Dead Streets (14 page)

  I looked at Devona, but before I could speak, she said, "Why would Matt want a different body? The one he has works just fine." Then she stopped and looked down at me. "I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't speak for you. It's your decision, of course."

  If I'd been capable of doing so right then, I'd have taken Devona in my arms and kissed her.

  I'd been dead for some time but I hadn't forgotten what it was like to have a body that could smell, taste and above all fully experience touch in all its forms. I've never told Devona but I sometimes have dreams in which I'm alive and do the most mundane things: drinking a soda, eating ice cream, inhaling the scent of autumn leaves, drying off after a long hot shower with a thick fuzzy towel. So I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted by Baron's offer. Tempted bad.

  "Thanks anyway," I said. "But I'm happy enough the way I am. Besides, being a zombie detective is kind of my thing, you know? 'Zombie head on living body' detective just doesn't have the same ring to it."

  "As you wish," Baron said. "But if at some future date you change your mind, feel free to drop by. There's always a spare body or two lying around here."

  The lab doors opened then and a pair of men entered, one thin-faced like a weasel, the other with a round face sporting a pair of mutton chops. The men, who wore long black coats, caps and fingerless gloves, stood on either side of a large portable wheeled freezer, guiding it along by gripping handles bolted onto the sides.

  "Where would you like it, Mr. Baron?" the round faced man said in an Irish accent.

  "Over here close to the operating table, Burke. Within arm's reach."

  "Righto. Glad to be of service."

  The two men maneuvered the freezer close to the table, as Baron had asked. Now that the men were closer I could get a getter look at them and I saw that both had a bluish tint to their skin and thin scars around their throats and wrists. They appeared human enough, but it was obvious they'd had some work done by Baron.

  The thin faced man spoke then, also in an Irish accent. "Anything else we can do for you, sir?"

  "No, thank you, Hare," Baron said. "I believe we're all set."

  "Best we be off then," Burke said. "Lot of work to be done."

  "No rest for the wicked, eh?" Hare said.

  Both men laughed at that, tipped their caps to Baron, and then turned and left.

  When they were gone Baron said, "Two of our best Bonegetters. They have quite a knack for the work, don't they, Henry?"

  "They're very reliable," Henry said noncommittally.

  Baron clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. "Time to get to work then. Henry, if you'll help me get everything ready?"

  "Of course," Henry said, sounding as if he'd just as soon have a hydrochloric acid enema. He lurched off to one of the work tables and began gathering surgical tools.

  "Would you like me to step outside?" Devona asked Baron.

  Baron answered while he donned a pair of black rubber gloves that looked as if they could use a good disinfecting, or better yet, a thorough going over with a blow torch.

  "There's no need, Ms. Kanti. Since Mr. Richter's already dead, there's no risk of infection to him, and as he cannot experience physical pain, there's no need for anesthetics, so he'll be conscious and awake during the procedure. You're welcome to stay, as long as it's all right with you, Mr. Richter."

  "Sure. Devona's seen me come apart before. She should get the chance to see me get put together for a change."

  Devona smiled at me. "I'd hold your hand, but I know you can't feel it right now."

  "Hold it anyway," I said. "For luck, if nothing else."

  She nodded and took hold of one of my hands. Henry wheeled over a surgical cart containing a dozen different instruments that wouldn't have been out of place in Torquemada's playroom. One by one he held an instrument and the arms extending from the fleshy mass above me stretched down and grabbed hold of it.

  I'd forgotten about the bizarre piece of fleshtech hanging down from the ceiling, but now I looked up at the hands gripping the surgical instruments and I saw that the mass was slowly descending toward me. When the hands were within reach of the table the mass stopped moving.

  "Please tell me those things are just going to hold the instruments for you," I said to Baron.

  He gave me a smile that did nothing at all to reassure me. "Don't worry. I'll be guiding them every step of the way."

  And before I could say anything else Baron gave a command and one of the hands reached toward me.

  The operation had begun.

 

At one point during the procedure Baron said, "Something just occurred to me, Mr. Richter. You're in a rather unique situation."

