PART TWO: TO HELL AND BACK

Chapter One: That Shark Smile

Stepping out of that hospital, even into the baking, stinking air of the city, was so much better than the stifling smell of death that had haunted the dirty corridors of the hospital. As I walked down the steps, passing traumatised nurses and those patients who had decided that they'd rather sit out here and die in their greens enjoying the heat than in those twisty, haunted corridors, I took deep greedy breaths of it. Even through the foreboding stench of the dying city, I could smell that sweet night perfume – an intoxicating scent, fresh, invigorating.

It died under a cloud of exhaust fumes as a huge, sleek, black Mercedes – all modern glass, brilliantly polished chrome, one way tinted windows – came to a casual stop at the foot of the steps. The driver's window slid down as if it's owner didn't have a care in the world. I stopped and watched.

The face that revealed itself wasn't instantly familiar, but we did know each other. Slick black hair, perfect tanned skin, perfect white teeth in a shark's smile. A predator. I had a horrible feeling I knew who the prey would be.

He pushed open the door and stepped out on to the sidewalk. Another man left the passenger's side. Both were imposing figures in immaculate, and expensive, black suits, topped off with long black businessman's coats that hung open and hovered just inches off the floor. I got the impression that the guy with the shark smile was dressing to impress. His lackey was dressing with an entirely different motive in mind. That long black coat made him look as wide as a barrel.

I knew a hired goon when I saw one.

"Mr Payne?" the man with the shark smile asked, all charm. His voice was like molten chocolate. "FBI agent Troy Novak. I believe we've spoken. Can I offer you a ride?"

He turned to the Merc. I shrugged.

"Where are you headed?"

"Wherever you want to be, Mr Payne," Novak chuckled. "This rides on us."

"The warehouse district in Wallabout," I replied curtly. "No funny stuff."

Novak pulled on expression of fake shock. That shark smile lay beneath it throughout, like an unwanted ghost.

I circled the car. The lackey opened the front door for me and I stepped inside, as if I had a choice. I could have made a run for it, but it would have been pointless. These guys would have popped me in the back as soon as I'd spun around. They had me cold – maybe, for now. I had a few suspicions anyway.

The goon slammed the door shut and calmly locked it. I strapped myself in as Novak took a seat next to me and started up the ignition. The goon sat down behind me. Surrounding me. I glanced around the car briefly, surveying my chances. If the lackey in the back seat decided to pop a bullet in the back of my head here, he'd do it easy. I frowned and stared hopelessly out the window as the car drove off.

Novak had cut past the small talk as soon as we'd passed the car park. Quiet jazz played on the car radio. He ignored it. "You made quite a mess back in that theatre, Mr Payne."

"Wasn't me," I retorted. "George Harvard Desoto. Formally a big mob man. Don't know if you're familiar with him."

"I know you certainly are," Novak said.

"I was a cop, of course I was. He's knocked up a good few homicides over the past few years."

"I wasn't referring to that. I was talking about that little incident five years ago, Mr Payne. You made him what he was today. In fact, I'd bet a lot of the flotsam clogging up this damn city's underworld was your fault in some way. You've caused a lot of trouble. You're a lucky man for stumbling over stuff that didn't concern you and making friends in high places." Novak leaned in close and I could smell his expensive cologne. For a moment he took his eyes off the road. "But you're running out of friends, Max. The Inner Circle's a thing of the past. There's a new world order growing up in this town. They think you're dispensable. Fact is, they think it might be better to dispense with you entirely."

I glanced in the mirror. There was a gun sliding through the gap between the seat and the headrest. I felt it's cold edge against the back of my neck. Pretending not to have noticed it, fighting to keep the gooseflesh on my arm down, I turned my attentions to the city flashing past the window.

"Bad things are happening out in the night, Max," Novak continued. "I've got a lot of crap to clean up. This whole Miasma mess is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better, tonight will only be the beginning. And you and that bitch, you're both part of it. Do you understand?"

I pretended not to hear. Let him follow the line, let something slip. Outside we were driving through a classy shopping district – all tree-lined avenues, glass shop fronts with expensive perfume ads, rich-looking couples, three-storey thirties blocks. They were just the width of a glass window away, but their delicate white lights might well have been on the other side of the Atlantic.

Novak sighed. "Max, please. I just want a friendly chat. I don't want this to turn nasty."

"Then answer some questions," I balked back suddenly. "Just what the hell do you know about the Inner Circle? Who's this 'new world order?' What's all this got to do with Miasma?"

"I thought you had all the answers, Max," he said, prissily. "Just how far did you stick your nose in? Maybe my superiors are paranoid and you know nothing. Which makes you all the more dispensable."

Outside we were cruising close to the river, entering a more industrial area. Moonlight shimmered on its murky surface. Not too far now.

I turned to him and smiled. "Maybe I am," I said. And I bent down, my eardrums seemingly blown out by the gunshot that explodes just past my ear, spraying glass out into the night sky. I'm assaulted by an explosion of chaos and noise – screeching tyres, breaking glass, Novak's stunned cries, the soft jazz, and beneath it all the ringing in my ears. I grabbed the seat control and yanked it towards me, pushing back as hard as possible. The goon in the seat behind cried out as his legs were crushed beneath the seat. Another shot punctured through the roof with a noise like a blade punching through cardboard.

Novak, one hand on the wheel, desperately trying to take control of the Merc, was reaching into his black coat for a silenced pistol. I swung up the lock on the door and threw my body against it hard, just as he yanked out the gun. Three fireballs shot past my head, three brief flashes and three short, sharp 'ping' noises, as I hit the road and rolled to a stop. The wind was knocked out of my hard as the car roared past, a screaming black streak in the night, and suddenly I was lying on the road beneath the stars, deafened by the gun shot, blinded by the car's rear lights, grazed, but alive.

A short way down the road the car was spinning a hundred and eighty degrees, one door still swinging open. I reached for my gun. The headlights flashed into life, an explosion of white light that blinded and disorientated me as the car roared into life. It was coming straight for me.

I rolled aside. From somewhere in the car Novak cried out, "You can't run, Payne! You bastard!" Then his flash Merc and his shark smile drove off down the highway, past the warehouses and run down dockland buildings.

I wasn't about to wait for him to come back. I pushed myself up to my knees and ran for the steel boundary running along the side of the road. As the tail lights flashed up, I hopped over the side and slipped down into the warehouse complex below.

To be continued...