Free Fantasmagoria by Rick Wayne Page B

family.”
    “Okay . . . then I’m wrong.” Jack sat up and the car shook as it shimmied down the road. “That gun,” Jack nodded at the purse at Zeek’s feet, “it’s overkill.”
    “So?”
    “You’re protecting something.”
    “Myself.”
    “You kept the kid, didn’t you? The boy. In the bandages.”
    Zeek turned onto Lexington, a wide road that ran across town and served as the de facto border between gangs. She stared ahead.
    “Or maybe I’m wrong,” Jack said. A trolley car dinged past.
    “A lot has changed.”
    Jack waited for the rest.
    “We started dealing.”
    “Neverod?”
    Zeek nodded. “After you left, LaMana pushed in. We needed some leverage.”
    Jack thought for a moment. “What did he say?”
    “Who?”
    “Pimpernel.”
    “About you?” Zeek asked. “Nothing, really. No one talked about it. I mean, you were--” She stopped.
    “I was what?” Jack insisted.
    “A fucking god,” she breathed. “A real, genuine god of death.”
    Jack looked down. “Ain’t no other kind. If there were, world wouldn’t be so fucked up.”
    “You don’t know that.”
    “I know what I read in the papers.” Jack watched the squat apartments of Adamour roll by. “I know a woman in Riddleville kept her old man drugged in bed for years. She tapped him like a keg and sold it to blood banks all over the Empire. Made a pretty good living apparently, until the guy got some kind of infection and passed it to a bunch of sick people. Killed ’em. I know a guy down in Old Amazonus killed his twin little girls. Then he up and disappears. I know they found a den of Jacka--”
    “I get the point.”
    Jack shrugged.
    “That how you been spending your time, reading the papers?”
    “Ain’t much else to do when you’re waiting to die.”
    “You know, none of that proves the gods aren’t real.”
    Jack looked at the serene statue of Xueyin on the dash. “You didn’t strike me as the religious type, Zee.”
    “Yeah, well being a mom changes things.”
    Jack nodded. “The kid’s all right?”
    Zeek waited. “Yes. You think Pugs will fight?”
    “Possible. If he ordered the hit on LaMana, then he’ll fight.”
    “PUGS?” Zeek snorted. “He’s a lap dog. Always has been. He sits next to whoever’s in charge.”
    Jack shrugged again. “Maybe.”
    “If you thought this was a setup, why did you agree to come?”
    “I don’t know why you keep thinking I have a choice.”
    Zeek scowled.
    “I already fucked up once. Should be dead. I say no to Erasmus, what happens?”
    Zeek thought for a moment. “Zen-ji.”
    Jack nodded.
    “You don’t think you could take him?”
    Jack shook his head. “Not without Rosa.”
    “Did you really lose it?”
    Jack didn’t answer.
    “The ray gun, I mean.”
    Jack looked at Zeek.
    “That’s unfortunate,” she said.
    “Yup.” Jack was stoic. “And it’s her. Not it.”
    Zeek chuckled. “Her? It’s just a machi--Well, we could probably use her right now.”
    With a squeak of the brakes, Zeek stopped the car outside the darkened front of The Colophon, the private club of Pugs Roth, Aminal, bookie, and former lap dog to Nero “The Butcher” LaMana.
    Zeek grabbed her purse and walked around the car as Jack struggled to get out. The cab shook and creaked as he scooted to the edge of the seat and stood with a grunt. He didn’t make eye contact. It was too embarrassing.
    Zeek waited until he was on two feet before walking to the door. It was unlocked. The lights were off, but then night clubs were generally closed in the afternoon.
    Jack peered into the dark and shrugged. “Probably fine.”
    Zeek motioned him in first. “Let’s just give him the message, get the books, and go.”
    Jack walked through the small entryway, passed an unmanned coat check, and pulled open the drapes that kept the main hall invisible to casual passers-by.
    Zeek clung to the door, one hand in her purse. “Is anyone there?”
    Jack didn’t get a chance to answer before the