City of Woe

by Christopher Ryan

  Despite her assured strut of a moment ago, May actually stepped into Pop’s room hesitantly. She met Pop’s eyes with trepidation. Pop reached a hand up, took hers. May leaned over, kissed him, and he held her there a second, whispered, “I’m glad you came.”

  May smiled, wiped her suddenly wet eyes, and did what she did best: she began talking. “I figured everybody else would bring you coffee and the paper. So I was trying to find something else you enjoyed. I didn’t find it until I was already in the hospital. I knew you were on the ninth floor, because they told me downstairs, but, somehow I got off on the sixth floor. And I’m wandering the hall there, looking for your room, until I realized I was on the wrong floor. Then, on the way back to the elevator, you’ll never guess what I found. Or I should say who I found.” With that she turned toward the door. “Bill, come on in.”

  A complete stranger entered carrying an electric piano. Mallory seemed to remember him exiting the elevator behind May. As he set up, May explained. “Bill’s a new friend. He volunteers to play for patients. Dad, you’re gonna love the music he knows.” With that Bill launched into a series of Irish songs, including “Black Velvet Band”, “The Orange and The Green”, and “Goodbye Mrs. Durkin”. Slowly, the rest of the family returned. Everyone sang along to Pop’s all time favorite, “The Unicorn”, a song he had taught all his kids. Even Bridget, a nurse who had been fussing over Pop all morning, joined the chorus.

  Seventy-nine. Eighty-one. Seventy-nine. Eighty. Eighty-one. Eighty.…

  Gina called from the lobby around noon. Her parents had not been available to watch the kids – a rarity – they were at one of those three-hour Good Friday vigils. As a result, Gina brought the boys with her, and wanted Mallory to stay with them in the lobby while she went up to visit Pop.

  He found them right by the elevators, kissed his wife, squeezed the kids. “Okay, I just need to speak with this woman at the desk,” he told them. He left his family where they were standing and joined the visitors’ line. When it was his turn he walked up to the receptionist. “Listen, my family has been going through a real emotional ordeal with my father being so sick, and you and your colleagues have been absolutely amazing. I just thought someone should say thank you.” The woman gushed that he was “so very welcome.” Mallory returned to Gina. “She said it was great that the boys want to visit their grandfather. Let’s go.”

  Having heard who was downstairs, Pop had insisted on sitting in a chair. “I’m scary enough to look at with all these damn tubes in me. My bananas see me in bed they’ll think I’m really sick.” So when Mallory snuck the kids past the nurses’ station — thank God they were still small enough to pass below the counter that surrounded their workstation — Pop was positioned upright, one arm holding the bed rail to keep him steady, the other raised in excitement. “My bananas!”

  The greeting was muffled by the oxygen mask, which Pop reached for. Mallory stopped him. “Pop. The docs all say you need to keep that on.”

  “The kids are going to think I’m Darth Vader.” Mallory’s father leaned down to them for hugs. Mallory’s oldest brother, Patty Jr., held him so he wouldn’t fall over. The kids were a little freaked. Pop took a deep breath, held it, then lifted the mask quickly. “See? It’s still… Pop-pop under here,” he said, putting the mask back on as soon as he finished.

  This cracked Max up, and his loud laughter relaxed Kieran. Soon they were sitting on Pop’s lap and talking about everything, completely oblivious that this would be the last time they ever saw him alive. But Mallory’s father knew, and his wet eyes made that clear to everyone in the room. Slowly, sniffles became a quiet background chorus as the family watched grandfather and grandsons crack each other up.

  Too soon, Mallory found himself in the elevator with Gina and the boys. “Hey, thanks for doing this,” he kissed her, hugged her closely, needing suddenly to hold on.

  Kieran pushed them apart. “Dad, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “Sorry, Kier, couldn’t help myself.” Mallory grinned. “And guys, thanks for visiting Pop-Pop. You really made his day.” Kieran, ever the cool one, nodded slightly. Max bowed dramatically. At the lobby, everyone got more kisses. Mallory whispered to Gina. “Thanks again, this was the right thing to do.”

