold of the weapon in both hands, the first time he’d ever held a real gun. It was cold and heavy, a thing of ugly brutality. He remembered the aftermath of Columbine, factions in the US media blaming Quake and Marilyn Manson. Computer games and rock’n’roll.

Aye, right.

They made their way down the slope together in silence, exchanging dread looks at the lack of noise emanating from behind the steel door. Then they heard a definite thud, the dampened sound of metal on metal.

‘Hurry,’ Angelique said, running the rest of the way and lunging for the door handle.

‘Hang on,’ Ray warned. ‘You might want to—’

But it was too late. Angelique turned the handle and the door flew open, throwing her backwards as several hundred gallons of water and at least two dozen flailing bodies washed out of the room. The water came up to Ray’s feet where he had sensibly remained, a few yards up the slope. He sent Angelique a smirk that was rewarded with a single finger, then began wading down to assist.