I broke eye contact and cursed myself for doing so. “Yes.” I slipped through the doorway into the passage where Tricia leaned with her back against a wall, arms folded across her chest.
“How long have you been eavesdropping?” I whispered.
“Since the point you described me as your damn nurse.”
. . . . .
Late that afternoon, I tried studying at the Xavier library but couldn’t keep from rehashing Alfred’s every syllable.
I took the bus to the studio, ostensibly to get supplies for our last subway excursion: film and a spare battery pack Smith had cobbled together for the laser. But I hoped to run into Tricia. She’d listened in on my conversation with Alfred and might help me make sense of it all.
But Tricia, Alfred, Chuckles, and the rest of the staff were gone for the day, everyone except Smith. He caught me by the shirt sleeve, eyes popping with excitement behind prismatic lenses, and dragged me down the hall for show-and-tell.
No bigger than a lavatory, his office-turned-war-room was outfitted with corkboard panels on which he’d tacked eight-by-ten photos, charts, and select calculations in heavy Magic Marker for broader viewing, as if any of Alfred’s motley crew could appreciate advanced trigonometry. I understood enough from my graduate coursework in architecture, but was glad to leave the number-crunching to Smith.
“According to Drax’s original bid,” he said, singling out my vertical shot of a weight-bearing column near Rookwood Station, “that’s supposed to be a pre-cast and pre-cured double-tee, pre-tensioned, with spread footing and rebar for a composite structure, good for fifty thousand psf. But this is on-site poured, ten thousand max.”
I had little patience for the complexities. “Great way to save money, but an accident waiting to happen. That explains why the excavator smashed through.” But how much did Tony know before sending Delbert Turkel across that field? While the calculations were sophisticated, Tony’s brain wasn’t.
Smith gave a jerky nod. “Yup, if they cut the same corners throughout the system.”
But the collapsed tunnel had already been filled in, the evidence buried—another clever move by Drax. “But here’s the real question. Does your methodology work?”
Smith’s broad smile revealed gray and chipped teeth. “Is the Pope Catholic? Get me the rest of the measurements. We’ll prove fraud that even the dumbest jury will understand.”
For a moment, I delighted in the enthusiasm exuded by this brilliant little man, a potbellied throwback who felt safer behind a phony name than the real deal, Angelo Russo. I admired his loyalty to Alfred, a difficult man to love, and I admired his strength. He’d found a future for himself despite a car accident that took his only child.
I smiled my thanks. “You’ll have everything in forty-eight hours, Mr. Smith.”
CHAPTER 18
I arrived eight minutes ahead of our midnight rendezvous time. Overhead, the stars and moon shined bright enough to guide our way to the access point, or as we’d nicknamed it, Alpha Portal.
The crisp scent of evergreen wafted from the woods that lined the railroad tracks. I was happy to be early, given the complexities of reaching my destination. I’d left my house on foot, cut through alleys, ridden a bus west to Covedale, and made two bus transfers while circling back. Reuben was now wrapping up his own circuitous route.
We had to assume Drax watched our every move. They knew where we lived, worked, and even where we worked out. But based on Rudolph’s questions at the studio, Drax didn’t appear to know about Alpha Portal. If followed, we’d lose our strategic advantage.
Synchronizing with the 12:05 a.m. westbound train had been Reuben’s idea, an insurance policy, one extra element of visual distraction to prevent being seen as we slinked parallel to the tracks and slipped into the phone company’s switching station.
A pebble tinked against the steel rail, our agreed-upon signal. I replied with two tinks and prowled like a commando, traversing the tracks and a wide dirt path used by service vehicles. I spotted my friend in the shadow of a bush and crouched beside him.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hey,” Reuben replied. His eyes looked sunken. Since the Drax threats and Andy’s pullout, urban adventure had lost its appeal. Only the risk remained.
Reuben retrieved an index card from his jeans pocket and rattled down the supply list, finally reaching the last item. “Penny on lanyard?”