  “Even though you lied to me about having permission?” She smiled.

  He returned the smile. “Now listen, I’m not telling you what to do, I’m begging, okay? Go right to your mother’s. Do not even stop at home, okay?”

  “I understand, hon.”

  “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, trying for one more kiss. Kieran broke up that nonsense immediately.

  “Yeah,” Max chimed in, “It’s yucky enough when you do that at home.”

  Mallory backed away, grinning at Gina, then making a serious face for the guys. “Take care of your Mom. Hold her hand so she doesn’t get lost.” Both boys took Gina’s hands immediately. They waved and led her away, Gina smiling back once before they turned a corner out of his sight. Mallory turned toward the elevators, then froze. Waiting for him there were Gunner, and Danvers. Neither looked happy.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  They used the visitors’ lounge on the ninth floor. The overcast, gray day seeped in through the large dirty windows, dimming the room. Finding Father Carry in there talking football with Ross, Mallory surprised even himself by asking them both to stay. Danvers seemed hesitant. “We really shouldn’t have either civilian here; this is police business.”

  “You come to my father’s bedside and ask that I discuss work, I get to set a few conditions.”

  “We don’t have time to argue.”

  Mallory stared him down.

  “Our guy delivered index cards to editors at The Daily News editors. They dismissed the first set until the Clinton fire matched the notes perfectly. The second set arrived about an hour ago; they are directly addressed to you.” Onto the table he laid pages from a folder. They held copies of the index cards. The first showed only a Roman numeral:

  VI

  The next featured a familiar scrawl:

  Almost done, detective. You arrived late to my home, and you looked exhausted. You should get some sleep before we meet again.

  The third card offered not one but two Roman numerals:

  VII

  VIII

  Then the narrative began:

  Level Seven sinners need to die in flames and violence for their greedy, dehumanizing, animalistic urges. Such shortcomings are worse today of all days, when their indulgences disturb as did the Roman soldiers who flayed my weaker brother.

  Liars, self-deceptors, weaklings — they drink, spend, please themselves to death; such flamboyant suicides.

  Eighth Level sinners will assuredly be there too: seducers, panderers, simoniacs buying or pimping the Sacred Female; fortune tellers shilling their hollow advice; grafters and swindlers making their deals; outright thieves, evil counselors, instigators, liars, they’re all well represented. They shall burn too.

  By the time He commends His soul, it will be accomplished.

  “‘By the time He commends His soul,’” Father Carry murmured.

  Danvers was not pleased. “Excuse us, Father—”

  “It is accomplished,’” the priest was pale now. “Lord help us, he’s timing it to end at 3 pm today, the moment of redemption.”

  “I said excuse us, Father—”

  Mallory waved Danvers off. “Father?”

  “The traditional moment of Christ’s death, 3 pm on Good Friday,” the priest explained.

  Gunner threw up his hands. “He’s Christ now?”

  Ross spoke. “Nah, this guy believes he’s the Wrath of God.”

  “The Second Coming,” Father Carry added. “Final judgment.”

  Danvers checked his watch. “It’s after two already; we need to know where this is going to happen.”

  “What’s the most offensive place to be on Good Friday afternoon?” Mallory asked.

  Gunner offered,
“He writes ‘they drink’. A bar?”

  Danvers did him one better. “‘Buying or pimping the Sacred Female.’ A strip joint.”

  “If he’s sticking to the pattern, its gotta be lower in Manhattan. Where would we find,” Mallory checked the pages before him, “‘liars, deceptors, weaklings… seducers, panderers, fortune tellers, evil counselors—”

  “The Player’s Lounge,” Gunner offered. “Right in the heart of Wall Street, way downtown, deep in Hell from this guy’s view. Banks and other financial businesses close early on Good Friday. Any young guns looking to party will be there. I’ll call, get them to clear the place.”

  “We’re running out of time. We’ll call on the way,” Danvers said.

