Neon is the Colour of Vengeance (Flappers and False Gods)

LE CORBUSIER

Hugo sprinted out of the alley and into the main thoroughfare. There was no sign of the beautiful man anywhere. Rain fell in sheets making it almost impossible to pick out one face from another in the crowd. Thinking quickly, he turned back to examine the building the man had exited from.

It was a nightclub by the name of Highball. The entire face of the building was a shocking yellow only amplified by the citrine rain. The entrance was adorned with plastic lemon slices of varying sizes and the pillars that framed it were made of a thick glass and filled with a clear bubbling liquid.

Hugo ran his hand through his wet hair roughly giving it a fashionably tousled appearance. Then he took off his tie and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He undid his waistcoat and unbuttoned his white shirt to the breastbone. The look would have been completed had he been able to take off his jacket and sling it casually over his shoulder, but he needed it to hide his gun. Effecting the gait of a tipsy person, Hugo made his way to the club entrance. Giving the bouncer a winning smile, he sauntered inside.

Like all the clubs in the Pleasure Quarter, Highball had a gimmick. The walls were covered in iridescent wallpaper reminiscent of an oil slick and the entire place was filled with foamy bubbles. The dancefloor was crammed with wet and sweaty people grinding against one another under the glare of many disco balls and neon lights.

Slipping between the gyrating bodies, Hugo made his way to the bar, subtly skipping the queue. The bartender was an Indian woman with short pink hair and a nose ring. She wore a feathered headband and a string of pearls over her tasselled dress. Her hands were covered in beautifully intricate henna designs.

“Hey,” Hugo called over the booming music. “Have you seen a guy in pink scrubs? Did you see who he was with?”

Barely giving him a second glance as she made the club’s signature highball cocktail, the bartender nodded to a group of people crammed into a booth beside the bar. He wasn’t at all surprised she had immediately known who he was talking about. The beautiful man certainly made an impression.

The group all looked to be in their late twenties to early thirties like Hugo. There were seven of them, drinking, laughing and dancing. Something about how carefree they appeared made Hugo feel hollow. He had never been able to just go out and enjoy himself with friends. Publicly partying would detract from the fearful image he had cultivated as a button man for the Conti family. Besides that, he only had two friends, and both were in the life. If he partied, it was with the mob and there was nothing relaxing about that. He pushed the errant feeling aside and moved over to talk to them.

“I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but are you folks here with a guy in pink scrubs? With the greenest eyes I have ever seen in my life.” Hugo pretended to be embarrassed.

“You mean Evan?” A drunk White woman with a feather boa made her way hungrily towards Hugo. “He’s a surgical resident —hence the scrubs. He got tired and went home. But you can party with us.”

“Why are you asking?” one of the unknown Evan’s shrewder friends asked. He was a Black man with intricate cornrows. Hugo could tell he wasn’t nearly as drunk as the rest.

“We got to chatting outside, but I was too chicken to ask for his digits. I’m hoping one of you might pony up.”

“Don’t be so uptight, Tyrone,” the White woman said, pushing her friend aside. “Here.” She grabbed Hugo’s wrist and brought her Index, a slim metal implant composed of geometric shapes, to his. He felt a little shiver as the devices connected, then a tiny beep in his ear told him she had transferred a number.

Hugo put on a sheepish expression and thanked her with a grin.

“Hope you get lucky!” She winked and returned to the group.

Idiot, he thought. That woman had no idea she’d just made her friend’s death a certainty.

Back out on the street Hugo touched his hand to his Cicada, a device implanted into the tragus that, when coupled with an Index, functioned much the same as an old-fashioned smartphone did.

“You took your time,” said Bobby’s voice in his ear. They sounded at they always did—bored.

“There’s been a complication,” Hugo muttered.

“Did Demming get the better of you? You’re losing your touch, Ford.”

“He’s dead, but a civilian saw me.”

“You dumb motherfucker.” There was the merest hint of a laugh in their voice. “Tell me they’re dead, too.”

