The Devil's Graveyard (31 page)

‘That depends on you.’ He was standing directly between her and the door into the corridor, blocking off any futile attempt at escape.

‘I really would like to live,’ Emily said smiling desperately at him, in the hope of convincing him that she was a warm and lovely person who deserved to be spared.

‘Yeah, I bet you would. And you can, if you play ball.’

‘I’ll play ball.’

‘Good. Y’see, you can’t win this competition.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cause someone else has to win it. If you win, a lot of people will die, includin’ you. I can’t allow that to happen.’

Emily held back the urge to blurt,
‘But I have to win. For my mom.’
She opted instead for afar more measured response: ‘Okay. So what do I do?’

‘Leave. All I gotta do is make my boss think you’re dead. So, as long as you get the hell out of here and never come back, I can convince him of that.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Nope. Not quite. I’m gonna need a photo of you lookin’ dead. So we’re gonna have to mock up a crime scene. I got some of those little packets of ketchup in my pocket. I’m suggestin’ you lie on the floor an’ we splatter some ketchup on your neck and make it look like I shot you. You cool with that?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘No.’

‘Okay. Is this what you did with the other finalists?’

‘No. They’re dead for real.’

Emily was stunned. ‘Oh my God! Seriously?’

‘Yep. Not killed by me though. Another guy, name of the Bourbon Kid, killed ’em. I haven’t worked out yet why he didn’t kill you. But he will if he sees you alive.’

‘Is he a creepy-looking guy dressed all in black?’

‘Usually. You seen him?’

‘A couple of times, yeah. He was pretty rude to me earlier. And he knew the show was fixed.’

‘Yeah, well, count yourself lucky I got to you before he did.’

‘So who are you?’

‘Name’s Gabriel. I work for God.’ He stood over her and unscrewed the silencer from the muzzle of his handgun. It really did look like he had decided not to kill her. He seemed a lot nicer than he looked, too, although Emily recognized she was probably clutching at straws. Or pissing in the wind. Or something. After all, he’d killed the security guards outside, hadn’t he? With what even Emily could see was a pretty small gun once the silencer had been removed.

‘That’s a tiny little thing, isn’t it?’ she remarked.

Gabriel smiled. ‘I can hardly go chargin’ round a hotel blowin’ people away with a shotgun, now can I? Small pistol like this is ideal for a discreet hotel-room job.’ Then, as if fearing he sounded rather timid, he added, ‘I got plenty of hardcore shit stashed elsewhere if I need to take down a fuckin’ army, y’know.’

‘Uh – okay. I was just saying, is all. It’s kinda cute-looking – for a gun. Did you really just – uh – kill those two security guys with that?’

Gabriel looked momentarily surprised, as if he’d forgotten about them. ‘Shit, yeah. Can you help me get the bodies in here? I can’t leave ’em outside. Someone might see ’em.’

‘Sure. Why not?’ Emily could hardly refuse. She still hadn’t had time to process properly her thoughts about this guy. He was a murderer, and for that reason, and that reason alone, she was going to do what he said. Whether he was a good guy who could genuinely be trusted was still open to debate.

Gabriel walked over to the room door and opened it. Emily watched him look both ways along the corridor. The dead security guards were splayed on the floor right in the middle of the corridor. Not exactly discreet, although there was barely a drop of blood on either body. The logic of using the small handgun had really paid off. Gabriel bent down, grabbed the nearest one under his armpits and, walking backwards, started dragging him back into the room with him. Once inside, he tugged the body Emily’s way.

‘See if you can get him in that closet,’ he suggested, nodding at where she had been hiding only minutes earlier.

She took hold of the body from behind, her arms under its armpits and her hands locked together in front of its chest, and started dragging it towards the closet. It was an almighty struggle for her to move the dead weight at all, and she succeeded only in laying it flat out on its back and backing herself into the closet.

Emily had never touched a corpse before, let alone dragged one across a hotel room floor. This was definitely not how she had seen her weekend mapping out. Just holding a corpse in her arms smashed home the reality of it all. By taking part in this, she was technically an accessory to murder. Collaborating with a killer was not Emily’s idea of a good time. Regardless of what Gabriel said and who he claimed to be working for, he had still killed two innocent men. What was to say he didn’t really intend killing her at some point?

Gabriel disappeared through the door and back into the corridor to fetch the other security guard. At last, Emily had a few seconds in which to think about the options he had given her. Head home and lose out on the million-dollar prize money on offer and the chance to be everything she had ever wanted to be, or stay and be killed.

She could see that it wasn’t really a fair offer at all. Even though this man had been polite and had offered her a chance to live, he was asking her to give up her dream and any chance she might have of making her dying mother’s last days as painless and peaceful as possible.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the steam iron on the shelf in the closet. If she wanted not only to appear in the final of this show, but also to stay alive, she was going to have to use it. This was her last chance. If she could knock Gabriel out with the iron, then she could get Nigel Powell and the police to protect her from anyone else trying to kill her. She could still win the show. And her mother could still get the care that she needed.

