Warren Ellis - Crooked Little Vein

“Does it bother you at all that you make people’s flesh crawl off their bones just by speaking out loud?”

“I run your country, son. It is only right and proper that the ordinary people should experience religious fear in my presence. I am the closest thing to God most folk will ever meet. And you, Michael: you are my personal Jesus. You are my intellectual child and the savior of that which I have created. I’m proud of you, boy. It’s been a terrible journey for you, from your Manhattan Galilee to this, your California Calvary. But it’s almost over now. I can feel it in my bone marrow.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Well, don’t do it near me,” he spat, scuttling backward. “These are new shoes. It’s time for me to go. Go inside, now, Michael. Go and see your freak queen and her cockmonkey. Give ’em hell, boy. It’s time to finish the job.”

I sat down in the guy’s football field of a living room, put on the TV, turned it up good and loud, and waited. I wasted five minutes fiddling with my handheld and my cell phone, copying over Zack’s email address to the computer and poking around in the logs and settings for a little bit.

“Hello. I’m Brom,” came a voice from behind me.

He was taller than me, with the soft features, heavy brow, and thick hair of an eighties male model. The white T-shirt and black jogging pants were crisp enough to have been sold to him an hour earlier. I got up and we shook hands like men.

“Trix will be down in just a second,” he said, searching my eyes for a reaction.

“Whatever.” I smiled. “I don’t keep my employees on a clock. Do you have time to talk for a few minutes?”

He waved me to the sofa and took the big, high-backed armchair for himself. I suppressed a smile. Sitting down, I asked him if Trix had told him anything about the case.

He wriggled a bit. “We haven’t had a chance to talk properly beyond, you know, catching up and stuff.”

I let that hang just a little too long, to see him wriggle a bit more. “Well, okay. I’ve been hired by an individual in Washington, D.C., to track down a stolen item. The trail’s led me here, to a law firm in Los Angeles. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the firm in question.”

This worked better for him. I needed something from him. Anyone could see from the way his posture shifted that he liked it when people needed something from him. I decided that I could get to hate this guy pretty quickly.

“Shoot,” Brom said. “Anything I can do, really.”

“For a friend of Trix?”

“Right.” He coughed.

“Islip, Sinclair, and Collis. Ring any bells?”

He stiffened. “There’s no way in hell Frank Islip is trafficking in stolen goods.”

“Not saying it’s him, or any of the partners. But someone is at the very least using the firm’s identity in connection with this item.”

“Islip, Sinclair is an incredibly important player in the L.A. legal community. No one—”

“I’m betting that no one in Las Vegas has even heard of them.”

Brom smiled and relaxed. “—ah. Yes, well, that’d make sense.”

“Could you possibly get me an introduction? I realize it’s imposing.”

“Well, yes, it is, a bit.”

“But, then again, you have just fucked my assistant. And I’ll be leaving her here once I’m done with interviewing at that firm, so you two can catch up at your leisure.”

“Mike?” Trix had come down the stairs.

“Hi, Trix. Just tying up the loose ends here. So could you get me an introduction? The sooner the better, obviously.”

Brom didn’t speak. The silence turned venomous. Trix came and sat next to me. I moved over a space and watched Brom.

Eventually, he said, slowly, “I’m actually attending a private party at their offices tonight. I’ll speak to someone there and get you in tomorrow morning. You can stay here tonight, obviously.”

“Thank you, Brom. Much obliged.”

He stood, a sharp movement. “My ticket’s a plus-one, Trix. I’d love it if you came with me. No dress code. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I brought some work home with me. Make yourselves at home, and I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He padded quickly out of the living room.

“That was a prickish thing to do, Mike,” Trix hissed.

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? What’s wrong with you? No, forget I said that. I know exactly what’s wrong with you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

She tried a smile. “I thought you were Sherlock and I was Watson.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You fucked him?”

“Goddamnit, Mike, we talked about this. He’s an old friend. An old lover, okay? He’s a very sweet man and he’s good in bed and we haven’t seen each other in years and it felt really nice especially after having had a fight with you and we didn’t hurt anybody except maybe some willfully dumb guy who refuses to listen to a word I say. And I don’t think it even hurt you, not really. It offended you. You think because we sleep together you own my sexuality, and you really don’t.”

