When Graveyards Yawn - G. Wells Taylor (robert munsch read aloud .TXT) 📗
- Author: G. Wells Taylor
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“Then I called you from Simpson’s,” I grumbled. “You got there and found a couple of murderers, but no Wildclown and no Regenerics Secret.”
“What was the Regenerics Secret?” Redding asked then, uncrossing her legs, and standing up from the chair. “So far Van Reydner hasn’t been specific. I think she’s holding onto that card for leverage. I can’t blame her. I have my own theories, but I’m not sure.”
“Before I answer that, tell me why you let me get involved.”
“Difficult tale. You must know about the divisions in Authority. The special interest groups.”
“Which one do you belong to?” I was almost afraid of the answer.
“The one that believes in justice. There are a few of us who were in the first Authority units formed after the Change—we were hired right out of the civilly run policing agencies. But we were in the minority. Those of us who couldn’t hide our true feelings disappeared. Others among of us hid our loyalties and bided our time. We didn’t join any group, chose strange assignments, and were pretty much outcasts in the force. Over the last couple of years things have been getting worse. The special groups were beginning to form alliances that would at best, tear Authority apart, or at worse, turn it into a monster the likes of which the human race has never seen before. Those of us who stayed clean—I’d say, pure, but nobody’s pure—knew that something was going on that would start the final battle. The only good thing about all those groups forming on the inside was we could form our own. Honestly, I’m surprised there were only two of the bad ones involved. The Twelve Stars and the King’s men are the largest, but there are at least ten more. I suppose a lot of them didn’t have the belly for it, or had already been squeezed by the bigger guys, and stayed out of it.” She smiled then, and a look of exasperation crossed her face. “I found out about you from a recording we made in Willieboy’s car—Oates, that’s his real name. We were following him after the Billings murder—he was identified at the Morocco—and our people taped him talking to the King. He mentioned a bush beater named Wildclown. We didn’t have much on you in records. Officially you don’t exist past two years ago. There aren’t a lot of detectives walking around in clown makeup so you stand out. I didn’t know who you were until I saw you. Even then it took a while before I was sure.”
“Sure about what?” I felt my entire soul focus on the question.
“Who you were.” She looked embarrassed, a flush crossing her cheeks. “And I didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t an act. You really didn’t recognize me.”
“Why should I recognize you?” I didn’t move a muscle. I felt the first clamoring of Tommy’s spirit.
“We trained together, Authority Enforcement division. They had a center in northern Florida back in the first decade.” Her eyes centered on mine. “I heard you quit the force after the dead riots.”
Now I could feel electric surges burning up from my subconscious. Tommy yammered with terror.
“I knew you got into detective work. But I didn’t know where—I thought Vicetown.” She gestured at my costume. “And I didn’t know about this.”
I felt a deep cold blackness open up beneath me.
“You’re Sergeant Owen Grey, Authority Enforcement Division.” Her eyes probed mine. “Or you were…”
Suddenly a loud and terrifying noise echoed through my mind—it was overwhelming in its darkness and power. I felt my hold on Tommy slip. My vision doubled and I blacked out.
A cold hand on my cheek brought me back. I opened my eyes wide and saw myself reflected in Mary’s gaze.
“Are you okay?” Concern crowded her features. Her hands investigated my body. “You’re really banged up. God you’re bleeding!”
“I’m okay.” I pushed myself upright checking my memory as I did so. Owen Grey was dead. Tommy continued to gibber inside. I had to be careful, or he’d evict me. “Vacation looms.”
Mary left her hand on my shoulder as she studied my face. “What happened to you?”
“I don’t know.” I looked away from her. “Owen Grey is dead.” I kept my hands locked on the arms of the chair. “He was whacked by the King while looking for Julie Hawksbridge.” Tommy’s spirit lunged upward from the depths. I felt its febrile nature begin to color my thoughts.
“But you were looking for Julie Hawksbridge!” Disbelief crossed Mary’s features.
“I was probably drunk somewhere when she went missing.” It felt like I was drowning. “Don’t kid yourself.”
“But why hide?” She was about to implore. “Why the makeup?”
“It’s a public relations thing.” I felt around for my cigarettes, abandoned the idea. I was afraid to do anything. “You were saying?”
“Because it sure isn’t like the Owen I knew.” She shook her head and lit a cigarette, stepping back.
“He’s dead—sorry to say.” I wanted her to stop. Darkness was gathering around me.
Mary watched me a minute more then continued. “Oh Mr. Business is back. All right, all right. Where was I? I knew something was up because Cane wanted you.” She paused, and then continued. “You know, Owen. Whatever happened? You can tell me.”
