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By Nick Brownlow, November 25th 2000
The world is cold and dark, but Harvey Nash - at least that's the name he's using this week - doesn't mind that. In fact, he kind of likes the cold;- it makes his coarse, dry skin feel less conspicuous. He watches the quiet and empty looking store from the shadows across the street. He lights a cigarette, sucks hot smoke into his morbidly cold lungs, and ponders his next move.
Something is happening in New York.
Last week in Queens a woman's head de-materialised whilst she was eating pasta in a fashionable Italian restaurant. Two days later it rained human body parts for three minutes in the Bronx. On Tuesday, a terminally ill man died of massive internal injuries when his cancer tore itself free of his lungs and tried to climb up his throat.
In Central Park, quantities of a viscous black substance had been found floating on the surface of the Jackie O reservoir. A lab analysis confirmed that it was not from this planet. Only one Delta Green operative had ever seen anything like it before; that had been in Africa, ten years ago, and that encounter did not bode well for the present situation.
Signs and portents.
Harvey has been in town for three days now, looking for answers. All avenues of inquiry have led him here- to a dark and dilapidated pornography store in Red Hook. In a moment he will go inside and acquire another piece of the puzzle, but first he has to contact Delta Green. He has to know whether or not they've done as he asked.
Harvey goes to the payphone on the street corner, punches in a number, and, after a few moments, hangs up without a word.
Three minutes later the phone begins to ring. Harvey picks up the handset.
>>'Nobody thinks in terms of human beings anymore'. <<
The voice on the other end is electronically modified; it sounds anonymous, cold and mechanical. But Harvey knows who he's talking to.
"'Governments don't, why should we?' Hello Joseph."
>>Hello, `Harvey'.<<
Harvey steals a backward glance at the shop. "I don't have much time, Joseph; where are the resources I requested?"
>>Ms Peel and Lee Burroughs should be landing at La Guardia International Airport within the next few hours. They'll cover as civilian consultants to local law-enforcement, as per your instructions. Naturally, I've left the task of briefing them on the *real* reason for them being in New York to you.<<
"Naturally."
>>Hardigan is travelling to Buenos Aires directly. He'll dig up what he can on the Peron expedition, and rendezvous with you there when you're finished in New York. <<
"How stable is he these days, if you don't mind me asking?"
A dry, electronic chuckle. >>You should read through his `journal' sometime; I wasn't aware I could sound so literary. I can't wait to see what he makes of you. You know, I think he sees his first novel in all this.<<
"If he lives that long." Harvey pauses before continuing, taking a drag of his cigarette. "And the Opposition?"
>>Seem to have bought into your little game. Our source indicates they've assigned level 2 surveillance.<<
"Good. If I lose Burroughs they're the only ones who have the capability to contain him."
Joseph obviously appreciates the irony;- >>BLUE FLY working for us, for a change.<<
"Exactly. I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoyed doing stuff like this."
A pause.
>>It's a shame about Doc.<<
Harvey agreed. He'd met Doc once, under a different name. He'd liked him.
But at the end of the day, he's not the sentimental type. "Doc was compromised
from the moment you took Burroughs to St Johns. You couldn't have known that
then, and there's nothing you can do about it now." The other man is silent.
"The Order appreciates what you're doing, Joseph."
>>I couldn't give a shit about their appreciation; their future services are what I'm interested in.<<
"Don't worry; they're well aware of your terms." Harvey took a sideways glance at the shop. It was time to go. "Time's up, Joseph. If you'll excuse me, I have to go see a man about a God. I'll be in touch."
>>Be seeing you. `Harvey'.<<
***
Harvey raps on the store's heavy steel door five times in quick succession, then twice more- much more slowly this time, just like he'd been shown. After a few moments a peephole slides open and two bleary red eyes stare out at him.
"We're open on an appointment only basis. Arrange a time with your contact and come back later."
"'Manson' sent me. The password is 'Warlock'."
The man pauses as if considering this, but quickly makes up his mind and begins to unlock the door. Harvey waits. The door opens, and he steps in out of the cold.
Inside, the shop is a dark, dank and uncomfortably warm. The windows are encrusted with grime, the uneven floor is thick with scum and dirt. Every depravity from Beastiality to Coprophagia is represented on the store's shelves, although Harvey of course, knows this to be just a front. The man who lives here is fat, pale and filthy. He has a greasy black beard, and long, tangled hair. His half-naked frame is covered with tattoos- the usual neo-nazi/ex-con repertoire. He eyes Harvey suspiciously.
Harvey appears to be in his mid forties. Average height. Lean and sinewy. Stubble, unkempt hair;- blonde but greying. Trench coat. Lots of pockets.