  Mallory’s face changed. “You guys take it.”

  “He’s focused on you,” Danvers insisted.

  “This guy doesn’t get to dictate who arrests him. My family needs me.”

  The others just looked at him.

  “No. Sorry. I’ve got to be here for my father.” Mallory walked out of the room, moving directly to his father’s side.

  Father Carry followed him into the crowded room. “You know you cannot walk from this. Lives are at stake.”

  Mallory lowered his head. “Just let me stay.”

  Pop’s voice reached him quietly. “What’s the matter? …. Don’t think we’ll see each other again? …. Go.”

  Mallory raised his eyes.

  Pop winked. “Do The Job… I’ll see you later.”

  Mallory exhaled, “That what you want?”

  His father nodded.

  Mallory kissed his cheek. “See ya later.”

  Turning, he jabbed a finger toward Father Carry. “You’re coming with me.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Gunner sped them down Broadway, blessed with green lights. The Lieu sat in the front passenger seat, pissed that Mallory had again played the-you-got-me-away-from-my–father’s-hospital-bed card when Danvers refused to let the priest and Ross come along. He now furiously worked the phone, ignoring their presence. Mallory sat in back, sandwiched between his old friend and his new priest.

  Mallory spoke in low tones. “In front of my whole family? That was so wrong.”

  The priest shrugged. “You’re a Catholic; forgive me.”

  Danvers yelled into the phone. “Are you the manager of The Player’s Lounge? Listen, Mr. Barker — Barker, can you hear me? Hello? Barker? Hello?”

  Mallory tried again. “Father, why did you push me to go when you know my father is near… doesn’t have much time left?”

  “Do you think you’re being involved up to this point was a coincidence?”

  The detective scoffed. “Enough with coincidences; that’s a concept, not something I can touch. I don’t work from concepts; that’s a sucker’s game.”

  Ross chuckled. “Love’s a concept, and you’re deeply in love with Gina.”

  “That’s different.”

  “I remember when you met her. You were asked to go to a concert at the last minute. She’s a friend of a friend. You happened to sit across from each other. Many coincidences.”

  Gunner said, “Don’t mess with the Gina thing; even I believe that was God.”

  Father Carry chuckled now. “The big heathen believes in something?”

  Gunner laughed. “A woman like that lets me in the house? Allows me to play with her kids? Cooks me pasta? That’s proof of God’s mercy right there.”

  “Faith in anything is a powerful force, no matter what you believe—”

  “What do you believe, Father?”

  “I believe you have a part to play in this case, Frank. We both do.”

  Mallory looked at the cross between an attaché case and a doctor’s kit sitting between Father Carry’s ankles. “Is that why you brought your black bag?”

  “Look at that, Detective Mallory; you’re back to detecting already.”

  Danvers was screaming again. “This is Lieutenant Danvers, NYPD Major Crimes Unit. You are the target of an attack within minutes. You must evacuate your club—”

  Danvers looked at the phone, then Gunner. “The mental midget said, ‘Paulie you’re a pisser,’ and hung up.”

  As Danvers punched redial, Gunner hit the lights and siren, floored the gas. “There’s gonna be roasted honies all over Beaver Street.”

  Mallory scoffed. “Detecting, huh? Then why can’t I figure out the deal with Pop seeing relatives in that picture?”

  “Because you don’t want to figure that one out,” the priest answered. “Accepting the truth about it would raise too many questions.”

  Danvers bristled, yelling above the siren and whatever else he was hearing through the phone. “Barker? Do not hang up. I am not ‘Paulie.’ Hello?”

  Mallory sat up straighter. “Which questions?”

  “For one, how much time you father has left,” Father Carry sighed. “But I think you accept that his time is short.”

  “The other question is more disturbing for you, isn’t it?” Ross asked.

  The detective spoke through clenched teeth. “Priest, shaman, you guys are all alike. Enough with the cryptic, what are you talking about?”

