“That’s it,” said the bald man, one hand unbuttoning his pants. “I like a fighter.”
Sarah spit in his face. “My uncle…I’m Redbeard’s niece, damn you.”
The bald man pulled back for an instant, then grabbed her hair and twisted. “I almost believed you for a second there, sweetheart. Nice try.”
Sarah jerked free. “It’s true.”
The bald man pinned her down with one elbow, unzipped her pants. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Redbeard’s niece. I’m Mister Dave Thompson.” His eyes were like stagnant water. “You feel better now?”
Sarah screamed.
“Louder,” he said, grunting as he slid his hand into her panties. “I can’t hear you.”
Sarah arched her back, tore at his face.
“This is what I do,” he said, panting. “This is old Dave’s job. I find little runaways and I bring them back, and sometimes, sometimes”—he slipped a finger inside her—“sometimes I get the okay to ruin them a little. To make sure no one wants them back.” He wriggled his fat finger. “That’s nice,” he whispered as she kicked at him. “You’re tight as a new glove.”
Sarah thrashed around on the sofa as his finger slid deeper inside her. She tried to bite him, but he kept out of reach.
The bald man tried to pull down her pants with his free hand. “You know the more you fight, the better it’s going to be for me, don’t you? I like educating runaways about the real world, the world outside of their daddy’s house. I’m going to give you a grade-A schooling, little miss.”
Sarah knocked over the empty container of food, chopsticks clattering on the coffee table, and she reached out, feeling around.
“Most runaways…” The bald man was groaning now, his eyes eager. “Most of them just blubber and say their prayers the whole time, but you…I can tell you’re going to be fighting the whole time.” Sweat rolled off his sideburns. “Come on, fight me. Come on.”
Sarah fumbled around on the coffee table, fingernails skittering on the glass.
“I’m not such a bad guy. You’ll see. Old Dave is going to give you a fun time, whether you appreciate it or not.” He laughed, nuzzled her breasts, came up for air. “I’m gonna split you wide—” He blinked. His mouth worked but no sounds came out. He stayed in position on top of her, frozen, one hand still in her panties. His lips quivered, showed his uneven, yellow teeth.
Sarah looked right at him. The wooden chopstick was stuck in his left eye, only the end protruding from the ruined socket. Driven deep into his brain. Red Chinese ideograms were on the end of the chopstick. Probably Good luck or something. She didn’t move, didn’t hurry. She watched as a single spot of blood appeared in the white of his other eye. A tiny rose blooming in his gray eyes, and then he was limp on top of her. She rolled him off her. His dead hand flopped out of her panties as he banged his head on the coffee table and landed on the floor in a heap. She raced for the bathroom and washed her face, washed her hands. Tore off her panties, washed herself, washed herself again. She could still feel him inside her. She wasn’t nauseous. Her hands didn’t shake. What was even more surprising was how happy she was.
When she came back to the living room, the bald man lay there, a trickle of some viscous liquid running down his cheek. He might have grandchildren somewhere, fat, ruddy kids he played ball with, little girls he brought sweets to and read to sleep at night. She kicked him in the head as hard as she could. The hollow thud was music. No more sweets, no more stories.
CHAPTER 15
Before sundown prayers
Rakkim sat at the table on the inside wall of the downtown restaurant, just as the message on his cell had suggested. The early-dinner crowd of beardless moderns had returned to their jobs in the high-rises, the conservatives had left for sunset prayers, but the restaurant was still busy, voices bouncing off the raw brick interior. If he and Sarah could be seen in public together, they might have gone to this kind of place, relaxed and fun and with a good mix of people. His phone beeped. Another call from Colarusso, the third since Rakkim had run into Anthony Jr. last night. Colarusso was either calling to berate him for recommending Anthony Jr. to the Fedayeen, or inviting him to Sunday dinner. Either way, Rakkim thought it was best not to respond.
A waitress approached, and Rakkim was grateful for the distraction. She was tricked out in a knee-length, blue velvet dress and plaid stockings, her hair piled into a tight beehive. She bent down, rested her elbows on the table. “You’ll want to pick up your menu and point to things, handsome.” Her nametag read Carla.
