by Frank Rich
"Yeah," I said. "I've something to say. Lazarus, program revenge, run. Code lock, shithead!" I roared mad laughter to mask Lazarus's reply.
"What's that?" Rob sneered. "Some kind of cryptic code?"
"You'll see. Don't go for any long walks."
A bewildered look crossed his face. "Bruce, take Mr. Strait to the roof and throw him off."
"I'll be back for you," I snarled.
"You're hardly in any position to make threats, Strait. Be sure to wave on the way down."
Bruce barked orders, and One-Eye and the black man dragged me out the door. We passed an assortment of uniformed SPF shock troops and more casually attired mercenaries on the way to the elevator.
Bruce jabbed the roof button, and the doors closed. He got in my face. "I've dreamed of this moment. Oh, how I prayed."
"I didn't realize you'd fallen so hard for me."
My wit earned me another punch in the belly. I gasped for air, and Bruce giggled girlishly. "The spiked glove is on the other fist now," he shrieked.
"Well," I said breathlessly, "I guess the storm-trooper getup explains your Detroit story."
"I told you we kicked ass." He laughed. "So, how does it feel to be used like a cheap whore?"
"Not so swell."
"The pilots told us you killed Olly on the rotor," One-Eye growled, his reflective patch flashing angrily under the fluorescents.
"He wouldn't stop smiling," I explained. "It made the Devil jump right in me."
One-Eye tightened his grip on my arm and shook me violently, apparently trying to shake the Devil right out of me. I didn't feel any less jaded when the elevator opened to the afternoon sky. Bruce reminisced as One-Eye and the black man dragged me across the roof.
"Take a look out the window, isn't that what you said? Huh, Jake?" He grabbed the front of my jumper, and the three of them wrestled me to the edge of the roof. They shoved my torso over the rim, and I stared into the face of the street eighty stories below.
"How's the view, Jake? How's the goddamn view?"
"Enough joking around, boys," I said. "Now let me up."
Bruce rabbit-punched me in the back of the neck. "Now you're going to fall for me!" he screamed. "Do you know what I mean?"
"You sure talk tough with your friends around," I said, gambling my last chip. "Did you tell them how I beat you like a gong back on the Hill?"
Bruce grabbed my collar and yelled in my ear. "That was a cheap shot you got in, that's all."
"You're a weak, sissy-boy pansy, Bruce. You were then, you are now."
"Let him go!" he screamed. They let go, and Bruce jabbed a finger in my face. "I can take you, shitbag, I always could!" He drew the pistol from his hip holster and handed it to One-Eye. He drew a knife from a sheath and didn't hand it to anybody.
I put my back to the edge. "Why do you get a knife?"
He smiled. "Because I make the rules now."
We squared off. Because he had the knife, I kept my hands open and circled him. He held the knife in the manner of a man taught in a school rather than the streets: blade next to his hip, opposite hand and foot forward.
"Get him, Bruce," One-Eye shouted. "Get him back for Olly."
Bruce crouched and lunged, slashing at my abdomen. I leapt back and aimed a front kick at his throat. He leaned out of the way, and I took the offensive. I feinted another kick to shift his guard, then snuck in a right hook that rocked him back on his heels. With his guard paralyzed, I instinctively stepped in close to finish him with a hard hook to the jaw. At the last instant I pulled the punch and jumped back, giving him time to recover. I had to stall. I glanced at the sky while he shook out the cobwebs.
He came in again, less professional this time. I sidestepped the blade and broke his nose with a spinning back fist. He slouched into the arms of the black man.
"You want us to shoot him, Bruce?" One-Eye asked.
Bruce wiped the blood from his nose. "No. I said I'd take him and I'm gonna." He moved at me again, more wary. "No more mister nice guy."
I froze, and he jumped up and shot a boot at my stomach. Instead of deflecting the clumsy kick, I tensed my stomach muscles and absorbed the blow. I staggered back, feigning pain. Bruce chortled with sadistic joy and lunged at me overhand with the knife. I deflected the knife hand skyward with my left forearm and hammered his temple with a hard overhand right. His eyes unfocused and his jaw dropped. I leaned back and drove a side kick into his belly, sending him to the deck.
