Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA (39 page)

“I wasn’t asking,” I said.

“The Hiring Ground’s got a lot worse, since my day,” said Roxie. “These crowds have the look of people prepared to do absolutely anything for money.”

I had to agree. There was a general air of desperation. Of people who’d fallen so far, or been pushed so far, they were ready to accept any job, any danger, any humiliation, for fear they might never find another opening. Those at several of the larger booths were recruiting mercenary fighters for armies at war in other dimensions. The sides weren’t clear, but then, it wasn’t the cause that mattered. Just the money. I was astonished to see none of the booths carried the official Seal of the Guild of Mercenaries, guaranteeing proper levels of training and equipment, and a return home afterwards for the survivors. I could remember a time when no one would sign up unless the Seal was there. But now the attitude of the recruiting officers was apparently
If you don’t want to do this, someone else will. And you’ll miss out. Don’t come back whining tomorrow, because we won’t be here and neither will the job.

There were long lines at each of the booths, and no shortage of men and women willing to take some king’s shilling. More meat for the grinder.

Those at other booths were looking for paid volunteers to act as test subjects for new drugs, spells, and nonlethal weaponry. Good money
but not great, and absolutely no safety guarantees. Take it or leave it. An awful lot of people looked happy enough to take it. No questions asked, apart from
Where do I sign?
and
How soon do I get paid?

“You know,” I said to Roxie, “a good ambulance chaser could clean up around here.”

“You really think the Hiring Ground would let a lawyer or a union rep through its doors?” said Roxie.

“When times are hard, the choices get harder,” I said. And surprised myself with the bitterness in my voice.

“I’m surprised your family allows a place like this to exist,” said Roxie.

“If we did shut it down, another would only spring up somewhere else,” I said. “Just as bad, if not worse. At least we know about this one and can keep an eye on it. Just the knowledge that we’re watching keeps people from doing anything too extreme.”

“Define extreme,” said Roxie.

And I didn’t have an answer. We moved on past stalls and tables, taking our time so as not to appear in a hurry. Someone would only take advantage. I saw several faces I knew, all of them doing things or agreeing to things that disappointed me. After years of enforced absence, the Pariah Priest was back on the job, looking to sign people up to be possessed for a short period. So that certain angelic and demonic assignments could be carried out on the mortal plain. The removal of the possessing agent was guaranteed, but not the state of the body after the agent was finished with it. Roxie stepped in front of the booth, and glared at the Pariah Priest until he was forced to acknowledge her presence. He scowled right back at her.

“What do you want, you infamous child?”

“Who’s doing the possessing?” said Roxie. “Agents for the Light, or the Darkness?”

“What does it matter?” said the Pariah Priest, smiling smugly. “You aren’t responsible for anything the agent does with your body; you’re just renting it out.”

“What about after-effects?” said Roxie. “Having Heaven or Hell camp out in your head is like having the afterlife take a toxic dump in your soul.”

“Why do you think the pay’s so good?” said the Pariah Priest.

Roxie would have pressed that more, but the long line in front of the booth was growing restless, and she reluctantly stepped aside to leave them to it. You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped. I spotted a familiar face in the queue.

“Jack Shelter,” I said. “You used to have a solid rep as a poltergeist handler. What are you doing here?”

“Might ask you the same thing, Shaman,” said Jack. “There’s been a real downturn in the building trade. I had to lay all of my people off, until there was no one left to lay off but me.”

“But why this?” I said.

“When times are hard, you have to go where the work is,” said Jack. “At least the Hiring Ground is hiring. A lot of places aren’t.”

I moved on, with Roxie a silent unhappy presence at my side. We stopped before another booth, where a platinum blonde beauty wearing hardly anything at all was fronting a concession called Lust from the Dust. Roxie squeezed my arm tightly.

“I know her!” she said. “That’s the Chakra Cutie! Used to train girls to weaponize their sexuality. She’s one of the old gang I was expecting to meet at the Deep Down Pit.”

“Does she know you as Roxie or Molly?” I said.

“Oh yes . . . We go way back.”