I didn’t have an answer to that, but it didn’t seem to slow Trix down.

“You know what the worst thing is? I told you I love you—”

“You never said any such goddamn thing.”

“—told you I could love you and you went white as a sheet and stiff as a goddamn board. And not in the good way. You act like you own a piece of me and you don’t even love me. You like being the white knight and you like, excuse my arrogance but fuckit I know who I am, a hot girl taking pleasure from you, but you won’t let a damn thing get under your skin or disturb the shallowness you cultivate to get through the fucking day, Mike.”

“Shallowness. This is going back to the goddamn book, isn’t it?”

She laughed without mirth. “I guess you’re hellbent on getting that thing and handing it over now. Get the likes of me reprogrammed. I’m gonna look hot in an apron, barefoot in the kitchen, right?”

“You can hide out here with Brom. I won’t tell.”

“You know? I might. He’s at least aware of the world outside and trying to change it for the better. I don’t know what you’re doing anymore, Mike. This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Guess what. Not everything is fun. We deal anyway.” My cell phone went off. “Excuse me.”

I walked out of the living room, put the front door on the latch, and sat down on the porch outside.

“It’s Zack. The creepiest thing just happened, dude.”

“What?”

“Two isweartogod Men in Black just left, with an old guy in tow. They asked me about you.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“What was that about? It wasn’t a raid. Hell, the old guy asked if we did any medical-fetish porno and I gave him a DVD.”

“That, Zack, was my client.”

“Damn, Mike. I’ve met some weird people in this town, politicians and lawyers, but I never had anything like this.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I have no idea how that happened. If it helps, they’re in no position to drop the boom on you. You’re cool.”

“If you say so, dude. But damn that was weird.”

“Listen… You’ve dealt with lawyers?”

“Oh, they’re the worst. I have to chase them out of here with a broom. Sick stuff, lemme tell ya.”

“Do you know an outfit called Islip Sinclair Collis?”

“What the fuck are you into, Mike?”

“Zack, please.”

“I won’t deal with ’em. Life’s too short. And those parties of theirs, Jesus.”

I pulled a cigarette. “Tell me about the parties, Zack.”

“First I’m going to send a configurator to your phone. You carrying any other Internet-enabled devices I should know about?”

I walked quickly through the living room into the kitchen. Opened the drawer I wanted, threw out the false bottom, and took out the Ruger. Loaded it, slowly. Walked back into the living room with the Ruger heavy in my right hand. Grabbed Trix’s hand with my left, yanking her up off the sofa.

“Where’s Brom working?”

“What?”

“Now, Trix.”

I dragged her into the hallway, where we heard the clicking of a keyboard. There was an expansive home office at the back of the house. Brom was working at a big black desktop computer on a big black desk. He spoke without looking around. “Anything you need?”

I hit him in the back of the head with the butt of the Ruger. He slid off the chair like a sack of hammers.

Trix punched me in the shoulder with her free hand. “What the hell? Mike!”

I looked at her. She got scared in a way I didn’t like. But I didn’t have time for anything else.

“Get up,” I said to Brom. Blood was trickling out of his hair onto the back of the T-shirt.

“Christ,” he groaned. “I’m sorry I had sex with her, all right? I’m sorry. Fucking lunatic.”

“Trix, you need to tell me you had protected sex with this man.”

“Of course I did. Mike, we can talk about this. Don’t, don’t do whatever’s in your mind. We can fix this.”

“Brom, you need to tell Trix all about this party at Islip tonight.”

He twisted around on the ground to face me. “Fuck you.”

I stamped on his balls. As he convulsed forward, I kicked his head to the ground and put my foot on the side of it. Going down on one knee, I pressed the Ruger to his temple and pulled the hammer back.

“I don’t particularly like having turned into all the assholes I’ve been dealing with since I started this case, Brom. But you’ve done it to me. All of you. All of you monsters. So now I’m like you. Now either you can tell her what these parties are, or I can put a bullet through your brain, have the White House chief of staff sanitize your murder and this location so it becomes like you never even existed, and then tell her myself. Tell me what happens next, Brom. Tell me if I’m killing you.”

“They’re sex parties.”

“What kind of sex parties, Brom?”

“Sex parties with…with teenagers.”

