Читать книгу Selfish Beings - J Morris L - Страница 13

Kaarl had sent an email to Lucas Alhberg, a twenty-five-year-old native of Sweden he had developed a firm friendship with online. On paper, Lucas’s life was quite pathetic; he was overweight, unemployed and living in his parents’ basement. On the web, however Lucas was a legend. His hacker tag XXXPLC17 (or ‘Explicit’ to those unfamiliar with ‘leet speak’) was infamous and he and his clan of fellow miscreants, fLaW, were widely known for bringing out the best quality pirate movies not yet released in the cinemas. Beyond that they also had a vast list of other technologically brilliant and shady accomplishments to their collective names; ones that would land them all in prison for a very long time if they were common knowledge.

Lucas’s uncle by marriage had been a resident of Perdition for over a decade. While society and his victims had viewed him as a brutal monster, Lucas had loved and respected his uncle. Seeing some of his mischievous nature in the boy, the feeling had been reciprocated. Although his life had ended in a hail of police gunfire, and he was still known better as the Beast of Boras, Lucas had nothing but fond memories of the man. Kaarl had, on a whim, tracked him down a few years earlier for a chat about their mutual acquaintance on Earth.

As soon as he’d worked out the basics of his plan, Kaarl told Lucas about his true nature and asked for help if he was chosen to lead Perdition’s charge. Naturally, Lucas had been very sceptical at first and believed Kaarl had been experimenting with hard drugs. His one-line reply had said as much: “Cocaine and Keyboards do not mix”.

When Kaarl responded with details that no one but Lucas or his uncle would know the hacker was convinced and in many ways excited. Always an open-mined individual, he had very little concern at finding out his online friend was actually a young Demon who might be visiting soon and needed a little illegal help on arrival.

He had promised Kaarl assistance with getting valid identities and anything else required. The Demon in turn had promised him money and a place in his organization when it was established. Lucas had already created lives for the trio and attached a list of birth details, social security numbers and other information when Kaarl emailed him from the Omni. He had also included the addresses of businesses in the immediate area that would be able to take photos for their IDs and made arrangements for a temporary solution to their banking needs. With the twins suitably impressed, Kaarl stole a few hours’ sleep to overcome his realm-lag.

When Kaarl woke sunlight was streaming through the windows of the hotel room. He walked out to the balcony and let it touch his skin for the first time. Too bright to look at directly, he instead closed his eyes and basked in its warmth. The red that played across the back of his eyelids reminded him of Perdition’s Sky of Fire but the sunlight felt so much better.

‘He looks like one of those guys in the prison movies,’ Vetis said to her sister. ‘Fresh out after twenty.’

In some ways I feel that, thought Kaarl.

‘It must be breakfast time,’ said Verin, reaching for the phone. ‘I’ll call room service.’

‘Call a cab,’ Kaarl told her. ‘Breakfast can wait; we have a bank account to fill.’

‘It’s like you don’t trust us,’ said Vetis. ‘We told you the money won’t be a problem. You’ve wanted to come here for so long;, why rush straight into the work?’

‘Because I want to stay here,’ Kaarl told them, ‘and I know you do as well. That means we need to perform. Once things are up and running we’ll have time to do whatever we want but I don’t feel comfortable sightseeing just yet. If we let Lucifer down—’

‘Breakfast isn’t sightseeing,’ replied Verin, ‘but fine. We’ll make bank so you can avoid an aneurism, then we are getting something to eat or you’ll have a mutiny on your hands.’

As the taxi fought its way through Los Angeles’ traffic, Verin and Vetis sat fidgeting with their hair and suffering the driver’s unwanted attention. The sunlight and smog gave everything an unusual tint as Kaarl watched the Mortals going about their business. Jogging, shopping, and playing with their children. There were no children in Hell and Kaarl’s eyes lingered on them for a reason other than novelty value; their smiles were genuine.

