The Undertakers Gift (8 page)

Ray was suddenly tuned in, her mind cutting through the chatter to the one salient fact. ‘What do you mean, “as well”?’

‘I saw it too! I saw the funeral!’

‘How?’

‘After you left I came out for some air – it was really
stuffy
in that house, wasn’t it? – and I ended up looking for you. I was worried that you’d get lost or something, and I felt a bit guilty that I’d left you to walk home on your own.’

‘That’s sweet.’

‘Whatever. I tried to follow you and then I found this stupid funeral thing, full of these
horrible
, dirty-looking men. I mean, they were
awful
. . . Just like you said in your blog. Someone pointed it out to me, and I thought
oh my God
that’s
them
—’

Wynnie was looking at Ray wonderingly. ‘What is it?’ he mouthed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Wait,’ Ray hissed, and that was all Gillian needed.

‘Are you
with
someone?’ she gasped. ‘Oh! It’s Wynnie, isn’t it! You’re with
Wynnie
!’

Ray started to deny it, more out of a desire to hurry Gillian back to the point of her call than anything, but hesitated at the crucial moment. It was all Gillian, a seasoned gossip, needed.

‘Oh, it
is
Wynnie,’ she squeaked. ‘Did you spend the
night
with him?’

‘Of course I didn’t! Now, look, Gillian, about the funeral—’

‘You
so
did spend the night together! No
wonder
you wanted to get off so early!’

‘It’s not like that—’

‘Oh, come
on
, Ray – you must know he’s
mad
about you!’

‘What?’

‘He’s
completely
mad about you. Anyone can see it. Poor boy practically
dotes
on you.’

Ray felt a flash of irritation and confusion. She could already feel her cheeks going red. ‘Shut up, Gillian. I am not seeing Wynnie.’

Wynnie visibly flinched as she said this, and Ray felt awful. But her mind was in a complete storm now. ‘Look, where are you, Gillian? Can’t we talk properly? I’ll meet you somewhere.’

Gillian sounded excited at the prospect of being able to extract all the juicy details. ‘Right! Sure. You can tell me
all
about it then. Say, meet me at the Black House.’

‘The Black House?’

Wynnie looked up sharply at this, started to say something, but Ray waved him to silence.

Gillian was still chattering. ‘Yeah. That’s where I saw the funeral thing. I’m on my way there now. Meet you there, right?’

‘OK.’ Ray closed the call and looked at her mobile until it went dark. She tried to collect her thoughts and failed utterly. Her head was swimming. Wynnie wasn’t saying anything, just standing there looking at her. Waiting. Eventually she looked up at him and asked, ‘What’s the Black House?’

FOURTEEN

The Interview Room was a bare cell on one of the lower floors of the Hub. Entrance and exit was via a narrow doorway and a flight of concrete steps leading up into the Hub proper. It was cold and unyielding and had, in the past – long before Jack Harkness had taken over control of Torchwood Three – occasionally been the scene of torture and murder. There were stains on the floor that no one wanted to investigate too closely.

‘See, I told you we had dungeons,’ Jack said as he sat down on a wooden chair.

Kerko glared back at him across the small desk that separated them. His hands were on the table top, handcuffed.

Ianto stood in the corner, by the steps, looking immaculate and stern. Jack gazed at him for a long second and then pulled his attention back to the Blowfish.

‘Go screw yourself,’ said Kerko.

Jack smiled. ‘We can make this easy or hard, Kerko. It’s up to you.’

‘You don’t scare me, Harkness. None of you do.’

‘I just want to ask you a few questions.’

‘Like I said.’

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘Not in the mood, Kerko. So – what’s it to be? Hard or soft?’

The Blowfish sneered. ‘What you gonna do? Set pretty boy over there on me?’

‘Ianto could get you looking clean and presentable in ten minutes flat. Do you really want me to turn him loose?’

Kerko glanced across at Ianto, unsure how to respond.

Ianto stared impassively back. He could almost have been a shop dummy. Jack noticed that he was sweating, even though the Interview Room was cold. Perhaps he was worried that Jack had meant what he said, and was trying to visualise Kerko in one of his three-piece suits and a silk tie.

‘How did you get here, Kerko?’ Jack asked after a minute had passed. ‘Was it through the Rift?’

‘No, I came in a flying saucer. Of course it was the Rift. You’re so dumb.’

‘Straight from Rigel 77?’

‘No, we stopped at Swansea Services.’

‘I’m not in the mood for jokes, Kerko. I’ve been to Rigel 77. I know what goes on there. It’s a maximum-security rehab centre with such a bad rep the Shadow Proclamation had to shut it down with troops. Systematic abuse, drugs, torture, institutionalised violence. They did it all on Rigel 77. I know because I was there. Were you?’

Kerko gave a slight shake of his head, a denial to all intents and purposes, but Jack could see the wariness in the Blowfish’s eyes.

‘So you were a 77er.’ Jack’s eyes narrowed into fierce blue slits. ‘What did they do to you, Kerko? Waterboarding? Electric shocks? Bore worms?’

‘I don’t want to go back there,’ Kerko said quietly.

‘No need to,’ Jack said. His voice was low. ‘We can do all that stuff here. I’ve got someone upstairs right now, firing up the mind probe. Gotta love that mind probe. Know what my success rate is? One hundred per cent. One hundred. Of those that survived of course.’

The Blowfish sat staring at the table top, unmoving, for nearly a full minute. Jack let the silence hang. He could sense the silent war raging in Kerko’s head: give in, fight, play for time, or deny everything? He was calculating the results of each course of action with the instinctive, ruthless sense of self-preservation that characterised his kind. Eventually, without looking up, he asked, ‘What do you want to know?’

‘I want to know about the pitbullfrogs for a start.’