“They will be if you shut up long enough to get me an address. I’m pinging you their digits.” Hugo ran his finger over his wrist, where the Index implant was situated. Small and silver, it allowed Tenebites to connect with the technology that surrounded them.

“I’ll have it for you by the time you get here.”

Keen to get out of the rain, Hugo jogged to the nearest docking junction. It was hidden at the bottom of the alley that led to the legendary brothel Ward Eight. The junction was a wide silver pillar of about waist height, with a digital display that allowed users to call for a Jonckheere transporter to taxi them to anywhere in the city.

Hugo typed in his destination – ‘Southside Restaurant – Eltham District’— and waited. He heard the WHOOSH and felt the rush of hot air before he saw the Jonk Taxi. It soared down from the Slipstream Highway a hundred stories in the sky, to hover in front of him about a foot off the ground. The Jonk looked like they all did, with its rounded doors and aerodynamic fast back body, modelled after the 1925 Rolls-Royce Phantom Jonckheere Coupe from the long-forgotten Gatsby era, but instead of the classic black, this Jonk was yellow.

The side door opened automatically to allow Hugo entry, and he gladly stepped inside. The interior was warm and well lit, a welcome change from the rain drenched street. There was a single row of black leather seats in the back, facing the Liquid Light Display that replaced the windscreen, and no driver.

He buttoned up his waistcoat and redonned his tie as the Jonk sored over Tenebrium’s neon streets. The city was alive with colour, it’s winding labyrinth of monolithic buildings gleaming in the light of a sea of signs, screens, and moving billboards. Music was everywhere as if the city had its own beat. The modern Jazz Age was alive and kicking.

Hugo sighed heavily as the Jonk neared Eltham. He was going to have to face Samuel and tell him that he had made a mistake. A daunting prospect.

The Eltham District was a playground for the rich, where they made their homes and set up their businesses. It was an ode to white, with its gleaming towers, pale cobbles and silver trees.

When the Jonk finally landed, Hugo stepped out quickly running from the transporter to stand under the restaurant’s awning. Southside Restaurant took up the first three floors of an impossibly tall building called ‘Borden Tower’. It stood alone, separated from its neighbours by a ring of birch trees that seemed to burst forth from the paving stones at their base. It was over one hundred and forty stories high with the top seven floors forming a point. The facade was white marble threaded with black and there were panels of opal inlaid around the entrance. Over a hundred years ago it had been a church, and it showed in the beautiful stained-glass windows that reflected a rainbow of colour onto the pale streets. Hugo wondered idly how the old inhabitants would feel about the building’s new usage.

The restaurant was the only part open to the public, the rest of the huge structure was home to the Conti crime family. There were apartments and offices as well as private recreational areas. Everything from high society parties to murder took place in the building and it was where Hugo had been raised.

Shivering in the wet and the cold, Hugo walked through the revolving doors and into the atrium. The concierge, a Korean man named Hann, with a moustache and rounded silver glasses, greeted him with a nod.

“Bobby is waiting for you.” Hann had a flare for drama that Hugo found irritating.

“I bet they are. Is Samuel in?”

“He’s waiting for you, too.”

“Great,” Hugo said without enthusiasm. “Can you call the elevator?”

The only way to access the upper floors of Borden Tower was via a black glass elevator in the centre of the atrium. The shaft that contained it was decorated with flowers made of a solid gold. Samuel had told Hugo he liked that the public could see it. It meant that when those frequenting the restaurant saw one of the family using it, they would assume that person had status, and Samuel loved having status.

Bowing, Hann moved over to the elevator and typed in the code that only the Concierges and Samuel were allowed to know. Seconds later, the elevator arrived with a small bing . Hugo stepped inside, resigned to having a rough night.