In the more impoverished areas they passed Kaarl gained a true appreciation of the gap between the rich and poor on Earth. Aside from a select few of the Damned, who enjoyed larger residences for their contributions to evil, housing in Perdition was relatively uniform. The average stone house in Hell made many of the dwellings he saw look like hovels. There were even people in the streets, and not just because they were too drunk to find their way home. They were actually living there.

They were soon on the 101 and Kaarl was amazed by the sheer amount of vehicles streaming past. In the Mortal realm it seemed everyone had their own metallic beast to prowl around in and some were much nicer-looking than others. Vetis caught him staring at a red Ferrari passing their taxi.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘It definitely makes an impression,’ replied Kaarl.

‘Cars like that were purposely designed and built so fat, balding men could get girls like us,’ said Verin when she saw what they were looking at. ‘And good luck to that peasant; his one is at least four years old. When we’re rich we’ll get something better, and black of course.’

Kaarl didn’t really care what colour it would be or how old; he just wanted one.

After leaving the 101 the scenery was markedly different from the city. Liquor stores had decreased in frequency, replaced by cafes and boutiques, and the people looked more healthy and prosperous than many of the ones he had seen earlier. As the commercial gave way to the residential he noticed much larger sections and more expansive grassed areas. The tightly packed buildings had been replaced with grander looking homes and the vehicles also seemed to be much newer and more expensive. Calabasas, a city of Los Angeles County, was a respite for the wealthy. In an area known as the Bird Streets the taxi came to halt outside large wrought iron gates with gold painted initials “E.W.” in the centre.

A security camera on the concrete pillar beside the gate monitored their every movement as the trio paid their substantial fare for the journey. Through the gates they could see a large, well maintained lawn and a white mansion with a pillared front. The driver barely noticed Kaarl paying through the bullet-resistant glass receptacle; instead trying to catch a glimpse of what lay under the twins’ ridiculously short dresses as they got out. While the taxi was leaving Kaarl strode up to the intercom set into one of the pillars and pressed the button.

‘Hello, we are here to see Mrs Wilkinson,’ he said.

‘Mrs Wilkinson does not accept uninvited solicitations,’ a man’s voice replied a few moments later. ‘She has no appointments today.’

‘I understand,’ said Kaarl. ‘Could you please inform her that we are friends of Franco Bertelli and we have information about her husband’s disappearance? We had considered going straight to the police but some of the details don’t make sense. We’re hoping she could help us clear them up.’

‘A moment, please,’ the voice said.

Kaarl and the twins waited for five minutes before the gates swung open.

‘Mrs Wilkinson will see you if you’d like to make your way up to the house.’

On the trip up the driveway Kaarl knelt down to touch the grass, smiling as the tips of it brushed against his palm.

‘Stop that,’ chided Verin. ‘It’s creepy and there are probably cameras on us.’

‘I just wanted to know what it feels like,’ replied Kaarl. ‘I’ve only seen it on a screen or out the window of the taxi.’

‘If you stop and touch every new thing in this realm you are going to end up in prison or intensive care,’ Vetis told him as she dragged Kaarl towards the mansion.

At the large oak doors the trio was greeted by an elderly gentleman in butler’s livery. He was thin and grey-haired with noble features and his alert, dark brown eyes regarded them through wire frame spectacles. Before he could speak to them, they heard a woman’s voice from deeper inside the house.

‘That will be all, thank you, Jeremy; I will escort them from here.’

As Jeremy was leaving, no doubt to complete other tasks in the house, Elizabeth Wilkinson appeared at the entranceway. A regal woman in her early sixties, she was dressed in a white blouse and full length grey skirt with white high heeled shoes. She wore a tasteful amount of unpretentious yet obviously expensive jewellery. Although her hair was completely grey and her face showed the marks of decades, there was no doubt that in her prime the woman had been a ravishing beauty.

Elizabeth was momentarily struck by the man standing before her. Had she been thirty-five years younger she was sure she could have easily taken him from the two blonde harlots accompanying him. Her brief moment of lust disintegrated when she remembered what the trio wanted to talk about.