Rakkim had never seen her before. The only one of Spider’s children he ever had contact with was Elroy. Carla looked to be around seventeen or eighteen, a big-boned girl with a soft face and a button nose that didn’t suit her. She had her father’s eyes. All the kids did. Hard and dark and alert—she might carry around a touch pad to write customers’ orders, but it was just for show. She probably kept an encyclopedia in her frontal lobes and could call up any page you wanted. Rakkim studied the menu.
“He’s still working on the memory cores you gave him,” said Carla, her hand on the back of his chair, “but he pulled up the mail from the Mecca Café that you wanted.”
“Great. I’m not expecting much from the memory cores anyway.”
“Shows how much you know.” Carla put a hand on his shoulder, flirting, a trademark of any establishment geared to moderns—it brought in tips and it kept the fundamentalists away. “Spider said the one from the university computer is wiped clean, but the core from her home unit is interesting.”
Rakkim pointed at one of the options on the menu. “Interesting how?”
Carla swayed to music only she could hear. “I don’t know…he’s still working on it. I haven’t seen him this excited in a long time.”
Rakkim stared at the menu. “Tell me about the mail from the café.”
Carla moved closer, one finger sliding across the menu. She smelled of sweet onions and french fries. “Last Friday, seven twenty-two A.M. Short exchange. No formalities. LEAVE NOW, that was the first thing. All capital letters, which is kind of old-fashioned, if you ask me.” Carla acted as if he had made a joke, tugged playfully at his goatee. She kept her mouth down while she spoke, no line of sight to the rest of the room. “Then Sarah said, I can’t. The first person responded, NOW. RIGHT AFTER CLASS. DANGER. Still with the all-caps. Then Sarah said, I’m meeting him Sunday. I have to see him.” Carla looked at him, smiled, and it wasn’t because she thought someone might be watching. “That’s you, isn’t it? You’re the him she was talking about. This Sarah was tough, wanting to keep her appointment with you, even after being warned to leave. She must have thought you were worth something.” She swayed to the music again. “Then the first person said, LEAVE NOW, and there was a long interval, maybe twenty seconds, and then Sarah said, okay.” Carla pointed at the list of specials on the wall. “That’s it, over and out.”
“Does Spider have any idea who mailed her…or where it came from?”
Carla shook her head. “Whoever it was, they used a series of unregistered servers. They bounced him all over the globe, but he thinks the point of origination is someplace in the Islamic Republic.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I turn eighteen in three months. Ripe as a plum and never been plucked.” The tip of her tongue slid across her teeth. “Spider’s open to marriage proposals, but I’ve got the final say, so that puts you ahead of the game.”
Rakkim looked up at her. “What game is that?”
“Just keep it in mind. Sounds like your girlfriend isn’t coming back.” Carla scrawled something on her pad and sauntered off. Her hips drew plenty of attention from the foursome at a nearby table.
Rakkim swirled the ice in his water glass before taking a drink. Carla might be right about Sarah not coming back. He crunched through an ice cube. Why didn’t she go to Redbeard if she felt threatened? Why didn’t she go to him?
A young couple walked down the sidewalk, moderns in blue unisex suits, zippers everywhere,
hair cropped an inch from their scalps. Probably in advertising or marketing, judging from the black plastic portfolio cases they swung, chatting away. A Black Robe watched them from the far side of the street, speaking into a cell phone as they passed.
Rakkim turned at the sound of laughter from a nearby table, and when he looked back outside, the Black Robe was gone. He played with the silverware, thinking about Sarah’s mail conversation, and wondering who had the power to order her to leave so abruptly. Even more, who had the authority to make her comply?
Carla came back with his cheeseburger, fries, and vanilla Jihad Cola. “There was one other exchange two weeks before the one on Friday. Very brief. The first person said, BE CAREFUL. BE READY. Then Sarah said, Can I tell him? NO. Please? said Sarah, but the answer was the same.”
“Sarah said please? You’re sure of that?”
