When Trent faced his guide, he flinched back and reached for his gun. Standing behind the angular guide were four riot gear wearing S.W.A.T. officers with helmets, masks, and automatic rifles in hand, as well as segmented body armor. Trent stayed his hand at the small of his back when he realized that their eyes glowed with golden light. "Guardians," he breathed.
"Yes indeed, and these four have agreed to rush the Pusher's place with you, then get you to the bridge," said V jovially. He tapped one on the shoulder, and the guardian set down a gear bag from its shoulder, pulling out a puffy white winter coat from within. V handed it to Trent, who put it on and raised the hood. He took out his gun and adjusted his wristband so that it was over the coat sleeve. "We won't run into anyone outside here in Frost, except other guardians. There were some judes, but, ah, these guys weren't too happy to see their fallen brethren out and about."
"I can sympathize." The guardians formed a fan in front of Trent and V, leading them to the emptied streets and then south. The buildings on either side were covered in sheets of ice and snow, their windows darkened. Sporadically Trent saw warped, twisted faces staring hatefully out at them in those windows, but the only sounds were of their feet crunching in the snow and the wind gently rolling from west to east.
When they came to a huge intersection that reminded him of Broadway, with giant billboards struggling to shine through thick, clear ice, Trent's chest tightened again. "It's almost like I'm home," he said to V.
"Don't let it fool you, this is just Scumville's way of trying to unbalance you before we get where we're going. Speaking of that, guys? Hold up." The guardians halted in their tracks, sighting down their rifles in each direction carefully. V looked Trent square in the eyes and said, "See this intersection we're in? There's a choice to be made here, Trent. If we go east or west, we can avoid the Pusher's place altogether, and you can get to the bridge and escape the city. If we go south, we'll reach his building in five or six minutes. What do you want to do?"
Trent didn't hesitate. "He has Claire. We go south." V nodded, and once again they followed the guardians south through the deepening snow.
The building looked like a reproduction of a fine hotel, something luxurious that would not have looked out of place in an old film about upper crust Manhattan. The guardians stood facing Trent, clearly awaiting orders. He grinned at V. "You lied to me before," he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.
"Oh?"
"About becoming a guide," Trent said. "I mean, you were an innocent, and then eventually you became a guide. You were never a junkie, like you admitted before."
"And?"
"And these guys used to be innocents too, right?" V nodded. "Thought so. That's why the numbers are always in shift. Innocents can become anything they want, ultimately, just like average people."
"I understand now how you made detective," said V with admiration. "Are you ready for this, Trent?" The officer pulled out his gun once more, raised his energy shield. "Right."
"You four, storm straight, two sweep from straight to left, two to the right," Trent barked, slipping naturally into the mindset for a close-quarters breach operation. "Let's do this!"
The guardians led the charge inside, blasting the front doors apart with gunfire, and all hell broke loose. Upon entry, Trent saw that the ground floor was just a boxy chamber in red carpeting and lounge couches, upon which sat dozens of the Pusher's minions. They seemed unprepared, handfuls falling under the heavy fire of the guardians' assault rifles.
Trent spotted Claire on the far side of the room, housed in a cage with shimmering blue light reflecting several bullets inadvertently fired at her. He would have stormed right for her, but one of the guardians on his right went down as three wasteoids landed on him, stabbing and biting at the few weak points in its armor. Eerily, it remained silent even as the creatures ripped its arms off in a spray of blood, jamming the fractured bone into its sides over and over. Trent shot the creatures repeatedly in the head until they fell, then spun as a stray bullet from a blaster winged his right shoulder.
The battle was over before he even managed to regain his feet, a bruiser stabbing him in the leg after he hit the floor, then turned into so much meat as one of the guardians bisected it with concentrated fire along its midsection. It had been the last minion that didn't flee out into the wintry streets, leaving V to help Trent to his feet. The guide reached down to take the knife out, but Trent knocked his hand away.
"If it comes out, the bleeding will just accelerate," Trent said. He began making his way over to Claire with V while the three surviving guardians stood guard by the entrance. V scampered over to a control panel by the cage on the wall, which also housed a single elevator, pushing in a sequence of numbers. He hit one last button with a flourish, and the energy field disappeared, allowing the barred door to open.
Claire looked just like she had in the Glass House, but with tears of relief blotching her features. She wrapped herself around Trent, who rocked her back and forth, shushing her, stroking her hair. When she finally calmed down enough to pull away, she wiped her eyes and said, "Come on, Trent. We should get out of here."
Trent looked to V, who remained blank-faced, neutral. "It's your call," V said flatly.
"What are you talking about," Claire rasped. "We can go cross the bridge and get out of here! I heard them talking about blowing it up a short while ago, Trent! We need to get out of here now!" She had one hand on his wrist, just below his wristband and badge, and she tugged on him lightly. But Trent didn't budge, instead looking over at the elevator. "Trent?"
"I've got to finish this," he said, pulling his arm away from her grip tenderly. "V, you and the guardians keep her safe here. It's high time I finally met this Pusher." V nodded, putting one track marked arm around Claire's shoulders to keep her with him. Trent went to the elevator, pushed the call button. The doors whooshed open revealing a plush car within, and he stepped inside, keeping his head down until they closed again. There were only two buttons on the panel, T and L. He pushed the T, leaning against the wall as the elevator began its ascent.
His shoulder and leg throbbed painfully, but he caught himself grinning. Trent wondered how many previous visitors to Scumville had gotten this close to their foe.
Chapter Nine
It seemed like at least five minutes before the elevator finally stopped and opened for him, revealing an ornately decorated office. A deep pile red carpeting, much like the lobby, lined the floor. To the sides of the office sat gorgeous Coco Chanel sofas, high end reproductions that no doubt would cost a fortune in the real world. Paintings lined the walls to the left and right side of the room, as well as the wall in which stood the elevator he stepped out of, the car descending once more.
In front of him, fifteen yards away, stood a wide mahogany desk, intricate images of various gods and goddesses carved into the wood for guests to admire, perhaps to ask about so that their host could take the pleasure of pontificating upon their origin or interpretation. And there, on the other side of the desk, illuminated by the Tiffany lamp set on one corner, sat the Pusher.
He was Boggs Postino to a tee. He even wore the same frumpy brown second-hand suit. His hands were folded together under his chin, grinning viciously as Trent blinked in dumbfounded confusion at him. "Whassa mattah," the pudgy gangster asked. "Cat got yer tongue?"
"No," Trent said weakly. "I just, I mean, I expected something like you, but not you exactly."
"Yeah, well, behind all the smoke and mirrors, there's always the guy who puts asses in the seats, you know what I'm sayin'? Now look," he said, flapping one hand palm-up toward Trent in a welcoming fashion. "I realize I had my people giving you a hard time out there. I got to, though. Maintains my control, keeps up appearances. But we ain't gotta be enemies, here," he said, scooting back and getting up from his chair. He started walking around to the side of the desk, leaning on it casually with one outstretched arm. "I could order my guys to listen to you, name you my lieutenant. Hey, I did it once, right?" He shrugged his massive shoulders, as if to say, 'What's the big deal?'
Trent reached back for the gun, but found it gone from his waistband. Postino pulled open a drawer on the other side of the desk and lifted the gun out by the barrel. "How," Trent asked.
"Don't matter now," said the gangster, dropping the gun back into the drawer. "What say you, Jones? We pals?" The Pusher held out a chummy hand, just waiting to be taken in surrender. Trent felt all of the impotent rage he'd bottled up during his career come racing through his veins, all of the pain of his failed marriage, his wasted years trying to pin this cretin to a wall, and it burned like righteous fire in his brain.
His mouth stretched wide, a virulent scream tearing from his throat. It was a sound birthed in the ancient days, when mankind slaughtered his fellow man for coming from Elsewhere, for being Not Our Tribe, a war cry that could be claimed by no deity. He pitched himself forward, hands latching onto the Pusher's throat and propelling him back into and through the floor length windows behind his desk, which looked out over the southern end of the city and the bridge, which stretched off into fog-shrouded blankness beyond. The gangster's shocked expression, mouth an absurd 'O', eyes wide, held as he smashed through the glass, flying out over empty space for a moment before falling out of straight sight. Trent stood near the edge, watching him pinwheel in air as he dropped, flailing like a madman.
The elevator bell dinged behind him, pulling Trent's attention away. He spun to find Claire and V coming toward him slowly, keeping a few feet apart. Trent turned to look down once again, Claire coming up to his right side, V to his left. As the Pusher hit the street below, a concussion wave ripped through the air, columns of fire shooting into the air from the bridge as it began blowing apart.
For a minute, as the closest sections fell apart, he just stood silently watching, letting Claire take his right hand, V his left. "I was never getting out of here, was I," he asked.
"No," said Claire. "You just couldn't let it go. Just like before. That's how you wound up here to begin with." Trent snorted, but nodded as well.
"So, I guess I'm stuck here then."
"For now, yes," said V. Another set of explosions, and more of the bridge leading out of Scumville fell apart.
"For how long," Trent asked, eyes glued to the spectacle below.
"Well," said V, as he and Claire squeezed Trent's hands tight. "Until the bullet finishes passing through your brain."
-Fin