CMR Chapter 6

Crenshaw didn't stir. Consciousness came slowly, but he had enough practice being drugged that he knew they'd be watching and waiting for him to start moving so the interrogation could begin while he was still discombobulated. He could feel that he was sitting upright, held in place to cold metal by shackles on his wrists and ankles and a belt around his waist.

He opened one eye by a slit and looked around through his eyelashes. The walls and floor were the same uniform gray, but in the dim light of a single candelabra he couldn't tell if it was concrete or stone. Either one would indicate an old building.

He cautiously filled his lungs, keeping the rhythm of drugged sleep. He smelled incense, but that was just a cover. Beneath it all, he detected the sour tang of rotting blood layered underneath the more metallic fresh spill. He smelled herbs and lavender, CeeDee's scent. He found himself hoping that she wasn't connected to the fresh blood.

Concentrating on his ears, he heard breathing from immediately behind him, slow and steady. That helped him relax a little, as he was fairly certain that was CeeDee cuffed to a chair at his back. There was someone else here, someone whose breathing almost sounded like an atmosphere processor more than a pair of lungs. Crenshaw let his eyes open just a little more to see a pair of workman's boots peeking out from under the hem of a crimson robe.

Crenshaw decided that he was awake enough to resist interrogation, so he let his eyes open and his chin rise. 

The monster in front of him wouldn't have fit through the doorway of his office. Crenshaw was known to bump his head on a ceiling fan now and then but this man would have had at least two heads on him. From shoulder to shoulder he was worth two of the detective. Front to back he was nearly as thick as he was broad with a generous gut and deep chest. Even beyond all that there was a mass to him. When his weight shifted, it felt tectonic, triggering some instinct deep in Crenshaw's evolutionary history that had learned to fear the gigantopithecus. The man was wearing a blood-red robe, but the bulges in it indicated that it had been donned over a long coat with some kind of rigid reinforcements. On his head was a black goat mask with dozens of eyes and seven curling horns. In a blunt, boulder-shaped fist, the figure held a wavy knife forged from some veiny black metal. 

"Kazpur," Crenshaw greeted, recalling the name from Xinyi's final admonition. The goat mask cocked, curiously. "Where are the girls? CeeDee's behind me, but where's the other one?"

A deep rumbling laugh rolled out of the figure. Scattered laughter accompanied it, Crenshaw clocked at least five, all out of his sight. "I thought you'd have figured that out, 'detective.' Xinyi was working for me. Don't blame her, where the Goat Boys rule, my word is law."

A relieved laugh escaped Crenshaw. He covered his relief with derision. "Goat Boys? Really?" The slap was vicious and untelegraphed. Crenshaw instinctively went limp at the last second, allowing himself to be carried along with the blow instead of resisting it. His chair lifted from the ground, taking the chair behind with it. He and CeeDee slammed onto their sides. Crenshaw heard CeeDee's shout of protest and if his world wasn't still spinning he'd still have grinned. She had been playing dead just as he had.

Kazpur leaned over and gripped Crenshaw's chair, lifting both of them upright like they were dolls. Kazpur's sleeve strained with muscle, but the faint whir of aftermarket cybernetics accompanied the movement. Through his already swelling eye, Crenshaw looked up at the criminal with trepidation that he refused to let show. 

Kazpur leaned over him again. "When you talk, it's to answer my questions or beg to keep pieces attached. Make me happy. Bravery makes me angry. Don't make me angry."

The knife trailed down Crenshaw's face, pressing hard enough to dent the flesh of his cheek. He suppressed a shudder. "I think you need to sharpen that thing," he noted, "That's gonna tear more than it cuts."

"That's the point," Kazpur answered, pressing harder at Crenshaw's jaw. The flesh tugged, then gave, opening a nick that dribbled blood down his neck. "Where is Amaris Volkert heading after LI-9?"

"Drug must still be dragging me," Crenshaw apologized, feigning drowsiness. "Is that before 'up your ass' or after 'around the corner?' I've lost track."

A snicker behind him escaped CeeDee. He expected another slap. Instead, Kazpur stood up and stalked in a circle, out of sight. Crenshaw's blood ran cold.