I rolled my eyes away from her as I grappled inside with the clown.
Mary shrugged. “If you ever want to.” She looked at her hands and continued. “Willieboy and Cane had their phone lines hooked to records. They both use the name Borden when working unofficially. It’s a dead end post, but they managed to find a use for it. Hell—I’ve even used it.” Redding smiled. “Where is Julie Hawksbridge? I saw a videotape of her at the King’s castle. Pervert had cameras set up over her tub.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued. “When the gag order was placed on the Morocco murders, I knew that the big players were about to start a turf war. But I had to know who was involved. My group isn’t very big, so we have to step softly around them—and our survival depends on knowing what the big guys are doing. So on a hunch I told the publishers of the Gazette we were investigating the murders and fire at the Morocco building. I knew that the Gazette was the only unofficial source for information, so I had the real Mary Redding’s line hooked up directly to my office, just in case. Eventually, you called. My problem was in making sure you were unconnected.”
I held a hand up. “The night we met, Cane called me out to the scene of Adrian’s murder. When I got there, he acted like he hadn’t made the call. Then, I ran into Mary Redding, the very reporter who had covered the murders at the Morocco. Both of which I happened to have been involved with at the time.” I shook my head. “Cane didn’t call me that night. You did. Excellent impression.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to meet you…get your trust. I had read copies of Cane’s files on the Billings murder. A call from him wouldn’t get you too suspicious. It was a good opportunity.” Her eyes dropped. “And when I saw you…”
“So you’re not Mary Redding.” A part of me felt deflated. The cynical part nodded its head.
“No. There is such a person, but I used my pull to get in to take her place. She’s working sports under a pseudonym. I told her she’d get the exclusive if she played along.” Her eyes flashed genuine remorse. “I’m sorry. But there’s an awful lot at stake. I didn’t want to deceive you. You have to understand the enormity of the task ahead, and the importance of our mission. Authority is full of rats, but we’ll burn them out given time. There are gun battles raging even now. The fight for control has begun. Who knows what we’ll wake up to tomorrow.” She sighed. “Probably more of the same.”
“So you were using me, too.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll cry.”
“At first, everyone was. I didn’t know whose property you were. So I had to get to know you—and when you didn’t recognize me, or pretended you didn’t. I didn’t know if I could trust you. You have to understand the importance of my task.” Her face was washed with extreme feeling. “But after that night, I don’t know. I didn’t want you to be expendable. Not after that—under the makeup you were still Owen Grey.” She set a hip on my desk. “What about you, Mr. Honesty? You haven’t exactly been straightforward with me. Look who’s wearing the disguise.” There was just a touch of defensiveness in her tone. “If you aren’t Owen Grey, who are you?”
“By all appearances, I’m Tommy Wildclown. And Tommy’s not sure who he is.” I tried my best to smile, but was moved by the feeling in her voice. “I’ll be quite honest with you. The only certainty is that I’m a detective. I try to catch bad guys.”
“If I could get that makeup off you, I’d find out a few things.” Her face suddenly became muscular as it struggled over underlying passion. She leaned forward suggestively. “If it’s amnesia, I could help you remember…” The desire drained from her eyes. She smiled weakly. “But I suppose not. I can tell an angry man when I see one.”
“Some other time,” I said, standing—struggling with feelings of my own. There were long dark corridors opening up that should have contained clues to who I was. But there was nothing. I walked toward the door. “I don’t like to be used, and I don’t care what the cause. I never take a liar to bed more than once.”
She looked hurt. “It was on the desk if you remember.”
“Okay, the desk. You may have found a loophole.” I dropped my hands, defeated. “Look, I’m sick of everyone just now. And I think my understanding bone got broken last night. Let’s talk about desks after the war.”
Redding stood up. “I suppose you’re right. I just thought it might be nice. Since I’m going off to battle.”
“I’ll bet that’s one of the oldest lines going.” I tried to grin, but my face found the expression too heavy and dropped it.
“I’ll be in touch.” Redding turned to go, paused momentarily to pick up her hat. She turned. “Oh, don’t think I’m satisfied about the Regenerics Secret or Hawksbridge. You can be sure I’ll be back to trade notes about that! But I want to prove to you that I’m interested in other things. Like justice.” She gazed at me wistfully, and left.
I shuffled around my desk like an old man, weary and willing to die. I fell into my seat and listened as the transport outside reloaded then drove away. A part of me wanted her to get in touch. But now, now, I was full of hate. I squeaked my chair. I remembered doing that before. It had bothered Billings. I had to keep moving. I rolled out of the chair and walked to the window. I poked a hole in the blinds. The streetlight was bleak. The street under it was gray, the sky over
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