Chapter #8Contritions and Farewells by: Seuzz   As Knotts predicted, it's a large turnout at Davenport's farewell, but not a full one, for not all of the crews are back in London yet. Also, none of Davenport's fellow zampos are there, for they will be having their own private farewell for their fallen colleague. So it's you and Knotts and Cox and Muniz, a.k.a., the senior members the Diana infiltration squad. Then there's Stoddard and White and Chernov and Liu, who form the second rank; and Carrero and Gallion, the only two of the four lowest rank who've made it back in time. These latter two, you notice, are a little uncertain how to act, for they've never been to a farewell before.
Paige will wrap things up, so you go first. You open with no preamble, no eulogy. You just step up to the small incinerator that's been placed in the middle of the recreational lounge and hold a pack of cards over the open top. "My lucky deck," you announce. "With it, I bluffed my crew into a four-way, with me as the only one with a cock." You glance around. The other Dukes, including Knotts, have their eyes lowered, and they smile tightly. Carrero and Gallion look a little confused. But Liu darts his eyes about, then announces "Bullshit" with a lazy smile.
"Vouch," says Knotts. The same murmured word goes up from Cox and Muniz. Liu laughs, and you drop the deck into the incinerator, where it instantly vaporizes.
Next up is Cox. "With this shot glass," he says, holding it aloft, "I drank three Tambov enforcers under the table, and was still sober enough to double tap them all." This one gets no challenge, and with a wry chuckle he drops it into the incinerator.
A muscle works in Muniz's cheek as he steps up. He holds an envelope over the incinerator. "The last letter from my old girlfriend, telling me she'd marry me." He pauses, and his voice turns husky. "The same mail brought an acceptance letter from Diana. I never replied to her, never saw her again."
The envelope teeters on his fingertips. But before it can drop: "Bullshit," says Stoddard.
"You calling me a liar?" Muniz snarls.
"Bullshit," Knotts seconds. Eyes dart about the circle. No one vouches for it.
"Fuck him," Muniz says with sudden, belligerent heat. "He was a zampo—a sneak and a shit—and I'll be damned before—"
"We pay the price for losing him," Knotts says in a hard voice. "That's the rule. And if you won't make a sacrifice, you'll scrub a tat. I'll find you tomorrow when it's time. We'll scrub Melody off you."
Blood rushes to Muniz's face, but the curse dies on his lip as Knotts shows him her teeth. With an inarticulate snarls he shoves the fake letter back in his pocket.
And so the ceremony continues, each member sacrificing a cherished object as expiation for letting a crew member die. Muniz truculently challenges Stoddard's photo of a deceased childhood buddy, but White vouches for it; all the others pass without challenge.
Knotts wraps it up. She raises her bare arm over her head and points to a tat near her pit. "Robert Oliver," she says. "The first boy I really loved, first one I thought about settling down with." Her nostrils flare as she sucks down a deep breath. "The first real shit I ever slept with. Got a tat of him and used it to blackmail his daddy out of fifty thousand, lest his precious Robby get sent up on child molestation charges. God, that felt good!"
No one challenges her. The flush of triumph is too obvious on her face.
"Well, go ahead and call bullshit on it if you like," she says. "This ain't a sacrifice, it's a scrub. I wouldna pissed on Davenport if Cupcake himself lit 'im on fire. Pick you up around ten, Muniz," she tells her startled teammate. "We'll get our tats scrubbed together."
She turns off the incinerator, then snatches up a remote and punches up some music.
* * * * *
Then out comes the alcohol. Muniz gets hammered hard and early, but the others, including you, take it easier. Liu, you notice, drinks hardly at all. He limits himself to beer, and it looks like he's limiting himself to only one, for the supply on the sidebar never goes down. He keeps away from the senior members, and lounges against a wall with Gallion and Carrero, muttering and grinning and pointing to the others. The longer you look at him, the more you dislike the scimitar-like curve of his smile and the flat-lidded inscrutability of his eyes. "What's that fucker got to look so happy about," you mutter to White, and turn your back on the Taiwanese.
White blinks blankly at you. "I dunno. It's a party? How come you're not happy?"
"Oh, I'm happy. I'm busting with happiness. Don't shake me too hard, or the cork'll fly out and I'll jizz all over you."
"Well, maybe that's how come he's happy. This's his first real party, and he's heard what can happen at 'em. We gonna play Pin the Tail on the Tat later?"