  Ross leaned forward, his pale blue eyes big, steady, sincere. “I’ve known your family most of my life. Your father is neither a wildly imaginative man, nor a liar. Throughout his life, he’s spoken the truth, stuck to the facts. Right?”

  Mallory swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Do you respect your father enough to believe him without a doubt, even now, when he says he sees beneficent, perhaps even angelic, spirits?” Father Carry asked.

  “He saw family members,” Mallory insisted.

  Ross touched his arm. “Spirits, Bo.”

  Father Carry smiled. “Which angels did you expect him to see? Michael? Gabriel? Of course he saw family; that’s how it works. We are always greeted or escorted by those we were close to who’ve gone before us. Eases the passing.”

  “You know this to be fact?”

  “I believe it, Frank,” the priest nodded. “And I suspect you, in the deep center of your heart, believe it too. Which brings me to your most crucial question: how does accepting that your beloved, honorable father has seen ‘angels’ force you to alter your rock solid, irrefutable belief that you are not, in fact, hunting a demon right now?”

  Gunner took a left onto Whitehall, sped down a block, then left onto Beaver—

  Then slammed on the brakes, fishtailing to a stop in front of the carnage. Mallory glanced at his watch: 3 p.m. They were too late.

  Gunner’s prediction was horribly accurate. Scorched, half-naked strippers and men in charred business suits and blistered faces stumbled from the burning building. Other bodies already littered the street. Some wandered, dazed and coughing, others lay on the ground unconscious, a few were clearly dead. Two people were missing limbs, one guy clutching a bloody stump at his wrist, the other a stripper in S&M gear whose blackened back lead to a gaping hole at her shoulder joint, deltoid musculature exposed and blood gushing. She dropped convulsing to the sidewalk, seconds from death.

  The Player’s Lounge itself was engulfed in flames. Gunner shut the sirens off. Their sound was immediately replaced with screams and moans. “Must’ve just happened. The Fire Department isn’t even here yet.”

  A flaming bottle flew through a shattered window, exploding onto the pavement. Mallory yelled, “He’s still in there.”

  Danvers grabbed the radio and called in for firefighters and medics, as well as requesting police back up. The others scrambled out of the car. Father Carry ran to the guy missing a hand, used the man’s tie as a tourniquet. Ross rolled one of the burning women, extinguishing the flames that were roasting her. Gunner ran into the crowd of wounded patrons and ladies, directing them away from the fire.

  Mallory left them all. He went hunting Paul Farrington.

  The first thing Danvers did was track down Barker, standing amid the chaos unhurt, in fact completely untouched, downing Grey
Goose out of the bottle. “Barker?”

  “Wasn’t my fault, man. Someone called in a threat. I thought it was my friend Paulie fucking with me—”

  Danvers showed him his shield. “That was me, you ass. You could have saved these people—”

  “No! It wasn’t my fault! You gotta know that!” He took another gulp of vodka.

  Danvers slapped the bottle from Barker’s lips. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Liquor delivery. Not our usual guy; he said Joe don’t work religious holidays.”

  “What happened with the delivery?”

  “I sent Charlie with the guy. Charlie supervises the deliveries, opens the supply room, where we keep all the liquor, makes sure the guy doesn’t take nothing, and locks up after him. I haven’t seen him since… Oh my God, they were down where that fucking fireball came from!” Barker fell to his knees, crying.

  Mallory searched for a way in that wasn’t engulfed in flames. The front entrance was out of the question. He ran around the side, down a narrow alley, found a delivery door with a van parked right alongside. Mallory drew his gun.

  This was Farrington’s Ford Windstar, a family mini-van, not a delivery vehicle. If a club employee had come out to help the “delivery man”, Farrington would never have been allowed in. The open back of the van was empty, except for the stink of gas, and a clipboard. How did Farrington get inside with such an obvious smell?

  He checked the front, nobody there. He went back to the rear, picked up the clipboard. A writing tablet was tucked under the clip, with a list on it. All the items except the last were crossed off. Mallory read through the scratched lines:

  Get gas

  Fill bottles

  Into liquor boxes