Chris Abani - The Secret History of Las Vegas

The shrill ring of a cell phone woke Sunil. In the dark bedroom he fumbled around for it. What, he said.

This is Salazar.

What the fuck, Salazar! What time is it?

Just after six. I’m sorry to wake you.

What is it, Sunil asked, glancing over at Asia as he got out of bed and shuffled into the living room. She was still deep asleep as he shut the door behind him.

I need you to come.

Come where?

I’m out by Lake Mead.

Bodies?

Yes. Several bodies, and there’s one we both know.

Who?

I need you to come.

How will I find you?

There’s a car waiting downstairs for you.

Okay. Fuck, Sunil muttered as he hung up and pulled some clothes on.

As promised, there was a police car waiting outside. He paused, thinking how much he hated the uniforms. Thinking how impossible it was to explain the sheer terror of a Casspir rolling into Soweto, bigger than a tank, more invulnerable it seemed, a sheer beast.

Is everything all right, Dr. Singh, the doorman asked as he opened the door.

Why don’t you worry about doing your job so thieves don’t just walk in, Sunil snapped, sliding into the back of the police car. They were already pulling away from the building when Sunil remembered Asia was alone upstairs and in danger from Eskia should he choose to return.

Wait, he said, stop.

And he made the cops wait while he called Salazar. He told him about the break-in and said he would come only if Salazar provided police protection for Asia. He omitted that he knew what she might be in danger from. Salazar made one of the cops from the car stay. The guy didn’t look too happy about it, and Sunil made a mental note to come back with coffee and a snack for him. He texted Asia so that when she woke up to the cop outside, she wouldn’t be startled, and then he was off.

As the car picked up speed, lights and siren going, the sun was coming up over the Luxor, washing the dark pyramid in gold.

Shit, Sunil thought, I need to check in with the twins and Brewster. Not to mention he had to get a visitor’s pass for Fred. One day away from the institute and he was already behind. Whatever Salazar wanted him for had better be fucking incredible, he thought.

He wasn’t aware he had fallen asleep until he felt Salazar shake him awake. The police car had arrived at Lake Mead and, from the looks of it, so had half the Las Vegas Police Department.

The peacocks were screaming again and Water rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. He shuffled to the window but there were no birds in sight. He yawned and hit the Nurse Call button.

Fire’s caul snapped back and he yawned too, breath extra funky from the heat of the caul.

Jesus, those fucking birds! I swear if I could I would kill the entire gaggle, he wheezed.

Ostentation, Water reminded him. Not gaggle, ostentation.

Fuck you too, Fire said. Did you call the nurse? I would kill for a cup of coffee. Or at the very least, break a few knees.

Babies are born without kneecaps, Water said.

Really, Fire said. This early? Fuck, I’m too old for this shit.

“Senectitude” means old age, Water said.

And shut up or I’ll fuck you up means shut up or I’ll fuck you up.

We shed skin particles as we get older, Water continued, as though Fire hadn’t spoken. We shed two pounds a year and by the time we’re seventy, we’ve shed one hundred and five pounds of dead skin.

Jesus, you fucker. I’m trying to think about breakfast.

The food that is digested in your stomach is called chyme.

Fire took a swing at Water’s face, but his arms weren’t coordinated and it just looked like Water was swinging a puppet around.

Good morning, gentlemen, the nurse said, responding to the call button. How can I help?

Coffee and some food, Fire wheezed.

It’s too early for breakfast, but I’ll rustle up some coffee and see if I can’t find a couple of cookies.

Do you all have special courses in talking to patients in a condescending tone?

In 1670, Dorothy Jones of Boston was granted the first American license to sell coffee, Water said.

Why can’t you be nice like your brother, the nurse asked, smiling at Water, before shutting the door behind him.

And where the fuck is the doctor, Fire asked. He’s been gone a whole day. How are we going to get out of here?

Water smiled. Fred is coming for us, he said.

The crucified horned figure stopped Sunil.

I know, Salazar said gently, handing him a cup of coffee. It’s pretty grim.

Naked except for white boxer shorts, the horned figure was nailed to a rough wooden cross, his tattooed arms spread like wings. His throat had been cut nearly through, so that the horned head dangled dangerously close to falling off.

The cross itself was rising out of a heap of corpses.

What the fuck! Sunil said.

Are you going to be okay?

Yes. Is that Horny Nick?

Yes.

Why would anyone want to do this?

I don’t know. You’re the expert on sick fucks, Salazar said.

Sunil shook his head, watching as the forensic unit took photos and collected samples as though they were inspecting an elaborate movie set. Shit, he said.

I know, right, Salazar said.

Shaking his head, Sunil tried to focus, forcing himself into damage-control mode.

I’m not sure this killing is related to the ones from two years ago. For a start, those body dumps weren’t ritualized like this; neither was the most recent one you saw two months ago, right? This is so radically different. Completely different pattern, different signature. Serial killers are very fixed in their patterns. If this is a serial killer, then you have two different people, Sunil said.

Don’t tell me that, Salazar said. I don’t want to have to think that there may be more than one.

Sunil wanted to allay Salazar’s fears, to tell him that the killings from two years earlier, as well as these, were the work of the institute. His work. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again. This wasn’t Brewster’s work. At least, Horny Nick wasn’t. There had to be another killer. Probably the same one who killed that girl two years before.

Anything you want to tell me, he asked.

At least we know the twins aren’t the killers you’re looking for, Sunil said. They’ve been locked up.

Why do you think the killer targeted Horny Nick?

I don’t know. Are the other kids safe?

Yes.

Good, Sunil said, not knowing why.

Salazar was watching him closely.

What is it, Detective, Sunil asked.

Salazar shrugged. Nothing, he said.

Sunil turned his attention to the crucified kid. Poor devil, he muttered.

Listen, I looked into your situation on your way here.

What situation, Sunil asked.

You know, your concerns about your apartment and your worry about being targeted. I mean, normally I wouldn’t do that, but you asked me to assign protection to your girlfriend and I needed to know. Anyway, turns out several apartments in your building were vandalized too, so I don’t think you are the target. It was just random. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.

You have to trust me on this one, Detective.

See, now, that’s the kind of crazy talk that just sends up red flags to old policemen like me. I don’t even trust the evidence half the time, so why should I trust you?

There are things I can’t tell you.

As they spoke, Horny Nick was taken down from the cross. Sunil watched as the coroner and his officers stood on the other bodies to get him. He was laid out on a stretcher, and slowly the other bodies were laid out too. He and Salazar watched the men work, the careful attention to detail as they dismantled the rise of corpses, as though solving a puzzle, each step carefully photographed, each body systematically mined for evidence. It was slow, the work, and it took nearly an hour for the bodies to be separated. Sunil counted twelve lying there, with Horny Nick making thirteen.