Never Go Alone

by Denison Hatch

  Then Emanuel lay down to rest.

  ▪

  At the aqueduct drain entrance underneath the FDR, at the base of the Queensboro Bridge, Stian Ziros crawled through mud. He’d managed to work his way out with a bullet hole in him. He reached Hector’s motorcycle. He dragged himself on top of the bike with all of his effort.

  A blinding light shined directly at him—

  A man’s loudspeaker-enhanced voice pierced deeply through Ziros' eardrums. “Arms out! On the ground!”

  ▪

  A ring of cop cars was situated around the entrance to the hydra. Susan Herlihy stood behind one of the cars, holding a massive black shotgun about two times larger than her own forearm. She cradled the weapon of doom with menace, proving her worth in the land of the copman.

  But Ziros wasn’t one for following orders. He didn’t put his arms out. Instead, he smiled. The skin of his face curled up unnaturally. He revved the motorcycle and he rocketed out of the entrance, careening directly towards the cops.

  Susan watched the bike approaching. She dropped her arm a few inches and pulled the trigger. The shotgun bucked in her arms. The blast ricocheted in a deadly cone towards Ziros.

  Their reflexes triggered by Susan’s shot, all of the other cops opened up as well.

  And Stian Ziros smashed into a police car in a hail of gunfire.

  ▪

  In the belly of the beast, Jake Rivett pushed through the darkness until he emerged into another atrium-like zone. A massive, three-story-high aqueduct loomed above him. Jake couldn’t find Rory anywhere. He raced around the border of the room before returning to the columns that held the aqueduct above. He finally noticed an old tunnel entrance with a wooden door—an ancient hydra carved into the door.

  Jake pulled the small door open, fiddling with the lock. He reached down and grabbed some pebbles from the ground. He stuffed the natural detritus into the lock—to prevent it from latching behind him—and he stepped inside.

  Jake could hear splashing ahead. He turned on his flashlight to see Rory running away from him.

  “Rory, stop!” Jake yelled. Rory did not. Jake pulled the trigger on his pistol. The shot echoed through the tunnel, just missing Rory.

  He creeped slowly through the small chamber. He finally spied Rory twisting open an old rusted iron grate, one of the final outflow channels to the East River. “No Zone” graffiti was visible all around the pipe.

  “Not another step!” Jake yelled. He trained his gun on Rory, who seemed nonplussed. “You got nowhere to go!” he screamed.

  “Is that a fact? Because I know a little differently . . .”

  “Step back, dude. You don’t have to do this. Come in with me.”

  Rory straightened. He placed the bag of cash on the ground and addressed Jake. “I’m not going back with you. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to shoot me.”

  “You don’t think I’ll do my job?”

  “I dunno. Is that what you were doing when you were out exploring with us every night? Is that what you’re doing with Mona? She’s just your job?”

  Jake’s gun hand quivered. “Maybe I did some things wrong. But you’re a hypocrite too. You don’t stand for exploring . . . Or friendship. You stand for yourself.”

  Rory shrugged. “I tried, Jake. I really did. Everyone thinks they’re the hero of their own story. At least I’m going to be remembered.” He held up the item he’d pulled from the mayor at the Waldorf. It was the shiny golden Rolex watch. “When Ronald Berg shook my hand and told me I’d never see my brother again, he was wearing this watch . . .” Rory slowly wrapped the watch around his own wrist. “I told you there’s nothing in their city that I can’t touch. It was right here, you know,” Rory pointed towards the drain. “Down there. That’s where they killed him.”

  “Step towards me,” Jake said.

  Rory obeyed and slowly took one step forward.

  “Good. Keep coming.”

  “I do have a question,” Rory asked. “How was that cop able to find us so fast?”

  “Just some covert preparation for an overt operation,” Jake said. He pulled out a small moist towelette from his back pocket. It was ripped halfway open. Inside was an electronic location transmitter about the size of a quarter. Jake grinned. “You were right. Always gotta have towelettes. They’ll save your life.”