"Without me if you do." You lean back and peer at him. "Without you, too, it's not fair."
"How come?"
"'Cos no one can see your tats. On an Ulsterman like me, they pop like neon, same as on Chernov over there. But on you? Where're you from, anyway?"
"Michigan."
"No, from way back."
"I dunno. Fucking Ghana? Oh, hey, maybe Liu's so happy because he finally nailed that jeep yesterday."
"What? When did—? It was his first with the bitch?"
"Oh yeah." White nods vigorously. "He's been complaining." He laughs. "He musta been feeling nostalgic for his days as a Chiyoko. That's who he was with her."
"The fuck?"
"Yeah." White snickers. "I found 'em in the locker room yesterday, two little Japanese girls kissing all over. I snuck out before they saw me."
"And he told you that?"
"Nah. But who else would it have been?"
You shrug and change the subject.
* * * * *
An hour in, Knotts whistles shrilly through her teeth. "So we lost a zampo," she announces. "But two of our guys came back, despite walking in on a premiere." She holds up a dart. A roar of approval goes up from everyone but you and Cox, who grin at each other. Knotts beckons you over to a line on the floor opposite the far wall.
It's called the Celebrity Wall, and on it hang ten glossy photographs, each cut into a circle eighteen inches across, and each mounted on a dart board. Ten glossy photographs, nine of them showing a subject caught in a candid long-distance shot, with the subjects looking away or over the shoulder or down at a cell phone. Ten glossy photographs, nine of them pocked with maybe a dozen punctures each, from successfully thrown darts.
Ten glossy photographs on this wall of terrors, and over nine of them is a letter of the alphabet, A through I. But you and your teammates know them by heart by the names you've given each celebrity: Abbott, Brunhilde, Cupcake, Dragon, Elmore, Firecracker, Greystoke, Hotchka, Crazy Ivan.
You step up to the line, and Knotts hands you a dart. You shake out your arms and roll your shoulders. Greystoke glares from his dart board at a spot behind you.
But as you raise the dart, Cox steps out and grasps the tenth photograph: the unlettered photograph; the one photograph that doesn't show a face, only a milky, out-of-focus blob. The one photograph that isn't marred by even a single puncture wound.
"What are you doing," you demand.
"Moving him down a space."
"Bullshit. He wasn't there."
"He was there," Cox says, and pulls the dart board from the wall.
You've barely time to notice you're in motion before you find your hands on Cox's lapels. "Greystoke and Crazy Ivan, those were the only two," you hoarsely snarl. "You sonovabitch, if you—"
"Kips, let him go!" Paige tries wedging herself between you and Cox.
"God damn it, cocksucker," you scream. "If you saw something—!"
Hand seize you, and you're ripped away from Cox. He's panting hard, and Stoddard and Chernov have to restrain him from charging you.
"No one saw him," Knotts shouts, and her breathing is as labored as yours. "No one's ever seen him. That's why he's—!" She picks up the fallen dart board. "That's why it takes two witnesses who agree, Cox!" Her voice rises to a scream. "Who agree that he was there!" She hangs the dart board back up. "So he stays where he was. Kips, take your shot."
You glare murder at Cox, and in your fury you miss Greystoke. You miss Crazy Ivan too. Then Cox steps to the line. He takes his time calming down, and though he misses Crazy Ivan, he manages to put another hole in Greystoke. Right in the forehead, too.
* * * * *
The party doesn't last much longer. Chernov disappears early with Gallion and Carrero. Stoddard and White help Muniz out. Cox leaves by himself, to be shortly followed by Knotts. You stay, though it leaves you with Liu.
He leans against the Celebrity Wall with a smile and chucks his chin at the controversial photo. "You're pretty spun up about—"
"Don't say it, Liu. Don't say his name."
"People tell me that. How come?"
"It's bad luck in this business. Like 'Bloody Mary,' you say his name and he comes."
"Our own boogeyman, huh?"
"Something like that."
"So how do we know his name?"
"We don't. No one knows his name."
"So why do we call him—?"
"Don't say it. It's like Macbeth. Actors call it 'The Scottish Play'."
"Oh!" Liu's eyes light up. "So that's why we call him 'Scotty'."
A shiver goes down your spine. "Scotty," Liu repeats. Your mouth goes dry. Liu comes up close to you. "Scotty," he whispers in your ear, and leaves with a chuckle.
"Spoiler--2"   You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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