"Hey, she doesn't know anything! It's me! I'm the one that knows things, she's just window dressing, alright? Leave her out!" Crenshaw started struggling, twisting his wrists around in their bonds. A movement out of the corner of his eye made him look. It had been small, no bigger than a cat, but he didn't see anything obviously out of place. He heard CeeDee hiss in pain behind him and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he twisted his arm so his thumb was down. He used the manacle as a fulcrum and there was a wet crack that was drowned out by CeeDee's frustrated groan.

"I don't really care which of you knows what," Kazpur's voice rumbled. "I just cut her. I won't tell you where until you tell me what I want to know." He walked back into sight, the knife's tip now dripping blood.

Crenshaw squinted at it. Dull red, probably not from an artery, and not deep enough for an organ. He stopped the levering and hoped the sweat didn't give away how much pain he was in. "Just ask, Kaz. I'm not ideological or anything, this is just a job. This whole conversation could have been over coffee."

Kazpur's head cocked again, then shook. "I'm afraid I'm behind on my blood tributes to the l'Parfait. You two will have to do. Answer what I want to know and I'll make sure she bleeds quick. You're already on my bad side, so it's gonna be a long night for you." Kazpur produced a holocomm. He switched it on and a House Volkert security alert appeared above the device. "What's the password?"

Crenshaw's eyebrows raised. "Do you think I'm with House Volkert? I realize it's been a while since I hit the beach but am I really that pale?" Kazpur stood, then started to talk out of sight again. "I just got started! Why would I know anything!?" Crenshaw shouted. He yanked his left hand free of the manacle courtesy of his broken thumb and reached for the other. Zixie was at his side already, pushing a silvery liquid from a syringe onto his manacle. A few drops of the stuff ate most of the metal away, and Crenshaw yanked that hand free, too. He worked the belt around his waist while Zixie dropped the liquid on his ankle restraints. 

Kazpur made a noise between a growl and a shout, coming back around. Crenshaw tore one foot free of a disintegrating manacle and kicked the mountain of a man in the thigh. Rather than have any real impact, he found the movement propelled him backwards as surely as if he'd kicked a wall. As he and CeeDee fell over again, he rolled free, and laughed triumphantly when Zixie tossed him his gun. He fumbled briefly but raised the weapon as Kazpur charged. He put three rounds into his chest and one into the forehead of his mask, which shattered apart. Kazpur hit him in the chest with both fists, lifting him off the ground and tossing him back. He almost landed on his feet, stumbling backwards a few steps until his back hit the wall.

Smaller men in black leathers and their own less ornate goat masks swarmed. There were eight of them, far too many to have any hope of winning in this situation. Crenshaw raised his weapon and fired once more, putting a round through the closest man's throat. That was shot number five, his trusty five shooter was empty. He forced a grin onto his face, ignoring the dribble of blood that he hoped was from a bitten tongue rather than something deeper.

He tried to speak but his ribs scraped ominously. He steeled himself and tried again. "One left, you got me. I'll kill the first one that tries, though..." He wheezed, catching his breath as darkness played at the edge of his vision. The gathered Goat Boys glanced at their fallen comrade, who was still sucking air through the hole in his neck, before turning towards Crenshaw. Their hands hovered near their belts, some with laser pistols, some with gyrocs, all with wickedly curved knives. His grin widened.

Kazpur sat up, blood streaming from his face as the last of the S-C60 fuel of the gyroc round burned out in a fountain of fire from his forehead. He plucked it from his flesh to reveal the gleam of subdermal armor beneath his skin. He scooped up the ruined mask and scoffed, throwing it behind him. He stood up without a hint of pain, brushing the front of his singed robe. The clinking of the spent rounds hitting the floor felt like church bells at a funeral. He looked at the Goat Boys' hesitation and snorted, then walked over to CeeDee where Zixie was dissolving her last manacle. He kicked the doll across the room and then grabbed CeeDee's hair. She gripped his hand with one of hers, the other trying to yank the gag from her mouth. It had been tied into a mouth-filling knot in the middle and cinched harshly behind her head.

