Brother Bond

The cover was black and soft, a leather bound journal of the type found on many store shelves. The elastic band meant to hold the book closed had snapped at the bottom; it was being used as a bookmark. The ribbon was frayed on the end, the pages were stained with watermarks and signs of extensive travel.

It wasn’t until Cosmo had opened it that he realized why Noe had wanted him to have it. Scratched inside, covering every page, were elaborate sketches of macabre scenes: bones stacked high on top of each other, grinning skulls piled one on top of the other to form an archway, and through the opening, blackness that indicated a further passage. Scrawled on the interior covers were notes and musings. The bullet journal was crammed full. Maps and floor plans, sketched using the aid of the bullet points that dotted the paper, crawled from one page to the next, spilling over onto scraps of newsprint and what looked like a coffee-stained napkin.

Sitting across from him, Pinky crumpled the burger wrapper and swallowed, nodding to himself. “I’m impressed. Buncha dead guys, some Dungeons and Dragons maps, cool. Why’s that kicked up such a fuss? I got folks comin’ ta me sayin’ that little book and your silence — permanent silence — could get me half a million bucks. Ain’t often nowadays that I get the boys comin’ an’ tellin’ me that we gotta knock somebody off.”

Cosmo gestured impatiently. “They’re not role playing maps, Pinky.” He leaned forward, tapping the stained pages. “Noe Beauchamp was obsessed with the quarries under Paris. He mapped them all out, right here, in this book. I think he wanted me to inherit because he knew I would follow his lead.” His face was serious. “No matter the cost.”

Pinky slumped back in his plastic seat, nonplussed. “But he did give you twenny-thousand bucks to do it. So, what, I’m supposed to say no to half a million bucks so that you can go to Paris, get drunk while livin’ it up, and crawl around in some old tunnels? The guys comin’ ta me -- these ain’t the kinda people I can blow off, Cos. I gotta have a good reason to tell them no. A real good reason.” He lifted his milkshake and slurped at the straw.

Cosmo Lucaks glanced around the restaurant. His eyes glittered. He looked back at Pinky, considering him with a secretive air. Pinky belched, unimpressed. Cosmo shook his head doubtfully. “You’re the only one I know who can get me in and out —“

There was a spray of tinkling glass as bullets shattered the window at the front of the burger joint. Cosmo ducked. Pinky lunged out of his chair and kicked the table over, dragging the journalist to the floor behind it. Whipping his weapon from his waistband, he glanced at the storefront and returned fire. After another burst of whining bullets, there was the sound of sirens in the distance. As the wailing lights drew closer, the sharp bark of gunfire dropped off. Relaxing, Pinky grinned and glanced sideways at Cosmo, smiling at him from the corners of his eyes. “Half a million bucks is a mighty tempting figure, Cos.”

“Well I just decided how you can tell your boys no. I find myself in need of a body guard. Pinky, you’re hired!”

Cosmo was exhilarated. Pinky slouched along behind him, eyes tired, feeling the jet lag. He grumbled and kicked a discarded cigarette butt into the street. “When you said we were going to Paris, I thought of more wine and less walking.” The journalist glanced back, eyes gleaming.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He dropped back to clap him on the shoulder, chuckling. Reaching into his coat, he pulled the travel worn book from his pocket, waving it under Pinky’s nose. “With this little beauty, we’ll have plenty of exploring to do.”

Pinky hissed at him, eyes suddenly sharp. “Put that thing away, you fool! You trying to get us killed? If that fancy Noel Bottlecap or whatever is from France, you really want to wave that thing around in the cat’s hometown? Didn’t go so well for him, or so I hear.”

Cosmo sobered slightly, tucking the book away. “You’re right. His death was of natural causes… but best not to take the chance.” He grimaced. “My lawyer is still giving me headaches about hiring you on word of mouth instead of by contract. It’s not like I had time to draw one up.”

Pinky chuckled. “How far until we get to those catacomb thingies?”

Cosmo paused for a moment. He looked nervous. Biting the inside of his lip, he glanced around and lowered his voice. “Pinky, we could get arrested for what we’re doing here. Going into the quarries is dangerous. In fact, it’s illegal, except for the tourist spots like the Catacombs.”

Pinky nodded agreeably. “Where all the dead guys are. Right. I get it, Cos.” He slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t be so nervous! A guy’d think you’d never done something illegal before.”

Cosmo was studying the book, gaze intent. The French scribbles in the margins were impossible to read: Noe may have been a good friend, but his handwriting was close to illegible. Cosmo was guiding them through the damp and musty tunnels by the maps sketched out alone.

