It’s an hour before the sun will creep its way over the city walls, high as they are, but the dust rolls in, steady as always. I sit at my desk and try to kill yesterday’s hangover by getting an early start on tomorrow’s. A tremor rattles my office as giant monsters that people haven’t seen in generations tussle on the other side of the mountains that stand watch over the city. Fate ruffles her cards and starts dealing me my hand for the day, starting with a queen that knocks thrice on my door and lets herself in.
“Detective Murphy?”
Even after having tipped a few, I could tell from across the room this dame had eyes like the moon’s reflection in the reservoir, and god damn if I didn’t feel like wading out and drowning.
“Who’s asking?”
“My name’s Penelope, Penelope Jochovic. Mr Murphy, I have a case for you.” She strides up to my desk and makes motions towards the chair opposite. I nod, and she sits down.
“Call me Mick.”
“As in Micheal?”
“As in Donald. Every Murphy man since time immemorial has been lumbered with the handle Mick, same with the O’Brien men until the last of them cashed their chips. No one remembers why, but here I stand, Mick.”
Penelope looks around my office and shifts in her chair. I’m guessing the slightly ramshackle nature of both the office and myself was not what she was expecting. She ain’t no damsel, though; I can tell by the set of her jaw. It takes grit to come to this end of town alone, and she is chock-full of it.
“Mr Murphy, my father’s gone missing. I believe he may be in trouble.”
I unclip my pen and pad from the desk and start taking notes. I also loose a cigarette from a deck in my pocket. I offer one to Penelope that is flatly refused. “So, when was the last time you saw your father?” I ask, lighting my smoke.
“Yesterday. We had lunch together at a bistro on the square.”
“You mean to tell me it hasn’t even been 24 hours? Listen, dollface…” Like a flash, I take a mitt to the kisser that loosens my molars and sends my smoke flying to land neatly in my drink. I sit a moment, stunned, as Penelope looms over my desk.
“I will not have some booze-hound gumshoe talk to me that way, Mr Murphy.”
“Listen, you lousy skirt, if this is how you ask for help, I dread to see how you pay. I’m sorry your old man might be in a jam, but I think it’s time you leave.”
“Mr Murphy, people have seldom good to say about you, and in person you’re worse. But the word is that, despite your flaws, you can be trusted to get things done. The word is that, when it comes to finding people, there are none better.” She takes a beat and sizes me up before she continues. “As for how I pay, the answer is well. Providing you can keep a civil tongue from this point forward, how does a $100 a day strike you?”
“It strikes me like your left cross, Ms Jochovic,” I say, cradling my jaw. “So, fill me in on the particulars. What makes you think your father is in trouble? What was his daily routine? Who was the last to see him? Does he have any enemies?”
“I worry for my father’s safety, Mr Murphy, because of his line of work.”
“Oh, yeah? What line of work is that? He a boxer? He teach you how to throw like that?” As allergic to sincerity as I am, I try to resist a smirk. A hundred clams a day will keep my whistle wet till Christmas.
“Where do people like you come from, Mr Murphy? I just can’t picture it.”
“According to my grandma, my family came here on a boat.”
Penelope cocks her head to one side. “A boat? What’s that?”
“Water vehicle of some kind or other.” I light a new smoke, and as a precaution, lean back as far as I can in my chair.
“Oh yeah, did she take it for a spin across the reservoir?”
“Water used to come bigger than the reservoir, they say.”
“Sure, Mr Murphy. Wetter, too, I bet.”
I pick my pad and pen back up and ask again what her father’s line of work is.
“He’s a scientist Mr Murphy, a Kaiju Scientist.”
I hop a streetcar a few hours after Penelope leaves my office. Ain’t no good putting the squeeze on folks still napping. I’m heading uptown, not so far uptown that a couple of the parlours don’t have brunos on the door, but close enough that you can see the odd senior with their glad rags on, heading out for some sautéed protein. I’ve left my goggles and mask on, even out of the dust. Screw etiquette, I don’t need to know these people, and they sure as hell don’t need to know me. The ground shakes, rocking the car on whatever suspension keeps it on the track. I look out the window into the blanket of dust. I swear, living in a world that seems to want to shake you off it, without a drink, I might just let it.
“Maybe it’s mating season,” says some rube to my left.
“Sure,” I say. “We’re all nothing if not screwed.”
I jump outside Johnny Wilson’s Place, a known watering hole for those behind the eight ball and the hatchet men who’ve made them their marks. It was the last place anyone had seen Dr Jochovic, and to my surprise, apparently he was a regular. I walk through the doors into the lobby, dust myself off, and enter the bar proper. I walk through the crowd of early drinkers dipping their bills to drop my gear on the bar. The oldest canary I ever laid eyes on has just taken the stage and is already visibly losing the will to live.
“Mick the Dick!”
Behind the bar is Ron Jackson. We walked a beat together before the beat became too literal and the number of cops shakin’ down stores outnumbered those that didn’t. He’d stuck it out longer than I did, even with the hard time he got ‘cause of his pigment.
“Big Ron, how’s the kids?”
“Ain’t customers here yet, so I must be doing something right.”
“Good to hear! Look, Ron, I’m looking for someone. Older, bookish-looking guy who must stick out in here like a sore thumb. Can you help me out, for old times’ sake?”
“Look, man, you want a tip? Try the protein here—best in town. Part from that, loose lips in this joint gets you a pine overcoat, feel me?”
I pull my ration card out of my pocket, two stamps for protein this week and we just hit Sunday service.
“This all you eating? You must be working your green house to dust.” Ron says, taking my card and stamping it.
I tap the flask in my breast pocket. “Liquid lunches.”
Ron leans heavy on the bar and looks me in the eye. Then he asks the question no man should ask another. “How you doing, Mick? Really.”
“I’m all peaches and cream, Ron. Fine and gosh-darn dandy. Now, come on, you gotta know something.” I pull a couple sawbucks from my pocket and slide them across the bar.
Ron snatches it off the table and stuffs it in his apron. “You don’t want nobody in here seeing you do that. You need to cool your jets, take a load off, and like I been tryin’ to tell you, try the freakin’ protein.”
Something twigs, I take a step back and see where my man’s coming from. “Sure, hook me up.”
Muscles that had been rising in bunches over Ron’s shoulders relax, and he walks off into the kitchen. I wonder if he’s going to slip me a note in the brick, or write a code in the sauce. I’m intrigued by all the cloak and danger for one old man. Maybe this case ain’t as cut and dry as I thought.
A tremor sets all the bottles dancing in their spring-bottom holders and rattles any cups not clipped down to the lips of the tables. It also covers the advance of two goons creeping up on me. One lays a massive paw on my shoulder that has me reach for my piece.
“Not so fast,” I hear as a barrel is pressed into my back. “Heard you askin’ questions. Boss is gonna want a word.”
The canary has stopped singing.
I’ve seen the backroom of a few dives in my time, and they often reflect the personality of the owner. Johnny Wilson’s back room had delusions of grandeur painted all over it. The chair Johnny was sitting on couldn’t have been more of a throne if it flushed. That being said, Johnny had become a known name over the last couple months. He’d picked up a bit of sway with the egg and butter men of this city, even slipped the bracelets by calling in favours. He wasn’t in charge in any way that counts, but he knew people who were.
“Donald Murphy.”
“You know, I’m having a day where everyone’s saying my name and not a soul has said it how I like yet.”
“What are you doing in my bar, Donald?”
“Lost dog case. You seen him? ’bout yea big, answers to Fido?”
Johnny’s fuse burns out like I ain’t seen before and he blows his stack. He jumps to his feet and slams a fist down on the table, which has the effect of making all his hired muscle take a step towards me. “Listen, you miserable flatfoot, don’t play games with me!” he says, standing up at his full height of five-foot nothing.
Now, if you’re a good detective, information is only meant to flow one way, but I can see if I don’t give him something, I’m in for the big sleep. It’s a shame, really, an older class of criminal would’ve known how to play.
“Some dame’s father’s been gone a day or so. Figured he was just making use of your fine establishment is all, nothing sinister,” I say, fully aware I’m relieving myself in a psychopath’s pocket and calling it rain.
Johnny sits back down and grabs the fattest cigar I’ve ever seen from a box on his desk. In deference to my host’s apparent unstable tendencies, I ask permission to light a cigarette of my own.
“You go right ahead. Now, as for Dr Jochovic, he’s no longer any of your concern.”
“Believe you me, if I had known my client was sending me to snoop in your business, I would have told them to ride their thumb—if you’ll excuse the colourful turn of phrase.”
The little volcano in a pinstripe suit puts his feet up on the desk and stares at me from behind a thick cloud of smoke. I can tell he’s considering whether I get to see tomorrow, or if I leave his office and go straight for a dirt nap.
“Here’s how it’s going to go. I catch you anywhere near my business again and I’ll cut your fingers off, I’ll cut your toes off, and then I’ll start working on you. Am I clear?”
“As a day without dust Johnny,” I say, before I feel hands move towards steel. “Mr Wilson,” I correct.
“Very good. Now, there’s only one thing left.” Johnny clicks his fingers and everyone starts getting real helpful. My cigarette is taken from my mouth and stubbed out for me. I’m also helped to my feet in a manner I don’t really appreciate. Once all the formalities are taken care of, I’m marched out a side door and held in place while everyone gets their goggles and masks on. Looks like we’re going for a walk. I spot a big palooka in the back with my gear, all balled up under his arm.
We get to the alley that runs behind the bar. The dust stings my eyes and makes it hard to breathe, even before any of the gorillas start playing chin music. One guy gets behind me and holds my arms back. Through the dust I can see two figures donning brass knuckles and grinning to themselves. “Ever have a day where fate just deals you crap? Between the joker in there and you pair of deuces, how is a guy meant to get ahead?”
They work me over good. One of them, wide-set, hits like a train. Lots of power but slow, and always to the gut. The other’s a whippet of a man, and he’s worse—lots of short, sharp jabs. He likes to work the puss. I hear two crunches—my nose and my rib—before they run outta steam, though I can also feel warm streams of blood coming from a cut above my eye and a busted lip. When the guy behind me lets go, I drop like a sack of spuds. I can’t breathe and I sure as shoot can’t see. The last man, the big one holding my gear, steps forward and drops my goggles in front of me. I reach out for them, and just as I’m about to thank the patron saint of kind-hearted goons, he steps on my hand.
“Remember, Donald,” he says, “fingers and toes.” Leaving my goggles on the floor, he throws everything else in a skip, and all four head back inside, laughing.
I put on the goggles, blink as much dust out of my eyes as I can and try to crawl. Each inch I make hurts, and I cough great, wet hacking coughs. I make it to the skip, but there’s no way I’m pulling myself up. Round the corner of the building I make out what I hope is a pay phone. What can’t have been more than eight metres feels like a mile. When I get inside, I reach up and knock the receiver off its cradle with my fingertips and hit the vac-o-matic, which sucks all the dust out of the booth. Looking down, I see my blood flecking the floor. I feel my breast pocket, only to find my flask missing. I turn what little focus I have left to the keypad and think of all the phone numbers I know and the short list of people who would pick up for me. In the end, I dial Penelope and get her machine. “Hey, Pen, so I’m off the case. Your father was mixed up with a real bad crowd, and it ain’t worth even what you’re payin’. If I manage to get outta this phone booth, I’m gonna go pick my clothes out of a dumpster and lay low for a while. So, that’s how my day is going. Hope the world’s treating you better, doll…”
The world trembles, and that’s all she wrote.
***
I wake up and the world’s in black and white. Hazy shapes move in the distance and it feels like someone is tap-dancing on my skull. I go to sit up, but a shooting pain in my side tells me in no uncertain terms to lie back down.
“You’re awake.”
The voice is soft, and when I see her looking down at me, there’s colour in the room again, colour in the form of a full pair of ruby-red lips.
“Ms Jochovic,” I say, mummified in bandages. “Where am I?”
“My place. I got your message and went looking for you.”
She’s mopping my brow with a damp cloth. Her perfume fills my nostrils, and the ground shakes. I shift my weight best I can and start trying to get my bearings, taking what weak grasp I can of the world and pulling it back into focus. Penelope’s apartment is as classy as her, and it’s the tastefulness of the décor, and its stark contrast to my garbage pile of belongings, that helps me spot them on the chez longue. “You went dumpster diving for me?”
“Seemed the least I could do, given what happened to you on my behalf,” she says, unable to make eye contact for a moment before regaining composure. “Can I get you anything?”
“Pass me my coat.”