Crenshaw tried to straighten up, holding his broken hand to his chest and pointing the gun at Kazpur. "Drop her! Let her go or the last one's for you!"

Kazpur chuckled, a thunderhead in the distance. "Sure, shoot me. It's done wonders for you so far." He dragged CeeDee to a stone altar set against the wall while Crenshaw continued to make impotent and increasingly desperate threats. She managed to get the gag untied just as he lifted her by her neck and slammed her onto the altar, sending incense and candles in every direction. She tried to shout something but there was no air in her lungs. Kazpur made sure to keep it that way by pressing down on her chest with his anvil of a hand.

He called out, "Venana! Is tallaroo me zatay!" He looked down at her and relented the weight of his hand, grinning. "Any last words?"

"Your pronunciation is terrible," she mumbled, wheezing. "It's Rizrn! Iz talleru-" she wasn't able to finish the Calling before he pressed on her chest again. He raised the dagger with a sneer.

The door clanged open, drawing every eye. The passage beyond was profoundly dark. Two blue glowing pips appeared in the dark, taking in the room with cold calculation. Kazpur addressed the darkness. "I thought I said not to enter the Inner Chamber! Who are you?"

A head rolled into view, still wearing the goat mask and leaving a dark trail behind it. Dolly's voice drifted into the room, reciting a favorite quote. "You will be tripped up by people when your resolution is lax." She stalked into the room, face expressionless.

"Well?" Kazpur demanded, gesturing impatiently with his dagger. "The last one of you that draws her blood will be skinned and used for a book cover!"

They turned and drew. Crenshaw reflexively pulled the trigger, resulting in a sad little click as the igniter had no round to set off. Luckily for him, he seemed to have been forgotten in the face of Kazpur's threat. 

Her free hand snapped out. The synthskin on her fingertips split as they broke the sound barrier; the shurikens she threw launched with inhuman speed, whistling as they traveled. A sickening chunk accompanied the impacts as three bodies failed to halt their progress. Her arm snapped up before a trigger was pulled, a red laser bouncing off the sleeve of her Reflec jacket. The stray shot lanced into the candelabra, melting the brass and dropping the candles. The room plunged into darkness, and more lasers followed. In the strobing red flashes, Dolly was a blur. She was on them in a heartbeat, slicing and maneuvering with precision.

While the screams and chaos erupted, Crenshaw threw himself on the ground to avoid an incidental shot. He crawled quickly on his elbows towards the altar, where he scooped up a candle and searched the debris for a lighter. Rolling onto his back, he waited until the last scream before holding the candle with his knees and lighting it. Dolly stood among the carnage, no worse for wear other than her fingertips and some carbon scoring on her jacket. She flicked her sword a few times and slid it into the scabbard with a smooth motion, turning to Crenshaw. "How much did he cut off?" she asked.

"He didn't get that far. Where's CeeDee?" 

"Over here," she called out from a corner, looking Zixie over for damage. "I think that big one got away."

Crenshaw looked around and saw that she was right. He coughed, a fresh gout of blood warming his lip and chin. "Good. Let's get out of here..."

A loudspeaker crackled to life. "I'll have to have a little talk with Xinyi about holding information back." His voice was strained and shaking with anger. "That is some robot you've got, detective. When you're dead, I'll reprogram her." He began chanting, the eerie sound echoing from the walls. Dolly helped Crenshaw up, then raised her face to the ceiling.

CeeDee hugged Zixie, lifting her as she stood up as well. "That's the Catechism of the Empty Void... I think."

"You think?" Crenshaw asked, limping towards the door.

"Well, his pronunciation is terrible. I don't think he's ever heard anyone else say these things out loud. He's playing with fire here."

"He's also rigging the game," Dolly added. Her eyes were locked onto a ceiling vent. "He's pumping carbon monoxide into the chamber."

Crenshaw glanced at the carnage Dolly had left behind. "Hey, idiot! Some of your guys are just wounded in here!"

Kazpur's voice was dark and almost petulant. "If they wanted to live, they should have at least drawn blood. I have no patience for the useless, so they can be sacrificed with the rest of you."

Previous: 5: Cleanse

Next: