—But you would have. If you had been fat and well-fed you would have fought events as they happened, and you would have died before you ever reached that room. As it was, you were forced, by what you perceived as weakness, to acquiesce to events. Until you were ready.
—That's just plain crap.
—No, it's truth.
—No such animal, Daniel.
He nods.
—That may be the greatest truth of all.
—Christ. Is there more of this?
He pinches his lower lip.
—Just a little more. Just a small promise from you.
A promise to Daniel. A promise to the man who sent something into my home to starve me. And then sent it again to watch over me. Sent it to kill Horde before Horde could kill me. A promise that will have to be kept.
—What promise?
—Just a promise to think. About your life. How you live your life.
Oh, Jesus.
—You were given the Vyrus how long ago?
—About thirty years.
—Yes. That's quite a good span for most. Many last not even a year. Most, no more than ten. Those who endure find they must dig deeper, burrow into little caves and secret places. They find they need the protection of others who will not question the manner in which they live their lives. The dark hours, the healed wounds, the strange persistence of youth. But you. To live alone, without protection, among those without the Vyrus, for thirty years. That can be seen as an accomplishment. Or a great failure. You, Simon, you are clinging to life as you think it should be led by a man. But you are not a man, not a human man. And you have not been a man for so very long. You have a true nature, all of us who receive the Vyrus have a true nature, but only Enclave see that nature. You see it, and that's why you cling to a life that cannot last, because you are frightened of it. And that's good. The Vyrus is awful. Trying to embrace it, trying to become it, is a terrible task. Exhausting. Painful. But to do anything else? Anything else is a lie. And you, Simon, you aren't made for lying. That's a truth.
I stand up.
—That it?
He tilts his head to watch my face.
—Yes, I suppose it is. Just that you keep your promise and think about it.
—I'll keep my promise.
—Of course you will. And what will you do now?
—Now I'm going.
I head for the door.
—You know, Simon.
—What?
—Most of us, we only touch the Vyrus at first under supervision.
Even I was watched over when I took my first fast. Few manage it alone. And you did it under extreme circumstances. So I hear.
I stand at the doorway.
—And?
—That could mean something.
—What, Daniel? Can you just tell me what's on your mind and cut the crap?
He laughs.
—What's on my mind.
He wipes a single milky tear from the corner of his eye.
—What's on my mind.
Still he laughs.
—What's on my mind, is that I am failing.
He looks at me, a skeleton smile cracking his face.
—And someone will have to take my place.
And I get the fuck out of there.
Sela's place is on Third Avenue and 13th, above a deli. She buzzes me in.
—She's asleep.
—Wake her.
The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom. The front door opens directly into a living space, doors to the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom open directly off of that. The place is done up in an ultra-feminine Middle Eastern lounge kind of thing. There's lots of pillows and rugs, mandala-printed fabric hanging from the walls, and scarves draped over lamps. Sela leaves me in the living room and passes through a beaded curtain into the bedroom. I hear her talking softly and hear some mumbled replies. She comes out and waves me over.
—Don't keep her up long, she needs her sleep.
—Yeah, tomorrows a school day.
I start for the bedroom and feel a vise clamp on my shoulder. I turn back to Sela. She takes her hand from my shoulder and puts a finger in my face.
—Whatever she was shot up with is still making her dopey. She needs her sleep.
—Yeah. Got it.
She takes her finger out of my face and I go through the curtain. The bed is a huge futon on the floor, piled with more pillows. There's a little floor space rimming the edge of the mattress, which is fine because all that's in there besides the bed is a hookah and several wicker baskets that look like they stand in for closets.
Amanda is sitting up against a mound of pillows, wearing a tattered and massive Tears for Fears T-shirt that is probably left over from Sela's more conventional youth. However long ago that might have been. She rubs her eyes.
—Hey.
I squat down next to the bed.
—Hey.
She looks around for a clock that isn't there.
—What time is it?
—After two.
—Hn.
My leg starts to throb where the bullet went in. I ease myself down and sit on the edge of the futon.
—You OK?
—Yeah. But I feel tired all the time.
—Sela taking care of you?
—Yeah, she's fierce. Says she's gonna show me a great workout so I can get arms like hers.
—Huh.
She scratches at her tangled hair.
—So what happened?
—What's the last thing you remember?
She leans deeper into the pillows and looks up at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up there in a swirl.
—We were getting ready to leave the school.
—That's it?
The air conditioner in the window gurgles and hums.
—Yeah. I think so. But I had all these dreams and it's hard to. What happened"?
I open my mouth. The truth sits inside it. And stays there.
—Some guys jumped us.
She sits up again.
—No way.
—Yeah.
—Sweet. That's so cool. Who were they?
—Some guys your dad had hired. They were following me.
—No way.
—Yeah.
—So what happened?
—You got your head bonked, went out. Concussion.
She feels her head.
—There's no bump.
—Happens that way sometimes.
—So what'd you do? Wait. There was a total fight. I. One of my dreams was like about a fight.
