Page 47 of Pure Killers

Shrugging, Dirk pulls on his mask. It’s black, curling down over his jaw and chin. I try not to stare back, to imagine him with a black smudge over his mouth and blackened eyes and see something familiar in it.

Shaking myself, I ask, "Alright, ready?"

***

Our taxi pulls up, depositing us at the huge stone arch gateway of the event grounds. I expected to see people in masks. Hundreds of them. What I don’t expect is to see what seems to be half of those inNeedlermasks. There are Needler's of all shapes and sizes, and genders. Some of the men are such a match in size and height that I stare witlessly as Dirk steps out beside me.

"Well fuck," he says.

"How are we going to…"

He has Dean talking in his earpiece, hidden by a flick of hair as he puts it in. “They're already in. No backing out now,” he concludes, fixing his mask on. “As Tawill says; I guess we'll figure it out."

Through the gates, it’s not any less confusing. Night is falling, and the medieval-style lighting over the estate grounds is patchyat best. Figuring out if the real Needler is even here, and if he is, which one he is, seems to be getting more impossible.

"One year allegedly the whole thing devolved into a sort of orgy," Dirk comments, leaning close to me as we walk towards the back of the estate where a mansion lit up like a Christmas tree seems to be the centre of the party.

"How wonderful. So given tonight is moonless, we know what that means.” We walk by a group of what appear to be Georgian ladies in incongruous cat masks.

"Yeah, he'll strike here, if he's attending."

"But how?" I ask. "There's people everywhere. He usually takes his time. Unless…"

"Unless he's targeting someone who does it fast. Plenty of dark places. There's even a forest over there, inside the grounds. Rich bastards."

"We're here. Let’s check out the mansion first, find Dean and Howie."

"Shouldn't we split up?" We've reached the base of the wide steps that lead up into the mansion proper. From within, the hum of chatter, music, and occasional boisterous laughter spills out.

I face Dirk, the edges of the eyeholes in my mask obscuring my vision. "Split up?"

"Yeah, cover more ground."

I cover my hesitation with a glance around. "I don't think…"

"What’s the matter?" he smirks, like he knows this is the wrong answer. "Are you nervous?"

"Shut up. I just think we should be smart about this, that’s all."

"Smart is eyes in more places. I saw an old stage by the lake, looks like a good viewing point. You take the woods. We’ll meet back here in an hour, okay? You've got the earpiece if you need me."

An hour. I glance at the inviting light of the mansion doors, and the trees swamped in fairy lights that border the path leading to the woods in the corner of the property, then back forward, at Dirks receding back. He added a dark coat to his outfit, so he blends with the shadows of the front of the building. I should go, do as he says. I should trust him. But the thought niggles, keeping my feet where they are. Why so keen to split up?

I don't go to the forest. I follow him instead.

As I do, keeping to the shadows under the mansion windows, I run through what I know in my head. About Needler and tonight. Someone who kills their victims fast. Who could it be? Who would be dumb or brave enough to be here too, knowing he could be on Needler's list? Within a minute of following Dirk, I know he's not walking towards the lake. So heishiding something. Just whether it’s what I suspect or not is yet to be seen.

More than once, I curse my peachy gown, which from my perspective rustles enough to be heard from the other side of the party. But I keep a distance from Dirk, following him over a hill. Pockets of grass are lit up by late-night picnickers in costume, lounging back and looking down over the mansion. Music drifts from the small speakers some have with them. I take a wide birth of one, their light smothered, telling noises coming from the lump they’ve made on the picnic blanket. At the crest, I see down to what appears to be his destination; a large, dimly lit pavilion with a handful of people inside it. A lily-padded pond hugs one side, the structure lifting off the ground, a willow tree beyond.

Eyes back on Dirk, I see him reach for his ear, then slip the piece into his pocket. When he turns, checking behind him, I barely have time to hit the grass, hoping it’s tall enough to hide me at this angle. I wait several breaths before I peek again, and when I do, he’s moved on. Gaining my feet again, grass stains on my sleeve and a leaf in my hair, I see him walking up into thepavilion, to the greeting of the others there. A handful of people sitting near me eye me oddly, and I give a half-wave which is probably not any more reassuring than if I’d done nothing.

I force myself to take the long way, to use the willow tree as extra cover. My shoes- ridiculous slip-ons not much better than mere slippers- suck down into the edge of the pond and I nearly leave them behind. As it is, they’re soggy and black by the time I clutch a reaching bough and pull myself up against the dark side of the pavilion base.

Finally, within earshot, I hear Dirk’s voice again. Is this just a sneaking social visit, some effort at getting out of work and our largely futile mission? Or something more? I press my back to the stone foundation, listening. They're right above me, voices clear, Dirk’s distinctive to me.

"Didn't expect you to show up here."

"Work business."

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