Roxie planted herself in front of the Chakra Cutie while I listened to the spiel. The Cutie was shilling for a company looking to hire bright young things to channel dead movie stars. So their fans could have sex with them. A new twist to the oldest profession. I leaned in to murmur in Roxie’s ear.

“Pardon my ignorance, but . . . this is a con, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s a con! They’re just looking for young people without much personality of their own, who can be trained to fake it.”

“Don’t they always?” I said.

The Chakra Cutie finally accepted that Roxie wasn’t going anywhere, and cut off her spiel to glare coldly at her.

“What do you want, Roxie? I’m working here! And anyway, I’m not talking to you! Drood lover!”

“Really?” said Roxie. “You’re going to claim the moral high ground, when you’re fronting a knocking shop? There was a time you would have fire-bombed places like this.”

“Times have changed,” said the Cutie.

“Even so, Hooking from beyond the Veil?” said Roxie. “That was an old con, even when we were starting out.”

“The money’s good.”

“It would have to be,” said Roxie.

“You want me to call booth security?” said the Chakra Cutie. “Have them throw you out?”

Roxie smiled slowly. “I would love to see them try.”

I took her by the arm and moved her firmly away. “We’re not here to start fights and get ourselves noticed. We can’t afford to be distracted.”

“I know,” said Roxie. “We’re here for you. But . . . I can’t believe it’s all got so damned sleazy! The Hiring Ground was always the bottom rung of the ladder, but this is just blatant exploitation.”

“Hard times make for hard people,” I said. “At both ends of the queue.”

Everywhere we went there were people we knew, who knew us, and none of them seemed at all surprised to see Shaman Bond and Roxie Hazzard at the Hiring Ground. No one offered anything but a sad smile, a resigned shrug, and a general attitude of
It comes to us all, in the end.

“I feel like burning down the whole place,” said Roxie. “Just on general principles.”

“Then where would these people get work?” I said.

“Don’t be reasonable,” said Roxie. “I’m not in the mood to feel reasonable.”

“Can’t recall a time when you were,” I said.

She managed a small smile. “Let’s just do what we came here for and get the hell out.”

It took us a while to track down the Psychic Surgeon. He might have been a Major Player once, but these days, his stall was a lot farther from the main drag than it used to be.
It comes to us all . . .

The Psychic Surgeon was a fleshy, middle-aged man, in clothes so colourful, he would have looked overdressed on a golf course. He had fierce eyes and a strident voice, and a distinct if somewhat disturbing presence, like a wolf with a big smile and some foam on its chops. He targeted anyone who came near his slightly shabby stall, boasting of his past triumphs and the extraordinary extent of his abilities. A lot of people stopped to listen, but not many stayed.

“I am the one and only Psychic Surgeon! I can operate on you with my mind; add or remove moods, modify memories, and cut away inhibitions! I can boost your talents and accentuate your attitudes! I can do surgery on your soul and make you a better person! Or, at least, a different one!”

He was quite happy to demonstrate his abilities on the people gathered before his stall, without warning or apology. He was certainly impressive enough, but the casual cruelty implicit in his demonstrations put a lot of people off. He made a man forget his own name, and a woman weep inconsolably over the death of someone she’d never heard of. He made two strangers fall passionately in love, and he set an old married couple at each other’s throats. All for the entertainment of the crowd, and himself. But most people just drifted away, before he could do something to them. The Psychic Surgeon grumpily released his hold on the people he’d affected, and they hurried off, shaking with reaction. The Surgeon shouted after them.

“You’ll be back! I can make you happy! Make your enemies miserable! Cut away all the parts of you that are holding you back! You need me!”

Roxie tried to get his attention, but he just waved her away.

“Not now, girlie. I’m working.”

“Girlie?” Roxie said dangerously.

He looked back at her, and then smiled suddenly. The stage persona was gone in a moment, and he was just a calm, somewhat fatigued businessman.

“Roxie Hazzard; mercenary for hire, no job too dubious. And Shaman Bond, plausible rogue about town, always looking for a little trouble to get into, but never around when the authorities turn up.”

I looked at Roxie. “He’s heard of us.”

“Who hasn’t?” said Roxie.