—Yeah.
—You kick ass?
—Not really.
—Lame.
—But one of the guys had a gun.
—No. Way.
—And I got it from him.
—Dope. That is so dope.
—Had to carry you out over my shoulder.
She buried her face in her hands.
—Uhhh. Was I heavy? Did I feel totally fat?
I watch her. She looks out from behind her hands.
—Don't be lame, kid.
She smiles.
—So what then?
Once upon a time.
—Then I figured, fuck this shit. Your folks want to send out dueling bounty hunters for you that's their business. But it's not mine. So fuck 'em.
—You didn't call?
—Fuck them.
—They don't know I'm here?
—Like I said. Fuck them.
She thrusts her arms up in the air.
—Phatl
She drops her arms and pushes herself deep into the pillow.
—That is just so phat.
I look up at the stars, and back down at her.
—So what ya gonna do?
She shakes her head.
—I. Well, I'm so broke. So I'm going to the bank and get some money. Then I want to take Sela shopping to say, like thank you. Then, I don't know. She said I can hang for as long as I want.
But. I think I'll go home in a couple days. Like check in and everything. Get my folks off my case. Once they chill I can bail again. But I'll get some real cash together first. And if Sela says it's chill, I'll come hang with her some more. For like the rest of the summer. That would be so cool. She's hot. I just want to like work out with her all summer and get cut and hard before school starts.
—Good plan.
I stand up. She wriggles out of the pillow.
—So, you gonna be around? You hang with Sela much?
—Not really.
—OK.
She drops back into the pillows.
—Cool. Whatever.
—Yeah.
—Hey. Can I have that?
I look. She's pointing at the cuff bracelet still clipped to my wrist. I pull out my wallet and get out a couple picks. Cuff locks are easy, it pops right open. I squat back down.
—Hold out your arm.
She puts it out. I hold the open cuff.
—You have to do something for me.
She nods.
—When you get home. Leave me out. Whatever goes down, don't tell your folks or whoever that I found you.
—OK.
—That's a promise I'm asking for.
—OK.
—Don't break it.
—As if.
—Right.
I snap the cuff onto her wrist. She looks at it.
—Hot.
I leave.
Sela holds the front door open for me.
—How much longer do I get to keep her?
I point at the TV.
—Put the news on tomorrow. She'll go home after she sees it.
—Why?
—Because her parents are gonna be dead.
—You have anything to do with that?
I think about killing Marilee, and missing out on killing Horde.
—Not the way I would have liked to.
Sela tosses her head, throwing roped dreads back over her shoulder.
—There gonna be trouble?
—Not for you, she loves you.
She taps one of those ruby-tipped fingers against my chest.
—What about for you?
I walk out the door.
—Sister, she doesn't even know my name.
I stop by Nino's on the way home and get a pie. Large pepperoni, hold the garlic. Then I hit the grocery for a six and a few packs of Luckys. At home I lock myself in and make sure the alarm is on. Not that any of it will keep out Predo's boys if he sends them. Not that anything could keep out Daniel's Wraith. Not that I care much right now. I go downstairs.
I sit up in bed and watch CNN. I eat the whole pie and still I'm hungry so I raid the fridge upstairs and find some leftover Chinese and eat that. That fills my belly. The other hunger, the real hunger, is still there. But it's always gonna be there, and it can wait for another day. I watch more news and drink more beer. When I run out of beer I sit in the dark staring at the TV screen, and smoke.
The story breaks around six A.M. They show some stills of the crumpled, fire-blackened Jaguar sedan. It looks as horrific as Predo promised. They wiped out the car in the early A.M.s, on a lonely stretch of road just off the 27.
The anchor fills me in on how the highway was empty at that time of night and no houses were near enough to hear the crash or see the flames. By the time emergency vehicles arrived the fire had all but burned itself out. Fortunately, the license plate broke off the vehicle in the crash and was spared from the fire. The anchor tells me the car was owned by Dr. Dale Edward Horde and
that it is believed that he and his wife were in the car, driving on a late whim to their Hamptons house.
By the time I wake, the Hordes' deaths have been confirmed. So has the fact that their daughter is missing. There's some hyper-ventilation after that. Some circling of carrion feeders as they sniff a too-good-to-be-true story. Then a report comes in that Amanda walked into a police station and told them she had run away a week ago and had just seen the news on TV. By the time the cameras are there to watch her leaving the police station, she is flanked by a double column of bodyguards and lawyers and the TV is already calling her the richest teenager in New York. I turn off the box and smoke.
The package arrives that evening. It's delivered by a private courier who doesn't ask me to sign for it. I take the box down to the basement room and slide the Styrofoam case out of its cardboard sheath. Inside are several refreezable cold packs surrounding ten pints of blood. A note on top. For services rendered.
Payment in full.
