The Collector

Fun Ghoul was seated on the floor of the viewing area of his cell. One leg was folded across himself, the other drawn up to his chest. He rested his hands across his knee and finally his chin on his hands. He had positioned himself next to the wall adjoining Kobra’s cell and his eyes had barely moved from the younger man since he had settled. Ghoul drew in a deep breath as he heard a faint moan and a twitch in the next cell. He watched, silently, as Kobra returned slowly to consciousness. At first it was small movements, his fingers flexing against the floor, a slight roll of the head, a twitch of a leg. His movements were joined by a long deep groan of discomfort and Ghoul saw him squeeze his eyes together briefly. Believing him to be sufficiently recovered now, Ghoul spoke:

“Hey Kobra,” he said gently. “How are you feeling?”

In other circumstances, it might have been almost comic to watch Kobra’s apparent lack of coordination and coherence. Unable as yet to lift his head more than a few inches, he tilted it back and allowed his lips to part as he focussed his blurry eyes on the source of the sound. As yet, that’s all Ghoul’s voice had been – a sound. A quiet, non-threatening sound, but not yet words.

It was the colour of his shirt that first filtered through his fogged mind. Even though the lines were fuzzy, he recognised the colour, words and pattern of Ghoul’s favourite mustard coloured shirt.

Opening his mouth to speak, the words caught in Kobra’s parched mouth and his head dropped forward again with an exhausted sigh.

“Kobra?”

Ghoul had shifted position so that he too was now lying face down on the floor so he could be at eye level with his friend.

“Come on, Kid,” he chuckled. “You don’t have move far to be at eye level with me,” he coaxed.

“G-Ghoul?” Kobra stammered, pushing himself upwards almost until his elbows almost locked before immediately collapsing back down again with a huff of pain and disorientation.

“Kobra!” Ghoul’s eyes widened. “Sorry, man, are you okay?”

Rolling onto his side and drawing in a deep breath as his eyes – now able to focus – rested on his friend, now sitting up, cross-legged on the other side of the Perspex.

“I’ve been better,” he finally managed, pointing a finger in the vague directions of Ghoul’s neck and wrists. “What about you? What did she do to you? That looks painful?”

Ghoul cocked his head and offered a bitter laugh. “I think she likes me.”

“Fuck!” Kobra’s eyes widened. “She hates me! If she’s prepared to do that if she likes you…”

Kobra left the sentence hanging and shook his head lightly. He wanted to ask so many questions, but where to begin? It was Ghoul who spoke first, although it wasn’t an easy thing to do.

“I…,” Ghoul sighed. “I know who did this.”

“Yeah,” Kobra nodded to his surprise. “Some weird art-collector woman. We’re fucking exhibits in her museum!”

Ghoul frowned, yes Kobra was right and that was bad enough, but he had missed the point.

“No, I mean, who gave us up to her.”

“Who?” Kobra’s brow creased. He had considered the idea when he had first been captured, but had been unable to even imagine who it could be.

“Candi and Ice,” he replied, his tone flat with a combination of anger tinged with disbelief despite having seen it with his own eyes.

Kobra shook his head and laughed, but soon found his laughter dwindling as Ghoul’s face took on an expression that was cold and hardened with anger.

“I went down into the basement to see Ice and this guy just steps out of nowhere, grabs me and…”

“No, he was forced to help,” Kobra interrupted, unable believe his ears. “He must have been.”

Ghoul’s face grew ever more angry and intense.

“He was fucking laughing at me, Kobra!” Ghoul snapped as the memory came back to him. “The guy had me pinned, I couldn’t reach my gun and he shoved a cloth over my nose and mouth! I tried not to breathe but I had to! And the last thing I saw was Ice laughing in my face as I went down! I’m telling you, Kobra, when we get out of here, I’m gonna kill him. Him and Candi.”

Kobra merely stared blankly in return, stunned into silence by the news.

“They got you too, you know!” Ghoul pressed. “They don’t know, but I was still conscious when I hit the floor. Too damn weak to move, but conscious,” he sighed despondently.

“What… what do they want?” Kobra asked nervously.

“Money,” Ghoul’s nose crinkled with distaste. “They double their reward with each one of us they get. He called it an incentive not to stop.”

“I…” Kobra bit his lip. “I knew just from the exhibit that she wanted all of us. It never occurred to me that she actually had a way of doing it. Ice and Candi?” Kobra shook his head. “Party’ll never suspect them! He… he helped them when they got out of Battery City. If it hadn’t been for him they’d be dead! I can’t believe this!” Kobra yelled suddenly, pushing himself to his feet, before steadying himself, placing a palm on the Perspex.

Ghoul rose slowly, nodding at Kobra’s distress. It was all true. Years earlier, Party had saved their lives and helped them get started and make connections in Dust Bowl. They had begun trade with the Killjoys shortly after, setting up a supply chain that kept both sides happy – or at least as happy as anyone could be out in the harsh, barren desert.

“I know,” Ghoul nodded slowly. “They betrayed us. I can’t explain it… well I know why. Money! I just don’t understand. But you’re right about Party,” Ghoul shook his head. “Even I find it hard to believe and I know!”

Kobra ran a hand over his mouth, in a thoughtful yet nervous way. Pulling at his lower lip with his teeth, he came to the one conclusion that neither of the wanted to face.

“She’s going to get all of is, isn’t she?”

Kobra and Ghoul stared bleakly at each other.

“I… She… I hope not.” Ghoul waved a hand in the air as he struggled to find the right words to say – at least something he could make sound convincing. “We have to believe we’ll get out of this.” He shrugged helplessly. “We have to.”