“You made good time getting here,” said the Psychic Surgeon.

“You even look at my aura wrong,” said Roxie, “and I will rip your head right off.”

She was being more than usually brusque, because she couldn’t afford him looking past Roxie to see Molly. Or my torc. The Psychic Surgeon just shrugged.

“I get that a lot,” he said.

“Isn’t there any hall security?” I said. “To protect people from people like you?”

“Not any more,” said the Surgeon. “They got in the way of business. The official attitude these days is
Enter at your own risk
. And don’t be too upset by my little exhibition. Half of that crowd works for me. The point is to get people talking, and then they’ll come and see for themselves. At which point I shall be their kindly old physician, there to help them with all of life’s little problems.”

“Can you?” said Roxie. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the problem. I can cut things out, or move them around; but I can only work with what’s there.” He looked me briefly up and down. “Want an upgrade on your charisma? A voice that compels, or a look that seduces? I’m doing a special on confidence boosters. Two for the price of three.”

“That’s not right,” I said.

“You see! They’re working!”

“Never mind that crap,” said Roxie. “We’re not here for what you have to offer.”

“You sure?” said the Surgeon. “I could always cut away Shaman’s bothersome independence; make him live only to serve you.”

Roxie smiled at me. “The thought does have its attractions . . . but no.”

“You just can’t help some people,” said the Psychic Surgeon.

I fixed him with a cold stare. “I’ve been having a really bad day. I could use someone to take it out on.”

“Never make an enemy; that’s what I say,” said the Surgeon. “What can I do for you?”

I looked at Roxie. “See? I can do intimidating.”

“I knew you had it in you,” said Roxie. She fixed the Psychic Surgeon with her own cold glare. “Can you really put us in touch with Dr DOA?”

“Hush!” the Surgeon said sharply. “That’s not a name to use in public.”

He looked around quickly, and just a bit dramatically, to make sure no one had overheard. Though we would have had to be shouting at the tops of our voices to cut through the general bedlam. The Psychic Surgeon closed up shop, by setting in place a large sign:
The Psychic Surgeon is out. Do not mess with his things, or he will cut off your libido.
He then led us to a private shielded-off area at the rear of his stall, surrounded by standing wooden panels engraved with ancient Chinese characters. I nodded. I’d seen that kind of security before: Stay inside the circle and no one could overhear you.

“Are you sure that’s enough?” said Roxie. “In a place like this?”

“Even God would have to turn up his hearing aid to listen in on us,” said the Surgeon. “Now, what do you nice young people want with Dr DOA? I mean, yes, I get it; you want the wild witch of the woods dead. And like anyone sane, you’d much rather someone else did the dirty work and took all the risks. But why choose Dr DOA? There’s no shortage
of people with grudges against Molly Metcalf, who’d be happy to do the job for a lot less than the Doctor will charge you.”

“I want Dr DOA,” said Roxie, “because he never fails. He’s there for when they really, absolutely, have to die. That’s what I’m paying for.”

The Surgeon nodded. “No offence, dear, but are you sure you can afford a service like this?”

“Money is no object,” said Roxie, “where Molly Metcalf is concerned.”

“That’s what the Doctor likes to hear!” the Surgeon said cheerfully.

“Do you know him?” I said. “I mean, personally? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone who could claim to have met the Doctor in person.”

“I can put you in touch with the man,” the Psychic Surgeon said carefully. “For a percentage of the fee. But I’ve never even been in the same room as the Doctor. Ours has always been a strictly business relationship. I prefer to maintain a safe distance from that man, and what he does.”

“I’m still not entirely convinced he exists,” said Roxie.

The Surgeon sneered at her. “I could drop some names of the Doctor’s more-recent accomplishments. People who died from apparently natural causes, or were quite blatantly poisoned. Enough to convince. But you already know all that, or you wouldn’t be here. You can strike a deal with me, or you can walk away. The Doctor won’t care. And I only care in as much as it affects my percentage. There’s never any shortage of people wanting to hire Dr DOA. For reasons of his own, he has chosen to move you to the front of the queue. He hasn’t told me why, and he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to tell me anything, and mostly he doesn’t.”