Fuck it
, she thought. It was worth the risk.

By the time Invincible Angus returned to the Hotel Pasadena, he’d dreamed up at least ten new ways to torture, maim, and eventually kill Sanchez and Elvis. By the way he figured things, those two fuckwits had cost him seventy grand so far, between the missing twenty grand from Julius and Powell’s promised payout of fifty Gs. Oh, how he’d make it nice and slow. He just couldn’t wait to hear their screams of agony.

Even that, however, didn’t compare with what he’d do to the zombie pricks who had tried to bite chunks out of him, ripped his favourite trench coat, and stolen his van and his Tom Jones CD. Those muthafuckers had a one-way ticket to Hell, and he was the guy to deliver it to them.

He stormed up the steps at the front of the hotel. A grey-haired old woman in a heavy, expensive-looking white coat was coming out of the glass doors just as Angus was barrelling in. She was about to light up a cigarette, and in consequence didn’t notice Angus’s huge frame looming towards her. He pushed in between her and the doors, shouldered her hard and watched with glee as she lost her footing and tumbled down the steps, swallowing the cigarette she had been about to light. God, that felt good. It wasn’t enough, though. He was eager for some sort of confrontation with absolutely anyone or anything. The next victim to fall foul of his vile mood would get both barrels. He headed straight to the reception desk.

There was just one receptionist on duty, a blonde young woman who looked to be bored out of her mind. The entire lobby was now deserted. No one was checking in this late in the day. Since the whole weekend was organized around the goddam stupid singing contest, everyone had already arrived. And by now the evening’s entertainment was well under way.

Angus placed his hands on the reception desk and leaned over to get a look at the name badge on the receptionist’s red vest.

‘Belinda,’ he said, reading it aloud.

She greeted him with a polite smile. ‘That’s me. How may I help you, sir?’

‘Gimme a key for room seven-thirteen. Now!’

The polite smile disappeared as Belinda began tapping on her keyboard and checking the monitor in front of her.

‘Are you Mister Sanchez Garcia?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m the guy was s’posed to have that room before that Garcia bastard stole it.’

‘Then I’m very sorry, sir, but I’m not permitted to issue you with a key.’

Angus pulled one of his revolvers out from inside his trench coat and pointed it at the receptionist’s head.

‘Now, you listen to me, you fuckin’ bitch. I’ve just been attacked by about a hundred fuckin’ zombies that just came up out of the fuckin’ ground in the desert. Right out of fuckin’ nowhere. And if I ain’t mistaken, they were trying to bite chunks out of me. I killed quite a few of ’em with this fuckin’ gun.’ He waved the weapon in front of her face. ‘An’ when I ran out of fuckin’ bullets I killed a few more with my bare fuckin’ hands. I’ve now reloaded the gun, and I gotta tell you, I am really not in the right frame of mind to hear “
I’m sorry, sir, but I’m a stupid bitch so you can’t have the key”
from the likes of you. So whyn’t ya just give me the fuckin’ key and I won’t pretend I mistook you for a fuckin’ zombie, and had to blow your fuckin’ head off.’

‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

‘That’s all.’

‘One moment, please.’

Belinda reached down to her right and into a drawer below the desk. She pulled out a key card and placed it on the counter in front of Angus.

‘That’s a fucking skeleton key, sir. With that fucking thing you can get into any fucking room you fucking want.’

‘Thank you. Oh, an’ by the way – those fuckin’ zombies are headed this fuckin’ way. I suggest you give them less fuckin’ shit than you fuckin’ gave me. An’ ya wanna do somethin’ ’bout that potty mouth of yours. Unattractive habit in a young woman.’

‘I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, sir. Enjoy your fucking stay.’

Angus snatched up the key card and headed out of the lobby and down the corridor towards the elevator. The receptionist watched him, waiting until he was out of earshot before picking up the phone on her desk and dialling a four-digit number. The phone rang twice before it was answered.

‘Nigel Powell.’

‘Hi, Mister Powell, this is Belinda on reception. A rather unpleasant fuck— ’ – she just stopped herself – ‘gentleman with a gun and a foul mouth has just been in. I gave him a skeleton key to access any room he wants. It was either that, or he was going to shoot me in the face.’

‘I see. I’ll get security on it. Give them a description when they call you. Are you okay, Belinda? You should take the rest of the night off.’ Powell was always solicitous towards his staff. It wasn’t altogether altruistic: replacing people out in the Devil’s Graveyard was not the easiest task he could think of.

‘Oh, I’m fine thanks, Mister Powell. There’s one other thing you should know, though.’

‘Yeah? What’s that?’

‘This guy said he had just come in from the desert where he’d been attacked by about a hundred zombies. He said they were headed this way.’

On the other end of the line Belinda heard her employer let out a deep sigh. ‘Shit. They’re on their way already, huh? We’d best get this singing contest finished up double quick. The bastards are coming early this year, by the sounds of it, and I don’t think any of us wants to be snack food. That’s what those idiots in the audience are for.’

‘Yes, sir.’