“I appreciate you calling me in to throw a spanner in the works. Jolly good form and all that.” He stopped to stare at an old garden statue, shaped after a giant crocodile.
“Don’t thank me just yet, Ace.” I scanned the zones with the Broad in hand. “I usually tote a spare in case sparks pop off. Figure an extra body might catch a slug or two meant for me.”
Hooke was silent for a moment. “I see.”
The fire lit up the night sky, belching smoke and flame hundreds of feet into the air. I heard panicked shouts as vagrants and Lost Boys ran the opposite direction. The hosers don’t usually drop into the Docks since explosions are almost a nightly occurrence, but the fire I lit would probably bring them down sooner than later. And with them would come the obligatory coppers, probably some rookies whose bad luck put them in the Docks for their beat. All the attention was exactly what Pan didn’t want on his little operation. He’d be surprised, maybe a little unnerved. People make mistakes when they’re caught in the crossfire like that.
I was counting on it.
His hideaway was a battered old portable housing unit overran by vines. I introduced the door to my size elevens and swept the immediate area over with the Mean Ol’ Broad. The interior looked about as bad as the exterior, the walls flaking and stained by mold, the tiles cracked and faded.
Hooke pointed to a thick line of recently laid cables that ran the length of the hallway. The bundle was haphazardly held together by zip ties, and practically hummed with the threat of a fire hazard. “Looks like it was just recently put in.”
I nodded. “Love your keen detective skills. I can see why you were such a kick in your precinct.”
We followed the cables across the dimly lit hall and down into a basement. The place was lit with fluorescent lights and lined with newly installed lab gizmos. Everything in there was a stark contrast to the shabby surroundings: state-of-the-art, sleekly designed consoles and equipment with clean lines illuminated by winking lights. About twenty boy-sized pods were arranged in circular fashion around a larger shell that looked disturbingly like a coffin despite its sterile white color.
Hooke jerked back in disgust after peering into one of the pods. “Bloody hell. We’re too late. It’s done.”
I looked into the nearest pod. What was left of the boy inside was a mere husk, more a mummy than a child who had just been alive only hours before. The boy’s eyes were sunken, his waxen skin stretched tight around his skull, his mouth open as if he died screaming. Intravenous tubes inserted in various parts of his body apparently drained him dry. Following the attachments to the pod, it appeared the tubes went through some kind of recycling process before leading to the larger husk in the center.
“This is sick, even for a psycho like Pan. He’s gonna pay for this.” I strode over to the coffin-shaped pod in the center of the circle. The glass was tinted, obscuring any view of Pan. I pressed the green button on the console. The door slid open.
The interior exploded in my face.
When my vision returned, everything was hazy, like peering through a filmy windshield while driving a hundred miles an hour. My eardrums vibrated, disorienting my sense of balance. That was okay because I was lying on my back anyhow, my head resting against one of the pieces of lab equipment. The pod had been rigged with some kind of flashbang explosive. I could hardly hear anything, but Pan’s mocking laughter managed to break through.
“What do you think I am, some kind of chump? I’ve lived for ages, you idiots. You don’t set the traps — I do.”
I tried to get up, but my legs weren’t cooperating. Hooke blocked most of my view, but I caught a glimpse of Pan as he stood in the opposite doorway. He clutched a young girl to his chest. She was instantly recognizable as Maimie Mannering, a bit disheveled but all in one piece. It was almost a shock to see her in person after viewing her face plastered all over the city for weeks. Her baby blues were wide, glistening in fear.
Probably because of the pistol muzzle pressed against her temple.
“Shall I give her a kiss?” Pan’s voice was garbled, like he mumbled through a throat full of extra thick molasses. “A sweet metallic kiss from a hollow point lover, wouldn’t that be a lovely sight. What do you say, Hooke?”
Hooke stared without expression. “So, Pan. This is all your doing.”
“That’s right, Hooke. This is all my doing. You hate it don’t you? That I found a way to cheat death. That I will never grow old and waste away like you will.”
“Never waste away?” Hooke sounded disbelieving. “Have you looked into a mirror, Pan? Have you seen what you’ve become?”
Pan’s laughter had a gurgling, maniacal ring to it. “What I’ve become? I’m youth, old man. I’m joy. I’m a little bird that’s broken out of the egg. And I won’t be going back, mark my words.”
“You’re a proud and insolent little bugger,” Hooke said. “A beastly little prat who doesn’t even know when to lie down and die.”
Pan’s laughter sounded like a man choking to death. “To die would be an awfully big adventure.”
“I hope so,” Hooke said. “It’s the only adventure you have to look forward to.”
Pan grew silent for a moment. I could practically feel his hatred of Hooke. “Really? Why don’t you try it out first? Send me a postcard.”
A gunshot rang out. Maimie Mannering screamed, and Hooke fell at my feet without a sound. It was then that I got a clear look at Pan’s face. I saw what Hooke was talking about. What Pan had become.
His face was unrecognizable. It was creased and wrinkled like a rotting prune, the skin discolored and webbed with blue veins. Only a few strands of shock-white hair sprouted from his splotchy scalp. His eyes glimmered from the tunnels of his sockets; blackened lips split and cracked as they twisted in a smile that stretched the folds of his face to the breaking point. He pointed the Ruger MK pistol my direction.
“I can’t believe you’re still alive, Troubleshooter. I’d almost believe you learned how to fly.”
I half raised myself up, shaking my head to clear away the dizziness. “I just thought of happy things, and soared like a bird.”
Pan snorted, gripping Maimie Mannering like a bulletproof shield. “At least you’re amusing, I’ll give you that. Hooke was a bore. That’s why he’s dead. I hate being bored.”
“Let the girl go, Pan. There’s no need to hold her anymore.”
“No need?” Pan’s voice rasped, as though his throat constricted as he spoke. “Do you see what Mannering did to me?” He gestured at his ugly mug with his pistol. “Do I look like someone who’s about to live forever?”
“You did it to yourself, kid. You’re the basket case who thinks he’s been living for the last few centuries. Get a grip.”
Pan’s skeletal face furrowed in rage. The pistol in his hand trembled violently. “I’m done talking. You can join Hooke in the next life.” He pulled the trigger.
The shot missed me by a good foot, burying into a nearby console and shooting off sparks. Pan gave his head a dizzy shake. His legs quivered as he aimed again.
The next shot missed by an even wider mark. Pan cursed, trying to control his wobbly limbs. He released Maimie to steady his gun hand.
Hooke instantly rolled, snatching the girl out of harm’s way. “Take the bloody shot, Mick!”
I rose to a kneeling position, whipping out the Mean Ol’ Broad in one smooth motion. Pan managed to squeeze off another round. His aim was a little better, but he still missed.
I didn’t. The Broad boomed, and Pan went down hard with a gurgled shriek.
“Get the girl outta here, Hooke.” As he ushered her away, I strode over to where Pan lay twitching on the floor, clutching his chest with bloody fingers. He looked even more ghastly up close, shriveling up before my eyes. His skin split in flaking patches, his lips pulled back in a hideous grin. Bulging eyes rolled wildly in his head, distended vessels wriggled across their surface like bloody worms.