“Don’t insult me.” Carla slapped the check onto the table. “Spider will let you know when he finds out more. Remember what I told you before—three months and counting. I come with a dowry, but, trust me, after our wedding night you won’t even care.”
Rakkim watched her walk away as he dredged a french fry through a pool of ketchup. Sarah had a hard time listening to anybody, but she had obeyed the person on the other end of the mail, even begging for the chance to see Rakkim again. There was no way to tell if the person she was in contact with was male or female, but Rakkim found himself burning with jealousy. Sarah asking for permission to see him…it was as if she were talking to a father, or a husband. He started in on the burger, barely tasting it.
Carla hustled back to the table, refilled his water. She was chewing gum now, really working it. “You have to leave.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” There was no trace of her prior flirtatiousness. “Get up after I leave and head toward the bathroom. Elroy’s there. Spider needs to talk with you.”
“I’m meeting Spider?”
She champed away at her gum. “Smile, nod your head.”
Rakkim did as he was told, holding up the burger for emphasis. “I didn’t think Spider allowed direct contact with clients.”
“This is a first.”
“What’s going on, Carla?”
She blew a big pink bubble, popped it with a fingernail. “Spider pulled something off that memory core. It must have been something really special.” She strolled off, started bantering with the two moderns at the next table.
CHAPTER 16
Sundown prayers
“Do you know what this is about?” Rakkim followed Elroy through the alley. “I heard Spider lives under the bus tunnel. Is that where we’re going?”
Elroy took an abrupt right turn, squeezed through a narrow space in the wire fencing, and kept going, not looking back.
Rakkim tore his jacket getting through the opening, hurrying to keep up as they rushed through the twilight. It was past sunset now and this part of downtown was poorly lit, lined with flophouses and abandoned buildings. Rakkim had lived in this general area after his father had died, lived here until Redbeard had brought him home. The maze of alleys gave way to gravel footpaths, then a succession of worn stone steps. At one point they scuttled through a long, corrugated-metal pipe strewn with garbage, broken eggs crunching underfoot, and he knew by the growing stink of rotting vegetables that they were getting closer to the waterfront under the Public Market. At the last minute, they veered away from the market and toward Pioneer Square, the oldest part of the city.
Elroy quickly ran a microwave scanner across Rakkim. “You’re clean,” he said, putting it back into his sweatshirt. He pressed a hand against a seemingly solid brick wall and a section swung aside. He waited until Rakkim squeezed through, then closed it behind them. A latch snapped into place. They were in total darkness, the air cold and damp.
Rakkim waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but it was still pitch-black.
“This way,” said Elroy.
Rakkim walked toward the sound of his voice, hands out.
“Keep coming,” said Elroy, ahead of him. “There’s a turn coming up.”
Rakkim stumbled, heard Elroy snicker. “Elroy?” His voice echoed. “Put a light on.”
“I don’t need a light,” sniffed Elroy, his voice farther away. “I know where I am.”
Rakkim moved quickly, hands waving. He snagged Elroy’s shirt, but the kid pulled away.
“Touch me again and I’ll leave you here. A few days of banging into things and the cats and rats will be fighting over you.”
“Take me to Spider. That’s what you were told to do.” No answer. Rakkim stepped toward where his voice had been, hit his head on something, cursing now.
“You’re not getting scared are you?” said Elroy.
Rakkim didn’t move. He had excellent night vision, but there was no light anywhere, and he couldn’t be sure the direction he had come from. The darkness smelled mossy.
Elroy’s laughter echoed.
Rakkim stayed where he was. He heard Elroy moving closer, the kid barely making a sound. He waited, trying not to breathe, then reached out and grabbed something, a skinny arm. He hung on as the kid slapped at him, tried to twist away, but there was no way Rakkim would let go, and Elroy finally stopped struggling.
“Good for you,” gasped Elroy. “I bet you’re proud of yourself.”
“Take me to Spider,” said Rakkim, still hanging on to him.
“If I wanted to ditch you, I would have already done it. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Elroy wriggled but couldn’t pull free. “Hands off, okay? I don’t like being touched. Please?”