She leans across and grabs my bundled-up coat. As she does, my hat, mask, gun, and a brown paper bag fall to the floor. I rifle through my pockets and breathe a deep sigh of relief when I come across my flask. “There you are, baby. Thought I’d lost you.”
“You’ve been beaten up that badly and you still think it’s a good idea to have a drink?” Penelope says, picking my stuff up off the floor.
“I’ve been beaten up this badly and you think it’s a bad idea that I have a drink?” I say after a hefty pull. “Hey, what’s in the bag?”
“I don’t know,” she says, handing it over to me. “It was with your other things—at least, I thought it was when I scooped them out of the trash.”
Opening the bag, I find an A-grade slab of protein. None of that rat-and-sawdust stuff the government hands out. I hadn’t seen meat this fresh since my last case took me down the morgue.
“Wow, this looks good enough to eat,” I say, showing Penelope the brick.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Why, because it was in the trash? Half the city is eating out the trash. Food this good is hard to come by,” I say taking a bite.
“I wouldn’t, because that bag was sitting on a corpse when I found it.”
I spit the protein back into the bag, then hawk up a couple fresh ones for good measure before chasing it with a hit from my flask. “Who was the lucky contestant in trash can number one?” I ask, before realising if Johnny is icing people, it don’t bode well for Dr Jochovic.
“A big guy, dark, looked like a barman from his apron.”
A chill hit the air. They couldn’t have—there wasn’t time while I was in the back room. What am I talking about? Of course there was, the way a hothead like Johnny would have it done. They would have walked him out back and capped him with no ceremony whatsoever. I grit my teeth and ball my fists as what happened unfurls in my head. They didn’t even let him take off his apron… or put down the protein. The protein… my protein. I pause a beat, then slowly turn the paper bag upside down. The protein, my chewed lump and some spit hit Penelope’s rug. I toss it all over, looking for the note or clue Ron was going to give me. The pain in my side lights up like a match hitting gas, but I dig all the same.
“What on earth are you doing?!” Penelope yells, diving down towards the mess.
“My friend Ron, the body you found, was going to give me a clue—least I thought he was. Come on, Ron, where is it?” My digging becomes more frantic as I tear the protein into little pieces.
Penelope takes hold of my hands and I stop. I look into her eyes and see fat tears swell at their corners.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” she says, doing everything she can to keep her voice steady.
“Sorry about your father.”
I spend the night laid-up on Penelope’s sofa. By morning I’m mobile enough to shamble into the kitchenette and put on a pot of java. I pull a couple of eggs from a coup on the balcony and crack them into a pan. While looking through the cupboards for some bread, Penelope gets the drop on me.
“Making yourself at home, I see.”
“One of those eggs is for you.”
She smiles at me and tucks her hair behind her ear in a way that makes my knees weak.
“I was thinking of heading over to father’s office, maybe find out for myself what happened. Back in the family home, he had a false bottom installed in his drawers so that he could hide sweets from my sister and I. I feel it would be worth taking a look.”
“Forget it. Too risky. Clients that come down with lead poisoning seldom pay their bills. I’ll go after breakfast.”
Penelope’s ears prick up and she looks at me with a half-smile. “So, am I still your client?”
As I look at her, I want to tell her that she’s more than a client—that I’m starting to have feelings for her that I haven’t felt before. The eggs hiss in the pan and I tend to them, pulling my eyes off hers.
“A good man don’t stay down for long, neither do us ‘booze-hound gumshoes’, for that matter.”
“I think you’re a good man, Mick, a very good man.”
I tell her that I’m staying on the case, as it’s the best way to pin something on Johnny for killing Ron; that the money’s good, and that I think I can carry on from here giving the mob a wide berth. When I get back to my place, while I change my shirt and pick up my motor, I think about the things I didn’t tell her. Firstly, that someone who studied kaiju, like her father, would have had access out of the city to the observatory in the mountains. That’d make him a handy smuggler if he could be threatened or bribed. And secondly, that being a scientist probably meant he had the kit to test Johnny’s black-market protein and see whether or not it was human.
It was a horrible suspicion to hold, but it was the only way I could see someone low-rent as Johnny Wilson pulling together that much protein. The mountains keep us safe from the kaiju, but it leaves our whole world only about twenty-miles wide, and with almost a hundred thousand mouths to feed, livestock is worth more than people to those at the top. Johnny wasn’t getting his hands on anything larger than a goat, even with all the grifters and swindlers in his employ, but making people disappear, that was something he could do. The worst thought was, that would explain the sway he had with the politicians. Someone who could feed the rough side of town, and curb its population at the same time, would be worth his weight in gold.
Driving in the dust is slow-going, but gives someone like me more options when it’s time to vamoose, should things get hairy. It also gives me time to put my head on straight and push ugly thoughts to the back.
When I get to Dr Jochovic’s office, I tip my lid to the receptionist and do my best to smooth-talk my way through. The Doc shares the building with a shrink and a couple mouthpieces. With my bandages I probably look both criminal and crazy, so I pick a random name from the plaques on the wall and make my way through. Looking at the building plan I see I’m in for a climb, as I’m heading to the fifth floor in a building without an elevator. In the stairwell on the third floor, I pass a guy with his beak firmly in a newspaper, and without looking back, I feel him shadow me all the way up. By the size of him I guess he ain’t no scientist—potentially a specimen. A tremor knocks the wind outta me on the last couple stairs and the guy behind me gets a little closer than he means to.
When I get through the door to Dr Jochovics office, I spin on my heel, reaching for the revolver in my shoulder holster. I realise too late that I don’t have enough movement in my upper body to reach it at speed. Instead, I spasm in pain and drop to my knees. When the mug who’s been following me tries to burst in through the door, it hits my shoulder and I slam it back on him. He fires six slugs through the door. Luckily, he’s not expecting me to be down so low and they fly above my head. Bent over, my fingers finally make it round my pistol, and I return fire upwards. I hear a body drop and a gargling plea for help, before whoever’s on the other side of the door kicks.
Patience may be a virtue. Had the big guy waited for me to get further ahead before making his play, I may not have noticed him and he’d have had me dead to rights. That being said, I don’t fancy coming face to face with uniforms who would undoubtedly be bought and paid for by Johnny or his high-flying friends, so I have to make it quick. The room’s already been turned over. At first glance, it seems anything of import has been shredded or is long gone. I go to the desk, rip the empty drawers out and flip them over. Going for power over finesse, I step on them. The first collapses like you’d expect, but the second collapses once and then a second time as the secret compartment gives. I toss the planks aside and spread the contents out over the desk. It’s a map showing a location marked with an ‘x’, about a mile away from the observatory, in the mountains, as well as a list of names. I go through any other scraps I can find in the office and piece together enough papers that, with a little luck and a whole lot of manure, might get me past the checkpoint at the wall. The last thing I do before heading to my car is call Penelope and tell her to lay low for a bit. I’d been stupid enough to finger her as my client, and I feared for her safety. I open the door to see the guy on the other side is Johnny’s man that was holding my arms behind my back. He didn’t look so tough with a hole in his neck. Rather than holstering my gun, I stow it in my coat pocket where I can reach it, fully loaded with the safety off.
The checkpoint out of the city is a little too easy to get through, but I figure it’s because no one would be stupid enough to want to tango with the kaiju. The dust is thicker this side of the wall, and as the sun goes down, the lack of visibility slows my drive down to a crawl. A quarter mile away from my destination, I stash the car on a side road and make my way on foot towards a faint glow in the distance. I very much doubt I want to be announcing my arrival to whoever is on the other end of this thing.
At the end of the road I see a forest of spotlights. The beams don’t reach far in the dust, but manage to pick out the edges of a large, barn-like structure nestled at the foot of the mountain. I climb to higher ground and circle to what I hope is the rear of the compound. When I get closer, I see the barn itself is a hive of activity. I hear men—drunk, yelling, and fighting. What I don’t hear is any livestock. A light goes off in a small side-building as what I hope is the last man leaves to join the ruckus, and I see an opportunity to investigate.
When I get inside, I pull my goggles down and use a lighter from my pocket and give myself just enough light with which to see. At first glance, it’s a locker room, overalls hung up on one side and storage on the other. As I inspect one of the overalls, I can’t help but notice the taste of copper on the air—the smell of blood. The overalls are rubberised and droplets of water cling to their exterior. I recognise the name written on a helmet on the shelf above, as well as the name on the one beside it. They were from the Doc’s list. I had assumed the names belonged to the unlucky victims of the black-market protein operation, but it looks like they work here.
Going deeper into the room, I see shower heads affixed to the ceiling and feel a slant to the floor that leads to a drain. Kneeling down, I can see a tinge of reddish brown around its rim. At least now I know where the smell is coming from.
I have ’em. All I have to do is make it back into town, grab a handful of newsies and any honest cop I can find, bring them up here and blow the whole thing wide open. My city can turn a blind eye to a lot, but this… Nobody could ignore this.
I get low and creep out of the wet room, spinning back to make sure the door closes slow and soft behind me. Before I can turn around, someone throws the switch on a pair of headlights directed straight at me.
“Hands in the air! Be a good boy, now,” says a voice through a mask. It’s slightly muffled, but I recognise it.
The voice belongs to Johnny’s goon that hits like a train. I put my hands up and turn around to see him and two silhouettes. I presume one to be the whippet, and that would make the other the patron saint of goons, who act exactly like you’d expect. The first two have pieces drawn on me. The last is leaning on the car, using a knife to pick grit from under his nails.
“Fingers and toes, Micky!” says the big silhouette at the back.
“I’m unarmed,” I say, gingerly reaching to my lapels and opening my coat to reveal an empty holster.
“Wouldn’t matter if you were,” says the whippet, chuckling from under the rag wrapped around his face. “We found your car. You’re not going anywhere, even if you could bust outta here.”
I should’ve known it was too easy to get here. The checkpoint must’ve tipped them off as soon as I was outta sight. I shrug and lower my hands, slipping them into my pockets. “Well, then, what’s a fella to do?”
Whippet looks giddy at the opportunity to get his hands on me and advances, lowering his weapon. The train, not so foolhardy, still has a bead on me, luckily, he’s standing right at my twelve-o-clock. I grab my pistol and blow a hole through my coat pocket, and his ribcage. After that, I spray wildly while trying to get around the corner of the building at my back. I hear one wet thud that I hope is a bullet connecting with the whippet, and another that must’ve been the radiator of the motor, as it was followed by a long, loud hiss. That’ll teach you for messing with another man’s automobile.
I turn to run, but can’t breathe. The recoil from the pistol has aggravated my injury and my chest is on fire. I give myself to the count of three to get it together and start putting one foot in front of the other. I don’t need to make much distance before I’m hidden by the dust, and it won’t be long before a tremor covers my tracks. I can’t raise my gun arm, and drop my spent pistol. Looking up, I see the mountain loom over me. At that moment, I know three things: if I don’t take the road, I have a better chance of not being followed; I know that trying to grab a car from the slaughterhouse is suicide; and finally, I know where to go for my best chance of survival.
It takes me all night to climb the mountain. The path is relatively forgiving, not too steep over mossy stone, but my condition continues to worsen as I press on. By the time I reach the observatory, I’m half-dead—and worse, my flask has run dry.
There are two vehicles outside the observatory, one civilian, and the other sporting government plates. Maybe they’re just checking in for a report on the latest kaiju research, or maybe they know every blood-soaked detail of Johnny’s operation and this is as close as they’re willing to get. Either way, I doubt the people inside are friendly. Seems no one is these days. I don’t have steel to jimmy the lock on the civilian car, so I smash the window with a rock. The effort saps what little strength I have left, and as I work on hot-wiring the vehicle my vision splits and I’m seeing more wires than is useful. I lay my head on the seat for a moment, but instead of resting my eyes, I slip into the black. Second time out cold in as many days—this is getting embarrassing.
When I come to, I’m sat upright in a chair with my arms bound to my side. Light, unfettered by the presence of dust, streams through the window. I must be getting used to this falling unconscious business, though, as my eyesight returns to normal quicker than before. Within a minute I can see clearly again, but, if I’m honest, I wish I can’t. I let out a short barrage of obscenities, and a cold sweat instantly soaks my bandages as I see, sitting across from me, the patron saint of goons.
His eyes look dull as he stares at me, none of the psychotic intensity of the last time he had me cornered. It’s then I realise the small wet clump of hair on one side of his head, the larger clump on the other side and the brain matter on the wall next to him.
“Detective Murphy, good of you to join us,” a voice says from behind me.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance. Big fella, good to see you again, too,” I say to the stiff winning a staring contest with me. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage—several, actually.”
“Call me Jack, Detective Murphy. As for our mutual friend here, he was just telling me that you’ve been asking about our Dr Jochovic, and that, rather than buy you off or kill you, all he accomplished was piquing your curiosity enough to lead you up here.”
“Talking to you seems to have done him a world of good, Jack. Hey, not to look a gift horse in the mouth here, but can we cut to the chase? Why did you use him to redecorate the walls, but I get to sit here and jabberjaw?”
“Oh, I do like you, Detective! Yes, well, there’s something you can do for us. Something we would appreciate very much.”
“Plait your hair? Bake you a cake?” I retort, feeling close enough to death’s door that I don’t want this guy to start singing carols before I get to go through.
“Kill Johnny Wilson.”
“Oh, I see, you want to take over this sick little operation. I figured the only reason Johnny was involved was because this was beneath you.”
Up until now, Jack’s been wandering behind me; this is the first time I can feel him standing still. Without being able to see his face, I can’t tell what I’d said to provoke a reaction. Indeed, I wasn’t altogether sure what the reaction meant.
“You think this is Mr Wilson’s operation? Oh, no. When he found out about the kaiju, he pushed his way in. He had just enough muscle to keep us from taking care of him, and a wide enough network that if he wanted to put the word out, he would have done some considerable damage. It’s always been our operation. Mr Wilson has just gotten a bit greedy of late, trying to claim the good doctor and his research for himself.”
I struggle to wrap my head around what Jack is saying. “What do you mean when Johnny found out about the kaiju? What would that nickel-and-dime mob boss even do with kaiju research? Unless it tells him how to use them for muscle, or to teach them to turn tricks, I just can’t see it.”
Jack laughs, clearly relishing my confusion. “I was under the impression you had been to the mine… Seen for yourself.”
“Mine? You mean the slaughterhouse, you cannibal psycho?”
“Cannibal? Oh, this is great, you think our protein is people. You really haven’t figured it out, have you? You have no idea!” Jack grabs the back of my chair, tilts me backwards, and drags me through a pair of double doors. “Let me ask you this, why do you think the city is built in the mountains?”
“Kaiju are huge and flat-footed, they don’t travel well over terrain that’s not level. They can’t get past the mountains.”
“Sure enough, that’s what people say. So, have you ever wondered why we need a wall? If the mountains keep the kaiju out, then the wall…”
“Keeps the people in?” I say, starting to wonder how far off I was in my estimations.
“Bingo, that’s the important one. Now, are you ready for the kicker?” Jack rotates my chair, and I find myself looking at the end of the observatory telescope and a scientist scribbling on some papers. “Detective Murphy, Dr Jochovic. Dr Jochovic, Detective Murphy.”
“Doctor, you’re still alive?”
The doctor looks blankly at me, and then behind me, at Jack. He shrugs, nods quietly, and goes back to his papers.
“That’s not the kicker, detective. You need to get quicker. You’re starting to bore me. The good doctor has merely been kept here as a precaution, for his own safety. Now, if you’d be so kind, please, look through the telescope.”
I lean forward best I can to look through the eyepiece and search for anything that would have all of this make sense. At first, I’m surprised by the lack of roving monsters—in fact, the lack of anything at all. The only thing I can make out is the sea of dust and the mountains that break its surface. The mountains form a narrow range that stretches out, connecting those that surround the city to a huge land mass in the distance. I wouldn’t have been able to tell were it not for the markings on the lens, but what is strange is that the landmass in the distance seems to be moving. I adjust some settings on the knobs and dials at the base of the telescope, and through trial and error, I find a way of zooming in. That’s when I see it: the land mass is definitely moving, and it has an eye.
I’m loaned Dr Jochovic’s car, the car I had previously attempted to steal. As such, dust blows in through the broken window, forcing me to wear my mask and goggles on the way back to the bar. I’ve left the observatory having been furnished with a new gun in the glovebox and a stiff in my trunk. I’d been told straight: I go kill Johnny, and when I do, not only is my slate wiped clean, but there’s a bonus in it for my silence. As simple as the terms are, it takes a while for them to sink in. My world has been turned upside down or, more accurately, put on the back of a giant reptilian beast. I feel smaller than ever and dirtied by the task at hand. I think about my reputation as a man that will do anything for a quick buck and cares for nobody but himself. Looking at myself in the rear-view, I wonder if I am that same man.