  Rory sighed. His body posture slouched as if he was giving up. But he suddenly crouched down and picked up an aluminum sled that had been sitting on the floor between the two men. “I told you I was gonna be remembered,” Rory said. He stepped back, holding the sled. “I’m going to finish what Will started. Drainsled the hydra. All the way to the river . . .”

  “Don’t move! Don’t! You don’t have to become him in every single way!”

  “I’m past that. I’ve transcended it all. I’m better now than Will ever was.”

  “No, Rory. You’ll bust epic.”

  “I can beat it. I’ll beat the hydra, and that’s all anyone will ever talk about when they talk about me.” Rory shook his head with a final smile. “Explore or die, noob.”

  Rory turned and dove into the tunnel. A loud and long shriek of adrenaline cascaded out of the hole and slowly faded to nothing.

  “No!” Jake screamed. He raced to the entrance of the pipe, shining his flashlight as far as it would go. But Rory was already gone, drainsledding down the hydra.

  ▪

  It was like luge—in the dark. Only fragments and flickers of light were visible to Rory. The old tunnel twisted like a serpent scaled in oxidized copper. Without knowing exactly when they were coming, Rory managed to navigate one turn then another. The tunnel became quite narrow before descending into an almost vertical pitch. Rory picked up speed. He was now flying along at a hundred miles per hour. The extreme velocity reduced his vision to a transcendental blur.

  A white light appeared ahead of Rory. It was a glowing pixel at first, but it expanded rapidly. It felt warm. It pulled him in like a magnet. It was somewhere between oblivion and destiny. This was his home. This was where he was supposed to be.

  Rory disappeared into the pure whiteness—

  THIRTY-ONE

  JAKE RIVETT STUMBLED OUT OF the hydra and into the underpass where Ziros had met his demise. The entire street was crowded with cops and authorities of every possible stripe and denomination. It was like a convention of lawmen and lawwomen, all led by their conductor: Susan Herlihy. He approached her and Tony, holding the dusty black bag filled with cash. Susan stood up. She stepped close enough to Jake that he could swear he could hear her heartbeat.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Listen, Susan . . .” Jake said. “You’re the boss and ultimately it’s your choice. But I’m telling you right now, Arthur Metropolis has Berg in his pocket. This is the proof. One million dollars in cash.”

  “I’m just looking at a bunch of money. Where’s the connection?” Susan said.

  “My testimony will hold up . . .”

  “No way, Jake. You’re not dead, but you’re buried.”

  “The hell does that mean?”

  “You’re holding some cards now. I respect that. But we’re still not putting you up on the stand. You get to come back into the office—after a nice long break.”

  “So you’re not going to pursue Metropolis?”

  Susan shrugged. “Police department is a million bucks richer, but I still don’t have evidence that’s irrefutable—that ain’t from a IA gold mine on a bender. It’s not that we’re not going to . . . It’s that we cannot. Not yet. Not unless you can sweeten the pot or I find something down in those caves. Okay?” Susan leaned even closer to Jake. Her lips practically brushed against his ear. “You did a good job, Rivett. You should be thrilled. I hear you’re in a band. Maybe I’ll come to one of your shows one day.” Susan clicked her heels and turned on a dime, heading back towards the crime scene investigators suiting up to go into the sewer system and begin to systematically collect evidence.

/>   Jake glanced at Tony, who shrugged back.

  “Thanks. For everything,” Jake said as he handed the bag over to Tony, who held it with gloved hands like a precious jewel.

  “As long as you let me keep track of you, kid, I’ll keep doing it,” Tony replied.

  “You saved her. Not me.”

  “Everybody played a part. That’s why it helps to be on a team . . .”

  “Where’s Mona?”

  “There,” Tony pointed. “I’ve never seen you stick your neck out for a lady like that before. Maybe you should take her home?”

  Jake glanced over Tony’s shoulder. Mona was sitting in the back of an ambulance, a few scrapes on her knees. “If she’ll let me,” Rivett replied.

