Scarla (4 page)

* * * *

Facil sat on the coffee shop steps, halfway through his third cup. Turkovich emerged with his own. “You’re right.”

“Huh?”

“The java. It’s good.”

“Oh. Right.”

Turkovich motioned inside. “Nice shooting in there.”

Facil shrugged. “They made it easy.”

“Guess so, you pegged both their hearts. Witnesses say you were pretty sharp. I’m looking forward to that security footage.”

Facil looked away. “Enjoy.”

“You saved lives here tonight, LeTour. You just come out for some late night coffee?”

“Like I said, Dom, it’s not really late night, my time. But yeah, I just came out for some coffee.”

Turkovich nodded. “Wanna come down to the station and give your report?”

Facil glanced inside, caught the flatscreen. The shark was gnawing on a victim. “Can we take care of it tomorrow?”

“How come?”

Facil hesitated. “I need to touch base with an informant before morning. It’s important.”

Turkovich looked at him hard. “Two o’clock?”

Facil shrugged. “That’s fine.”

Turkovich nodded. “See you at two.” He went back to the door. “That deserves a refill.” The waitress was slumped on a stool, waiting to go home. She inadvertently made eye contact with Turkovich and he shook his cup. She went for the pot. He eyed Facil before ducking back inside. “Good girl. Hope she doesn’t quit.”

Facil thought of Scarla.

* * * *

Her eyes focused on the dancing flames in the fireplace as one of the guys had at her, grunting and groaning, squeezing her hips hard. The others joked and chortled, milling about the room, pouring refills, stroking themselves, grabbing her. Clive smacked her in the head and the guy inside her took exception.

“Hey, do that shit on your own turn, Clive.”

“
Fuck
you, Renault,” Clive sneered. “When’s the last time you had a piece of ass you didn’t pay for?”

Suddenly, Renault was up in Clive’s face. “Watch your mouth, fat boy,” he spit, “or I’ll stuff it for ya.”

His erection bumped Clive’s leg, and Clive recoiled as though he’d been shot. He looked around, outraged.“
Did you see that?!
He just touched me with his
dick!
You’re a goddamn
faggot
, Renault!”

Laughter. Renault joined in. “Turn around, I’ll stick it up your ass, porky.”

Clive charged him, fists flying. They crashed through the coffee table, grappling naked on the floor. Robert stepped in, hooking Clive’s arms, pulling him off. “Hey, hey,
hey!
Look what you’re doing!” Everyone jumped in to break it up. Scarla just watched. “Look at that table. Who’s paying for it?” asked Robert.

Clive threw up his arms, blood dripping from a cut on his hip. “I’ll pay for it, I don’t give a fuck! The faggot couldn’t afford it anyway.”

Robert eyed the blood, scowled. “You’re bleeding, go clean up.” Clive stormed off. Robert looked around. “There’s blood all over the rug, Renault.”

A man’s disembodied voice came over the intercom. Scarla didn’t recognize it.

Gentlemen, please don’t damage the property. The furnishings are very valuable to me and I don’t wish to replace a thing. Thank you. Continue when you’re ready.

It made her feel like she was back in the white room, sent a chill up her spine. She shook it off. They all looked like reprimanded children. She swept her hair back, oddly thrilled at the prospect of resuming, and addressed them. “You heard the man. Who’s next?”

* * * *

Facil sat at one of downtown’s busiest intersections, waiting for the green light. No messages. That wouldn’t do. He accessed the Assisted Global Positioning System on his phone, and a city map sprang to life onscreen. Scarla didn’t know about the VeriChip they’d secretly implanted in her arm when she was “vaccinated” before her tour of duty. An encapsulated microchip the size of a grain of rice delivered to her upper arm via syringe, enabling them to track her by satellite anywhere in the world. If the signal ever went dead, worst-case scenario was someone took an extra-crunchy bite while enjoying her for dinner. A red blip blinked halfway up Overlook Drive. The light turned and Facil hit the gas, u-turning forcefully into oncoming traffic.