As I drive through town, I look at the hungry faces of a population that doesn’t know it’s riding on the back of a continent of steak—a continent that the rich had claimed for their own. Every one of them collecting stamps for scraps and being grateful to their benevolent captors; kept in constant fear that, if they leave, they’ll be stomped to death by the giant monster that’s, in truth, keeping them alive. The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach.
When I get to Johnny’s place, I set about what has to be done with cold efficiency. I walk up to the back room, and before the guy on the door has a chance to even think about frisking me, I stick my gun in his ribs. He opens the door and I use his massive frame to conceal myself from view as I walk in and count how much muscle Johnny has left. Besides the bruiser I’ve brought in myself, there’s only Johnny and one other person in the room. My man-with-nothing-to-lose gambit goes to pot when I see Penelope being held at the business end of a letter opener.
As Johnny pulls Penelope in to use as a human shield, I see a red mark under his eye that’s already started swelling, and I realise the scene I just walked in on.
“Got a hell of a cross, don’t she?” I say, pushing the doorman towards his boss and raising my gun to avoid any misunderstandings.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” spits Johnny. “I let you live, and this is how you repay me.”
The goon must have panicked, because as tensions flair, he reaches for his gun. I burn powder and cap him twice in the chest. Johnny drops the letter opener to go for a gun on his desk, but as soon as he loosens his grip on Penelope, she elbows him in the nose and makes a break for it. She’s not quite clear enough for me to take a shot before Johnny regains a hold of her and pulls her back in.
“I am repaying you, Johnny. They sent me here to kill you, but I’m planning on letting you live.”
“Now, why would you do that?” Johnny says, eyeing up the gun on his desk.
“Our friend, Jack, says you have a big enough network to get the word out about the kaiju.”
“Get the word out?” Johnny scoffs. “I only said that to keep the guys upstairs at bay. We all know what would happen if the rubes knew the truth. They’d go into their basements and dig straight down. Our innocuous little infestation would be a bleeding wound within a week.”
“We could organise, open new mines controlled by the people!” I plead as Johnny is trying to drag a struggling Penelope to the back door.
“Not gonna happen. The mines need to be under someone’s control—my control. Anyone else might hit a nerve or make the kaiju itch. All it needs to do is roll over and it will wipe our species out of existence.”
“Our species?”
“Do you know why there’s so much dust? You never even wondered did you. The whole world is dead, you moron!”
There’s no way I’m going to win this thing with reason. My focus quickly switches to stopping him making it out the door with Penelope. He’s small but powerful, which means he’s doing a good job of keeping her between himself and my gun. Then an idea hits me like a streetcar in the dust.
“Penelope, did you know I originally thought this jerk-off’s protein was people? Not an uneducated guess, given his habit for making people disappear and his limited means.” I see Johnny’s temper starts to flair up, and he stops trying to drag Penelope towards the door. “It made sense. That’s why you were slinging it in this dive, because they wouldn’t touch it uptown. But uptown has its own supply, and you were just doing what you could to control those that had nothing.” At this point there’s an audible snarl emanating from the hot-tempered little crook. “You know what Johnny? I had more respect for you when I thought you were a cannibal.”
Like a flash, Johnny loses his cool. He throws Penelope to the ground and makes a dive for his gun. I plug him once in the shoulder and then perforate his pump. He collides with his desk and scatters a box of cigars across the room, one of which lands at my feet.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, picking it up and putting it in my pocket. Then the room is still, Penelope’s eyes meet mine and I see the rest of my life laid out in front of me.
With Johnny dead, I’d held up my end of the deal with Jack, but still, I wouldn’t be holding my breath to see the pay day. Every dirty cop in town is probably staking out my place, if they aren’t already on their way here. I know the truth. The world as we know it starts at the snout and ends at the tail of a giant kaiju. A story so absurd, people wouldn’t believe it even if I didn’t have a government trying to actively discredit me. No, my time in this city is done. I’ve solved the case I was paid to solve, and, in my book, that earns me a vacation. I may be beaten all to hell, but I have a car outside, a lot of road ahead of me and someone special to take the journey with.
Penelope runs over into my arms. She’s warm, and her scent fills my nostrils. I look into her eyes and tell her we’re heading out of town to the observatory, that I’m going to show her the world and something else, a surprise just for her.
She calls me Don, and I smile. We kiss, and the world shakes.