The Jim Morrison Heist Pt 04

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I humbly thank everyone who invested their time reading up to this concluding chapter. Hopefully the tale's beginning lived up to its opening promise in the long second act (parts 2 & 3) and the subtext and humor did their jobs. Now readers deserve the mysteries of the story revealed with a thrilling and satisfying ending. I think you'll be entertained. Thank you again for reading.

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After James Bondage left the card table, so did Nimit Tutjamnong.

Both of them had lost badly, everything they'd bet. Zoey and the rest of the players stood in a circle, stretching after sitting so long, chatting while they waited for the stickman to return to the table. As a courtesy to her guests Lady Anyys dispatched him to the in-house bank to redeem all their plaques for cash after the last rubber. The stickman was an elderly retainer. Faithful enough to the Rowling-Boyle household not to shortchange any winners and be handsomely compensated for services rendered in the course of game play and beyond.

Zoey tried to get Lady Anyys' attention, but either the old girl ignored her or something preoccupied her mind. Maybe it was just as well. Zoey wanted to know if she'd put the whammy on James, but didn't know how to go about asking her ladyship.

Granny again said, "I wonder where your Mr. Darling has got off to."

Zoey shrugged off the situation. "Change the subject, it's getting old." In the balcony during that lame porn play granny and Lady Anyys had peppered her with questions. She refused to answer. The petty villains ganged up to bludgeon answers from her to questions sating their own curiosities, and frankly none of their business. If nothing else it invaded her privacy, no matter how much good will came attached. Zoey wouldn't dance to Anyys or granny's tune, she'd decide what was best for her, not some third party. Let the old birds crow over it. If they were really interested they could easily find out Dickie Darling was actually Jallen Delete. Then what? Trace him back to Hogfarts and, if so, to what end? Get him sacked?

Arista Spladt had overheard granny and her, and volunteered, "I saw Mr. Darling almost two hours ago. He was up here briefly during our game, the same man who sat next to me during the Ceremony of the Virgin. I really shouldn't talk out of school but, if you want, I will."

Zoey would not okay any comment but had every faith granny could coax one out of Arista. "Please do speak up, Arista," granny urged, "especially if it's about the so-called Lord Crotchford, Richard Darling MBE. I should like to hear it."

Arista hesitated and caught Zoey's eye before saying anything. Zoey shrugged again but gave her a nod. Whatever. Arista said, "Before you had words with that Bondage chap, Gertie, Mr. Darling watched our game for a minute. He stood right over there."

"And?" prompted granny.

"And he was in the company of a girl. About Zoey's age. Very pretty thing, wearing an Indian costume. They held hands. That Indian girl seemed smitten with him. I've been married three times and burned out three hundred or more lovers in my day. Let me just say the look she gave Mr. Darling was very much like the look I give a man when I'd like him to make love to me."

Zoey and her grandmother's eyes met. No matter what they expected Arista to say, they'd not expected anything as airheaded as that. Apropos to nothing of consequence. Made Zoey think of that old song her mum loved: 'so come loon soon down Cromwell Road now.' The Spladt woman was the very definition of loon. Her alleged Virgin Ceremony playlet stunk up the joint. Zoey had to admit though it accomplished what it set out to do, it made the crowd randy. A small feat, they were already debauched as a Roman afternoon at the Colosseum.

The sex-filled milieu they all dwelt in made it acceptable, promoted it, approved it. No one argued, love made the world go round, right. Zoey rationalized when making love was good, it could be very good. Her mum used to say all the time once she was old enough to understand, "Carnal instinct is second only to the survival instinct." Odd how it stuck with her. She liked sex, no secret, but her love life, a separate entity altogether, was secret. Zoey's own little big secret.

Colonel D wandered by, picking at a thread on the front of his tunic. "I see them too when they walk by. Just a few minutes ago I see Indian girl but no longer in gentleman's company. She is talking excited to other girls. Close friends, they laugh and cut up. It is not classified if I tell you I have special forces training." He tapped one ear. "Trained to listen. Actively listen, professional. To people. Yes, there are courses in such specialties. My hearing is very good, a result of this school maybe."

Granny dug for dirt. "Are you saying you could hear what the girls were talking about?"

"Indeed! It may not be gentlemanly to repeat however it coincides with what Mrs. Spladt said."

"What's so incendiary about it?" granny asked.