  I tried to ignore the disembodied hands of the fleshtech device as they worked on restoring the connections between my brain and my central nervous system. "Considering that I'm a zombie having my head put back onto my body by the Frankenstein Monster, I'd say that was an understatement."

  Baron chuckled. "Besides that, I mean. Tonight someone attacked you, cut off your head, stole your body, and later dumped it rather unceremoniously in the Sprawl. This puts you in a unique situation in that, since the beheading didn't kill you, you are in a sense able to investigate your own murder. How many private detectives can say the same?"

  "I hadn't thought of it like that. I'll make sure to highlight it on my resume."

  Baron was right about one thing. When the operation was finished my first order of business was to find out who'd done this to me and why. And once I did I intended to lay a serious hurt on them.

  I gritted my teeth as the arms continued their work.

 

"Now stand on your right foot and touch your nose with your left index finger," Baron said.

  "Is this really necessary?" I complained. "We've been at this for twenty minutes now. I've walked back and forth across the lab numerous times. I've clapped my hands and tapped my feet in various rhythms. I've written my name on a piece of paper a dozen times. If anything had gone wrong during the operation I think we'd know it by now."

  Baron, Henry and Devona had been standing by the operating table watching me go through my paces ever since I'd climbed off the operating table and gotten dressed. And while I was happy to be in one undead piece again I was getting tired of being treated like a performing zombie monkey.

  "Indulge me, please," Baron said. Despite my complaining the man didn't sound the least bit irritated. He had the calmest disposition of any monster I'd ever met.

  I sighed, did as Baron asked, and promptly poked myself in the eye.

  "I was afraid of that," Baron said. "The coordination is a bit off on your left side. If you'll just hop back onto the table, I'll take care of that."

  The thought of lying on the operating table while those disembodied hands worked on me some more wasn't exactly appealing.

  "I'm not sure that's necessary," I said. "In general, I'm more coordinated than I have been since I died. So I can't hop on one foot and touch my nose. It's not exactly a skill I use every day."

  "Even so, Mr. Richter, it'll only take a few minor adjustments. I really–"

  Henry interrupted. "The man seems satisfied enough, Victor. Remember, not everyone shares your drive for perfection."

  "I suppose so," Baron agreed, but he didn't seem very happy about it.

  "I think you should reconsider, Matt," Devona said. "Given the kind of work we – I mean you – do, you often end up in physical confrontations. The more coordinated your body is, the better."

  "You're exaggerating," I said. "Yeah, I get in a fight every now and then, but I hardly think–"

  The entire time we'd been in the lab the woman's head attached to the computer had been silent, but now she shouted, "Mr. Baron! An intruder has just forced his way through the main entrance! And he's heading this way – fast!"

  "Alert security, Elsa," Baron said as he headed toward the door.

  "Where are you going?" Henry said. "This is why you built a security force – to take care of problems like this."

  Baron spun back around to face Henry and for the first time since we arrived I saw him lose his composure. "This is my home and I will not allow others to defend it for me!"

  Baron whirled around and shoved his way through the lab doors.

  Henry shook his head. "He's as stubborn as the night is long." He turned to us. "Stay here. You should be safe enough."

  Moving with his spastic, lurching gait, Henry went after his master. When he was gone Devona looked at me.

  "What were you saying about how rarely you get into fights?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about. Let's go."

  I took her hand, grateful that I could at least once again feel the pressure of her grip, and we hurried after Baron and Henry.

 

• • •

 

We found them standing in the hallway near the entrance, the one where the paintings of Frankenstein's homeland were displayed. A trio of hulking monsters – one male, one female and one which could've been either or both – stood battling a shadowy figure in a top hat and cape. The bodies of several other monsters lay behind them in the hall, heads and limbs severed from torsos, blood splattered on the floor and walls. The dark man held black knives in each hand, the blades of which seemed formed from solid shadow. The surviving security monsters attempted to grab hold of him but he avoided their hands with almost casual ease, deftly slicing out with his blades, their edges passing through flesh and bone as if they were no more substantial than air. The monsters roared in fury as they lost hands and arms and the dark man's attacks increased in speed, until he became a shadowy blur impossible to track, and when he once more grew still, the last three monsters had joined the others as bloody piles of severed body parts scattered across the floor.

