Robert Browne - The Paradise Prophecy

“All right,” Beelzebub said. “Call me back when it’s done.”

He clicked off, glanced at the girl, then went to the door to get Zack.

Michael pushed through a set of swinging doors into a room the size of a warehouse. The place was packed shoulder to shoulder with gyrating bodies, the music loud enough to break the sound barrier.

Strobe lights flashed red and yellow and white, in perfect time to the beat, and Michael didn’t think he’d ever seen so many people jammed into one place. He saw dark leather and jeans and short skirts and fishnet stockings and half-naked women throwing their heads back in laughter as men-and other women-pressed up against them, bodies grinding, hands roaming.

He started circling the crowd, peering into it as he concentrated on Jenna’s song. But it was too dark, and there were too many people out there. And if Jenna had been brought here by force, he doubted she’d be tearing up the dance floor.

So where would she be? A holding room of some kind? An office?

Michael scanned the periphery of the club, looking for stairs or an elevator. He looked back the way he came and saw a cluster of sofas and chairs, where exhausted dancers rested their feet and drank exotic beers. To the right of that were the swinging doors he’d just come in through.

And farther to the right was an elevator.

Michael moved. Headed straight for his target. A couple of dancers got in his way, but he didn’t slow down, shoving them aside. He was still several yards away when a light above it flashed and the doors slid open.

And there inside were Zack and Jenna.

Zack had her by the hand, and when he pulled her out of the elevator, she stumbled slightly. Drugged. They looked for a moment as if they were about to step onto the dance floor, then Zack made an abrupt left turn and pushed through the swinging doors, dragging Jenna behind him.

They were headed outside. Fast.

Michael ran, barreling through the doors into the hallway. No sign of them. He picked up speed, slammed through the next door, and still didn’t see them. He flew down that hallway and up the graffiti-covered stairwell, then burst through to the room with the sewing machines-

– and stopped.

Froze in his tracks.

Zack and Jenna stood in the middle of room, facing him, Zack wearing a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.

“What’s your hurry, Mikey? You don’t like to dance?”

There were four more drudges with him. Two on each flank. Three men, one woman. And one of them was the Winnebago. They spread out to block Michael’s path.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “Come dance with us.”

She was covered with tattoos and piercings and looked as if she were completely willing to rip out your throat and feed it back to you without even the slightest hint of remorse. There was a swastika on the side of her neck, and her hair was black and spiky.

The other three didn’t have as many tattoos or as much metal sticking out of their faces, but they had enough muscles between them to start a gladiator show.

He’d been set up. The stamp on that dead girl’s hand had been deliberately put there to see how he’d react. And his presence here had proven to Beelzebub that Jenna was someone special. The someone they’d all been looking for.

Michael took his Roman from his waistband, kept his focus on Zack. “Step away from the girl.”

“Sorry, asshole. Can’t do it.”

“I really think you should reconsider. Ashes to ashes and all that.”

The tattooed chick edged sideways, moving to the pile of pipes to her left. “I sure hope you got a spare skin back home, ’cuz we’re gonna have some fun with this one.”

She snatched up some pipes and tossed them to the others. They hefted them in their hands and spread out, waiting for Michael to engage. Zack spun Jenna around and pushed her toward the sewing machines. “Sit down and watch, bitch.”

Jenna stumbled and grabbed hold of one of the machines.

“You really don’t want to do this,” Michael said, stepping toward them now. “Just let me take the girl and we’ll save the dustup for another day. I couldn’t care less about a worthless bunch of drudges.”

“Worthless?” Zack said. “You trying to hurt our feelings?”

“That would require you have a heart and a mind and a soul. And you’re oh-for-three at-”

The Winnebago roared and came at Michael, swinging the pipe hard, aiming for his head. Michael ducked with plenty of room, but the Winnebago swung again, going for another head shot. The pipe whooshed past Michael and he jerked back, watching it brush past his chin, a little too close for comfort. Then he sidestepped and spun and sliced the Winnebago’s gut with his Roman.

A split second later, the guy vaporized, dust scattering violently in the air, blowing directly into the faces of Zack and the others, as the pipe he’d held clattered on the floor.

But Michael didn’t slow down. Not waiting for them to attack, he spun and swung, effortlessly knocking the pipe out of the tattooed chick’s hands, then doubled back and brought up the Roman again, the edge of his blade slicing through the swastika on her neck. She burst into fine ashes, her piercings scattering across the floor like jacks on asphalt.

Deciding he didn’t have time to waste on this nonsense, Michael ripped his Glock from his waistband and opened fire, taking out the two remaining muscle men with two quick shots.

Then he turned the gun on Zack.

Zack took one look at the bead rings, the nose hoop, the star plugs, the barbells, the ear studs, the nipple piercings and God knew what else on the floor in front of him and stumbled backwards, dropping his weapon, throwing his hands up. “Okay, okay, okay, man! I give! I give!”

Michael stopped, lowered the gun. “What do you do when you see a roach on your kitchen floor, Zack?”

Zack looked confused. “What?”

“Just answer the question. What do you do when you see a roach?”

Zack kept backing away. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know-I-I step on it. What do you do?”

Michael smiled. “Show it no mercy.”

Then he brought the gun up again and fired, the bullet piercing Zack’s chest, turning him to dust.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Michael crossed to the sewing machines, where Jenna stood frozen on the spot. Despite the drugs, there was a look of stunned disbelief on her face.

Had she really just seen all that?

“W-who are you?” she stuttered. “What just happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist. “There’s bound to be an army coming up those stairs any minute now and we need to get out of here.”

She jerked her arm, trying to pull free. “You’re a lunatic. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Michael held her firm and leaned his face toward hers. “Listen to me, Jenna. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but if you stay here you’re in danger. We have to go. Now.”

He could see that the drugs were still confusing her, that she didn’t know what to do, but she stopped resisting and he tightened his grip on her and pulled her toward the door. Without a backwards glance, they ran to his Buick, jumped in.

“Put on your seat belt,” he said, firing up the engine. Then he jerked the car into drive.

Two minutes later, they were blasting down Wilshire, weaving in and out of traffic, and the girl had come out of her stupor enough to realize how scared she was.

“What’s going on?” she cried. “Who are you?”

“That’s hard to explain.”

“How do you know my name? Did my parents send you?”

“No. They don’t know anything about this.”

“Then what’s going on? What happened to those people back there? They just … disintegrated.”