Bruce lay on his stomach, holding his head, blood trickling from his temple and nostrils.
"Well?" One-Eye said.
Bruce blinked the blood out of his eyes and glared up at me.
"C'mon, Bruce," I taunted. "Get up, you can still beat me."
"Kill him," Bruce whispered.
"What?" One-Eye asked.
"Shoot that bastard!" Bruce screamed, and subguns swung my way.
"So long, dickhead," Bruce said.
One-Eye opened up with his subgun, firing wildly at the sky and pitching over the escarpment the same instant his head exploded. The black guy started to say something, but his body sprung a dozen leaks, spurting warm blood onto the tarmac. He took one step toward me, then fell flat on his face.
The popper hummed five yards above us. Bruce got up, and we stared at it together. It hung in the air, its black bullet-shaped hull dimly reflecting the rays of the setting sun. I could sense it was running our lives through its computer over and over. Finally, almost reluctantly, it hummed away.
The elevator housing clanked and began to whir. Somebody was coming up.
"The popper got them!" Bruce cried.
"They were in Remi's data bank of enemies," I explained. "If I knew you were in town, I would have put you on the VIP list, too." I picked up the black man's subgun.
Bruce was inching toward the elevator. I sidled in front of him, pointing the subgun at his chest. "Where you going, Bruce?"
He froze and stared at the barrel of the Mitsu. "You don't have to kill me."
I thought for a moment. "Okay, I won't, then," I said, tossing the subgun over the edge. I pulled the hoop from the back of my belt and dropped it over a stout antenna rod. I gestured at the edge of the roof. "Shall we?"
Bruce peered nervously toward the rim and showed me his perplexed expression. "What?"
The elevator chimed, and the doors began to open.
"You and me, Bruce. Let's go!" I lunged at Bruce, grabbing him by the wrist of his knife hand and together we went over the edge.
We fell in perfect free-fall, no other sound save the rush of our bodies and Bruce's wail of terror. I glimpsed Rob at his desk as we hurtled by, plunging to earth at ever-increasing velocity. I stared into Bruce's face and laughed at his open-mouthed horror. I grappled with him for the knife, him not understanding the struggle. We tumbled end over end, and the windows flashed by until they became a single nauseous blur. I wrested the knife from Bruce's hand and let him go. Side by side we rushed to meet the earth, one hundred yards from impact, then fifty, then forty. Bruce found his breath and began screaming. Thirty yards from impact the cord began to whine, and Bruce pulled away. The band went taut and my descent slowed as if angels had taken me by the elbows. Bruce rushed earthward and finished the final twenty yards solo. He bounced once on the ornamental lawn, then settled into the rich earth. The band whined with tension, and five yards from earth my descent stopped and the band began to pull me skyward. I reached up with the knife and slashed the cord.
I landed in a patch of tulips next to Bruce and executed a near-perfect parachute landing fall. I lay in the grass for a moment, running a mental check of my body. Everything seemed okay, so I got to my feet. I heard gasps all around.
I stretched and drew a vigorous breath, exhilarated to be alive and young and healthy. "God just sent me down to tell you something," I said in a deep, loud voice. The crowd gaped and leaned forward, eager for my revelation. "He said, Throw off the yoke, baby, it's time to boogie!" I parted th
e crowd and walked away.
I crept back to Dante's with the horrible knowledge that'd I'd been the muscle behind an evil brain. I could think of only one thing. Revenge.
22
I lurked behind a Dumpster in Dante's parking lot, staying out of sight. The Caddy was gone, and I didn't dare go inside. Hours faded and afternoon had turned to twilight when Monique wheeled in. I opened the passenger door and was inside before the car stopped.
"Keep driving," I said, ducking low. "Right back onto Colfax."
She caught her breath. "Jake, you're alive!"
