“Human,” Sam murmured. All her life, he had been trying to tell her. If only she had known how to listen.
“Lemonade.” Sam turned at the sound of the male voice and found herself face-to-face with a drink container... And Ben. He handed Sam the container as he sat down beside her. “Oh, he didn’t have ice.”
Sam looked at the drink container wistfully. “He never does,” she said quietly. She glanced at Ben. “Too cold for ice anyway. Thanks, Benny.”
“Yep.” The two sat quietly, sipping their drinks and looking out on the water. Sam listened to the slurping sound of Ben’s straw draining the last dregs of lemonade from the cup.
“You know, Benny,” Sam began, but Ben quickly cut her off.
“I’m going back to work tomorrow.”
“Back to work?”
“Yeah.” He fiddled with the straw, swirling it around in the opening with a repetitive squeak, squeak. “Pushing mops, shuffling papers and the like.”
“So, the test?”
“Oh, no, I passed.” Ben shrugged. “I just think I can do more good where I am for the time being.” Squeak, squeak. Squeak, squeak. “Down in the land of the dead.”
Ben turned to her. Sam noted that his eye make-up was different than his usual simple-and-heavy lining. The left eye was more like an eye of Horus, which Sam surmised had some sort of occult and/or comic book meaning that was significant to Ben.
“You couldn’t give up the eyeliner, could you?”
Ben grinned. “Nope.” His grin faded into a smaller smile. “How about you?”
“Ready to pass those mounds of paperwork off to Lenny.” Sam set her drink aside and took out her cigarettes. “He’s been cleared for desk duty and is absolutely beyond thrilled.” She quickly put a cigarette between her lips and lit it, enjoying the first long drag and blowing out a puff of smoke that floated through the frosty air like a cottony cloud.
“You know, those things will kill you.”
Sam took another drag, blowing out the smoke thoroughly before speaking. “I have had a rather... eventful week, so excuse me if I’m not too concerned about my lungs right now.”
Silence descended. Sam continued to smoke, feeling a bit guilty about snapping at Ben like that. It hadn’t exactly been a cake-walk of a week for him, either. And he was on the roof. He saw me change. “Listen, Benny—”
“So, he’s sticking around, huh?” Ben was looking off to the right at something, or more exactly someone, behind her.
Sam took a deep breath in and turned around, following his gaze, although the scent told her who it was.
He was leaning against the railing maybe two hundred feet away, looking out at the water and smoking, of course. The black duster was in place, as always, but the hood was gone. No more mysterious “Man in Black”. Just Vincent. He glanced over at her, a quick glance that coincided with the thought of his name.
“Yeah. Yeah, he is. For now.”
“This isn’t over yet for you, is it?”
Sam was quiet for a moment before she replied, “It’s never going to be over for me.” She glanced at Ben quickly. “You know that.”
Ben nodded and stood up. “Yeah.” He tossed his drink container in a nearby garbage can and started to walk away. Suddenly he turned, walking backward as he spoke. “Hey, you know, there is a bright side to all of this?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“My best friend is a werewolf! I’m totally going to the next DCI tournament!” Ben blew her a dramatic kiss and jogged away, disappearing into the milling crowds of people enjoying the Pier. Sam shook her head. Leave it to Ben to find the wacky in her messed-up life.
VINCENT WATCHED AS the kid walked away, leaving Sam alone on the bench. He watched her sit through another cigarette, staring out at the water in the harbor. She knew he was there, and Vincent certainly wasn’t trying to hide. He needed her to know he was there; know he was around. And he needed THEM to know, too.
Sam stood and started walking away from the Pier.
Vincent followed her at as great a distance as he could, keeping her within sight and, more importantly, within scent. She moved quickly, jogging across streets against the crossing signal, weaving her way through traffic as any “real” New Yorker does.
They were in the Bowery now, and Vincent could see the sign up ahead for Delancey Street. It was only a couple of blocks to her apartment. They walked past a small meat-and-cheese market, its signs in Russian, Croat, Serbian and Albanian indicating the many imported products for sale.
Vincent stopped cold and looked up at the shop’s name: Karneval Meat Market. He turned just in time to see Sam hurry across Delancey and disappear toward Chrystie Street and home. Vincent turned back to the meat market.
The front door was propped open despite the bitter cold. Vincent could hear the sound of sweeping coming from inside and, moments later a cloud of dust whooshed out the front door and into the street a few feet away from him.
The dust continued to come as a man backed out of the market and onto the sidewalk, the cloud of dust diminishing with each sweep of his broom toward the street. He whistled as he swept...
Vincent took out a cigarette and lit it before he spoke. “I never could understand your fascination with that piece of music.”
Jack Hudson stopped sweeping and slowly turned toward Vincent, a smile spreading across his face. “One must appreciate the classics, Vincent.” He glanced down the street. “She is safely home?”
Vincent nodded. “This is a bit close, don’t you think?”
“Close? Are you joking? I tried to rent the retail space in her building.” Hudson smiled. “I thought you would enjoy being this close to her.”
Vincent glared at Hudson. “It would be better if I was as far away as possible. Better for her.”