Colonel D didn't respond immediately, he weighed the words in his mind first. "Antics of Indian girl tend to provide unintentional lively conversation fodder."

Now Zoey spoke up, "Colonel, I appreciate your being a gentleman but I don't object to you sharing what you overheard."

The colonel acquiesced with a nod. "If you say so, Miss Quark. Only trying to help. Indian girl recalls to her friends a rendezvous with an older chap, presumably your Mr. Darling. Apparently his performance is, how shall I say it, satisfactory. She passes around red mask he'd given her as memento of the occasion. To me it looked much like the mask your chappie had on when first I saw him."

Granny asked Zoey, "Didn't Lady Anyys tell you that man had an aura of Glamour around him? The flim flam's been pulling birds left and right."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Would you change the subject already? You act like he gave me an engagement ring and owes me something. You've talked of nothing else." Granny had made remarks about her dress too, but no need to bring that up again.

Arista the loon descried, "Betcha a thousand quid Darling is one of the Fey. Their batting average with the opposite sex is about a thousand too."

Zoey frowned. Had the woman just admitted something?

But Arista's remark made granny cackle. She said, "Zoey, run see if you can't find Mr. Darling so I can leave."

"Don't wait for me, I have a ride home." She meant James Bondage not Jallen Delete.

"I understand, dear," granny said. "But if Darling's still here he may not wish to give you a ride after the way you treated him. And if he's not here then you will ride with me so I don't have to worry. Run along now, I really want to get to bed."

Zoey rolled her eyes then, but out of granny's sight. As she stalked away she heard her asking Arista, "You simply must tell me however did you arrive at that 'batting a thousand' average."

For the next several minutes Zoey sorted through the people in the ballroom, scanned the faces looking down from the mezzanine. Nobody she knew, or wanted to know. She skulked around downstairs a minute too, seeing no sign of Jallen or James. As a last resort she inquired about them with a group of Jin Elikt, spooky fuckers with headdresses covering their eyes like masks. You couldn't see their eyes through the masks, but they could see you. The spokesperson for Jin Elikt informed her they had not seen James or the man who had escorted her into the manor. Well, they would.

A little disgusted, a little worried and a little afraid Zoey fled upstairs to find her grandmother.

* * *

Unseen, Bondage startled Jallen by suddenly speaking.

"That's a hot little piece, Mr. Darling," snickered Bondage. "Let me smell yer fingers so's I can tell Zoey if yer've been naughty or nice."

"Shan't be necessary, old horse, I trust you'll see her home in good hands. A pleasant evening to you."

He took a step up the stairs when Bondage's right mitt clamped down on his shoulder. The lout yanked him backward with strength enough to make Jallen lose his balance and fall. He bounced off the floor hard and rolled over and over three times before coming to a stop, disheveled, disoriented, asprawl on his stomach. The abrupt violent turn the party had taken frightened Jallen. Getting emotionally fucked around is tough sledding, true; but broken bones, loss of blood, and plethora of upcoming dental appointments is worse, much much worse. He could recover from his brain giving him the occasional existential mindfuck with less pain and suffering than a week in any hospital he could name.

Now what could he bloody say? Jallen rattled out the first thought in his head. "James Bondage, that's a clever nickname, mate. You hear it once then you never unhear it, it sticks in the memory. On one hand it's an easy pun to make, not too many brain cells required. Did someone give you that nickname or did you make it up?"

After having slung Jallen across the manor floor, Bondage delivered an astonishingly polite reply, all things considered. "Did I make it up? Not no but hell no. I nicked it from that old Joy Division song. Now a chap of yer advanced years, Jallen Delete, should remember it unless yer suffering from Alzheimer's."

Jallen strove to keep panic out of his eyes. Zoey was supposed to be the only one in Runesgate who knew his name. So what did that mean? Nothing good to be sure. He didn't have to wait long to find out. Bondage gave him a swift Wellie to the ribs. Jallen seized up in pain, writhed into a ball on the ground, his breathing splintered into fitful gasps.

Bondage crouched down beside him. "Yeah, I know yer bleedin' name. Know a lot more than that too, more than Zoey thinks. Usually I'd be out of the picture by now. But one thing changed it from business to personal."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ordinarily I'm not a confrontational man," he said. According to Dripping Spring that would be a lie. "If you put yer brain cells to work hard enough yer'll figger it out. I know I did."