D. Predo
I take out one of the pints and think about the dose Horde hit me with at the Cole, the one I thought Predo had him hit me with so they could steal my stash. Now that I know better, I figure Horde did that on his own. Maybe he was trying to kill me, maybe just get me out of the way for awhile while his boy and Predo's enforcer worked the neighborhood. Hell, maybe he just wanted to see how the Vyrus would handle it. I look at the pint and wonder what might be in it other than blood. Then I drink it. Then I drink two more. Then I stop being bothered by anything Predo might be planning, or Terry, or even Daniel. I stop worrying about whether Amanda will tell the cops about the guy who found her. I stop worrying altogether.
I don't have anything to worry about.
For now.
The easiest way for Predo to take care of me would have been to dose the blood. He didn't. He won't bother with anything else. He'll be too busy keeping an eye on the Horde situation, making sure no loose ends come unraveled in front of the press. That will be a full-time job for awhile and he won't want to clutter up his desk with any other projects. Once he empties his in-box, he'll move the teeth to the top of his priority chart. Getting those back or having them destroyed so they don't end up in Terry's hands will be front and center. Too bad for Predo that Terry already has them.
Terry got it right away. I told him what the teeth had inside, and that was all he needed. I didn't have to tell him the story or name any names. I didn't even have to mention Predo. Something like those teeth, Terry could only see one reason for those to be made, and only one Clan who could have had a hand in their making. But he'll hang onto them. For a very long time. He knows it's a one-shot deal. Figure he could try and use 'em lor blackmail, but what then? Predo would never do a deal that didn't involve getting the teeth back. And what could be good enough that you'd give up the biggest stick on the block For it?
No, the only way to use the teeth is to show them to the other Clans. Do that and it will mean all-out war, the kind of war that we couldn't keep underground. The kind that would finally rip the lid off the whole thing. The kind of war Terry says lie doesn't want. So he'll sit on them for a good long time. Until he's ready to go after whatever it is he really wants.
And I doubt I'll be around long enough to have to worry about that scene. Christ, I hope I'm not.
I heal. The scabs fall from my wounds and the white puckers of scar fade to smooth skin. My stomach fits itself back together and I am whole again. It takes six pints over a couple days to get me there, but I'm whole again. And ready to take care of my last loose ends.
I go out around midnight Sunday.
I make the stop at Niagara first. Billy's behind the bar.
—Joe, whaddaya know?
—Nothing worth the price.
—Good un. Drink?
—Yeah.
He hits me with a double bourbon.
I take a drink.
—Philip?
He jerks a thumb at the back room.
—Saw 'im weasel in past me while I was weeded back here.
—He ever get ya with the rest of what he owes?
—Naw.
Someone down the bar hollers at Billy's back. He flips the bird over his shoulder.
—Fuck ya, ya fucker! Shut up or I'll pound yer fuckin' head.
The guy at the end of the bar shuts up. I toss down the rest of my drink and Billy fills it again and knocks on the bar. I lift the gla
ss to him.
—Thanks. I'll go get the rest of your money.
—Sure, Joe, but you don' gotta.
—Be a pleasure.
I walk to the back room, telling myself I'm gonna do this cool. Keep it easy. This is Billy's shift and I don't need to cause a scene. Then I see him. He's chatting to a girl. She's staring at the wall, trying to ignore him.
I try to keep it cool, but I don't.
I walk up behind him and kick his chair out from under his ass. He goes to the floor. The girl gives a little yelp. I grab the back of Philip's collar and drag him to the bathroom. I kick the door closed behind us, lift the toilet seat and shove him down on the can. His skinny ass slips all the way down into the water and his legs fly up off the floor. He tries to struggle out and I shove him in deeper.
—Want to see if I can fit you down the pipe, Phil?
—No.
—Then stay the fuck put.
—Sure, Joe. Whatever you say, Joe.
—Shut it.
I pick up half a roll of toilet paper that's sitting on the sink.
—You say a fucking word, I will stuff this ass-wipe down your throat.
He nods.
I drop the toilet paper and punch him in the face and his nose breaks.
—I told you to get Billy his money.
I punch him in the face and his jaw cracks.
—Or I was gonna fuck you up.
I punch him in the face and his cheek splits open.
—And now you're fucked up.
I grab his hair and yank his dazed face up so he can see me.
—You do as I tell you from now on, Phil. You go against me again and I will feed you to a fucking shambler. No lie, Phil. I will stick you in a tiny box with a fucking shambler and eat popcorn and watch while it eats your fucking face. Got it?
He jerks his head up and down.
—Now give me your money.
He tries to get in his pockets, but he's too fucked up. I pull him out of the can and rip his pockets open and grab the wad of bills I find inside and shove him back into the pot.
—I'm the badass down here, Phil. I'm the big bad fucking wolf and Predo is all the way up on the Upper East Side. Remember that next time you think about doing a little spying for the Coalition. You be afraid of me from now on. I ever start thinking you're not afraid enough, I'll give you a reason to be.
I walk out and drop the cash on the bar. Billy picks it up,
—Joe, this is more than he owed.
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