"And I want to stay that way." I peeked over the dash. We weren't moving. "We have to get out of here."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"The revolution's been betrayed."
"We aren't safe here?"
"No. Marlene knows about this place, and Marlene's a traitor."
"I knew it." She turned onto Colfax and sped north.
"You killed Remi," she said.
"How'd you know?"
"Everyone knows. It's on every channel."
"It doesn't mean much. The Party's still in power. Things might even be worse."
"What do you mean?"
I told her everything.
"So it was a setup from the start," she said.
"Yeah. I knew there was something fishy all along. I caught on it was a Party plot just before I went in."
"Then why'd you go along?"
"I thought I could pull it off anyway, dominate events as they presented themselves."
"Or maybe you have a secret death wish," Monique said in a quiet voice.
I thought about that. "I wouldn't rule it out."
"So what happens to Denver now?"
"The World Party takes back over. They'll crack the whip until things get back in line. There'll be roundups, reeducation, executions, the usual."
"Oh."
"Unless we do something about it."
She slid me fearful eyes.
"Take me to the band house," I said.
Her eyes turned suspicious. "Why?"
"Because we can't let this happen."
"Why do you care? You did your job. You can go to your desert now. Or back to the City. We'll take care of it from here."
"Take what where? Look around, there's nothing happening, there is no revolution. It was all a big setup. An exchange of tyrants."
"The radio said there were attacks on posts of Remi's techtroops, assassinations of Party officials, riots in the ghettos."
"That was Rob's mercenaries and militiamen liquidating Remi's loyalists and Denver's radical elements. He's just cleaning house."
"Look, though," she said, pointing at the people on the street. "Seeing Remi dead has taken away a lot of fear."
I looked harder at the street. She was right. There was an undercurrent of tension, and people were gathering on street corners, talking. The death of Remi was making people edgy.
"Other things have happened," she said. "Babbit's disappeared, abducted maybe."
"He's dead."
She looked at me, shocked. "Dead? How do you know?"
"I killed him."
"What?"
"I executed him. It was the only option. With him in the way there could be no revolution."
Her face went blank. "Babbit's dead?"
"He was up to his neck in it. He was playing both sides. I had no choice. I hope you understand."
"Oh, I understand." Her voice was faraway, alien. "We have to be ruthless."
"That's right."
"The band house?"
"Yes. We have to counterattack."
"Did you hesitate when you killed Babbit?" she asked suddenly.
"We talked."
She looked out the window. She may have been crying. "What did he say?"
"He said I was going to Hell."
We were silent for the remainder of the ride. When we got to the band house, George answered the door.
"You're alive," he said.
I stepped inside. "Everything's screwed up. We have to talk. Is the squad here?"
George nodded.
"Good. We have to act fast." I sent Monique to gather the band, then led George into the practice room. I related the events of the day. When I'd finished, George bowed his head. "Sounds like the chips are stacked against us," he said.
"Yeah. And the odds get worse every moment."
He nodded. "What about Marlene?"
"What about her?"
"Is she part of the betrayal?"
"That'd be a good guess."
George frowned deeper. "I hardly knew her. But I trusted her."
"So did I." The band began trooping into the room, led by Monique. "Listen, George," I said quietly, "I'm going to need your support."
George gave me a troubled look.
"Do I have it?"
He looked away and didn't answer. I turned and faced the band with neither roof nor foundation.
They sprawled in the fold-up chairs as if they didn't want to be there. I cleared my throat. "The revolution has been betrayed."
Mack strummed his guitar. "Which revolution is that?'
"The only revolution that's happening."
"Happening?" Mack said. He put down his guitar and stood up. "We don't know about any revolution that's happening. Do we, amigos?"
The band mumbled agreement.
"See?" Mack said, taking a hostile step forward. "We don't know about any revolution."
"Remi is dead," I said. "But unless we act fast, a more evil ruler will take over."
"You just don't get it," Mack snarled in my face. "We don't give a damn about you or your big plans. If your employers betrayed you, that's your fucking problem, we ain't going to bail you out." He turned to the band. "We don't have to listen to this shit. Let's go." The band started to get up.