‘What about them? They were just a bit of fun.’

‘They’re killers. Wild and unpredictable and full of God knows how many alien pathogens. I killed one but we need to find the other one, Kerko. Where’s it likely to go? Any ideas?’

‘How should I know?’

‘We’ve had one confirmed sighting,’ said Ianto. ‘Police cornered an unidentified – and unidentifiable – animal in a garage near Splott. They had to bring in a dog unit to deal with it.’

Kerko looked intrigued. ‘And?’

‘Two Alsatians dead – necrotic inflammation from infected bites.’

‘Huh.’

‘I like dogs,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t like pitbullfrogs. Where would it go, Kerko?’

He shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

‘You’re not being very helpful, Kerko.’

‘What have I got to gain? Or lose?’ The Blowfish curled a wet lip and sat back in his chair, folding his arms. A little of the old spark had come back. ‘You’re stuck with me here, aren’t you? You can’t send me back. You either keep me here in your prison cell or kill me.’

‘There’s always the deep freeze,’ suggested Ianto.

‘Might as well be dead.’

‘You want me to make you an offer?’

Kerko shrugged.

‘How about I promise you that if you tell us what we want to know, I won’t put you back in the same cell as our pet Weevil.’

‘You’ve got Weevils here?’ A smirk. ‘Figures. They stink, eat crap and fight. Should fit in on this planet just fine.’

‘It’s not just the pitbullfrogs I’m worried about, Kerko. It’s them, you, the guy in Cell One. We’ve even had Grolon rats swimming in the canals. Last week a load of them dragged an angler into the water and stripped him down to the bone.’

Kerko snorted. ‘Never did like anglers.’

‘Something’s going on with the Rift,’ Jack continued. ‘We’re being flooded with aliens, and
I wanna know why
.’

Kerko made no reply. He just sat and stared at the desk.

‘Let me ask you another question,’ ventured Jack. ‘Have you ever heard of something called the Undertaker’s Gift?’

‘Up yours,’ said Kerko.

‘Weevil’s waiting. And she’s hungry. Maybe she fancies a fish supper, what do you think Ianto?’

‘More than likely, I should say. I think I’ve got a bottle of Tartar sauce somewhere.’

Jack rewarded him with a tiny smile and then looked back at Kerko. ‘Well?’

‘Go screw yourself. I’m a 77er, remember, and you don’t scare me. You killed my kid brother and I’ve got nothing to lose, so tell me what you
expect
me to do? Sit here and answer all your stupid questions or break your neck with my bare hands?’

And with this he launched himself across the table, fingers fastening around Jack’s throat with sudden, wild anger. Such was the unexpected savagery of the attack that Jack found himself momentarily stunned, aware only of an agonising pain in his neck and a complete inability to breathe. Even handcuffed, Kerko had succeeded in getting a good, solid grip and his fingers were digging in like steel clamps.

Jack’s chair crashed back as he struggled to his feet, teeth bared. Kerko was still holding him, locked onto him with a crazed strength forged from sheer, hard-as-iron hate. Jack tried to tear the Blowfish away but he just couldn’t get the leverage. They gripped each other in a rigid dance of death until Ianto calmly stepped forward and pressed the muzzle of a stun gun against the back of Kerko’s neck.

Pow.

The fish dropped to the floor without a sound and lay there, trembling as the electric charge dissipated through his nervous system.

Ianto picked up the fallen chair and helped Jack into it. ‘You took your time,’ Jack complained hoarsely, rubbing his throat.

‘The stunner was in my pocket. I had to get it out, check the charge, take off the safety catch, aim it and pull the trigger. That all took a good three seconds. Sorry.’

Jack waved the excuse away. He found it difficult to speak and his mouth tasted like he’d been sucking batteries.

‘Just sit there and get your breath back,’ Ianto advised.

‘I took the charge too, you know,’ Jack complained. He felt suddenly, ridiculously old, and he knew it would be a minute or two before he recovered properly.

‘Well, there I did have to be careful,’ admitted Ianto. ‘I set the voltage to disable Kerko but not you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Fish are more susceptible to electric shocks than humans.’

‘Is that a fact?’

‘Well, more of an educated guess, actually. But I’ll check it for you later if you like.’

‘Don’t bother.’ Jack forced a grin. ‘Three
seconds
, huh? Not bad.’

‘What do you want done with him?’ Ianto nodded at the fallen Blowfish. A dark stain had spread across Kerko’s pants where the surge of electricity had scrambled his autonomic reflexes and caused his bladder to void.

‘Back in his cell,’ Jack said. ‘And don’t clean him up.’

FIFTEEN

It was just starting to rain again as Ray and Wynnie got on the bus. It was full, so Ray ended up sitting a couple of seats away from Wynnie.

Her mind was in a whirl as the bus rumbled away from the stop. She couldn’t look out because the windows had steamed up with all the damp passengers crowded inside and she found her gaze resting on the back of Wynnie’s head.

He dotes on you.

To her amazement, Ray found herself looking at Wynnie properly, perhaps for the first time. He wasn’t good-looking, not a bit of it, but you couldn’t honestly say he was ugly either. He was a bit funny-looking, actually, Ray realised. His ears stuck out through the blond dreadlocks, and his face was a bit too long and angular. But there was something about Wynnie, something beyond what he looked like, that made Ray feel relaxed and happy in his company. But she didn’t fancy him. She couldn’t fancy him.

Wynnie looked around, sensing her attention, and smiled.

She looked away, forcing her mind onto other things. The funeral cortège. Gillian. What was it all about? What had Gillian seen? Could it really have been the same thing that Ray had witnessed? How could it have been?

A mile or so further on and the bus had emptied a little, and Wynnie came to sit next to Ray. ‘Not far now,’ he said. ‘Next stop.’