Despite no obvious threat, the man is still standoffish. This is, after all, New York.
"I don't know you," he says, "what do I call you?"
"Call me 'Lucas'. I've come to see the Genovese collection."
The man visibly brightens at this, and grins conspiratorially, his initial reservations about Harvey forgotten. After all, if Harvey knew about *that*, then he *had* to be a brother.
"They're in the back. Hey, call me 'Gacy'." He offers a greasy, sweat- stained hand in welcome. Harvey takes it.
****
Gacy takes Harvey into the rear of the shop, which is even more dilapidated than the front. In the dim light afforded by the flickering of a television set, Harvey can see fat spiders skitter across crumbling plaster and rotten floorboards. The room reeks of stale urine and dry semen. On the far wall is a huge, crudely painted mural of an obese yellow man with no head, sitting cross-legged like some kind of obscene Buddha.
Gacy starts the video recorder, obviously excited. A picture flickers into being on the set. Harvey can see a room, which he immediately recognises as the one he's standing in. Two overweight men appear, dragging something behind them on a leather leash. The men are naked except for the thick black hoods that cover their faces, and a ridiculous arrangement of leather straps and metal chains that doesn't conceal their obvious erections.
"That's me, man, that's me!" cries Gacy, jabbing his finger enthusiastically at the television. Harvey just ignores him and carries on watching.
The 'something' on the end of the leash comes into view of the camera. It's a girl, of about sixteen. Healthy looking, but obviously very frightened. She is also naked.
The two men throw the girl to the ground roughly. They go off-camera for a moment and then return, one carrying a blowtorch, the other a pitchfork sized trident. The girl begins to beg and plead with them, crying all the time. The two men leer menacingly at her, but keep their distance.
And then something awful stirs in the corner behind her.
Something stunted and dwarf-like, swathed in filthy, black rags. It shuffles towards the girl.
The two hooded men back away until they're almost off-camera. The girl
gets to her feet, confused.
Finally, she realises the men aren't
looking at her anymore- but at what's behind her. She turns around.
She has chance to scream once.
***
The video lasts almost five minutes. The girl is alive for most of that, even though she breaks her back with the first convulsion. Harvey watches, oblivious to Gacy masturbating next to him. When the `thing' is finally finished with her, the man with the blowtorch cautiously approaches it, and points the torch straight into its doughy, grey head.
Gacy ejects the tape, and frantically begins searching for the next instalment. He obviously doesn't like the fun to finish before he does.
"That one's nothing, man- wait'll you see the one with the pregnant chick--"
Enough is enough. As Gacy reaches out to put the new tape into the machine, Harvey takes out the gun.
There's a near deafening roar, and the tape clatters to the ground. Gacy looks at the gurgling, bloody mess at the end of his wrist that used to be a hand and screams. Whilst he's busy doing that, Harvey smashes his nose in with the butt of the gun, sending him crashing to the floor.
Gacy looks up through a bloody red haze at the man standing over him and sees he is aiming the gun right between his legs.
"Shut the fuck up, or the next one goes in your balls, boy."
Gacy stops worrying about the pain and starts being terrified.
"I've been killing people all night," says Harvey, "and I'm getting tired."
Gacy desperately tries to muster bravado from somewhere deep inside as he struggles to stem the bleeding with his remaining hand - "We'll kill you for this, unbeliever! The Corpse God will eat out your fucking eyes for--" but Harvey stops him by clicking the safety off.
"I want you to know that all your friends are dead. No one is coming to save you; no one is going to avenge you. I've killed that backstreet abortion you called a secret society."
Harvey lets him digest this for a few seconds before continuing. Gacy is crying, and looks sick from the effort of thinking. Or maybe it's just the blood loss.
"I have questions. You have the answers. You're going to tell me everything I want to know. I don't enjoy torturing people, but after what I've just seen&emdash;well, let's just say I find myself in the mood."
Gacy manages a final act of defiance; he spits out a promise he won't keep through clenched teeth- "I'm not going to tell you shit! You won't make me talk!"
"Oh, you'll talk alright boy," says Harvey, slowly changing his grip on the gun so he can hit Gacy with it, "but first you're going to scream."
***
Harvey collapses into the cashier's chair in the front of the shop, sighs loudly, and lights another cigarette. He finds it difficult because his hands are sticky from all the blood.
Later, he'll have to come back and take care of all the un-human corpses in the basement; but for now he rests and thinks about what he has heard tonight.
So the Brotherhood of Mouths wanted to kill Robert Hubert, did they? Now, that *was* interesting...
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