I fished mine from the depths of my collar and dangled the shiny copper. “Check, but I don’t think we’ll need it. None of Smith’s measurement sites get within a mile of the river, so things should stay dry.” The train vibrated its approach through our feet. “Right on time.”
I lowered my backpack to the ground to check the laser. Reuben tested the tautness of the camera bag’s strap running diagonally from his shoulder to his hip.
Without warning, the side of Reuben’s face lit up. Instinctively, I spun toward the source, a flashlight, the beam bouncing as it came toward us down the dirt access road. A resident taking a stroll, neighborhood watch, a cop? Drax?
But it wasn’t an individual, rather a group of four men, no faces visible behind the blare of the beam.
“Stay where you are, Mr. Tremaine,” said a voice I didn’t recognize. But with the mention of my name, an open question snapped shut. They were Drax. My heart dropped into my stomach and the sweat from the backpack turned cold. Our assumptions had been crap.
I glanced at Reuben, expecting something this side of panic. But he appeared calm, as if unsurprised by this latest screw-up in a long string of screw-ups. As we rose to standing, I used my foot to shove the pack into the shadow of a bush. We could sacrifice camera equipment and scrounge up more, but not the laser.
They surrounded us within seconds. I recognized Hard Ass, Gorilla, and Tony Drax, and tried to make sense of their sudden appearance. If they’d been waiting for us, then they already knew about Alpha Portal. But that seemed unlikely. If one of us had been followed, which seemed impossible, could we keep the portal secret?
The next words came from the unknown man holding the flashlight. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice level. He appeared the same age as Hard Ass, mid-fifties, with a similar buzz cut and broad shoulders, but without the paunch. Instead of Hard Ass’s doughy face, the man’s visage was chiseled, the grooves in his forehead and cheeks craggy.
“Tony, who’s your new pal?” I asked. Reuben snuffed a protest a foot from my ear, ticked at my tone. Better pissed off than afraid.
“Not new,” Tony replied. “Mr. Valentine’s been in charge of Drax security for twenty-seven years.”
Valentine. Alfred had warned me about him. Once a soldier, then a soldier-for-hire, and now boss to Gorilla and Hard Ass. The guy probably reported directly to Rudolph, and based on his years on the job, he was around when Alfred and his partner ran afoul of Drax Enterprises all those years ago. Another pair of dirty hands.
“The fact that Mr. Valentine is here,” Tony said, “means you’re in deep shit.” Before I could respond, Tony turned to Reuben and flashed a contemptuous smile. “Well if it isn’t Ruby Jew. Last time I saw you, you were belly up and buck naked on the floor of a locker room.”
Reuben said nothing in reply, but the heat from his glower should’ve set Tony’s slicked-down hair on fire. Yeah, better pissed off than afraid.
Valentine took a step closer to me and targeted my chest with his flashlight, one of those D-cell metallic tubes a foot long. “Why are you here?” The man had lowered his voice to a menacing monotone. His jawbones angled to a bulbous chin. In the military, he’d probably dug trenches—with his face.
“Answer carefully, Lucas,” Tony said. “Mr. Valentine m
eans business.”
I stared into the man’s blue eyes and saw the same cool condescension I’d seen all my life, as if I and my kind didn’t deserve to be anywhere, let alone here. I reimagined a scene I’d never witnessed, only feared, of my father, all dust and blood, sprawled out on a cantilevered walkway, his eyes losing their light.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose. “Owl-watching,” I replied.
Valentine’s eyes narrowed, and in one fluid motion, he flipped the flashlight end over end and swung the battery-filled butt at the side of my head. I ducked, but too late. The impact cracked in my ear. The blue-gray of nighttime vision blurred. I fell to my knees, swearing to myself to fall no further. Nausea pulsed in my gut. Pain erupted on the side of my head, and I sucked air in quick gasps.