“Ghoul,” Kobra licked his dry lips. “She’s put what she calls a governor in the back of my neck somehow. It’s remote controlled and it causes a lot of pain,” his face creased unhappily with the memory of it, “she says she can kill me with it if she needs to.”

Ghoul’s face fell at the horror of the situation.

“If we escape, she’ll probably use it,” Kobra bit his lower lip distractedly. “If she does and I can’t run, you have to get away from me and get out.”

“I can’t do that! Just leave you? No!”

“Ghoul, if you have a chance to escape without me, you have to take it anyway… for all our sakes.”

The pair stared at each other bleakly. The situation was unimaginable and the lack of control was killing them.

“We’ll get out of here, Kid. I promised myself I’d kill Ice and I intend on keeping that promise,” Ghoul finally managed a defiant edge to his tone.

“Then I’ll be there right alongside you,” Kobra nodded.

Almost as an afterthought, he realised he hadn’t even flinched when Ghoul called him Kid. Ah, the bitter irony of growing up a day too late.

*

Evelyn Hart scowled deeply the moment she entered the convention room. There was a disconcerted hush amongst her guests and several nervous glances shared as the crowd separated to allow four men to cross the floor.

The lead man strode confidently, almost arrogant in his gait, his long grey coat flapping and creating its own breeze as he walked briskly. His serious, angry expression contrasted markedly with the flamboyance of his clothes. Whilst not dressed in colour, the flowing coat, open-necked frilled shirt and elaborately patterned waistcoat gave the impression of a man not as devoid of emotion as BLI would prefer. But, to enable him to retain anger and hate, there was always a risk.

The remaining three men were draculoids.

“I want to know who allowed an Exterminator in here!” Evelyn fumed, turning to Sorby, her aide. “Once he’s gone, find out and dismiss them, but please stay for now.”

“I wish to speak to the owner of this establishment,” Exterminator Korse bellowed in a deep, gravelly and angry tone.

Evelyn stepped forward, her aide immediately to her right and stared unflinching and unafraid at the BLI exterminator.

“How dare you barge in here and disrupt my gathering!” she snapped in a stern yet surprisingly calm voice.

“And you are?” he stared coldly, stopping only a few feet from where she stood, now near the centre of the room.

“Evelyn Hart, I own this museum and convention centre, as Better Living Industries are well aware!” she replied haughtily.

“I have reason to…” he began only to be cut off mid-sentence.

“Do you think I intend to discuss anything with you here, in front of all my guests? Can you not see that you have interrupted my party and disturbed my friends?”

Korse had no intention of backing down; he was there on business and fully intended to get what he wanted, but he was not without knowledge of the protocols of the wealthy of Battery City and was more than aware that their many high-powered contacts could make life difficult for him and the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit, if they so wished. Offering a slight smirk, he gave a light bow and swept his arm to the side.

“Perhaps we could continue this in your office?”

“Or,” Evelyn knew she was taking a chance – given what, or rather who, resided in her new exhibit, she was certainly running a risk. “You could leave now and return with an appointment.”

Straightening up once more, Korse reached into his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper and handed it to her coolly. Taking the folded sheet, trying hard and barely managing to hold the shake in her hand, she opened and read it. Taking a deep breath, as she saw the signature on the document – Judge Melling – the only one of Battery City’s High Court Judges not on the take.

“A warrant?” her eyes blazed, looking up once more. “And just what are you hoping to find? This is a museum!”

“Are you refusing access, Ms Hart?”

“No, I’m not,” she replied angrily. “If you break anything, I will…”

“I won’t,” he smiled – it was a sinister smile that accompanied a cold stare. “I’m not looking for art.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked once more in a frustrated tone.

“I will want to speak to your guests also.”

“Absolutely not!” She slapped the warrant. “Search it says. You have no other business here!”

Taking another deep breath, she turned toward Sorby and rested her hand on his arm.

“Miles, please take my guests to the ballroom for refreshments and make sure no one is distressed.”

“Of course, ma’am.” He nodded. “Shall I attend to the art critics also?”

Evelyn smiled graciously and nodded.

“Please,” she gave his arm a small grateful squeeze. “I want everyone to be comfortable and out of the way of these… gentlemen.”

“Of course, ma’am. Consider it done.”

Turning back, she offered a dark frown.

“Exterminator Korse,” she began in a clipped voice, “where would you like to start?”

“I’ll find my own way,” he replied with a slight bob of his head before turning on his heels, again walking purposefully in the direction of the museum entrance.

Sorby moved away, indicating to the unnerved guests that they should follow him. Once everyone had been ushered into the adjacent ballroom, Sorby closed the doors, offering a brief nod to Evelyn. Once inside, he consulted his watch and swiping up to access another screen on the display, he entered a short sequence of numbers. Two floors down, a false wall slid into place completely covering the entrance to the Killjoy exhibit.

*

“What was that noise?” Kobra frowned picking up the faint sound of the hydraulics operating the dummy wall.

“Never mind that, what’s that smell?” Ghoul replied, alarmed at the sudden sweet smell in the air.

Standing to try to establish the source, Ghoul’s eyes widened as he staggered unexpectedly. His head felt cloudy, thoughts were thickening, his eyes rolling back before closing. His breathing became uneven and he was aware of feeling light-headed and dizzy. Briefly opening his eyes, he saw a flash of colour moving quickly and heard rather than saw Kobra crash to the floor. Dropping to one knee in an attempt to avoid the same fate, Ghoul lost consciousness and landed sprawling, his right arm stretched out trying to break his fall.

Both art critics attended to.

Notes