  I remembered something Baron had said: "There's always a spare body or two lying around here". If I'd been a living man, I'd have tossed the contents of my stomach right then. I consoled myself by remembering where we were. If anyone could put all those poor Humpty Dumptys together again, it was Victor Baron.

  Despite the slaughter he'd just witnessed Baron stepped forward, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and the anger on his face was terrible to behold.

  "Who are you and what do you want?" Baron demanded in a voice tight with fury.

  The features of the cloaked man were shrouded in darkness, so his expression was impossible to read. It wasn't clear if he even
had
a face. But he seemed to be looking at me when he raised a black gloved hand and pointed one of his dripping knives.

  I stepped forward to stand next to Baron and Devona came with me. Henry remained where he was, demonstrating more good sense than the rest of us, I thought.

  "His name is Silent Jack," I said. "He's one of Lord Edrigu's servants. As for what he wants… well, I guess it's me."

  Ever since Jack had marked my hand with Edrigu's sigil, I'd been waiting for the Lord of the Dead to summon me and It looked like the time had finally come.

  "But why break into the Foundry?" Devona asked. "Why not just stay outside and wait for us to leave?"

  "Maybe for some reason Jack couldn't wait," I said. "Or maybe it's just more fun for him this way."

  Jack's some manner of spirit, but one who can be solid enough when he chooses, as Baron's unfortunate security monsters had discovered. But considering who he was reputed to have been during his mortal life on Earth, the bloodshed – while sickening – was hardly surprising. And Baron's monsters hadn't been about to let Jack enter the Foundry without challenge. So all appearances to the contrary, there might have been nothing especially sinister motivating Jack's appearance that night. But there was something in his stance, a cold anger radiating from him like an almost physical force that told me something was wrong here. And a moment later I had an idea what it was when a larger gray fleshed figure stomped around the corner and headed down the corridor toward us.

  The creature stood eight feet tall and its naked body was roughly humanoid in shape, though its face was smooth and featureless, and it possessed no sexual organs. It was a Sentinel, one of the golems that served as Nekropolis's version of a police force, or as close to it as the city came. Sentinels were more like enforcers than cops, making sure that citizens obeyed the law – or else.

  The Sentinel walked through the carnage Jack had wrought, not bothering to step over body parts, instead crushing them into bloody paste as it went. The golem stopped next to Silent Jack who, true to his name, spoke not a word as he continued pointing his black knife at me. The Sentinel stepped forward, grabbed hold of me with inhumanly powerful hands, and tucked me under its arm. It then turned and began carrying me back the way it had come.

  After spending the better part of the night as a severed head, I was plenty sick of being hauled around like an infant. I squirmed, trying to break free from the Sentinel's grip, though I knew it was useless. I didn't know any creature that was stronger than a Sentinel. So I stopped struggling and allowed myself to go limp. As we passed, Silent Jack tucked his knives away somewhere in the dark folds of his midnight-black cloak, and turned to follow us.

  Whatever was going on it looked like my long night was about to get even longer.

 
 

 

After capturing me, the Sentinel carried me outside to where Silent Jack's black rig waited. The Sentinel shoved me inside and Jack – who materialized in the driver's seat – cracked the reins and his two horses, Malice and Misery, reared up and let out ear-splitting cries that sounded uncomfortably close to human screams. As if the sound warped the fabric of reality, the world around us blurred, distorted and reformed, and instead of being parked outside the Foundry, we were now outside the black needle-like structure that was the Nightspire – center of the city and home to Father Dis. Another Sentinel stood waiting for us, or perhaps it was the same one, pulled along by the magic of Jack's supernatural rig. Since all Sentinels look alike it was impossible to tell and it really didn't matter for this one yanked me out of the rig with as much violent efficiency as another would've and marched me inside the obsidian tower. I glanced back over my shoulder just in time to see Jack tip his top hat to me before he and his rig faded away.