"Maybe we should listen to what Jake has to say," George said, folding his arms, his voice a cry in the wilderness. "What can it hurt?"
I looked at George. He stared impassively back. The band wavered, half out of their seats. One by one they sat down. All but Mack.
"Fuck you guys," he snarled, and walked out. Monique followed him.
With them went the tension. "So what's the story, Jakie?" Tomas asked.
I told them. I told them everything.
"What can we do?" Kerry asked.
"We have to counterattack," I said.
"When?"
"The sooner the better. They won't be expecting us. They think we're confused and divided."
"Aren't we?"
"Yes, but not as much as they think. I have a plan."
The door banged open and Mack and Monique walked in. They held Marlene between them.
"Look who showed up," Mack said.
"What's going on, Jake?" Marlene asked, eyes full of panic.
"Execute her!" Monique cried.
Marlene flinched, and I tried to take control. "Everybody needs to relax," I said in my calming voice.
"This is his former employer," Monique said to the band. "The witch who betrayed the revolution." Monique turned her insane eyes on me. "We have to kill her. You killed Babbit, you have to kill her. We have to be ruthless to win, we have to execute all the traitors."
"I didn't betray anything!" Marlene cried.
Kerry came up beside me. "Monique is right. You told us just a minute ago she and her brother betrayed the revolution. We have to kill her."
"We don't have to kill anybody," I said.
Monique's face got ugly. "Oh, are there personal feelings involved, Jake? Is that it? All this talk about what's right for the revolution. It's what's right for Jake, that's what matters. How are we supposed to follow you when you won't follow your own doctrines? If any of this crap means anything, she has to die!"
I looked around the room. I could see blood lust in all their eyes, even George's.
"Here," George said. He held out my gyra. He set it into my hand, and I weighed the weapon. It's so heavy, I thought. Has it a
lways weighed this much? I noticed Marlene shared my fascination with the pistol balanced on my palm, the worth and balance of a human life. She was guilty, of course. We all knew that. And guilt meant punishment. And the punishment for treason was, of course, death.
"Live up to your codes, Jake," Kerry whispered into the vacuum of silence. "She has to die. Or we don't help you."
Other voices swam in, low and whispery, my own words returning to mock me.
"There's no room for mercy or remorse."
"Only ruthlessness will allow us to survive."
"Good men must do evil things to defeat evil."
"Hoist the black flag and start slitting throats!"
I looked from face to face, all set with ruthless hate. "You've turned into monsters," I said.
"You turned them into monsters," Monique hissed. "Monsters on the side of good, remember?" She pointed at Marlene. "If she was anyone else, you would have already killed her. I say we take a vote!"
"Yeah, a vote," Mack agreed. "Everyone who thinks this spy should be executed, raise your hand."
Four hands shot up. Tomas looked around, then raised his hand, too. "They're right, Jakie baby. She did us harsh."
I looked at George. His hand began twitching, then slowly rose as if a heavy weight were attached to it. "You can't play favorites, Jake," he said. "An even hand."
"Well," Mack said, "looks like everybody's hand is up but Jake's. Six to one, majority rules. The spy dies."
Marlene's begging, heavy eyes met mine, and my mind whipped around the options frantically. Just how much more ruthless can I get?
I closed my fingers around the butt of the gyra, and my finger found the trigger. "You're right. Death is the only way."
Marlene gasped and Monique smiled. "She's guilty, Jake. Do it!"
"She's also brought friends," Tomas said from the window.
"What?"
"Vans are unloading out front. Fifteen, twenty men with weapons." Tomas looked at me. "They're spifs, Jake."
"What more proof do you need?" Monique cried. "She set us up. She led the troops right in. Kill her!"
Marlene's face contorted with terror. "Honestly, Jake, I know nothing about this."
"We'll take care of this later," I said, absurdly relieved armed spifs were closing in. I moved quickly to the back door and looked out the window. The alley was clear. "Out the back! Let's go!"