Jallen told Bondage he didn't know what he was talking about again and Bondage kicked him again. Jallen curled up in spasmodic pain.

"She spent the night it was raining with yer, old man. She wadn't sposed to do that. I wadn't supposed to find out. But I did. Nothing personal really, I don't begrudge a girl a night out. Occasionally I need some strange once in awhile meself. But I'm not keen on Zoey going off the leash. Yer a second party to that, don't bother denying it."

Jallen had no intention. He asked, "What does this mean, as far as I'm concerned?"

Bondage laughed like he loathed Jallen Delete. "What do you think it means?"

"I asked because I was curious about that aspect of--"

"It means that you're going to get hurt."

Bondage dragged him to his feet. Holding a fistful of his suit in one fist he began punching Jallen with the other. Body shots mostly, but now and then accompanied by a jab to his chin, a smack to his cheek. Once again Jallen crumpled to the floor in pain and humility. Bondage pulled his heel back to kick him again. The only reason stopping him were echoing footsteps getting louder and closer. Lots of footsteps, not just one pair of boots. Mssr. Noir and a band of Jin Elikt came marching down the hall. Zoey told Jallen he would know Mssr. Noir if he saw him. Here stood an authority figure in long black robes and tall comical conical cap. He headed up a group of several Jin Elikt, purple robed and headdresses hiding their eyes. They halted at the sight of Bondage, plainly agitated, and standing over a prostrate old man.

Mssr. Noir left his mob at parade rest to step forward and conduct a terse hushed conversation only Jallen, Bondage and Noir could hear. To Bondage he said, "If you need to put out the trash its better you're the only witness. And don't leave a mess for us to sweep under the rug."

Bondage said, "I thought I might find you down here."

"Well, you found me. Is it important?" asked the man Jallen believed to be Mssr. Noir.

"It can wait," Bondage muttered.

"Has it to do with this man?" Mssr. Noir motioned down at Jallen.

Bondage shook his head no.

"In that case, good. If I don't see you again tonight, I'll get in touch with you the usual way." He swung round to his men and cried, "Ready, lads, alright forWHURD, HARCH!"

Mssr. Noir and his squad marched out of Jallen's sight. Unfortunately James Bondage remained. He cracked his knuckles gleefully. "Any ideas what you and I gonna do now?"

"Exchange some Connery and Moore one liners?"

Bondage didn't even smile. "Get on yer feet. Me and you are gonna get us some fresh air."

"Wouldn't we have to be outside?"

"Technically speaking, yeah. You'll know what I mean when yer see it. Take the next stairway down."

They descended a lot of steps and followed an endless corridor. The walls always curled out of sight ahead making it impossible to get any perspective of distance. Did it go on fifty more steps or fifty more miles? With more endlessness lying ahead they stopped by a door. With a key Bondage opened it and motioned Jallen to enter. He closed the door behind him in a big room, big bed and cushions, big curtain on the wall.

"Open them drapes by their drawstrings, old man."

Jallen wasn't surprised to find a window frame paned with black glass behind the curtain. Bondage exhorted him to open the window. His eyes didn't burn out of their sockets after he got it raised and peered outside. From every angle Jallen chose to look out of the window he only saw one thing. An infinity of smooth dark soil extended in all directions, its cliffs illuminated from below by the intermittent glow of red and orange flames.

Bondage told Jallen, "Step outside the window and over onto the ramp. It can get rickety so mind the placement of your feet. The ramp is built into the side of the manor, it's not a part of the original structure. Find yer center of gravity out there, mate, the drop is steep."

Outside the window a wide stone walkway curved out of sight around the building in each direction. Affixed to the outer edge was a makeshift scaffolding of hollow metal parts that fit inside each other and held in place with cotter pins, nuts and bolts and, in some cases, just twists of wire. These formed guard rails and support for narrow walkways, also metal. The one Bondage wanted him to crawl onto slanted vertically under the stone overhang to the side of the manor. The next scaffolding or ramp, bolted into the stone sides of Runesgate, connected to a series of them like a bridge sloping vertically downward. He noticed missing guard rails on most those flimsy bridges. Jallen couldn't see where those slipshod unsafe rampways led. Destination unknown.

All he saw below was darkness and the glow of licking flames.

