Darling James

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It snowed on Boxing Day, and Malossini decided to shut down the House of Oddities early. He sent me to pick up the day’s take.

“And there better be something,” he snapped. “Otherwise we’re both going to Casualty.”

“Uh…why, Boss? You ain’t feeling too good?”

“Arsehole. To get my boot out of your arse!”

“Yes, Boss.”

The House had a variety of wild animals on view that’d be there one day and then suddenly gone—Malossini had a going side business providing skins for people who wanted exotic furs for their coats—but mostly visitors used the House to meet illicit lovers or buy drugs, and that’s where the real money came from.

I’d been there often enough, and I didn’t like it…didn’t like the poor animals put on display in tanks or cages that for the most part were too small for them, so I avoided the upper floors as much as possible. And I never went into the cellar, where the sick ones were kept until they recovered or died and the healthy ones waited to give up their pelts.

I hadn’t seen the attraction Malossini had labelled “snake boy,” and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I’d heard about him, about his snake eyes, which were probably contact lenses, his patterned skin, and the c**k concealed in a sheath at his groin. Malossini had done things like that before—taken some poor kid off the street with promises of a good home or even better drugs, then tattooed him or did some surgical modifications, and then kept him so drugged up he didn’t realise what he’d given up. They didn’t last long, and a couple of times I’d been given the job of disposing of the bodies. I’d contacted someone in NS3, and family was notified, minus the gruesome details. Sometimes they were grateful. Sometimes they couldn’t care less.

Either way, it was just plain sad.

When I arrived at the House of Oddities, the doors were unlocked and no one stood by the front counter to collect the fees and present the visitors with the brochures which described what the House offered.

But there was something about the atmosphere—too quiet, too still. In spite of myself, I shivered.

I’d have to go through each floor and make sure no one was lingering. There were alcoves that made it easy to hide.

But the place was unoccupied. In addition, Twitchell and Simmons were nowhere to be found.

I drew the gun I carried and went down to the cellar. It was cold and dank, the walls slimy with moisture. There were numerous small rooms, some the men used if they needed to lie low for a time, but some that reminded me of the House of Pain on Dr Moreau’s island.

At the far end of the cellar was the largest room, where the unfortunate exhibits were kept.

As I approached that room, I could see the door had been smashed in. In addition, I could tell from the shattered pieces of wood clinging to the hinges that an extremely heavy weight had forced the entry.

I took a single, cautious step in and nearly gagged when the almost overpowering stench of s**t and piss, illness and misery hit me. I swallowed and cast a quick glance around the room. Living creatures had been kept here in cages, glass tanks, or partitioned spaces, but at this point, nothing alive was there.

That included Twitchell and Simmons.

I’d never seen a look of such abject terror as there was on Twitchell’s face. Not three feet away from him was the headless body of a huge yellow Burmese python.

Yeah, I’d look that terrified if a snake that size was anywhere near me.

How was Malossini going to react to the death of this particular snake? He’d bought it on a whim years ago, to celebrate his first big score—I’d done a bit of research before I started this operation—and although Malossini had eventually lost interest in it, he never got rid of anything he owned. After eight years, and at almost twenty feet, it had proved to be a decent enough attraction for the House of Oddities, drawing in viewers, especially at feeding time. People might express revulsion, but that didn’t stop them from avidly watching the snake consume its prey. Its popularity waned when the snake boy was brought in, and it was pretty much relegated to the cellar.

On the other side of the snake, Simmons lay with his chest ripped open and…Oh, Christ, his heart had been stuffed obscenely in his mouth.

I backed out of the room, nearly tripping over the remnants of the door, then jogged up to the ground floor and called George, my connection in Burdon’s organisation.

“I’m gonna need some help. Can you come down to the House of Oddities?”

“You got it, Gino.”

Then I called Malossini. He didn’t like me to act on my own.

“Goddammit, can’t you do nothing right?” he snarled, and I wondered what I’d interrupted.

I didn’t tell him he’d given me a black eye and a swollen jaw to get that point across.

“Okay, I’ll have Cooper check it out.”

“Right, Boss. But what about the—”

He slammed down the phone before I could say anything about the python.

Cooper arrived at the House of Oddities about ten minutes after I called, which gave me time to lock the doors and gather the day’s take, only about fifty pounds, surprisingly good for such a miserable day.

Cooper thought he was hot s**t since replacing Jones, Malossini’s previous number two. Did he even realise how many that made in the four plus years that I’d been there? Did any of them realise I was behind it?

