Anton Strout - Deader Still

“Finally something we can agree on,” Connor said. “Kid?”

I recounted the mad state I had found Cyrus in below the Guggenheim, how creepy and phantomlike he had become . . . all this on top of being a cultist.

When I was done, all humor had left Faisal’s face.

“I hadn’t realized Cyrus had gone this far off the deep end,” he said. “It’s bad for business.”

“I’m surprised you care,” Connor said. “I thought you two were together on this one. I’d think this type of fucked-up scheme would be right up your alley.”

“Not when it interferes with my grander schemes, it isn’t.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“ Your schemes?” I said. “You want to elaborate on that?”

Faisal smiled. “I’d rather not.”

“Fine,” I said. I looked at Connor. “This is getting us nowhere.” I started walking off toward the guards in their surveillance room. It looked like they were playing cards.

But the sound of Faisal’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “I hate being on this barge,” Faisal said loudly. I detected a hint of desperation in his voice.

“What’s the matter?” I called over my shoulder. “Incarceration not as fun as you expected?”

“Being cast adrift at sea is hardly fitting for a man of my stature,” Faisal said. “That, and I get a bit seasick. The once and future master of evil, and a little boat rocking does me in. There’s some irony for you.”

I stopped and turned back to him.

“You know, I had thought my Ghostsniffing operation had been where the real money was, but it wasn’t. It’s in government. Did you know that this floating prison was built at a cost of one hundred and seventy million dollars? You wouldn’t know it by the looks of it. But that kind of money . . . that’s enough to put every last inmate here through Harvard, easily. They built this nausea-inducing place to handle the overcrowding of the regular Rikers facility, but, oh, what I wouldn’t give to be serving my time on dry land.”

I could hear the false sense of melodrama in Faisal’s voice. Connor glanced at me and I read the look in his eyes. This might be the only chance we were going to get for any real information. I walked back over to the two of them.

“Do you know what I miss most about the mainland?” Faisal said. “The comforts of home. There’s nothing here. At least Rikers Island has educational facilities, medical clinics, ball fields, chapels, workout equipment, grocery stores, a decent barber, a bakery, a laundromat, its own power plant, a runner’s track, a tailor shop, a print shop, even a car wash. Amenities. The little things that make life livable . . . you know, things befitting a man of my stature.”

“Why don’t you paint us a little picture, then?” I asked. “I’m sure we can arrange a transfer or something, depending on how valuable what you have to say is. That is why you gave us your little laundry list, isn’t it?”

Faisal remained silent.

“But let’s make one thing clear,” Connor added. “You’re not getting free. We can put in a good word for you with the administration, but you’ll still be serving your time, either here or there.”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to escape,” Faisal said with mock sincerity. He smiled. “Okay, well, maybe I would dream of trying to escape, but I would never try it.” He sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Where to begin?”

“If you say ‘at the beginning, a very good place to start’ or start singing The Sound of Music , I’m going to have them put you in solitary,” I said.

He thought for a moment, then turned to Connor.

“You know what I love about your new recruits? The naiveté.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” I asked. I snapped my fingers to get his attention back to me.

“Here I am, in jail . . .”

“We caught you,” I interrupted. “We put you out of business.”

“Oh, yes,” Faisal said, smiling like the cat that got the canary. “I forgot. Of course you did. That’s what I’m talking about. Here I am, in jail, and you think because I’m on this floating hellhole that you’ve put me out of the evil business?”

“What is Cyrus up to?”

Faisal’s eyes narrowed and he stared at me. “When you crashed our party at the museum, literally, you merely set back the course of the Sectarian cause. You didn’t stop it. Yes, you put me in here, but you forget Cyrus was the one who had been heading up the Surrealist Underground, the other, more artistic arm of our fund-raising. And he’s the one that got away. He’s been running things on the outside. I didn’t know about all this necromancy of his, though. I’m pleased to hear he’s taken up a hobby.”

I ignored Faisal’s happiness about Cyrus’s Zombiepalooza. “So this whole Para-lyzed thing is just an extension of your original plan?” I asked.

“A reboot of sorts,” Faisal said. “It was Cyrus’s idea to go with this more artistic/sadistic route where art would turn into revenge against our enemies, all at a profit to our evil little patrons. That all seemed a bit over the top to me. I’m more subtle. But once I met your old friend Mina in here and saw how obsessed she was with you, well, I couldn’t help but get on the vengeance bandwagon. I had told Cyrus to have you killed after you had helped Mina with the heist, not before. Apparently, in his demented state, he couldn’t wait to try, could he?”

“Meaning what?” I asked.

“The Oubliette,” Faisal said. “When he told me he had sabotaged it, I was furious. Still, I would have thought Mina could have finished the job. Very disappointing.”

“I’m glad to see that I can bring like-minded psychos together,” I said, glum.

“Cheer up,” Faisal said. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? Despite my best efforts. If anyone’s got a reason to be depressed, it’s me. Seems you can’t send a homicidal redhead off to do a man’s work these days. So much for equal opportunity.”

“Even with her freedom at stake, Mina couldn’t make herself kill me for you,” I said with pride, even though I could still feel the ache in my jaw from my last pistol-whipping.

“Cyrus and Mina were only the beginning. I’ll have every cultist at my disposal gunning for you. Only a matter of time before someone gets to you, my boy,” Faisal said. “Only a matter of time.”

“Could we stick to the madness at hand?” Connor said. “You were saying how Cyrus’s plan didn’t really jive with your worldview or something.”

Faisal nodded. “I understand what goes in to turning a person to our purpose, and that type of thing takes time and subtlety. I know the wheels of change are going to grind slowly for the world to fully embrace evil openly, but Cyrus is out there, and being in here, my choices on how we went about what’s best for the Sectarians in the long run were somewhat limited. So I encouraged Cyrus to go forward with Para-lyzed. All that mattered was that it would raise cultist-rights awareness and keep revenue coming in while I planned out what to do next.”

“But we’ve put a stop to that,” I said. “Cyrus knows we’re on to his little paranormal freak show. He won’t dare return there. That phase is over. So the real question is: Do you have any idea where we can find Cyrus now ?”

“You could ask a little nicer,” Faisal said. “You catch more flies with honey . . .”

Faisal went quiet for several minutes and the two of us waited him out.

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “First, you took away the Sectarian Defense League, which I had worked so hard to build . . .”

“On the blood of others,” Connor added, but Faisal just kept talking.

“Then you took away my freedom by incarcerating me, and you took away my right-hand woman, Jane . . . I’ve given you the bulk of our plans, and you’re still not satisfied?”