  “So you gonna stick with us? Or is this your fork in the road?”

  “Can’t let it go . . .” Jake said.

  “Which side of the blue line?” Tony asked.

  Jake thought about his response for a long time. It was an excellent question—prescient, even. “Both,” Jake finally replied. “I’ll be back, Tony. But I gotta take care of a few things first.”

  “You know where to find me.”

  Jake clapped Tony’s shoulder as he passed and headed towards Mona.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  She looked up at him, then away. “I’m alive,” she said. “What’s going to happen to Metropolis?” Mona asked.

  “He’ll go down.”

  “When?”

  “I dunno . . . Whenever I’m done with him,” Jake said.

  “You’re still in it to win it?”

  “I’m a survivor,” Jake said.

  “Me too,” Mona replied. “And thanks. As much as I fucking hate you right now and want to murder you in your sleep, I guess you’re the reason I’m alive. But you know what I can’t believe?”

  “What?”

  “How well you fit in with all of them.”

  “I am a cop,” Jake said.

  “Thought you were something different. Something special.”

  “I can’t be both?”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “This isn’t goodbye,” Jake said. “Right?”

  Mona didn’t reply. Jake reached for her hand, which she did not offer. So he grabbed it. She gave him five seconds before she pulled away and jumped off the ambulance.

  “I’ll see you around, Eastie,” she said.

  THIRTY-TWO

  HE WASN’T THE EYE OF the storm—he was the rage powering it. His anger crushed the stage. It came from mother and father. It came from Albany, from boarding school, from not fitting in—with anyone. He was too good for the criminals and too bad for the squares.

  His spit flew across the dotted planet of the microphone. His purest state was now—always had been and always would be. The stage could take many forms, but Jake was a chameleon. He was just like Jack Castle. He was just like Hector Trizzo. He was just like Arthur Metropolis. He was just like Stian Ziros. He was just like . . . Susan. He was the ultimate cipher, only happy when not representing himself. Sometimes he didn’t know if he knew himself either. He saw the outline, on occasion, but only when he was buried in the bright lights. Like right now.

  The whole band was having the greatest night of their lives. It was an epic performance. He knew that scouts were in the audience—Schaub had informed him—but he couldn’t spend any time worrying about it. He’d only truly mastered the words to “Out of the Mist” two nights before, but that didn’t matter either. He was focused on his feelings alone—on what the lines meant as they spilled out. Every few lines, on the downbeat of the rhythm, he was able to lift his eyelids and gaze out into the crowd. He wanted to take them all in and understand what they were going through. He needed to make sure the ride was as good for them as it was for him. He saw the crowd rolling up and down like a gigantic Turkish rug under Aladdin—success. They were hypnotized. By him. By Jake Rivett.

  The unsaid truth, the elephant on the stage, was the band always knew where Jake’s first priority lay. Jake was justice. He was the man who stood the line against evil—and dealt out retribution. Jake would never want to be anything except justice. It was his calling, and perhaps one of the main reasons that the band still remained on the billing of back burner venues like this, instead of Madison Square Garden. Jake thrived onstage. But he lived undercover—where the ramifications were real, where the excitement was the difference between life and death. That’s why he didn’t look for the scouts. He didn’t care who they were or what they had to say. This was his vacation; his life was on the streets. His life was formed by the experiences of each case, and his music would be nothing if it weren’t for that.

  As the song reached its crescendo, towards the end, Jake thought about where he was going next. Susan was going to rotate his world. A desk job.

  The notion brought him down. Just for a moment—

  Until he saw her face.

  She was right there. Clear as day. He hadn’t been looking for her, but his brain immediately locked onto her like a guided missile.

  Mona stood in the middle of the crowd. He hadn’t seen her in over a month, since the hydra. In all that time, she hadn’t returned any of his calls or answered his texts. She no longer replied or commented on UrbEx. Her sister had slammed the door on Jake’s face a handful of times. But after all that—she had come. She was there.

