Darren Shan - City of the Snakes

“Are you sure?” Jennifer asks.

“Yeah. Spare your back. You’re getting too old for this. You should hire someone younger to help.”

Jennifer laughs. “It’s not exactly a post you can advertise for.”

I grin. “Guess not.”

“Besides, I can’t complain. Mr. Clarke, God bless him, has relieved me of most of the stress. I have things easy compared with how they used to be. This would be a harsh, lonely life if we had no friends.”

“Yes,” I sigh, and stand aside as she leads Rettie and the other two Harpies away, to wherever they now call home. I muse on the dark wonders and variety of the world for a couple of minutes, then roll on a pair of gloves, bag scraps of the rapist’s clothes, flesh and bones — not forgetting the dildo — and grab hold of the bloody remains of the dead woman. She doesn’t weigh much now that she’s been stripped to the bone. I hoist her onto my shoulders and go looking for a decent-sized Dumpster or furnace.

Just another average night in the city.

I sleep in late. Putting an end to the rapist pleased me, and I sleep the sleep of the

( almost )

just. I half wake a couple of times, but doze off again without opening my eyes, smiling in the gloominess of my stuffy room, enjoying the warmth and comfort of my bed.

It’s after midday when I rise and launch into the first set of the day’s exercises. Squats. I’m up to 236 when someone knocks on the door.

I come to a cautious halt. I’m not expecting visitors, and unexpected guests are rare around here. Religious missionaries don’t venture this far east — they gave up on us long ago — and nobody’s dumb enough to come collecting for charity. My neighbors aren’t in the habit of dropping in — they care as little about my affairs as I do about theirs — and the rent isn’t due for another two months.

Rising, I pad to the door and pause with my hand on the knob. I don’t have a chain or latch, so I address my visitor through the thin wood of the closed door. “Who is it?”

“Jerry Falstaff.”

Unlocking the door, I open it and gesture him in. It’s been three years — more — since he last looked me up. My curiosity’s instantly aroused.

Jerry walks straight to the only chair in the tiny living room and takes it. “The decor hasn’t improved,” he notes, casting an unimpressed eye around.

“I was never big on interior design.” I close the door and take up a position opposite him, standing to attention the way I used to when I was one of Jerry’s colleagues in the Troops. Jerry’s come a long way since then, further than either of us ever imagined. The new Cardinal took a shine to him. Jerry mixes with the high and mighty these days, though he doesn’t bear the look of an important man. He’s the same Jerry Falstaff I remember, slightly overweight, clothes a bit loose, a small grin never far from his lips. A bit grayer at the temples perhaps.

“Looking good, Al.”

“I keep in shape.”

“And then some.” Jerry coughs meaningfully and I take the hint.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Thought you’d never ask. Got any beer?”

I fetch a couple of cans from the fridge, one for each of us. Ten years ago I was dry, avoiding all forms of alcohol in the sure knowledge that one slip would be my downfall. These days I can indulge in a social drink (though I rarely do) and leave it at that. I have greater demons to wrestle with.

“Busy?” Jerry asks, sinking a third of the can and burping.

“Yes.”

“Things have been tense lately. I hear you’re keeping a lid on the situation in these parts.”

“I’ve done what I can.”

“Didn’t think community watch was your kind of business.”

“Riots are good for nobody. How are things going with the Kluxers?”

Jerry grimaces. “We’ve forced them back a bit. They’ve established a toehold, but we showed we weren’t ready to let them roll in and take over. It’s an uneasy truce but it should hold for a few weeks.”

“And then?”

“Who knows?” He smirks humorlessly. “Actually that’s what I’m here about.” He pauses, giving me a chance to ask questions, but I say nothing. I can’t imagine what he’s after. “We’ve been good to you, haven’t we?”

“ We? ”

“Me and Frank. Ford, before he retired. As a rule we’re opposed to vigilantes. We had every right to crack down on you, especially since you targeted so many of our valued associates.”

I nod slowly. “I can’t argue with that.”

“But we’ve kept out of your way and granted you the freedom of the city.”

“That’s true.”

Jerry sips from the can and speaks over the rim. “You know about Capac going AWOL?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“He went to the Fridge Saturday before last. Asked to be admitted to Dorak’s crypt. When the doctor who let him in returned, he wasn’t there. Vanished into thin air, or so it seemed. We found a passageway beneath Dorak’s coffin, a set of stairs leading down into a maze of tunnels. He must have gone down — or was taken. We tried to track him but it’s immense, full of traps and dead ends. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“A tragedy,” I mutter drily. Inside I’m thinking that underground tunnels plus an Ayuamarcan plus mysterious disappearance equals villacs .

“It will be if we don’t get him back,” Jerry says seriously. “He has his critics, but Capac’s The Cardinal, the only one who can hold this shit-can of a city together. He…” Jerry shakes his head. “But that’s not for me to say. You’ll be told more later. I want you to come with me, Al.”

“Where?”

“Party Central.”

“Why?”

“Ford’s back. He’s taken control.”

“Ford Tasso?” I ask stupidly. “I thought he’d been crippled by a stroke.”

“He’s semi-paralyzed but he can get around. It isn’t easy, and it’ll get harder by the day, but right now he’s the one man everyone’s willing to rally behind. Ford’s name still carries weight. The shock of seeing him stagger out of retirement gave all of our enemies pause for thought. It even drove the Kluxers back — as soon as Davern realized he’d be pitting himself against Ford Tasso, he turned tail. That won’t last — he’s too tempting a target, old and fragile — but it’s bought us time.”

Tasso bossing the gang around at Party Central again was something I never thought to see. I assumed he’d simply pass away quietly and that would be the end of the Ford Tasso legend. Seems he didn’t bother to read the script.

“I’m glad he’s back,” I say honestly. “It’s nice to hear the old bastard’s still up for a fight. But what’s it got to do with me?”

“He wants to see you,” Jerry says.

“Why?”

“I think he wants your help. He seems to believe you might know where Capac is, or how to find him.”

“I don’t.”

Jerry shrugs. “That’s what I figured, but—”

“No buts,” I interrupt. “I know nothing about your Cardinal’s disappearance. I’ve no wish to get involved. Tell Tasso that.”

“Al,” Jerry chuckles, “it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten how things work. I was told to bring you in, not deliver a message.”

My eyes narrow. “What if I don’t want to come?”

Jerry sighs. “I’m not fool enough to try and force you. But I went out of my way for you once. Put my life on the line.” That was ten years ago, when everything around me was going to hell. Jerry helped me put part of the Bill Casey puzzle together. Unlike many of the players in that game, he wasn’t manipulated by Bill or the villacs . He only got involved because he wanted to help.