He took the elevator all the way up to the penthouse. It opened right into the reception area, a monochrome room with leather couches and white rugs. The light shining through the stained-glass windows covered the room in deep shades of blue and purple. It looked like a massive, exorbitantly expensive, open plan apartment, but Hugo knew better. Samuel didn’t sleep there. It was all for show. Conti Family enemies would expect the leader to stay in the penthouse and that was exactly why Samuel’s true apartment was several floors below.

“You’ve been naughty.”

Hugo started. He hadn’t noticed Alice lounging on a thick rug next to the fireplace like she owned the joint. Alice Madison was a contract killer like him. She was White and in her late twenties, with an extremely short blonde bob and diamond shaped face. Her eyes were a sparkling ocean blue and currently they shone with a devious glee.

“Speaking of, does Mariam know you’re here?”

“She does, but what can she do about it? Sam gets what Sam wants. Stop deflecting. You fucked up.” Alice got to her feet and sashayed over to Hugo. She was wearing a pearlescent shift dress made of the thinnest silk. He could see her breasts and the junction between her thighs clearly through the fabric.

“Hardly,” he said, stepping back to avoid the caressing hand she raised in his direction. “I fulfilled my contract, and the witness will be dead before dawn. I’m just here to give Sam an update and change my clothes.” He was still dripping from his time in the rain and the foamy nightclub.

“You’re no fun anymore,” Alice said with an exaggerated pout, though carnal hunger was still clear on her face. She said this to him often when he rebuffed her advances. Alice made no secret of her desire for him, though Hugo had always assumed it was because he was the one thing she couldn’t tempt—a gay man.

“If you’re to be believed I was never any fun.”

Hugo made to turn from her, but she grabbed his hand and squeezed it painfully tight. “Why don’t we play anyway. I can be fun enough for the both of us.”

“Enough,” a voice said from the door to the study. Hugo suppressed a relieved sigh as he turned to greet the man who had raised him. Samuel Conti was in his late fifties. He was White with dark brown hair and not a single grey. Tall and imposing, Samuel gave off the impression of great power. He wasn’t Hugo’s true father, but he was as good as.

Hugo’s biological father had left his mother before he was born, and she had died of cancer leaving him out on the streets at the tender age of six. Not long after, Samuel had found him. He treated Hugo like a son and raised him to be the perfect killer.

“Leave poor Hugo alone,” Samuel said, the merest hint of a threat in his voice. “You’ll just have to make do with me, kitten.”

Alice flashed Samuel a smile that was as beautiful as it was deadly, before going back to laze in front of the fire. The bright light she had positioned herself under gave the illusion that she was naked as it shone through her dress. Hugo turned away.

“Follow me, son.”

Samuel’s office was an ode to black. There was no colour, but there were multiple different textures and materials. Smooth and glossy, rough and matte, wood and metal. Shining bookcases stood sentinel over a leather topped desk. There was a throne-like armchair behind and two stylish tub chairs in front.

Bobby Cooper was perched on the edge of the wide desk as Samuel led Hugo in and closed the door. Bobby was Black and had just turned thirty-four the previous week. They were tall and broad with muscular arms that bulged under their white blouse. They had dyed the tips of their cropped afro blonde, and their lips were painted a bright ruby red that complimented the pearl earrings that dangled from their ears.

“You’re getting sloppy in your old age,” Bobby said without malice as they stood to clap Hugo on the shoulder.

Hugo didn’t say anything. It was always hard to gauge Samuel’s mood. He might have been entirely unconcerned by the soon-to-be-dead witness, he might have been in a blazing temper. The man was inscrutable and that was what made him dangerous.

“And I see we mean sloppy literally.” Samuel nodded to the drips Hugo was leaving on the black hardwood floor. “What happened?”

“Demming tried to hide in the Pleasure Quarter, I chased him down an alley and killed him. I was in the middle of clean-up when a hidden door materialised, and this john walked out. It was too dark to see anything, but then a Jonk flew overhead, and he bolted. Saw me crouching over the corpse like the fucking boogeyman.”

