Nightmare in New York

by Anthony Masters

  The ambulance arrived and the paramedics managed to cut away Kelly’s shirt and plug cotton wool and God knows what else in the horribly jagged dark red hole in her shoulder. I could still smell the chocolate breath of the mad fat woman and still feel her fleshy arm. All I wanted to do now was to go back to the hotel and find Jennifer and get her to comfort me. Yet I was desperate to stay with Kelly.

  The police were the next to arrive, and as I made a statement to them and later rode in the back of the siren-wailing ambulance, I kept seeing mental pictures of Alex on the beach at Formentera, playing tennis, snorkelling round the reef, cooking lobsters, limping along the beach. How had he taken us in? Now he was just a familiar stranger, a man playing a role that I had found utterly convincing. Now I knew him for what he was, he terrified and repelled me. What was more, I knew he would kill me without hesitation. I was in Alex’s city, with Tim briefly reappearing from the dead and then getting himself kidnapped. Was Alex really the all-powerful corrupter who manipulated New York? Was he the Reaper, who activated his Sandmen? Under cover of his law office, his political role, had he made the mad and the vengeful and the lonely into his assassins?

  I looked down at Kelly. The paramedics didn’t think she was in any danger but she did seem to be drifting in and out of consciousness. She was my half-sister, this streetwise hard-edged kid – a far cry from Kate, so sheltered, so unhappy. Suddenly I wanted Kate. I wanted to cuddle her, to be safe with her. I looked at my watch. Four a.m. It would be dawn soon and at seven-thirty I would be meeting Jennifer and searching the ferry and the cathedral.

  But however confused my thoughts, however much I thought of Kelly or Alex, one thought preoccupied and pounded away at the front of my mind. Why was Joe Deliso trying to kill me? Suddenly I felt quite sick. If Joe worked for Alex, why had Alex bothered to offer me a home when apparently it should have been a grave.

  ‘She’ll be fine.’ The intern stood in the waiting room with a clipboard. ‘Want to go and see her?’

  ‘How long is she going to be here?’

  ‘A week. Maybe less. It’s a nasty wound. Lucky for her it’s a fleshy part. I gather you were the hero.’ The intern grinned and shook my hand and after a while led the way to where she was.

  Kelly lay in bed with her arm bound and a drip running into it. She looked terrible but she raised a faint smile as I entered.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked stupidly.

  ‘Can’t feel a thing. They could have amputated my arm for all I know.’

  ‘It’s still there.’

  ‘You look sick,’ she whispered.

  ‘You saved my life.’

  Again that faint smile. ‘That’s a line from the movies.’

  ‘Do you think that woman was really going to kill me? And what was she saying about Joe Deliso. Why should – ’

  Kelly closed her eyes and I realised I was pushing her too hard.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Her eyes remained closed. Then she said: ‘You’re on your own now. The ferry is the Gateway. Don’t take any of the others. You know when it leaves.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Directly I see the doc I’m gonna get me some painkillers and I’m going back on the streets.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘I can handle it.’

  She smiled.

  ‘I know you think I’m useless,’ I said, hurt.

  ‘Not after what you did. She could have killed me. Bet you don’t know the way to Battery Park though.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Hang in here and we’ll both go and meet Jennifer in a few hours.’

  ‘They won’t let you leave.’

  ‘I’ll leave when I like.’ She tried to sit up and fell back with a little yelp of pain.

  ‘You’re still in shock,’ I told her.

  ‘You don’t know anything.’

  ‘I know you’re made of flesh and blood.’

  ‘Sure of that?’

  ‘So give me directions. I’m meeting Jennifer at half-seven.’

  ‘She’ll be a lot of use.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘OK.’ Kelly began to give me slow and careful directions to Battery Park, how to board the ferry and then how to get to St Patrick’s Cathedral. As she came to the end, I could see that her strength was ebbing.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll make out.’

  ‘I’ve got to know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What did she mean when she said, “Joe wants it this way”?’

  ‘She was raving.’

  ‘No, she was a Sandman.’

  Kelly closed her eyes. ‘I can’t tell you any more, Colin. You’re on your own now.’

  I bent over and suddenly kissed Kelly on her pale cheek.

  Chapter Nine

  Once I had left the hospital and was back on the streets I was terrified. Everyone seemed a potential Sandman. There were few people about now and that made me feel conspicuous. A street-cleaning vehicle slowly sprayed water into the gutters as a pale slow dawn swept the sidewalks. Here and there I could see the odd early-morning walker; some staggering, some wandering – all of them looking crazy enough to be Sandmen. A yellow cab cruised by and I caught the eye of the driver behind the wheel. He winked and slowed up. I hurried on, waiting for the attack, breathing in sobs. He roared on. A young woman overtook me and then stopped to look in a shop window. I began to sweat despite the cool dawn, and found myself half running past her. She said something but made no attempt to follow me. Deliberately and painfully I tried to slow down to a more normal pace. I looked at my watch. Five. I had two and a half hours to get to Battery Park. She had said: ‘Get an early-morning bus. Not the subway.’ I still kept glancing behind me and longed for Kelly. For someone to talk to. Someone to share with.