The vague rumble between my ears sharpened to the real sound of the approaching train, the diesels revved for acceleration. My vision cleared to reveal Tony kneeling inches from my face. “You don’t know Valentine, Lucas. Wise up or things will get worse.” He shifted to glare at Valentine before reconnecting with me. “We know how you got into the subway.”
“How?” Reuben said, defiant.
“They don’t know shit,” I said, my voice raw. I glanced down the track, the engine’s single light now stark and brilliant. The train would be upon us in a minute. My mind swirled with the terrible possibilities of being outnumbered two to one, combined with a fast-approaching locomotive.
Tony gave a sardonic laugh and perfectly recited the portal access codes, digit by depressing digit.
I exhaled slowly and the pain vented a bit, along with my resolve. Had we ever possessed any strategic advantage? Every plan we’d made and every hope we’d shared had been futile.
But I was baffled too. Rudolph had asked how we got belowground. “How did you find out about the portal?” I asked Tony.
Valentine interrupted. “Mr. Drax, sharing information with these individuals serves no mission.”
Tony ignored him and spoke to me, animated. “You’ll kick yourself when I tell you.”
I stared back without blinking.
Tony grinned. “We followed your footprints in the dust, through the tunnels. Led right to the portal.” He slapped his hands on his knees and rose to stand over me.
Tony’s revelation could mean only one thing. “You have another way down,” I said.
Tony aimed an index finger at me. “Bingo! First smart thing you’ve said all day. We built the subway. Think we’d let the city seal it up without preserving access for ourselves?”
Valentine cleared his throat. “Mr. Drax, our mission.”
“And forget about coming back later,” Tony said, followed by a hollow chuckle. “The codes are all changed, and the phone company employee who manages them has been fired.”
Something wasn’t adding up, and Reuben sensed it too. “Since we couldn’t have gotten in anyway,” he said, “then why are you here?”
Valentine slapped his flashlight club into his palm, reclaiming authority from Tony. “Our mission is to make sure your mission is officially terminated.” In the train’s harsh light, Valentine’s eye sockets were bottomless black holes.
So they’d come to threaten, or follow through on their threats. Whatever our fate, I would face it on my feet. I stood but encountered a wall of dizziness and pain. I teetered on cardboard legs, pinched my eyes shut, and willed them open again. Valentine no longer stood in front of me. He was behind, grabbing me around the waist with one arm while snaking his free hand under my armpit and then upwards behind my head in a half nelson, the entire motion complete in less than a second. I buckled forward and slammed my free elbow into his ribs, but the big man held firm and applied punishing pressure to the back of my neck. Immobilized and reeling from pain, I could only watch.
Hard Ass met eyes with Valentine, appeared to receive some kind of message, and nodded an acknowledgment. Then he, Gorilla, and Tony were on Reuben like a pack of dogs in a great blur of limbs. Reuben appeared to levitate like a volunteer in a magic show, the camera bag swinging below his torso. Tony held Reuben by the wrists, one firm hand clamped on each. Hard Ass and Gorilla each held an ankle. Reuben was helpless, his body extended into the same letter H used in the high school locker room a decade ago. He writhed in vain at the midsection, the only part left unrestrained.
“Put him down!” I screamed, but Valentine rammed my head forward and wrenched my arm up. A shriek of pain from my shoulder ripped through my nervous system.
“Ever hear of the game chicken?” Tony said. “Two cars race toward each other until one driver chickens out and yanks the wheel.” Then he looked down at me, his mouth like a hungry jackal’s, wide but unsmiling, teeth aglow. “We’ll see how it works with a train.” He forced a throaty laugh. I wanted to scream until the world stopped turning.
More wordless signals passed among Reuben’s captors. They carried him over the tracks and lowered him. When his arms touched the cold steel, Reuben’s jagged screech sliced through the rumble of the oncoming train.
“Let him go!” I shouted. “We’re done with the subway.”
“You ignored our warnings,” Tony shouted back, and the three men stretched Reuben’s body until his upper arms and calves lay across the rails.
Reuben stopped screaming as if relinquishing his will to forces beyond his control. Or had panic stolen his voice?