Rakkim let him go, then waited for him to leave him alone in the dark.
“I bet you thought I was going to run off,” said Elroy.
“Not at all.”
“Liar.” Elroy sniffed. “Stick your right hand out until you find the wall. Did you do it? Okay, keep your hand on the wall as we walk. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
They made good progress, maintained a slow but steady pace for the next half hour. Rakkim kept count of his steps and turns, making a mental map. Forty-seven steps, right turn, two hundred and eighteen steps, left…They seemed to be on a slight downward spiral, and he was sure that Elroy was doubling back from time to time, trying to confuse him. Sometimes Rakkim heard the rumble of a subway in the distance, felt the vibration through the stone floor. Twice they splashed through pools of cold water. Rakkim bumped his head three or four times, tripped once. He almost lost his count when he fell, but he repeated the numbers and turns in his head, reestablishing the pattern. He heard things run past on the floor, claws skittering. Never a glimmer of light.
“We’re here,” said Elroy.
Rakkim hadn’t realized how loudly his heart was beating until they stopped. He blinked as Elroy opened a door, the boy standing there in the light. Rakkim followed him inside.
They were in a storage room of some kind, a small space with a sink and towels. Elroy was already washing up, soaping his hands and face, splashing water everywhere. He quickly put on a pair of oversize clean coveralls from a hook on the wall, tossed a pair to Rakkim, and removed his shoes. The water from the tap was icy, but Rakkim was grateful for the chance to wash the grime off. Blood was on the towel when he dried his face, and the mirror showed a gash in his forehead.
“I’m Spider,” said the man waiting for them, a barefoot gnome with a dark, luxuriant beard and a black skullcap. He shifted from one foot to the other. “Pleasure to finally meet you.” Rakkim offered his hand, but Spider turned away and started walking. Elroy hurried beside his father, the two of them talking as Rakkim followed.
The interior room was softly lit, and the size of a small warehouse. Thick carpets covered the floor, museum-quality Persians in reds and blues, and silk ornamentals in subtle shades of pink and yellow, so delicate that he didn’t want to walk on them. The room was warm and clean, the air fresh, smelling faintly of garlic and roasted chicken. Not a hint of the dampne
ss of the stone corridor that had brought them there. The walls were hung with rich tapestries, dozens and dozens of them. He had been in wealthy households with Redbeard, homes of senators and business leaders—just one of these tapestries would have occupied a place of honor. Rakkim was looking around so often that he fell behind and had to hurry to catch up. At last, Spider pushed aside some embroidered curtains and stepped into a small office. He waited for Rakkim to sit on a pile of purple cushions, then sat across from him. Elroy stayed outside.
Spider was an intense ball of tics, his skin white as a pearl. He wore black silk pajamas, his hands and feet knobby. His beard was long, his graying hair plaited into a single braid that fell past his shoulders, and, just as Rakkim had heard, his nose was an imperial beak. It was hard to gauge his age as he had been out of the sun for so long, but he didn’t look older than forty. “My son said you did well on the trip through the tunnels.”
Rakkim glanced around. The office was bare, except for shelves along the back wall containing rows and rows of glass snow globes. Pretransition tourist items. He saw the Golden Gate Bridge, the Hollywood sign, the Space Needle, Santa Claus and his sleigh…even the Twin Towers. From another part of the warehouse, he could hear women’s voices, and the sound of a baby crying. “How far underground are we?”
Spider didn’t respond. Another baby was crying now, a regular howling chorus, but Spider didn’t seem to notice, intent on Rakkim. The pupils of his eyes were hugely dilated. Given the whiteness of his skin, the only spots of color on his face were his black pupils tracking Rakkim. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. Did you know that the Blue Moon is the only club in the Zone that doesn’t pay protection?”
“That’s fascinating, but why am I here? What did you find on the—”
“You don’t even pay off the police. You give gifts to the officers. Birthday presents for their wives and sweethearts, graduation gifts for their children. Generous gifts, but no bribes.” Spider blinked. “They must appreciate not being treated as thieves in uniform.”
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