F Wilson - The Dark at the End

“Yes, Szeto?”

“You are aware that man we have been looking for was seen leaving your apartment building?”

A long pause, during which Kristof was certain that Drexler was wondering if he was being watched and whether to ask about it.

Instead he said, “Jack from Johnson, New Jersey. Yes.”

“He visits you often?”

“Never before. He was looking for the One.”

That took Kristof by surprise. He glanced at the man before him. Looking for the One? Was he mad?

“Why would he-?”

“Never mind that. Did you follow him?”

“Yes, of course. He is now guest at meatpacking place. He will soon be telling us many things we wish to know.”

Another long pause, then, “Don’t do anything until I get there. I have a score to settle with that man.”

“Many have scores.”

He ended the call and turned to the man.

“So… you are called John Tyleski. Another name for John is ‘Jack,’ yes? Are you called Jack?”

The man said nothing, merely stared at Kristof.

Kristof said, “I am making conversation. I know answers. I know you are Jack from Johnson, New Jersey. I have come to know your hometown very well lately. I know you grew up with Louise and Edward Connell. I know you have killed many of my men.” He lifted the man’s Glock from the floor. “Probably with this very gun.”

He wanted to smash the barrel across his face but held back. Men who had just recovered consciousness were too easily knocked out again. He needed him awake. Instead he leaned closer and pointed to the healing scars on his own face.

“And even though I did not see you, Jack, I know you were one who did this to me.”

Still no response.

“You are looking for the One, yes? It is sure now that you will never find him, so you can tell me: Why do you look for him?”

Instead of continuing his impassive stare, Jack seemed to consider this. Finally he shrugged.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Kristof couldn’t help but laugh. “You are quite mad, you know.”

“You won’t think so when he’s dead.”

“Why do you want him dead?”

“I think you know.”

Kristof realized he had finally met someone directly related to the Enemy. Almost everything he had done for the Order was intended to weaken the Enemy, but the men and women he had run up against along the way had not been directly connected to the Enemy, merely impeding the One’s ascent. Here, at last, was someone with a direct connection.

“It is too bad you work for Enemy. You would have been strong fighter for Order.”

“Not much of a joiner, Mister Szeto.”

He knows my name, Kristof thought. How-?

Well, of course he would.

Jack said, “My turn for a question: Why work for a guy who’s going to wreck the world if he wins?”

Kristof laughed again. “This is Enemy propaganda. ‘The end of world as we know it.’ Is like Church telling children they go to hell if they do not follow rules. When the One wins, we make rules.”

Jack shook his head. “You’re dealing with a guy who has one agenda-himself. You, Drexler, Thompson, the high-ups in your Order, you’re all going to be left out in the cold with the rest of us when he changes the world to his own brand of hell.”

Kristof kept his expression impassive, not wanting this man to know that he’d struck his most secret fear. Not that the world would be changed into a place of pain and terror-those were the laughable fantasies sold by the Enemy-but that he would not be elevated to a position of power. That fear had receded since the One had turned directly to him for assistance, but it had not vanished.

“I would love to prove you wrong, but unfortunately, you will not be around to see it.”

“When does your master arrive?”

“Master?”

Kristof bristled at the comment but feigned confusion. He would so much enjoy making this man scream.

“The man in the wonderful ice cream suit.”

“Oh, you must mean Drexler. No, I answer only to the One. In fact, soon I may be Drexler’s master. The One comes to me now. In fact, he has engaged me for special project in your hometown. Isn’t that interesting?”

Finally a reaction from the man-surprise… concern. “What project?”

Just then Kristof heard the door open. He turned and saw Drexler, wearing a long, dark herringbone overcoat over his white suit. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“Well, well,” Drexler said, smiling at Jack. “We meet again. But this time I have the advantage.”

This Washington Street hardware store was tiny but it had everything. He found an X-Acto number two knife with a long slim aluminum handle and a sharp-pointed number eleven blade.

Perfect for cutting off eyelids.

At least Hank thought it would be perfect. He shuddered at the thought of it happening to him. Something like that would never even have occurred to him. But Szeto seemed pretty comfortable with it. Like maybe this wouldn’t be his first eyelidectomy.

Be the first for Hank. He was kind of looking forward to it. He’d never tortured anyone. Before becoming King of the Kickers, he’d earned his daily bread alternating between a knocker and a sticker in a slaughterhouse. The former involved shooting a steel bolt into cows’ heads to knock them out; the latter meant slitting the cow’s throat as it hung by a back leg from an overhead rail. So blood and guts were no problem.

Especially this guy’s blood and guts. The son of a bitch had stolen his Compendium of Srem. But worse than that, he’d made a fool of Hank while doing it, right out in public on the streets of New York. Nothing too bad could happen to this guy.

But the thing was, Hank didn’t want the guy to die before he told him where he’d stashed the Compendium. Or if he’d sold it, who to.

He found a pair of needle-nose pliers. Might be good for yanking off fingernails. He added that to his shopping basket and moved on till he came across some Drano Kitchen Crystals. Sprinkle some of that onto lidless eyes… oh, yeah.

He kept shopping…

Szeto, Thompson, the Katzenjammer Killers who’d ambushed the Lady, and now Drexler.

Party time.

Jack wasn’t sure if his nausea was from the concussion or the certainty of impending torture. Probably a little of both. He wondered how he’d hold up.

And he wondered how he’d landed here. He’d watched Drexler’s apartment for a number of nights-no guards, no surveillance. Drexler hadn’t had time to contact anyone to tail him, so how had he been set up?

Not that it mattered now. Barring a miracle, he was done. He wouldn’t mind dying so much if it didn’t mean leaving Gia and Vicky to fend for themselves in the coming Change. He did mind dying in agony. And worse, whoever found his body wouldn’t be able to identify him-he had no identity. He’d wind up in Bellevue with a “John Doe” tag on his big toe.

Still smiling at him, Drexler reached into the pocket of the overcoat and pulled out his Taser.

“I replaced the battery.”

“We have more interesting plans,” Szeto said.

“Yes, but this is direct payback. He Tasered me in Central Park last summer and I am going to return the favor… many times.”

Jack steeled himself. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“Well, this is all right, I suppose,” Szeto said. “It will soften him up for main event.”

“By the way, how did you manage this?”

“Thompson was on his way to visit you when he spotted him leaving your building.”

So that was it-one of those random events that screws up the most careful plans.

Drexler’s eyebrows lifted as he looked around. “Thompson? Really? Where is he?”