The first scaffolding would be the toughest hurdle, it led back under the overhang to join the dozens of others protruding like ticks from the curved surface of Runesgate. Scared and reluctant, Jallen clambered hunched over like a cricket out onto the creaking metal ramp. He shivered with rising fear in spite of the heat rising from the depths. No wonder it was always so bloody hot inside that place.

To cheer him along Bondage brayed like an ass, "Yer know it's not the fall that'll kill yer, it's that sudden fuckin' stop. BWUH haha!"

Jallen saw no humour in it, Bondage was trying to shake him up.

He scanned the darkness above instead. Did eternal fires crackle in the depths of the chasm separating the side of the manor from the inside of the vast hole excavated into the earth? The building side and earthside almost touched, only five or six feet apart if Jallen could trust his eyes. The reason for what was in reality a vertical tunnel's existence in Chas Park was to accommodate subterranean maintenance on Runesgate Manor. Or had the entire structure been flown in and inserted like a plug into a pre-existing silo? The stony looking sides of the manor could be some interstellar space resistant surface for all he knew. Was Runesgate an underground tower or a rocket launching station? Did those flames below burble out of the ass of a spaceship on standby, the molten core of the planet, or hell? He felt warmer standing outside than inside the magically air-conditioned theatre earlier. The thought also occurred to him where did big boys with big toys like tactical nukes ordinarily salt them away? Underwater, and underground. Conjecture was wasted at this point, his current predicament superseded anything on anyone's event horizon.

Bondage produced a small torch from somewhere and joined him on the ramp. He suggested Jallen start walking down. In the light of the torch he noticed the narrow walkway of scaffoldings wound around the outside of the manor like a stripe on a barber pole. It was a temporary eyesore on the building's exterior, but sunk in a hole nobody could see into it didn't matter. Jallen wondered if he saw a part of the Rowling-Boyle home Lord Alvin and Lady Anyys never laid eyes on, the outside wall. Or the plates of a rocket. He didn't want to go to the foundation.

They hadn't descended far down the ramp when Jallen heard Bondage running up behind him. On uneven scaffoldings with few safety rails, the possibility of plunging to one's death was more likely than remote. A big man like Bondage needed only nudge someone Jallen's size to send him over the side to his death. Jallen braced against Bondage's lumbering charge. He supposed he inhaled his final few breaths in this life, soon to be spiraling through midair toward a deep fiery doom. But fate intervened. Or it wasn't Jallen's day to get his metaphysical last stop ticket punched.

Bondage's incoming killer descent went awry when he moronically tripped over his own two feet. No excuse for it. He reacted like he'd slipped on a banana peel or on solid ice and lost his footing. Pumping arms and legs frantic, flailing like a spastic slapstick comic contortionist dancing on a razor wire of disaster. Bondage's own dumbassery bought the farm for him--the clumsy berk had busted his own ass!

His luck could not have been worse had someone put a jinx on him. But what put the biggest smile on Jallen's face was watching Bondage's reaction when he realized he'd stumbled off the ramp and into the domain of eagles, thin air. Jallen was already bent over laughing by the time the hurtling body struck the side of the pit for the first time on its way down. Bondage's body shot across the chasm to the other side and ricocheted back off the mansion's exterior to slam into the wall of earth once more. Jallen had toppled onto his back but hadn't rolled off the side of the ramp. He looked down then forced himself to stop unless he wanted to plunge to his own demise. It scorched his face to peer into the rising heat long anyway.

In Bondage's last frantic seconds he'd flung his torch from him and Jallen found it on a scaffolding still shining into nowhere. That light could save his life. He shined it along the walls above him as he crawled back to the open window Bondage and he'd originally stepped out of. He almost reentered the manor there, but the thought of Jin Elikt touring the lower floors changed his mind. If he eluded them back inside he'd still have to run a gauntlet of traps getting back to the ballroom, and wasn't guaranteed safety getting that far either.

Jallen did draw the curtains and close the window of the room they'd exited from before he proceeded. No need to leave clues and questions behind him. Why is this open? Who went out there? Where are they now? He started off on the wide stone walkway and soon learned it formed a big ring around the manor functioning as structural reinforcement, like a human rib. He saw another stone ring forty or so feet above him in the torchlight. After walking far enough he found another rickety ladder of scaffoldings crawling up to it. Carefully and inch by inch Jallen climbed away from the heat rising from below. Never been had he been in such an extended life-threatening crisis situation in his life. He could not have done it without the lifesaving torch; he had Bondage to thank for that giant unintentional favour.