“Not your best but can’t be helped. Track him down and kill him. Tonight. We don’t want it getting out that we leave loose ends. It’s bad for business.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make it look like a robbery gone wrong. We don’t want the lovely folks at the TPD linking the deaths. And don’t fail again, I don’t enjoy punishing you, but I will if I have to.”

Hugo nodded and turned to Bobby. “What you got for me?”

“Target’s name is Dr Evan Carter. Twenty-nine. He’s a fifth year Surgical Resident at Tenebrium Metropolitan Hospital. Lives at 1786 Le Corbusier, apartment 249. Currently off shift, and not expected back until the day after tomorrow. Isn’t on call either so that works in your favour. Street cams do not cover the front entrance.”

“You’re the best.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

A quick change and blow-dry later, Hugo was crossing back to the elevator ready to end the life of Dr Evan Carter. Predictably, Alice was leaning against the smooth doors. Hugo ignored her as he reached out a hand and pressed to descend.

“I’m starting to think it’s me you have a problem with.” She stepped close to him and ran her hands along his chest. He stepped back quickly.

“Only your wandering hands.”

“You’re no fun.”

“So I’m told.”

She closed the gap between them and put her arms around his neck. “You could stop me if you really wanted to.”

“Go play with someone else.” He grabbed her wrists gently but firmly and freed himself.

“Fine. But take this.” She pulled a long, serrated blade from a holster strapped to her thigh. “What connection could the police draw between a brutal stabbing and a button job?” Alice had many flaws in Hugo’s opinion, but her instincts as a killer wasn’t one of them. He might have a reputation as the grim reaper of Tenebrium’s underworld, but Alice was far more prolific. She was slight and played at being ditzy, but she was sharper than just about anyone he knew. The fact she was constantly underestimated was what allowed her to be so dangerous. Her victims never saw her coming.

“Thanks,” he said stiffly as he accepted the weapon.

“Happy hunting.” She kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her, then skipped back to her spot in front of the fireplace.

Tenebrium Proper was the district that spanned the centre of Tenebrium City. It was home to the Tenebrium Police Department, various government buildings and several hospitals as well as a multitude of malls, residential homes, and restaurants. It shared a boundary with every other district in the city and it was by far the most densely populated.

The rain had subsided by the time Hugo arrived at 1786 Le Corbusier. It was a tall building covered with glowing billboards and looked nearly identical to its neighbours.

There were no steward guarding the lobby and no lock on the storm door. Hugo could just walk right in. And he did. He kept his eyes to the floor as he made his way to the lift, and did the same as he stood inside, avoiding his face being caught by any security cameras.

The elevator doors opened into a dark corridor. The bulbs running along the ceiling were dim and flickering as if ready to die at any moment. The ruddy paint on the walls was faded and peeling.

The doctor’s door was near the end of the corridor on the right. One of only five, it didn’t look any different from its neighbours; all were slightly worse for wear. Ensuring that he was standing out of the view of the peephole, Hugo knocked gently.

It was several moments before the doctor tentatively opened the door, without removing the chain. It struck Hugo once more how beautiful the man was as he peered suspiciously into the hall, and again it struck Hugo how odd it was for him to notice.

The beautiful man’s eyes widened with alarm when he saw Hugo and he tried to slam it shut, but Hugo kicked the door hard, sending it flying open and sending the doctor careening backwards. Hugo stepped inside and slammed it behind him as the doctor scrabbled away from him on the floor.

The apartment was tiny and neat, though shabby. Wasn’t this man supposed to be a surgeon? Hugo thought they were wealthy. It was almost a studio, with the bed, couch, small dining table, and desk all crammed into one room. Two doors at opposite ends must have led to the kitchen and bathroom respectively. There was a large window beside the bed and a set of French doors leading to a miniscule balcony just past the two-person dining table.

“I told you to walk away. You should have listened.”

“What do you want?” Panic threaded his voice.

“Nothing you’ll give up willingly.”

