David Robbins - Memphis Run

The mystery was even deeper.

How were the victims in the locked rooms killed if the doors and windows were secured?

Did Aloysius own keys to all the buildings at the Complex? Or did the King possess a single key capable of unlocking almost any door?

Rikki remembered reading about a certain sort of key used by the criminal element prior to the Big Blast. A skeleton key, or passkey, it was called.

Did Aloysius own a skeleton key?

There were so many questions, and not enough answers.

So what was his next move?

Rikki jumped from the edge of the stage to the floor and headed for the red door, pondering his course of action. He gazed at the door, idly wondering why the King hadn’t bothered to lock it. But why should Aloysius bother? The Hounds and the residents of Memphis were undoubtedly all terrified of the Dark Lord. Not one of them would be foolhardy enough to venture into the Dark Lord’s chamber. Aloysius had devised the perfect deterrent, the ideal protector, and the irony of the situation was that the people of Memphis were subservient to an illusion.

They were afraid of a shadow cast by a deranged mind. They were allowing themselves to be deluded because they lacked the courage to confront their fear, to face the truth.

He stopped in the doorway and looked back. What would happen, he wondered, if the people found out about the King’s deception? Would they rise in rebellion and overthrow his despotic yoke? Would they put an end to his demented drive to conquer the world? Or would they still follow Aloysius, staking their survival on a planet torn by strife and chaos in a man whose mind was a reflection of the postwar devastation?

Rikki took a step into the throne room. Just as the drumming cadence of many boots sounded from the corridor on the far side. Aloysius the First must be returning! And he had forgotten to close the throne room door!

The man with the neatly trimmed beard scrutinized the Warriors.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Aloysius the First.” He grinned maliciously. “The King.”

Blade glanced at the corner they had just turned, then at the Hounds.

He might be able to reach cover before they could fire, but he would endanger Chastity and Bonnie in the process.

“If you try anything,” Aloysius declared, looking at the giant and the man in buckskins, “I will have the girl and Bonnie shot where they stand.”

“I could plug this varmint before they get me,” Hickok mentioned softly, so only Blade, Bonnie, and Chastity could hear.

“No,” Blade responded. “We can’t take the chance.”

“What are you whispering about?” Aloysius demanded.

“We were wonderin’ how someone with a face like a horse’s butt got to be the head honcho around here,” Hickok replied.

The King grinned. “Enjoy your petty witticisms while you can. The Dark Lord will put an end to your sarcasm.”

“You’re a brave man when you’re backed up by three or four dozen guns,” Hickok remarked. “How about you and me going at it, one on one?”

“Surely you jest?”

“Not in public,” Hickok retorted.

“I have no need to prove my courage,” Aloysius stated.

“In other words, you’re a wimp,” Hickok declared.

Aloysius glared at the gunman. “For that insult, you will die first.”

“Good. I get bored just sittin’ around,” Hickok said.

“Drop your weapons!” Aloysius snapped.

“I’d rather not,” Hickok answered.

“One word from me, and you’ll be shot so full of holes that your own mother wouldn’t recognize you,” the King warned.

“At least I had one,” Hickok cracked.

“Enough!” Aloysius barked. “Drop them now!”

Hickok looked at Blade. “It’s your play, pard.”

Blade unbuckled the gunbelt to the Smith and Wessons and allowed them to slip to the asphalt.

“Blast,” Hickok muttered. He did the same with the Colts.

“Don’t forget your knives,” Aloysius said to Blade.

Frowning, the giant laid his big knives beside the gunbelt.

Hickok and Bonnie deposited their automatic rifles.

The King appeared to relax somewhat. He beamed expansively and approached them, with ten of the Hounds shadowing his every step.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“How did you find us?” Bonnie inquired.

“Elementary, my dear,” Aloysius said. “When we lost contact with the platoon General Thayer dispatched, I knew you were on your way into the city. And when one of our squads failed to report in earlier, my hunch was confirmed. All of our patrols keep in touch with walkie-talkies.” He paused, puffing out his chest. “I’d already decided to capture you myself, since the general has become unexpectedly lax in the performance of his duties. And when a patrol radioed in a report of a gunfight, I closed in on this area. I sent men up on the rooftops with binoculars. The rest was child’s play.”

“You’re holding a friend of ours,” Blade declared. “Where is he?”

“Do you mean the cute little man who likes big swords?”

“Where is he?” Blade reiterated.

“Rikki is a guest at my mansion,” Aloysius said. “You’ll be joining him shortly.” He motioned with his left arm, and a couple of Hounds came forward and collected the weapons from the ground.

“Are you a bad man?” Chastity interjected to everyone’s surprise.

Aloysius grinned at her. “Why, my dear child. Why would you ever say such a thing?”

“You took my Uncle Rikki.”

“Rikki is your uncle?” Aloysius asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Hickok replied for her.

“What are your names?” the King inquired.

“Guess,” Hickok said.

“I’m Chastity,” revealed the six year old. “This is my new daddy, Hickok. And this.”—she pointed at the head Warrior—“is my Uncle Blade.”

“What a fount of information you are,” Aloysius said sweetly. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Atlanta,” Chastity divulged. “My daddy and Uncle Blade are from far, far away. They live at the Home.”

“Is that so?” Aloysius responded. He studied the Warriors. “Where might your Home be?”

“Mars,” Blade answered.

“I’ll learn the truth eventually,” Aloysius vowed.

Hickok moved over to Bonnie and took Chastity. “Don’t tell this cow chip anything else,” he instructed her.

“I’m sorry. Did I do wrong?” Chastity asked.

“Just let me do the talkin’,” Hickok advised.

Aloysius the First looked over his right shoulder. “Captain Tuchman, bring up the trucks.”

A Hound officer saluted and wheeled, jogging off.

The King shifted his attention to Bonnie. “I can’t begin to convey my disappointment in you. And after all we’ve meant to each other.”

“Screw you!” Bonnie snapped.

“Again?” Aloysius said, and laughed.

“I’ll never feel clean again,” Bonnie commented bitterly.

“Aren’t you being just a little melodramatic?” Aloysius queried. “After all, you were treated fairly.”

“Fairly!”

“You accepted a formal invitation to my estate. You willingly indulged yourself at my table. And you were paid in gold for your company. It’s not my fault you wouldn’t accept my token of gratitude.”

“I hate you,” Bonnie stated.

“Hate me all you want. The fact remains that my conscience is clear.”

“You don’t have a conscience, you pig.”

“Am I the pig? You ate like one, my dear.” Aloysius chuckled. “I thought your stomach was a bottomless pit.”

“If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll kill you,” Bonnie asserted.

“Alas, dear heart, such a luxury will be denied you,” Aloysius said. “By sunset you will be dead.”