* * * *

She worked her way around the sofa, sitting in each guy’s lap and pounding away until he came close to climax, before moving to the next. She slid off one guy, pulling his condom with her as she went. He smirked. She pulled it out, dropped it on his belly
.
They all seemed exhausted, even though she was the one doing all the work. Strangely, she only felt more invigorated as the minutes passed. She was grinding in Robert’s lap when she noticed the number of cameras in the room, small black lenses all over—up high, down low, camouflaged, out in the open. She tried to get up, but Robert held her hips. By the noises he was making, she thought he was about to finish. But he ran ice cold, his body convulsing. She watched his long legs go rigid, veins creeping blue from the feet up. He was turning, and she knew at any moment he’d bite. A low croaking buzz caught her attention. She looked up, couldn’t believe her eyes.
Everyone
had transformed.

The group surrounded her on all sides, jaws suddenly sprouting forward, jagged lower teeth jutting past swollen lips, bodies arched in pounce-posture. She knew she was dead, about to be mauled to death by monsters. She thought of lying back, of letting Robert fold her in his cold embrace and take the first bite, of watching the others swarm in for their cut.
Take me, you motherfuckers, and enjoy the taste.
But instinct kicked in.
Fuck ’em, see how bad they want it.
She smashed an elbow into Robert’s mouth, following with a head butt that obliterated his nose. Two of his teeth lodged in her elbow, but she wouldn’t know until later—
if there’d be a later.
She leapt up and kicked Clive’s balls into his stomach, then side-kicked him in the solar plexus. Monster or not, he dropped like a stone. A fat ugly stone, gasping for air. She followed with a savage heel to his cheek that destroyed his eye socket and drove bone splinters into his brain, finishing him. He lay twitching, bowels releasing all over the expensive rug.
Sorry, eye in the sky, you get what you pay for.
The last three didn’t stand a chance. She’d do them with her bare hands, her bare body, re-introduce them to the food chain and their link wouldn’t be on top.

The voice chimed over the intercom again, but Scarla wasn’t listening, No one was.
Oh, dear. Please don’t damage the—oh dear!
Renault lunged at her, teeth bared, eyes wild. She caught his wrist, snapped it back, broke it to the side, then slammed his arm back the wrong way at the elbow until bloody bone jutted through the skin, then tore his shoulder from its socket as she flipped him over her back. He landed flat on the floor and shot right back up at her. She didn’t know if she was hallucinating, but his mouth seemed to open too wide, yawning back like some saw-toothed Pez Head from hell. She stomped his nose, careful not to lose a foot in his gaping maw, then used his face as a springboard to roundhouse kick the other two. They fell. Robert sprang up, ready to bite. She kicked his knee out and he crumbled. She side-kicked him in the face, then brought the same foot back fast and smashed him in the mouth. The teeth he had left flew into the fireplace. She bludgeoned the other two mercilessly about the face and head, raining down punches that left them stunned, then grabbed the first guy and broke his neck with one smooth twist. She reached for the other guy and he bit her wrist hard.
“Fuck!”
she howled, shoving his head back and ripping his adam’s apple from his throat with a white-knuckled grab. His throat gushed a red geyser. He fell flat.

Her wrist sprayed like a punctured garden hose, dousing everything in sight. She grabbed a shirt off the floor and tied it tight, watching the white silk flush red. A quick fix, but she’d bleed out if she didn’t receive attention. Renault charged her, his maimed arm hanging useless, blood spilling from his smashed nose like a waterfall. She snatched a brass table lamp, flipped it base-up and swung like a home run hitter. It caught him on the temple, caving his skull. He dropped and she blitzed him with huge overhead blows, swinging and swinging, bludgeoning his head to a pulp. She threw the mangled brass aside. Everything dripped red, including her.

Incredible,
gasped the intercom voyeur, as Robert crawled for the door. She spotted him and slid onto him like an anaconda, wrapping her good arm around his neck and tucking his head into the crook of her elbow, making sure it was cinched deep so he couldn’t bite. She scissored his leg, arched her back, squeezed. He bucked and writhed, unconscious in seconds. They were both too bloody for a grip solid enough to break his neck. She remembered the switchblade in her boot. She stood and the room spun like a top.
Blood loss. Call Face. Where’s the cell? Purse. Where’s the purse? Shit.
She wondered about the driver, about the voice on the intercom. There were at least two others in the house. Would they come through the door any second, guns or knives—
or teeth
—blazing?