“Are you here to kill me?” The man looked strained as if he had been expecting Hugo. How strange.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The question caught Hugo off guard, and he laughed. “It’s what I do.” He shrugged.

“It doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to do this. I can help you.” The man scrambled to his feet and pushed his hands out in front of him as if to ward Hugo off.

“I’m not the one who needs help.”

Hugo lunged forward and tackled Evan into his desk. He punched him twice in the face, his knuckles stinging from the impact then threw him to the ground. Hugo raised a leg to stamp on Evan’s back, but Evan rolled out of the way and got to his feet.

“You’re tougher than you look,” Hugo mused.

As if to prove this point, Evan grabbed a plant pot from the desk and threw it at Hugo. Hugo caught it before it could break and cast it aside. Clearly, Evan had been hoping for a moment of distraction. He scrabbled under his bed and for a second Hugo thought he was trying to hide, but instead, he pulled out a bag and riffled through it.

Hugo lunged again, grabbing Evan by the shoulder. He saw the glint of silver before he felt the stabbing pain between his ribs. There was a scalpel sticking out of his side. It snapped as Hugo pulled it out and threw it aside.

“They teach you that in medical school?”

Ignoring the pain, he kneed Evan in the face before dragging him to his feet and hurling him into a bookcase. Evan hit it with a thunderous clatter as he fell to the ground where he was showered in heavy textbooks.

“You’re brave. You’ve got some fight in you. That’s admirable, but it won’t help. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Fuck you,” Evan spat. Defiance was pushing past the fear on his face.

Hugo watched as Evan tried and failed to clamber to his feet. He could have reached down and ended it while Evan was dazed, but something stopped him. For the first time in his life, Hugo didn’t want to act, but it didn’t matter what he wanted. His momentary lapse had given Evan time to get to his feet. He stumbled forward and attempted to rush Hugo, but Hugo stepped agilely aside, and Evan collided with the wall instead of him.

Hugo was acutely aware of the racket they were making. This was taking too long. One of the doctor’s neighbours would surely call the police soon if they hadn’t already.

Again, Evan attempted to spear Hugo. This time, Hugo let himself be grabbed around the waist. He used the opportunity to land a bone-cracking elbow in the centre of Evan’s back, but the man didn’t let go. Hugo hit him again and again, but Evan refused to relinquish his grip. His desire to survive seemingly eclipsing any pain. Evan continued to push, finally managing to knock Hugo off balance. Hugo fell to the side and felt a pop. He hadn’t pulled the blade of the scalpel out when he had grabbed the handle. It had remained embedded in his side and had just sunk deeper into him.

Hugo forced himself upright and shook off the pain. “This ends now,” he said as he staggered forward. The anger in his voice was aimed only at himself. He had been sloppy, holding back because he was attracted to his mark, and now, he had gotten himself stabbed. Samuel was going to be pissed.

“You’ll die if you don’t get that seen to.” The doctor couldn’t help himself.

“Well, then, maybe, you shouldn’t have stabbed me.”

Hugo grabbed Evan and attempted to throw him through the patio doors onto the tiny balcony outside, but Evan refused to let go. They both careened through, taking the doors with them. They crashed into the flimsy railing and before Hugo knew what was happening, he was falling. His landing came far quicker and with far more pain than he had imagined. With bleary eyes, he saw that he had only fallen a single floor. It had been enough, however. He could barely breathe and as he struggled to move, he saw a large shard of glass sticking out his stomach.

A scream cleared some of the fog in his mind. There was an old White woman in her seventies, with short grey hair cut into a slick inverted bob smoking on what must have been her balcony. His landing had startled her, and she was making it known.

“Mrs Mac,” Evan called from somewhere above. “It’s me, Evan, from 249. My friend fell from my balcony.”

“I’ll call Medicus,” the old woman shouted back, her voice hoarse.

“No! I mean…I’ve already called them. I’ll be right down. Stay where you are and don’t move him.”