Atom (7 page)

 

‘I found the gent's beetle book on the dredge,' said Maddy as Atom ducked into the car. Turow was sat in back looking beleaguered. Maddy brought up a screen in the rainblurred windshield. ‘It's called Stag Mother, Look at Me.'

Atom scrolled, reading as they peeled out.

‘An alert child could tell you that life shrinks like a low island. Organised religion added Jesus to the food groups. The past is killed off by American marksmen. The obligation to possess money, the forced flowers of convention, replicated controversy, canned gunfire, the ordeal venom of litigation, the dwindling comb-over of western culture - here, written in blood and English, is the hobbling of humanity. Mankind arms the threshold of inspiration lest it be taken by wit.'

‘We've got a tail,' said Atom.

‘Ambition shows on my watch. It is absurd to believe that nature attacks morality - likewise we are unfit to judge the scurrying creatures within our walls. They are alien to us, and so what is the measure of their greatness or their folly? Insects are not costumed. Trends neglect to illuminate them and their souls are not copied. They squirm and quiver for apparently excellent reasons. Their defences grow from within. As our own time passes, guilt is identical to progress. The heat death approaches and my dreams clatter with the ratcheting limbs of an arthropod.'

‘Getting dark. This the general tone?'

‘Later it's devotional and supplicatory - there's a whole chapter on antennae. He calls them lovely whips.'

‘They are,' Atom blurted. He screened his sudden embarrassment behind a makeshift expression of bright complacency. ‘Er here we go then, babe - Beerlight Grand.'

Maddy gave him a withering look and pulled in.

‘Bring the denials?' asked Atom as they entered the station.

‘Thought you had them.'

‘How we both escape without allow cloaks?'

‘I'm not in the mood anyway,' said Maddy. ‘Here's the box.'

Atom popped the door with a one-use squidkey - inside was a regulated cryo cooler. Maddy slid it out and studied the console. ‘Lotta system in here.'

Atom hit the release and steam burst out all over. He flipped the lid to glimpse a white mushroom of compact convolutions, and immediately slammed it. ‘Here's not the place,' he decided. He closed the deposit box and broke off the hardgum key in the lock.

They strode across the concourse, Atom carrying the cooler by the handle.

 

After what he'd seen of Atom in that ventilation shaft, he couldn't risk concluding him with the Eschaton. So Neck had hit off the restraining pin on the Persuader semi, converting it to full-ego. His intent was cranked to the max.

Parked in the alley behind Beerlight Grand, he checked his gun by the light of the headlamps. A tin door banged and opened - he advanced upon it, rain dripping from the Persuader muzzle. Atom emerged with a cooler case. A wedge of dark matter was leaking across his other hand.

‘Last time I saw that, it looked like a glass gun. What's it made of.'

Staring down the barrel of Neck's flaw, Atom recovered fast. ‘Carbon,' he said.

‘Gimme the skull tackle, Atom.'

‘In exchange for?'

‘If you weren't so smart I'd give you some advice. But it's raining. And whatever you are is starting to show. Sorry this has to end inconveniently for you.'

When Nada Neck let rip, he was sucked into the rifle grip like a shrivelling balloon, bones powdering, and spurted from the muzzle as a volley of blood, pulp and water. The guzzler emptied and fibrillated. A pink cloud swirled before Atom. Then the gun fell from the air and clattered to earth.

 

Atom pulled Neck's car into Waits Street as Madison arrived from the opposite direction. Atom jumped cars and they screeched off. ‘Still got that tail,' said Maddy.

‘Who is it?' strained Turow.

‘The Candyman. Eddie Thermidor. Someone who looks really ill.'

A sideparked patrol car sparked up and swerved after.

‘And the dead.'

Madison had left Beerlight Grand with her coat bunched out and the waiting crew had taken it for the squasher. Now Atom popped the hamper and took a swatch. Soft clay sheened with cold sweat. Maddy glanced over. ‘It looks strange, doesn't it.'

‘We are followed by four automobiles and you are discussing -' Turow leaned forward and saw the brain, his rant cut short. His voice became hushed. ‘Is that it?'

‘That's the crap axis alright,' Atom muttered. He felt yellow waves wolfing out of the squasher and staining the air. ‘Funeral sends us to the attic and we're forgotten, but not him. I'll bet this beauty weighs five pounds. You could use it for a sparring pad. Doesn't feel like I thought he would though. The kirlian's like shit.'