She staggered to her boots, grabbed one. No knife. She reached for the other, got the switchblade.
Click.
She went back for Robert, tripping over her purse that was beside the sofa.
Call Face.
She dug in, found her cell, scattering bills, dropping the knife. No matter that she’d just slaughtered four men with her bare hands, her eye was off the ball. Not only that, the ball was rolling down that serpentine driveway outside, maybe never to be seen again. She eyed her silk-wrapped wrist, saw blood dripping free. She flipped the phone open and scrolled to Face’s name. A shadow in the doorway startled her. Three drivers, all identical to the one who’d picked her up, all wearing the exact same expression of fear and apprehension.
Triplets?
Didn’t matter. She rushed the one in the middle. They all recoiled at once, losing their footing in the foyer and falling flat on their backs, arms up.

“No, please!” they all mouthed, sounding strangely like one voice. “I’ll help you!”

She slammed to a stop, mainly because she’d run into the door jamb. She teetered, unsteady.
“Hospital,”
she rasped.

The intercom came alive.
Marla, the man you’re attacking is a board-certified physician. You’ve met Doctor Von Stern. You’ll receive medical attention, but you must trust us.
A pause.
Will you allow him to treat you?
She saw her blood spreading across the foyer and realized she couldn’t feel her arm. The Von Sterns got to their feet, looking concerned. The middle one caught her when she fell.

Blackout.

* * * *

Facil dropped over the wall and started up the driveway on foot. The grounds were quiet, and though he saw the cameras in the trees the moment he climbed onto the property, all was calm. He figured he’d be surrounded by armed security soon, but walked freely to the front door as he pondered the scenario.

Maybe it was an open party. Maybe everyone had their eyes on Scarla and not the security cameras. Maybe they were all dead.
He flipped the snap on his shoulder holster, kept walking. The AGPS displayed an aerial view of the house. Target found. He reached the Lexus, still parked in front, and before he could press the bell, the door opened.

Von Stern stared skittishly, jacket off, sleeves rolled-up, sweat dotting his brow. “Marla’s alright,” he gushed.
Marla?

Facil stuck his gun in the doctor’s face.
“On the floor.”
Von Stern flinched, lowering. Facil kicked him across the marble, then saw Scarla’s puddle of blood and the gore-drenched den just beyond it, its fire still flickering. He pressed his gun to Von Stern’s temple.
“Where is she?”
he growled.

“She’s safe, she’s—I’ll take you,” the doctor stammered. “I’ll take you right to her.”

Facil hauled him up, spun him around, held him by the collar.

“You’re her pimp?”

Facil ignored the question.
“Move.”

Von Stern moved through the foyer, to a spiral staircase that wound down to a basement level. Facil saw a light switch to their left, gave the doctor a jerk. Von Stern flipped the switch. The staircase sprang to light with the aid of encased bulbs built into each step. Very burlesque. Facil pressed the barrel behind the doctor’s ear as they descended.

“I swear, I mean no harm … she was bleeding … needed medical attention … I stabilized her.” Von Stern pled.

“
Who else is here?”
Facil spat.

Von Stern shook his head. “No one. No one
left
I mean, just us.”

Facil was skeptical.
“Security?

Again, a shake of the head. “You saw them … in the den.”

They reached a spacious rec room, with two pool tables, a fully-stocked bar, and a wall-sized, back-lit, stained-glass window bestowing perennial daylight. But no Scarla. Facil rammed the gun under Von Stern’s chin, and the doctor pointed a shaky finger to a side room. Blue light shone from beneath a closed door. Facil approached, using Von Stern as a shield, bouncing the door open with his head.

Scarla lay on a bed with her eyes closed, atop an immaculate white sheet. Still nude, five small electrode pads placed around her breasts, blood dried in brown splashes across her face and body. An IV stand loomed beside her, a tube running into her right arm, her left arm wrapped at the elbow and wrist. A circular metal light hung over the bed, mercifully dark, and the blue light was from the screen of a hospital robo-nurse vitals machine. Facil eyed it.

“That’s not
her
blood you see,” Von Stern said. “All she needs is a shower, she’ll be alright.”

Facil let him go and lowered the gun, keeping a finger on the trigger. “What happened?”

The doctor hesitated. “She, uh … was bitten.” Facil’s blood ran cold. Von Stern continued. “But she … retaliated.”
Damn right, she did.

Facil eyed the IV. “What’s in the drip?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Saline. I’m only keeping her stable.”