  The song was ending. It was now or never. Jake finished off with an insane scream, his trademark: “YAYAYAYAAA.” Then he grabbed the mic stand and vaulted directly into the surprised crowd—who half split and half tried to break his fall.

  He regained his balance as the music died down. He pushed through the crowd to Mona. He’d worry about the rest later. For now, he had her.

  THIRTY-THREE

  IF MONA COULD TURN THE other cheek, maybe he could too. That’s why he was in Albany—one of the reasons, at least. It had been almost five years since he’d seen them. But sometimes people who won’t help you still need help from you. His father was still drinking. And his mother was still apologizing without saying a word. But they were also undeniably happy to see him. He appreciated it. It didn’t wipe away the horrible remnants of the past, but their sincerity did mollify his hatred.

  Their conversation that evening did not dive deep. He wasn’t sure if it ever would, or could. Deep down inside, his mother and father were busy celebrating his return. But they couldn’t mention that fact. They were the original Rivetts, after all—kings and queens of not saying what is felt. He knew his mom would never go there, and while his dad might at some point, Jake didn’t necessarily want to know what Senior had to say. Dinner was fine. Jake regaled them with tales from his life—and boy, had he lived. He told them about making detective and his past cases. They’d seen him in the news, for the flash crash case a year before, and he described the ins and outs of that investigation. He even told them about the urban explorers and Metropolis, with certain details excluded. And he pitched his future to them. With Tony’s support, he’d accepted Susan’s “suggestion” and taken the desk job. He was still a detective, but when he returned he’d start reporting to One Police Plaza again. He was out of the rain.

  At the end of dinner, as his mother was clearing the dishes, she cleared her throat and spoke. “I called you, because I loved you,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “But you never answered.”

  “I didn’t know what to say. Can we just move on?”

  “It did make me sad. But I also understood. I lived through it with you too,” she said seriously and then brightened. “I knew this day would come. You had to fall into the darkness in order to see the light. We all did. I’m just happy you came out of it in the end.”

  “Me too,” Jake said after a long pause. “But have you?”

  She said nothing.

  The truth was, while he was doing the right thing by visiting Albany, a feel-good reunion was not the primary reason he was there. Later that evening, once
his mother was in bed and his father started snoring while seated on the chair in front of the television, Jake rose. He pulled a large package out of his weekender. He quietly exited the house and entered the garage. He found the keys to his father’s pickup truck inside the exposed beams of the garage—where they always hung. He drove out into the night.

  ▪

  Unbeknownst to anyone else in the entire world except for Mona, a few days earlier Jake had paid a visit to Midtown Manhattan. The Waldorf, to be exact. Of course they hadn’t walked in the front door. He and Mona had entered in the only way they knew how—via infiltration. While Mona had remained at the subway level to ensure that Jake was covered, he’d risen up through the dumbwaiter channel. It was a three-hour climb. But sure enough, once he’d reached the penthouse level, the camera was still there. Jake had grabbed the device and descended as fast as possible.

  He didn’t need to spend any more time in the Waldorf than absolutely necessary. It was true that the criminal world held very little esteem for Jake. He was done with it on both sides of his life. But he was also finished with the opposite—a gilded existence was not what he desired either. He didn’t care about being the baddest guy in the room, nor the richest. He actually—finally—knew exactly what he wanted. It was standing at the bottom of the Waldorf’s dumbwaiter channel, in the dark, with only a small headlamp to illuminate the surrounding environs. What he wanted was her.

  ▪

  In his father’s pickup in Albany, Jake drove through the sleepy city and kept going. He drove west—to the tiny town of Berne, New York. He didn’t know Berne very well, but he had verified two specific facts regarding the small municipality. He’d spent some time researching the state police’s surveillance systems in upstate New York. Their apparatus was spotty at best, and he was quite confident there were no networked cameras anywhere near Berne. Second, Berne had a post office.