The Survivor

When he made it to Grandview Park, he was blocked by an enormous stage, and had to circle round the band as they set up their gear. He grabbed the bass guitarist, a guy dressed up like a modern-day vampire, and asked him if the microphone was working yet.

It wasn’t.

Striker cursed. He left the vampire guitarist and pushed on through the thickening crowd. When he reached the end of the park, he stopped on the corner of Charles Street and turned to wait for Felicia. Her face was tinted by the blue glare of neon stage lighting and her skin was damp with perspiration.

‘This is no good,’ he told her. ‘We got to split up.’

She agreed. ‘They’re probably together.’

‘If you find them, just get them out of here,’ Striker stressed. ‘Away from the crowd. Immediately. Get them down to the station.’

Felicia nodded. ‘Put your cell to vibrate – you’ll never hear it in this crowd.’

Striker did so, then pointed back at Grandview Park. ‘You take north of the stage, all the way down to Venables; I’ll take south and go to First. And if you see them . . .’

‘Just get them out of here.’

‘Right.’ Striker touched Felicia’s arm, pulled her close so she could hear better. ‘And remember, Raine probably doesn’t know about her mother yet, otherwise she would’ve gone home.’

A sad look crossed Felicia’s face. She loosened her dress jacket so she could access her firearm more quickly. When she looked back up at Striker, there was concern in her eyes. And she gave a quick look at the crowd around them before speaking.

‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘If this prick wants to attack us, there’s no better place.’

Striker forced a grin. ‘He’s already struck out three times.’

Felicia moved forward. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pulled him close, and gave him a long, hard kiss.

‘What are you—’

‘Just be careful out here. We have unfinished business, you and I.’ She winked, turned around and set off through the crowd once more.

Three steps later she was swallowed by the masses, and Striker was alone again. He didn’t delay. He spun around and pressed southward along the Drive. Into the endless flow of roaming smoke and angry masks and undulating bodies.

Into chaos.

Ninety-One

Shen Sun had lost sight of the Detectives, and that frustrated him. He speared through the crowd, shoving a pair of drunken clowns out of his way. The crowd was packed worse than cows at an auction, and the air smelled as bad. Most of the people were taller than him, but young. Drunk, high, out of control. To his right, at the begi

It was perfect.

Shen Sun watched the boy take off the hockey mask and place it on the ground beside them. When the girl started vomiting, and the boy held her hair back from her face, Shen Sun took advantage. He snatched up the mask, then moved on through the crowd. As he went, he pulled it over his head, feeling the cold plastic stick to the flesh of his face. His body became flushed with adrenalin. It was as if he was back at the school again. Back at St Patrick’s High.

At the begi

On the far side of the park, away from the hustle and bustle of the Halloween bash, a white catering van was parked alongside the kerb. Hobbes Meats. Sitting in the passenger seat was a fat white man. A jin mao ho. Shen Sun seized the moment. He quickly crossed the park.

When he came up beside the driver’s window, he looked around and, seeing no sign of the cops, he rapped on the glass and got the man’s attention. ‘Why are you not in celebration?’ he asked.

The man rolled down his window. As he turned his head to speak, he coughed violently and his many ripples of neck fat quivered. He snorted and spat out the window.

‘Hockey mask. Nice costume, kid – you spend all night dreamin’ up that one?’

‘Why you wait?’

The man nodded at the roadblock on Charles Street, where bundles of partygoers were waiting for the band to start playing. ‘Who are you, the parking police? It’s my last load of the day, and I got here late. Can’t make my drop till they lift the roadblock.’ He sighed tiredly. ‘What do you care anyway?’

‘Drive down alley,’ Shen Sun replied. He pointed back across the road. When the man turned his head to look, Shen Sun brought up his gun and smashed the butt end down over the back of the man’s head. The driver let out a soft moan, his body went limp and he slumped down between the seats.

Shen Sun opened the door, pushed him right off the seat, and climbed in behind the wheel.

‘Head . . .’ the driver muttered. ‘What hap . . . what . . . what . . .’

‘Remain silent.’

‘You . . . you can’t—’

‘I can.’ Shen Sun brought the Glock down as hard as he could on the back of the man’s skull, several times. He did this until the grip of the gun was wet and the man made no more sounds, but just lay there like one of the sacks of meat he was delivering.

Strapped to the man’s belt was a set of keys. Shen Sun removed them. He climbed out of the vehicle, opened the back doors to be sure the keys worked, then locked them, feeling pleased.

Everything was set.

Hockey mask on, Shen Sun walked back across the park to the Drive.

Up ahead, a man dressed as a red devil set fire to a pair of metal balls on chains, then started swinging them in large figure eights. The crowd made a long ooooh sound as the fiery balls rolled through the air in wide uneven circles.

Shen Sun took the opportunity to study the faces. So many wore masks, and that was frustrating, but he believed that neither of the girls would do this. Why hide themselves? They were beautiful young girls. Ready to mate. No doubt they would dress in something to attract the opposite sex.

He was counting on it.

Sixty seconds later, the fire-show continued and Shen Sun finished surveying the crowd. Neither girl was in the immediate vicinity, so he moved on. He passed the bus stop, where a clown and a fairy were making out, and was about to continue when he came to an abrupt stop.

The woman cop was there. On the sidewalk. Her face was grim, but there was something else in her expression, too. Nervousness? Anxiety? No, that was incorrect.

Relief.

She had found something.

He watched her intently as she hurried south along the Drive, then crossed the street to the east. He followed, keeping close, and heard her call out: ‘Courtney! Courtney!’

Shen Sun’s heart constricted in his chest like a knot of rope. He followed the woman cop with his eyes, making certain he did not lose her. Moments later, when she pushed past a group of boys dressed as pirates, Shen Sun caught his first glimpse of Riku – the girl who would make his mission complete. And of Courtney – the girl who would serve as a cruel reminder for the rest of Detective Striker’s life.

The girls were together.

Together.

Shen Sun smiled at his good fortune.

Ninety-Two

Striker reached First Avenue, where one of the Special Constables had set up a roadblock, preventing the traffic from turning north on Commercial. The Constable was a young kid, about nineteen, with a hooked nose.

‘Hey, kid,’ Striker said. He held up his badge to get the boy’s attention. ‘You see either of these two girls?’ He showed him his BlackBerry and paged between the photographs.