He was all swagger and bombast when he arrived, especially when he saw how “frightened” I was.

That lasted until he stood in the same room with Twitchell and Simmons, and then he shuddered and retched and backed away.

“God in heaven! What happened here?”

“Someone killed Twitch and Simmons, and the boss is gonna be some mad when he hears about his snake.”

“Arsehole.” He sent me an unfriendly look. “Where are the cans of petrol?”

“Twitch kept ‘em in the room off the stairs. What’re you gonna do, Mr Cooper?”

“Burn it.” His voice was harsh. “Burn it to the sodding ground.” He went to the room and took two cans of petrol. “Get the rest of them.”

The rest consisted of four. I plodded up the stairs behind him.

“What’s the boss gonna say?”

“It’s my call. He’ll go along with it. When he’s out of the way, I’ll be boss, so just you remember that.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Goddammit, don’t call me that!”

“But you said—”

“Never mind what I said. The boss’d hand me my balls on a plate if he thought I was getting above my station.”

“Sorry.”

He grunted. “Okay, get started, Good-for-Nothing.”

“Huh? Started doing what?” It was good to be known as being thick as two short planks.

“I don’t know why the boss keeps you around. Spill the petrol in the corners and across the floor. And be quick about it.”

“Uh…Okay.” I unscrewed the cap and began pouring out the petrol, humming an old ballad as I drew designs on the floor. “Pretty. Don’t it look pretty, Mr Cooper?”

“Christ, you really are good for nothing. I can get this done quicker without you.”

I scrunched up my face, making it look like I was about to cry.

“Get out of here.”

“But you said—”I repeated.

“Never mind what I said. Leave the cans and get back to the boss. And tell him I’ll bring him up to speed as soon as I finish here.” He picked up a can of petrol and started toward the lift.

“Okay, Mr Cooper.” I had the feeling what he intended to tell Malossini would likely see the end of me. I drew my gun and shot him.

He fell, the petrol spilling all around him, mingling with the pool of blood.

“Nice shooting.” George stood in the doorway.

“Ta.”

It took us about twenty minutes to set the scene. The House was an old wooden building, and the floor and walls would go up like tinder. The cellar wouldn’t burn, and even if the four floors collapsed down on it, with a little judicious searching, the police would find Twitchell and Simmons.

As for Cooper…George would make sure he just disappeared, taking with him the cocaine.

* * * *

Malossini had been livid. “Where’s the wolf?”

“Huh?”

“The wolf, the wolf.” He smacked me across the mouth, cutting my lip. A trickle of blood ran down my chin. “She was beautiful. Another six months or a year and her coat alone would have brought me a fortune.”

“I didn’t see no wolf. Like I told you, just the snake was there.”

“And the snake boy?”

I shrugged and held my sleeve to my lip to absorb the blood.

He swore, first in English, then in Italian, and finally in Greek, his great-grandmother’s language. “You f*****g keep quiet about this.”

“Okay, Boss.”

He called his sister to meet with him.

She took in my swollen lip. “It’s a good thing Bruno has other things to attend to. He wouldn’t like you hitting his cousin’s son.”

“Gino works for me. I treat him as I see fit. And he’ll make sure Bruno doesn’t see him until his lip heals. Right, Gino?”

“Sure, Boss.” I made my eyes wide and scared. “Whatever you say.”

He nodded in satisfaction, then turned to his sister. “What do I do? The cocaine is gone, the House is gone. I don’t even have that f*****g snake boy no more.”

“Do nothing,” she advised. “Twitchell and Simmons have been bringing you to the notice of the police too much for my liking. So far you’ve been able to avoid being brought up on any kind of charges, but they’re watching you, my brother, and so is Burdon.”

Malossini shivered. If ever he had enough sense to be afraid of anyone, it would be Burdon.

“But the cocaine?” He knew his payments to Burdon had come up short too frequently.

“Cooper is gone, and he took the drugs with him. Tell Burdon you have your men searching for him, and that when…emphasise when…you have him, you’ll send him piece by piece to Burdon. Meanwhile, file a claim with your insurance company. Use that money to appease Burdon.”

* * * *

But now, it seemed, the insurance company was launching its own investigation into the fire that had destroyed Malossini’s House of Oddities. Once they discovered it had been arson and not faulty wiring as it was first thought, the s**t would really hit the fan.