Hudson shook his head. “They will come whether you are here or there. With John still alive, it’s better for her if you are here.”
“She’ll never be safe around me, Jack. Never.”
“What happened to... that wasn’t your fault, Vincent. None of it was. You’ve punished yourself for long enough.” Hudson sighed, then smiled. “I, on the other hand, still have some penance yet to fulfill.” He motioned to the door. “Shall we?” Hudson disappeared back inside the store, leaving the door open behind him.
The early crowds were already starting to come out on the Bowery, heading to the many bars, pubs and restaurants in the area. University kids hoofed by with their backpacks; trendy East Village types strolled along, cigarettes between their lips and coffee cups in hand. It reminded him of Dublin, of the kind of life he should have. Not this...
Vincent put out his cigarette, tossing the butt into the gutter. He’d made his bed... Now he had to lay in it. At least, for now. With a final look at the street, Vincent disappeared into the meat market.
The End
QUICKSILVER
He stops me in my tracks
His silence is devoured
Euphoric pure and calm
This is his witching hour...
Taunted by his timing
Grown vacant in his eyes
My Raven puppeteer
Playing games till my demise...
A. Stone, “The Puppeteer”
1
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11th
MULBERRY STREET, LITTLE Italy
The lights flashed in colorful patterns, the red and white reflecting in the puddles on the street and the streams of water still running along the curb. The rain had been brief yet torrential, and it had done its job, pushing all but the most stalwart festival-goers out of the streets and away from the food stands and games. Samantha Karolyi looked up at the trailer awning and watched the steady drips of rain pouring off the top. She’d lowered the awning slightly when the rain began, hoping to avoid the heavy deluge that would be the result if left up. She sighed and took out another cigarette. She’d already managed to smoke through half the pack since the rain started. Ordinarily, Ang
e frowned on smoking in the games, but when it was raining, and marks were few, he merely frowned and looked the other way.
Sam sighed again and lit her cigarette, her gaze traveling over the few milling people and festival workers still on the street, finally stopping at the long-range trailer adjacent to the Roll-A-Ball game she was working. Or, more accurately, reclining on the tables, her back resting against the rear counter. She squinted at the basketball game and the slender black man standing in front of it. Sam chuckled to herself as she watched him shift awkwardly, the basketball tucked under his arm, his fingers taking turns running over the tidy cornrows running along his head and ending in a gathering at the nape of his neck.
Sam pulled out her phone and quickly dialed. Lifting the phone to her ear, she continued to watch the black man as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Yeah?”
Sam smiled. “Lenny, you look about as comfortable as a cat in a hot tub.” She watched as the black man turned toward her, his phone still pressed to his ear.
“Yeah, well, you know about how much I like standing in the rain.”
“It’s not raining now. Spitting, maybe, but not raining.” In reply, Sam saw Lenny waving at her, his middle finger raised. Sam chuckled again and promptly “waved” back. Lenny and she had been partnered only four months, but the record they accumulated in that short time was envied by most of the young detectives in the precinct. Within weeks of pairing them up, they had racked up an impressive number of collars and closed cases, earning them quite a reputation amongst the small-time dealers on the streets of the Lower East Side. More importantly, though, the pair had hit it off. Night-school educated Sam and degree-holding Leonidas Jackson could not have been more opposite, but their differences meshed rather than clashed.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, Len?”
“How much longer are we going to stand in this, waiting for... nobody?”
Sam shrugged. “Until Ange tells us to close.” Which could be any minute... Or another two hours. Sam glanced at her phone to check the time... Yep, two hours.
Festival people, also known as carnies, had very little concern for the workers freezing or baking in the “joint” trailers day and night if they were making money. Sam recalled other agents telling her about big time fairs up and down the East Coast, and how many days and nights they had spent getting no money, just sitting in the trailers watching the trickle of fair-goers straggle by. She’d seen it herself, that first summer when she was fifteen, and every summer after that until she went into the police academy. Her grandfather had arranged it with Ange only because he knew Ange was part of one of the Five Families and that Ange and his boys would look out for her.
Sam remembered the first time she’d passed by the Albanian club on Arthur Avenue. The brawny men sitting at tables outside drinking thick coffee, and Sam remembered the word “thug” popping into her head as she walked, keeping her eyes averted to avoid their notice. No such luck, though. One of the large men promptly started to talk to her, his bulk nearly blocking the sun as he stepped toward her in a sexually predatory advance.
Then there was Ange, along with his son Domenic. Not only did little 5-foot-4-inch Ange’s appearance cause the Albanians to back off, but it also got Sam an introduction to the club owner, and the designation to all in hearing that she was Ange’s “niece.”
No one ever bothered her again.
“Sam?!”
Sam shook her head, banishing the memories as she refocused on the phone, and on Lenny. “Sorry, Len. What?”
“He. Is. Here.”
Sam quickly got to her feet and stood at the center of the game, her free hand holding the center pillar as she straddled the gap between the tables. “Where?” Her eyes searched Mulberry Street first in one direction, then the other. Then her eyes fixed on the splashdown quarter trailer halfway down the next block – and the man leaning against it. The inside of the trailer was crowded with lookie-loos craning their necks to see inside as people slid quarters into the automated machine. Even amidst the large crowd, Sam could still see him, his Latin good looks, the cocky stance, the streetwise attitude...