Every square inch of my skin felt on fire. I threw my weight backward to tip Valentine off balance, but he planted a heel to brace himself and punished me with another onslaught of pain.
“Game’s over, Tony!” I hollered. The rumble had become a roar of diesel engines and steel on steel. Neck muscles on fire, I turned my head to peer down the tracks. We had twenty seconds at most. But then I remembered a lesson from physics class about the optical illusion of large objects in motion, how they appeared slower than reality. In an old film clip, a train crumpled a station wagon like a soda can.
Behind the glass of the lead locomotive, a human silhouette passed, disappeared, and then darted back into view.
The next few seconds felt like slow motion. I bellowed but couldn’t hear myself. The blast from the train’s horn overwhelmed all other sound. Reuben’s captors released their grips in unison and stepped back. Tony flashed his palms at me, absurdly, as if to signal It’s all okay now.
But it wasn’t. Reuben was still on the tracks.
Distracted by Tony’s pantomime, Valentine loosened his grip. I whipped my head back, caught the man square on the nose, broke free, and charged the tracks.
“Reuben, get up!” I pushed between Hard Ass and Gorilla and reached the rail bed. Reuben’s eyes darted from left to right, his lips taut over his teeth in a lunatic contortion. He planted an elbow on the ballast stones to lift himself, but the attempt failed.
The train seemed impossibly close.
My heart in my throat, I leaped across the tracks and peered into the gap between Reuben and the rail. The camera bag’s shoulder strap had wedged under the lip of a rail spike.
I reached across Reuben’s torso, grabbed a handful of his jeans in each fist, and yanked with every muscle at my command. Reuben’s body flipped and slid on stones and oiled ties until he lay barely outside the parallel lines of steel.
A hot blast slapped my face as if I’d opened a furnace door. Diesel fumes blurred my vision. The wheels of the train clacked and squealed inches from Reuben’s head, snipping the leather strap like scissors through a ribbon.
“Stay low,” I shouted into his ear. Tons of iron zoomed past inches away. Reuben scrambled on all fours to safety and sat up, his legs splayed in a V formation. His expression was as flat as a mannequin’s. He seemed in shock. You okay?
I mouthed.
I expected him to faint or explode with rage, anything, but not sit motionless. Then I saw why: Valentine, Hard Ass, and Gorilla were on the opposite side of the train, with the caboose still distant. Tony was on our side of the tracks—defenseless.
Reuben surged to his feet, his cheeks flushed, all traces of the terrified victim on the puddled floor of the locker room gone. His teeth were bared, as though he could rip out a throat, tear and shake until all the humiliation of the past lay in sinewy shreds.
He surveyed the ground, picked up two good-sized ballast stones and charged. Tony’s expression switched from defiance to surprise. He spread his legs evasively but his footing failed in the scree.
Reuben plowed into Tony’s midsection, bowled him over backwards, and landed on top of him. Before Tony could get his bearings, Reuben sat on his stomach, his arms whipping madly, each hand wielding a club of granite.
Tony defended his head and face, but he couldn’t block every blow. A crooked line appeared above Tony’s eye like a crack in a watermelon.
I stepped forward to intervene but hesitated. Reuben had been Ruby Jew, the midget, a locker-room plaything. So many wrongs had to be set right, but not if it meant killing Tony.
Tony grabbed one of Reuben’s wrists and held it midair, a serious mistake. Reuben evaded Tony’s diminished defenses and slammed a stone into his mouth. Tony screamed and jerked his face to the side. The next blow landed just above his ear.
“He’s done, Reuben,” I shouted. “That’s enough.”
Tony bucked his torso enough to upset Reuben’s balance and shove him aside. Tony jumped to his feet but stood off-center. His upper lip quivered, a cragged interruption in the line of teeth, now bright red. From the gash above his eye, blood trailed to his ear and down his jawbone, as if he’d been attacked by a lunatic with a tube of lipstick. Wet patches matted his hair.
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