I screwed the muzzle of the gun into his temple until the skin broke. “Stop fucking with me.”

“With kids. Okay? With virgin kids. Kids who don’t have HIV.”

“Yeah,” I said, mostly to myself. “Falconer. That goddamn Falconer was right. Who’d’ve thought it?”

I felt Trix go cold in my hand. “Brom. What are you talking about?”

“The upper ranks of power in this town…You try getting laid in this town without having a current HIV test. You can’t. Sex parties, forget it. Once you’ve been around a while, herpes is the best you can hope for. If you like group sex, unprotected sex, hurting people…Look, it’s something I have to be part of, okay? If I want the power in this town to be able to change anything, I have to be part of the system.”

“They call them roulette parties, Trix,” I said quietly. “They get two or three pretty kids, drug them to their eyeballs, and then everyone at the party screws them. And then they place bets on which of the kids will end up HIV positive. That’s why I needed to know if you had protected sex. Because I doubt that this is the first invite Brom’s gotten.”

“I’ve only been to three! Three!” Brom shrieked.

“Now, Brom. My life is a mess of shitty coincidences. So you tell me now: Is there anything special about tonight’s party? I didn’t like your reaction when you told me Frank Islip would never traffic in stolen goods. Because I didn’t give you a name. I gave you the firm’s title. And when I gave you an out, you took it so fast I couldn’t see your ass for dust.”

“They bought something. An antique. Something that’ll give the community political leverage in Washington. I don’t know what it is. They’re showing it off tonight.”

“And we know what that is, don’t we, Trix?”

I let go of her hand. She didn’t move away.

“Yeah. We do. Your ticket’s plus-one, Brom?”

Brom didn’t answer.

Trix’s hand reached for my gun. Our eyes met. I slipped the gun into her hand.

She moved the gun muzzle around his face, and slowly pushed it into his eye.

She ground out the words. “Plus-one?”

“…yes.”

“Well, I’d love to come to the party with you, Brom. But we need to figure out a way for Mike to get in, too.”

I drew the living room curtains, put my foot through the phone in the room, and unplugged it from the wall just to make damn sure. Trix found some fur-lined handcuffs in his bedroom, which I decided not to think about, and we put a dining room chair in the living room, sat Brom down in it, and cuffed him to it.

I sat in his armchair and looked at the big Ruger Super Blackhawk in my hand. “This thing’s going to be a problem,” I said.

“Are you going to take it?” Trix said. She didn’t like looking at it. She’d handed it back to me like it was a dead rat once we’d gotten off Brom in his office, and washed her hands in the kitchen sink afterward, looking a little nauseous.

“It makes too damn much noise. These things go off like God punching the world. Did you never see Dirty Harry? Everyone else’s guns go bang bang, and his gun goes pow. I fire this in an office building and everyone’s going to see the windows rattle.”

“Are you expecting to have to use it, is what I’m saying, Mike.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I’m not going to be able to bluff my way into the building. They know Brom, he said he’s been there before. What’s the parking situation there, Brom?”

Brom had pretty much given up, and sagged there like jelly. “Underground car park. Security at the elevator, security at the thirty-third floor. Where the party is.”

“Okay,” I said. “Not as bad as I expected. I’m just wondering where they’ll be keeping the book.”

“Frank Islip’s office. His personal safe. I’ve seen it. He keeps his good stuff there. Likes to show people things.”

“Why are you being so helpful all of a sudden?”

“Because I’m not the bad guy here.” He looked at Trix. “I’m not a bad guy. I do what I have to in order to remain in a position to help people.”

“Bullshit.”

Brom prickled. “Do you know why I became a lawyer? Do you? Because I wanted a say in the shape of society. If I have to join the Pirates—”

“The what?”

“That’s what they call themselves. The Pirates of the Pacific. A bunch of them were in Skull and Bones at Yale—”

“Oh my God,” yelped Trix. “I’ve heard of them. I think three or four presidents have been in Skull and Bones. All kinds of weird political conspiracy stuff, you know?” She turned to me. “Skull and Bones was implicated in the opium trade, and they’re considered racist and proslavery, Mike. A bunch of Yale’s residential colleges are named after slave owners. We’re gonna walk into this party and find three or four pretty black kids waiting to get raped.”