‘Please follow me to the drawing room,’ Elizabeth said.

As Kaarl and the twins followed Elizabeth through the house he couldn’t help but notice the similarities it had to its owner. The decor was understated yet elegant; it had an aura of extensive wealth without being overly showy. The stained oak floors were polished to a mirror shine and old movie posters were framed and placed at intervals along the walls to break the monotony of its neutral off-white tone. The smell of fresh cut flowers was another new experience for Kaarl but he managed to refrain from touching them.

Elizabeth had been married to Chester Wilkinson, a famous Hollywood financier during the roaring sixties and most of the hippie-infested seventies. Chester’s wealth had been passed down over generations until finally it had been left to Chester, the last of the Wilkinson legacy. Rather than resting on his ancestors’ accomplishments, he had seen the opportunities in cinema and moved to Hollywood to take advantage of them. In Chester’s career as a film financier he had made very few poor choices and therefore added an enormous amount to the Wilkinson coffers.

He had met and married Elizabeth in 1970. At the time she was an aspiring actress with no real talent beyond being heart-achingly beautiful and knowing an extremely wealthy man when she saw one. In 1978 Chester had disappeared, news which had shocked the close-knit creative community at the time. After an extensive investigation it was assumed, from what little evidence there was, that some of his business dealings had angered the Mafia or another crime syndicate. Nothing concrete could link anyone to his disappearance and there was no body to be found. There was enough of his blood in his car, however, to suggest that Chester was no longer among the living. As per his last will and testament, his entire fortune was bequeathed to his grieving widow Elizabeth, who had orchestrated her husband’s death with the help of her lover Franco Bertelli, a handsome man in the lower ranks of the Mafia.

Elizabeth ushered the trio into the drawing room and followed behind them, pulling the heavy sliding screen doors shut. As soon as they were closed she spun around.

‘What is this?’ she asked. ‘I’m pretty sure all of Franco’s “friends” were at his funeral six years ago. I didn’t see you three there. Whatever it is you think you know about my husband’s death is wrong.’

‘Who said “death”?’ asked Verin. ‘We said disappearance. If you want to go down that road, though, we know you had Franco whack your husband and we know where the remains are.’

‘Finding what’s left of his body would prove nothing,’ Elizabeth said with a sneer, ‘and the man you claim I asked to kill him won’t be talking to the police any time soon, what with being dead and all.’

‘Franco kept a diary,’ replied Kaarl. ‘Insurance in case someone decided to turn on him. That’s standard practice for a hit man and your little caper is in his one. We know where it is and he gave us enough detail that we can implicate you even without it.’

‘This is a lie,’ Elizabeth hissed. ‘Franco never told another living soul about what happened.’

Kaarl smiled at her and Elizabeth found her mind drifting again to the things she would be doing with and to him if her body was younger and did not creak so much.

‘You are right about one thing, Mrs Wilkinson,’ Kaarl said. ‘True to his promise, Franco never told another living soul about what you asked him to do.’

‘But that’s sort of the problem,’ added Verin, ‘We aren’t exactly living souls.’

A smirk started to form on Elizabeth’s face at that comment but it was quickly replaced by an open-mouthed gape. Behind Kaarl, the twins shifted back into their true forms. They kept the black dresses and breast enhancements, but instead of two beach-blonde bimbos, a pair of green-eyed, black-haired, red-skinned Demonettes stood behind Kaarl, smiling with razor-sharp, perfectly white teeth. Elizabeth fell backwards on to the floor, bruising herself on the solid stained oak. She stared, unable to speak for a few moments until the twins transformed back into their earthly disguises.

‘What…what are you?’ Elizabeth stammered.

‘We are but humble employees of a being you are soon going to meet,’ said Kaarl. ‘You don’t have long left in this world and after you die you are going to be seeing a lot more of our kind where you’re going.’