He turned the book sideways, following the path of Noe’s black pen in the feeble light of Pinky’s headlamp. His own flashlight had just died, and he was too focused on what he was doing to change the batteries. Pinky, huddled close and leaning over his shoulder so he could see, shuddered. “I don’t like it, Cosmo. You’re lost, ain’t you?”

“I am not lost, Pinky.” He kept his voice to a reserved murmur. Pinky shivered again. He, too, lowered his voice to a husky stage whisper.

“Why you gotta talk like that, Cosmo? It feels like we’re walkin’ on our own graves down here.”

Still studying the map, the journalist sounded completely bored. “Maybe we are, Pinky. These tunnels are unstable. That’s why coming down here is against the law.” He tilted his head, squinting. “They could collapse… at any moment….” His voice trailed off. He glanced up, looking sharply at the tunnel wall.

Shoving the book in his mouth to keep it open at his spot, he fumbled in his pocket for his spare batteries. Hands shaking slightly, he shoved them into the flashlight and clicked it on. Grabbing the journal from his mouth, he pointed the bright white beam at the wall and stared.

Pinky grabbed his arm, his voice pitched into a high, panicked whisper.“What? What is it? Did you see a snake?”

Cosmo turned slowly to look at him. “How can there be a snake? It’s cold as sin down here!”

Flushing, the scar-faced man dropped his arm. “That’s how it is in the movies, anyway. I hate snakes.”

Cosmo shook his head. “Faces bullets with aplomb and squeals at the thought of snakes. You had me fooled with that tough guy act, Pinky. You really did.” He bent closer to the wall and glanced again at the watermarked page, ignoring the sound of Pinky spitting into the dust behind him. “I think we’ve made it. I think we’re here.”

He clicked the flashlight off. “This is it, Pinky. The passage Noe thought could be unblocked. Look, we’re at the very edge of the mines. This could be one of the original entrances. I wonder where it lets out?”

Pinky scowled. “So long as it lets out. You’re not payin’ me half a million bucks, by the way. If I hadn’t promised yer sis I’d look after you, I could make a lotta dough offa you. What a loss… besides, I thought you said the cat found treasure?”

“Well, to Noe Beauchamp it would have been treasure. He was a historical journalist, you see. Fascinated with digging up history. I took a class from him one summer while on vacation in southern France.”

Pinky sniggered. “So all the boys are looking fer buried treasure, an’ you’re close to losin’ your hair, because some old dweeb labeled a grubby mineshaft that hadn’t been unblocked as ‘treasure’? Seems like you’re getting the short end of the stick, Cosmo.”

The journalist was studying the blocked passageway. He’d propped the book open, leaning it against the tunnel wall on a convenient rock shelf. Tracing the fissure’s edge with the beam of his flashlight, he carefully put a hand on a slightly protruding stone. Pinky stepped forward, eyes wide. “Hey Cos — I wouldn’t do tha—“

The journalist wrenched it from its place. Dust erupted as the stone jerked loose. Cosmo stood blinking, holding the rock in one hand, showered in the accumulated grime of centuries. He turned and grinned at Pinky. “It’s a start, anyway.”

Pinky shook his head grimly. “I don’t think so,” he said. They turned to look as the wall began to groan. The rocks above the hole Cosmo created collapsed into it, tumbling out onto the tunnel floor once the empty spot was filled. They bounced and rolled at the feet of the two men. Within seconds, the narrow corridor filled with thick, choking dust. Within moments their lights were all but useless.

Hacking the grime from his lungs, Cosmo felt Pinky’s hand close around his arm like a vise. The terrible groans only got louder. The journalist stumbled blindly as the smaller man jerked him along. They broke into a shambling run as there was the sound of crashing debris falling behind them, smashing the tunnel into oblivion. Bits of rock fell onto Cosmo’s shoulders from above, littering his hair. He clung to the sensation of Pinky’s hard grip on his arm, totally blinded, struggling to breathe. Together, they stumbled through the dust.

When they finally emerged, Pinky slumped to the ground. Cosmo coughed. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His spit was brown and opaque from the thick, cloying dust. He grimaced.

“Well,” Pinky hacked. “There goes that. Did ya get the book?” Cosmo shook his head silently. Pinky shrugged. “If we can get outta here without gettin’ lost, then ah well. At least we still got a few thousand-odd dollars to spend, and a week left in Paris. It was only worth half a million bucks.” He squinted up at his former brother-in-law with a lopsided grin. “Well, to me, anyway.”