Franco.
Sam felt an involuntary shiver as she moved away from her vantage point and stepped down onto one of the stools in front of the game table. She and Franco had history, and not the pleasant kind. One of her first calls as a rookie was to back-up a bust on a house in Bed-Stuy. She’d managed to get herself cornered in a shed out back, cornered by Franco. Sam shivered again. He hadn’t assaulted her, thank God, but the encounter still disturbed her.
She craned her neck, searching the street again to find him. Yep, still there, still oblivious. As tools go, Franco was not the sharpest. Hence, his standing out in plain sight like this. He had to know they were looking for him, and the rest of the organization as well.
Lenny had been reluctant to bring her along, fearing that this simple apprehension could quickly escalate when she and Franco came together again. Sam insisted, though, and proceeded to make herself indispensable by securing their cover for the sting as “green help” attached to Ange’s show.
Sam stepped from one stool to the next, her right hand and arm out for balance as the left continued to hold her phone to her ear. “Has he seen you yet?”
Lenny hesitated before answering. “No. Don’t think so. I’d be more worried about him spotting—”
“Me.” Sam froze, balanced rather precariously on the next-to-the-last stool, her gaze fixed on Franco, on his brown eyes, which, at the moment, were looking straight back into hers. She watched as realization washed over his face, his expression changing rapidly from oblivious to fully aware as he recognized who he was looking at. Then... he smiled. Teeth glinting in the glare of the blinking LED lights of the game trailers.
Shhhhiiiitttt!
Sam wasn’t entirely sure when she started moving, but her body suddenly went into high gear. She leapt down from the last stool and hit the ground in a run, pocketing her phone as she ran toward Franco. She could hear Lenny yelling, but couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying. Franco had turned and had taken off at a run-down Mulberry Street towards Canal Street.
The smells of zeppole and fried peppers gave way to soy sauce and rotting vegetables as Sam rounded the corner on to Canal Street. Once as much a part of the city’s Little Italy, the area was predominately Chinese now, and the cultural enclave continued to creep northward... to the chagrin of the traditional residents of the historically Italian neighborhood.
There were more people here, making it more difficult to keep Franco’s head in sight as she pursued him. He suddenly disappeared, and Sam slowed scanning the street for a sign of him, or why he disappeared. She found the latter... Canal Street Station.
A chase through the subway was not really at the top of her “To Do” list today, but Sam was determined to get this asshole once and for all. She took a deep breath and plunged down the stairs.
The warm wind, pushed ahead by an approaching train, hit her like a wall as her feet left the last stair. Sam held up her badge as she pushed through the emergency turnstile and headed on toward the platform below.
It was relatively quiet, with the few people gathered in anticipation for the next “6” train moving forward as close as safety permitted to the edge of the platform, positioning themselves to the greatest advantage, or so they believed. Getting a seat on the “6” train was always an accomplishment, especially at this time of night, but this far south was nearly the end of the line, so the rush was usually minimal. Sam noted the subdued attire of most of the soon-to-be passengers. Local businesspeople, no doubt... or others on the way to cocktails at one of the venerable bars or pubs in the oldest part of the city.
Another train was approaching, and as the warm rush of wind began to pick up, pushed ahead by the oncoming train, Sam spotted him. Franco was standing at the far end of the platform, nearly hidden behind the last column. He wasn’t moving, was
n’t looking around searching for her... He obviously thought his stealthy skills were better than they were... Moron.
The grinding gears and shrieking wheels of the approaching train grew louder as even hotter air washed over her skin, causing the hair on Sam’s arms to stand on-end. She had contemplated trying to take him now, dashing down the platform as the passengers stepped forward to board the on-coming train.
No... too much risk to others, and herself. She wasn’t sure if Franco had a weapon, even if he didn’t have a gun, or at least a knife on him, he could easily grab one of those waiting for the train and use them as a weapon.
Sam kept him in sight as the train barreled out of the tunnel and screeched to a stop. The doors clattered open and an exchange of people quickly took place. One thing New Yorkers knew how to do was get on and off a subway – fast, smooth and with as little human contact as possible. Sam watched to make sure that Franco got onto the last car, then quickly squeezed into the nearest one to her just moments before the doors slid shut.
Sam braced herself against the central pole, her legs spread slightly to help her balance as the train jerked forward. The car was nearly empty, only a handful of people sitting scattered around the car, and a lone dark figure mirroring her posture at the next central pole.
Sam let her gaze scan the seated people before finally resting on the figure, her training taking over as she noted his appearance and manner.
He was tall, nearly a foot taller than her, and the long black duster he was wearing hung well on his muscular frame. Beneath the coat he wore a hooded shirt of some kind, the hood was pulled up over his head, hiding all but a few tendrils of curly, nearly black hair. His jaw was strong, covered with a growth of dark stubble, but his eyes were hidden behind opaque dark sunglasses. She watched him flexing his fingers, as if wanting to be at the ready for... something. Sam looked up again... and realized he was looking straight back at her.
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