They swerved into Singh with a harsh tearing of tyres. The headlights swept across brawls and graffiti.

‘Wouldn't it be? He saw pretty clear. Just screaming on the wrong side of his face.'

‘Depends on his defences, I guess.'

‘Weren't the books his defence?' Madison asked as they entered the Portis Thruway.

‘Art's an exploding sandwich.'

‘Doesn't fail, then. But what if it's fake?'

‘For a fake to be identified, a difference has to be detected, right? But if it's a different work, why's it classed a fake? Because some morons can't distinguish between one work and another?'

‘Oh, you kid.'

The lights of the thruway streaking behind her, she blew him a kiss that unravelled his stitches.

‘Why are we chasin' Dumpy, Mr Candyman? Why's he in the wiseguy's car?'

‘You know, when I look at you, Joanna, I realise how far we've come as a species after all.'

Joanna turned back and gave him a sloppy grin.

‘Fools will assure you they take no sides - wise men that they do. Both lie. Names are captive to record. Don't be captive to your name, my boy.'

‘You want I should bean the car, Mr Candyman?'

‘Use the Ingram - the snub's as useless as posthumous vindication. And a tad more speed, if you please.'

Joanna thought so slow he saw everything around him in timelapse - to his mind they were travelling at four hundred miles an hour. He raised the M11 as slow as an hour hand and started blazing without opening a window - the windshield exploded outward.

‘Hang onto your hat, Joanna,' shouted the Candyman above the scream of the thruway. ‘To be shot, whoever does the shooting, is disagreeable.'

‘Can't my life move any faster?' barked Thermidor from the back seat. At the wheel, Sam ‘Sam' Bleaker didn't reply, but on Brute Parker's advice he regularly practiced a technique to cut down negative inner dialogue and keep his attention present - he did this by stating to himself ‘I am the one who is walking down the beach / shooting the President / punching a nun' or whatever circumstance prevailed.

‘Looka that,' muttered Thermidor, settling back again and gazing out the window. ‘Every face flat as an owl from a lifetime collidin' with dead-end walls. All done out in their neighbour's image. That's a meekness of which I'm disposed to take a tolerant view, you understand. I tell ya the breakup o' states couldn'ta come at a better time. You know sometimes a deal goes bad faster'n bananas but here entropy's an ally for guys who lead my kinda life.' He leaned forward again. ‘Hey Sam, that's a fag car - instead of an airbag it deploys a giant turkish delight. Gate the Eurocar so we got a clear shot, okay?'

Sam gunned the armoured limo. I am the one who is ramming the Renault Megane, he thought.

‘That'll sow cress in their carpet eh, Sam?'

They were both thrown forward as the cars rear-ended.

‘Eh Sam? Hey, Bleaker, throw me a bone here.'

‘I'm concentrating, boss.'

‘I don't care about the state o' your bowels, Sam. This demonic wiseacres just picked up the groceries - when I'm through with him he'll be nuthin' short o' dead and buried in a hill o' beans.'

‘Maybe you can't do that, boss.'

‘I can too shoot him. What's not to shoot? Whattya mean?'

‘Promise you won't get mad.'

‘I promise nuthin. I promise to kick your ass.'

‘Just I heard Atom got shot one time in Fall Street and all hell broke loose.'

‘Use your noodle, Sam. I tell ya no man governs his every breath. Not you, not even me. I'm gonna give ya the same advice somebody gave me many years ago. You can see somethin' in a man's eyes, okay? - hatred, envy, delusions o' power - but it aint no problem so long as there it stays. Him it messes with. Yeah it's a crutch for salvation when you budget your vices like that. Me I got only one eye - and I keep it real clean.'

‘Who gave yuh that kinda advice, boss - Coco the Clown?'

‘Never you mind,' the boss snapped, thinking of his mother. ‘Just bang the wheels out, hotrod.'

Sam ‘Sam' Bleaker drew a pumped Mitsubishi, leaned it out the window and emptied both nostrils. The Eurocar sparked and swerved. I am the one who is wasting ammo, he told himself as he let rip, cranking between each blast.

‘More uses for bones than burial,' said Doctor DeCrow. Streetlight flashed across a face full of menace. ‘Grind slowly the children - defeat is a fine holiday.'

‘Whatever you say, mister,' said the cabby. As captain of an armoured Beerlight cab with a streetplough beak, he knew the delicate balance of power inherent in the enterprise. ‘You want I should put on some music?'

