Come on. Let’s go outside.”
Outside, the Boss lights a cigarette. Takes a deep inhale. Coughs like he swallowed fiberglass insulation. But then the coughs abate.
“Haven’t smoked in fifteen fucking years,” the Boss says. “And tonight I had a nic-fit like you wouldn’t believe.” He looks up, scowls at Mookie and Werth. “What? Not like it’s going to give me more cancer, Christ.”
People pass by. A few stares reserved for this motley crew – giant dude, cancer man, crippled old goat. The Boss spits a nit of nicotine out of his mouth.
“You two are gonna handle this,” he says.
“We need everybody on this–” Werth starts to say, but Mookie interrupts:
“We can handle it.”
“This is about our Southern business,” the Boss says. That’s what he calls their dealings with the Deep Downstairs. Southern business . “She’s been coming at us from that end all year. And the shit that she did to Casimir’s body…” He coughs into a handkerchief which comes away flecked with red. “That’s ritual. You wanna just kill a guy, you shoot him in the head. This means something. Find her. Figure it out.”
“You got it,” Werth says.
“Done,” Mookie says, his blood gone to slush.
9
The Five Occulted Pigments: Cerulean, as discussed. Then: Vermilion, or the Red Rage; Viridian, the Green Grave; Ochre, the Golden Gate; and Caput Mortuum, the Violet Void – or simply, “The Dead Head”. Most claim that these are a myth, but I do not believe it so. I have heard the gobbos in their gutter-tongue – yes, I’ve learned some of their words and sounds and crass gesticulations – speak of the other Pigments in reverent tones. We will not find the other four here in the Shallows, I suspect. But rather, they must exist in the Fathomless Tangle – or below that, in the Ravenous Expanse.
– from the Journals of John Atticus Oakes, Cartographer of the Great Below
Outside the front door, Mookie starts to speak. But Werth pulls him away from the door and strides away. It’s a half-a-block up before Werth finally stops, steps into an alcove between two brownstones, and wheels on Mookie.
The old goat is seething. Caprine nostrils flaring.
“Werth–”
“Don’t you fuckin’ start, Mook. Don’t .”
“I didn’t know–”
“That was her, wasn’t it? At your place the other night. When I called, she was there.” Mookie gnaws a thumbnail, but Werth grabs the hand and yanks it out of Mookie’s mouth. “Look at me and don’t lie. Why’d she come see you?”
“She knew the Boss was sick.”
“What?”
“I dunno how. And then she said…” Don’t tell him, he doesn’t need to know . But Mookie hears the words coming out of his mouth: “Something was coming. Something… big. A game-changer.” He neglects to say she was the one who promised to change the game. He reserves that much loyalty for her.
Werth snarls. “Mookie. This whole thing, this whole fucking thing , is on you. I told you to deal with her. I gave you a good length of leash on this one, didn’t I? I didn’t tell Haversham or the Boss how you were connected to her. I didn’t go after her myself even after the little cunt– ”
Mookie’s hand closes around Werth’s throat.
“– shot me– ” Werth gurgles.
Mookie starts to squeeze.
The blood rushes to Werth’s head, stays there like he’s tying off a water balloon. Mookie feels something jabbing him in the ribs–
A .38 snubnose. Nickel-plated.
Mookie doesn’t care. Keeps squeezing.
Hammer back on the gun. Click .
“Say you’re sorry,” Mookie growls.
“Ggggfffuck you.” Then: “KkkaaaaI’ll shhhhooooot.”
“ Apologize .”
The gun barrel digs harder between Mookie’s ribs. People are passing by, now – a Botoxed cougar with her boy-toy and her Yorkie, an old man with a newspaper under his arm. They see what’s going on and hurry past.
The gun presses harder. The sights biting into his side.
Finally, Werth says,
Outside, the Boss lights a cigarette. Takes a deep inhale. Coughs like he swallowed fiberglass insulation. But then the coughs abate.
“Haven’t smoked in fifteen fucking years,” the Boss says. “And tonight I had a nic-fit like you wouldn’t believe.” He looks up, scowls at Mookie and Werth. “What? Not like it’s going to give me more cancer, Christ.”
People pass by. A few stares reserved for this motley crew – giant dude, cancer man, crippled old goat. The Boss spits a nit of nicotine out of his mouth.
“You two are gonna handle this,” he says.
“We need everybody on this–” Werth starts to say, but Mookie interrupts:
“We can handle it.”
“This is about our Southern business,” the Boss says. That’s what he calls their dealings with the Deep Downstairs. Southern business . “She’s been coming at us from that end all year. And the shit that she did to Casimir’s body…” He coughs into a handkerchief which comes away flecked with red. “That’s ritual. You wanna just kill a guy, you shoot him in the head. This means something. Find her. Figure it out.”
“You got it,” Werth says.
“Done,” Mookie says, his blood gone to slush.
9
The Five Occulted Pigments: Cerulean, as discussed. Then: Vermilion, or the Red Rage; Viridian, the Green Grave; Ochre, the Golden Gate; and Caput Mortuum, the Violet Void – or simply, “The Dead Head”. Most claim that these are a myth, but I do not believe it so. I have heard the gobbos in their gutter-tongue – yes, I’ve learned some of their words and sounds and crass gesticulations – speak of the other Pigments in reverent tones. We will not find the other four here in the Shallows, I suspect. But rather, they must exist in the Fathomless Tangle – or below that, in the Ravenous Expanse.
– from the Journals of John Atticus Oakes, Cartographer of the Great Below
Outside the front door, Mookie starts to speak. But Werth pulls him away from the door and strides away. It’s a half-a-block up before Werth finally stops, steps into an alcove between two brownstones, and wheels on Mookie.
The old goat is seething. Caprine nostrils flaring.
“Werth–”
“Don’t you fuckin’ start, Mook. Don’t .”
“I didn’t know–”
“That was her, wasn’t it? At your place the other night. When I called, she was there.” Mookie gnaws a thumbnail, but Werth grabs the hand and yanks it out of Mookie’s mouth. “Look at me and don’t lie. Why’d she come see you?”
“She knew the Boss was sick.”
“What?”
“I dunno how. And then she said…” Don’t tell him, he doesn’t need to know . But Mookie hears the words coming out of his mouth: “Something was coming. Something… big. A game-changer.” He neglects to say she was the one who promised to change the game. He reserves that much loyalty for her.
Werth snarls. “Mookie. This whole thing, this whole fucking thing , is on you. I told you to deal with her. I gave you a good length of leash on this one, didn’t I? I didn’t tell Haversham or the Boss how you were connected to her. I didn’t go after her myself even after the little cunt– ”
Mookie’s hand closes around Werth’s throat.
“– shot me– ” Werth gurgles.
Mookie starts to squeeze.
The blood rushes to Werth’s head, stays there like he’s tying off a water balloon. Mookie feels something jabbing him in the ribs–
A .38 snubnose. Nickel-plated.
Mookie doesn’t care. Keeps squeezing.
Hammer back on the gun. Click .
“Say you’re sorry,” Mookie growls.
“Ggggfffuck you.” Then: “KkkaaaaI’ll shhhhooooot.”
“ Apologize .”
The gun barrel digs harder between Mookie’s ribs. People are passing by, now – a Botoxed cougar with her boy-toy and her Yorkie, an old man with a newspaper under his arm. They see what’s going on and hurry past.
The gun presses harder. The sights biting into his side.
Finally, Werth says,
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