‘Authority takes everything. It nails the puddle of wine to the table.'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘There was once a bad divinity of shell and faith, which stacked heads in human view. The Bible never calms the urge to enforce purity. It falls far short.'

‘I know what yuh mean.'

‘But there's an out.'

‘Yeah?'

‘The Hypostasis tells us Samael is mistaken.'

‘We all make mistakes.'

‘Hell is a land of harmony in its own style. But without force the hierarchy is unsustainable. Take this gun.' DeCrow passed forward a small, oily Beretta 92F automatic pistol - the cab driver took it, glanced in the mirror and sighed deep with resignation, shaking his head. ‘Fire upon the car in front, cabby. I'll retrieve that organ if you and me have to die trying.'

‘You and me?'

‘Pardon - you and I.'

The cabby rung up the gat meter, rolling his eyes and the window simultaneously. ‘Alright, mister - but you just wrecked deniability.' The first round romped home at 1,280 feet per second, licking the limo like a lover's ear.

‘Scare up a couple or ten hotdogs, Benny,' mumbled Blince, biting into a burger.

‘We're in a car, Chief. We're in pursuit.'

‘Think I don't know that?' shouted Blince, thermals roaring off his face. ‘I was escortin' speeders when you were soupin' your first tricycle. Christ, this one o' them burgers you bite down on if you're caught behind enemy lines?'

‘We got gunfire, Chief,' said Benny, peering forward. ‘Shells rocketin' round like Mexico City saucers.'

‘Know what I like about a good old-fashioned patrol stake, Benny? It's like entrapment but without the planning. Those rounds are flyin' in direct violation o' controlled airspace. See the limo? Twist the ignite in that mother you hear the choked-off laughter that greeted the first guy suggested puttin' fins on a vehicle. Money in the goddamn bank.'

‘Givin' it some speed, Chief.'

‘Bet your sweet life.' Blince lit a Hindenburg, drawing deep. He blew smog thoughtfully. ‘I'll tell ya Benny, sponges are the lowest o' the low. Who else's skeleton would you put in your bath and refuse to acknowledge except to scrape off your own dead skin.' He took another draw. ‘And by god, when we can't get one whatta we do? Rustle up a replica.'

‘Eurocar's takin' a beatin', Chief. Rear's draggin' a bumper.'

Blince was frowning aside out the window. ‘What's the purpose o' the human chin, Benny?'

‘Guess a man's face gotta end somewhere, Chief.'

‘Sounds to me like an admission o' defeat. That why we aint evolvin' no more? Chin caps us like some kinda restraint?'

‘You slay me, Chief.'

‘Speakin o' which - I know you got ammo issues, Benny, but it's stone obvious you can't let your prejudices meddle with your duty here. Out your Ithaca, keep your heart behind your badge and don't ditch your guard.'

Blince spoke from experience. Back in cop training the Academy had sprung an actor firing Uzi blanks at the class to provide a subject for subsequent recall - in a lightning response, Blince had stood with a real Uzi and blown the actor away.

Driving one-handed, Benny drew his flaw and stuck his head into the night. He levelled at the studded cab and pulled. With no recoil and the report torn away by the wind, he had no idea whether the gun had discharged.

Something creased the roof over DeCrow's head as he watched the meter - the cabby had fired 15 rounds and slapped in a fresh magazine, releasing another volley. Sam ‘Sam' Bleaker was whipped across the arm, booming a fluke shot through the rear shield of the Eurocar and onward. Turow was shining in fear as something whanged against the panelling. He gibbered, weak and shrill. ‘My nerves have rights - please let us slow down.'

Maddy glanced in the mirror and saw the starflare out a radiatored subgun. She went for a switch and deployed a cloaking system. Modern cloaking devices worked on a principle of denial allow. Unlike thermoptic camouflage, the denial cloak made a reading of whatever the onlooker could not afford to believe and sent out a microwave pulse mimicking that object. The onlooker refused to perceive it. But cars were a problem - not only were they too big for some people's psychological blind spot but they moved too fast to focus a sensor on the onlookers. Maddy had solved this by making her car into a subject of universal denial in actuality, not disguise. By hitting the switch, she flipped the car's propulsion to a cheap electric motor in the rear without any reduction in speed. For the pursuers something strange happened to Maddy's car. First the engine cut out - then the vehicle itself faded and vanished.