  With sudden relief I saw a bus draw up with the right number on its blind. I ran, caught it and sat at a seat near the door. There were a few women on board who looked like office cleaners and a couple of men with boiler suits. They all seemed supremely normal. I dozed as the bus shuddered on, stopping at every other block on its interminable journey downtown, to Battery Park.

  Eventually it arrived and I got out, shivering in the early morning mist by the river. I felt stiff and light-headed, unable to decide what to do until Jennifer arrived. I had enough money for some coffee so I went over to a little steamed-up shack which was selling snacks. The coffee was wonderful, and so were the pancakes and syrup. I ate voraciously, no longer concerned about Sandmen, only concentrating on filling my stomach.

  The other customers all seemed to be early morning workers, and gradually I relaxed even more. But I knew I shouldn’t. The faces of Alex and Joe swam into my mind. Both must be after me.

  After I had finished eating I checked that I had enough money for a return on the ferry, and then remembered that I would be meeting Jennifer and that she should have plenty. It was six. An hour and a half to go. I didn’t want to wander around Battery Park; it would be too exposed. I walked along quickly, trying to prevent myself from looking back all the time, and seeing the great dark hulk of a Catholic church I decided to take refuge for a while. I knew I wasn’t automatically safe in there – I was safe nowhere and it would probably be best to keep moving – but my exhaustion was at its peak and I longed to sit down somewhere warm. I mustn’t go to sleep, I told myself as I entered the church, for to miss Jennifer would mean total disaster.

  The interior of the church was candlelit and warm but it looked deserted. Gratefully I walked into the nave and down to the chancel steps. It was only as I settled myself in the front pew that I saw the dim shadowy outline of the figure opposite. I was about to steal away again when the figure stood up. I shrank down into the pew. All I could see was a dark mass of clothing and two bloodshot eyes peering at me with an intentness that I did not like.

  ‘Hold it there, kid.’ He seemed nervous too and I had the feeling that we were both c
oiled to spring.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Will you be after giving a poor man a quarter towards his breakfast?’

  I sighed with relief. A vagrant. He came slowly across to me and I waited for him warily. ‘How much to you want?’

  ‘As much as you can spare.’

  Now that he was near I could see he was a broken giant of a man who reeked of alcohol. I was still wary after the traumatic events in the cinema and shifted uneasily to one side as he sat down heavily beside me.

  ‘You’re not afraid of me?’

  I shook my head but edged further away.

  There was surprise in his voice as he repeated the question: ‘You’re not afraid of an old fool like me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do I offend you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said embarrassed.

  He chuckled. ‘You’re a young liar then. I haven’t had a bath in a week, and the last one was at Sister Margaret’s most urgent request.’

  I gave him a quarter. He looked at it sadly.

  ‘If this is all you can spare, God bless you, sir.’ He crossed himself.

  I began to get to my feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I have to meet someone.’

  ‘But you’ve only just come in. Don’t let me drive you away. That’s the trouble with begging in churches today. You drive the faithful away. Are you a Catholic?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it’s bad luck to you. It’s the only religion. I mean, these Protestants – they’re only a breakaway group, are they not?’ Out of his pocket he took a bottle that was wrapped in a paper bag. ‘Will you share a drop with me in return for the donation?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  He shrugged and took a deep swig. I was still tense but I sat down again a short distance away from him.

  ‘That’s right. Keep your distance.’

  ‘Sorry.’ The last thing I wanted to do was offend him.

  ‘And what’s a young lad like you doing on the streets in the dawn?’

  ‘Just taking a walk.’

  ‘You’re not after running away then?’

  ‘I’m meeting someone. My stepmother, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘She’s religious, is she?’ He looked round, expecting to see her.

  ‘No. I’m meeting her in the park.’

  He nodded, clearly not believing me. ‘You’re English, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Suddenly he stiffened and glanced behind him. I was on my feet at once.

  ‘Sure, you’re very jumpy.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I was just looking to see if Father Bernard had come back. He’s a good man; opens the church early for the likes of me to have a warm-up. Some of these priests are right bastards and keep their churches locked.’ I nodded as he took a meditative sip from his bottle. He belched slightly. ‘Would you like to tell me anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s a shame. You know some of us fellers are much more capable of taking a confession than many of the priests. I’ve been married, you know. So if you’ve got a problem with a girl, I’m the man to help you. The priests know damn all about women.’

  Suddenly I grinned. ‘No, it’s not a girl.’ My relief was immediate and wonderful. He couldn’t be a Sandman. He just couldn’t.

  We sat and talked for ten minutes or so before I felt I had to go. I left him with another few cents. He crossed himself enthusiastically, and I walked out of the church, grateful for the respite.

  I filled in the rest of the time walking round Battery Park. Now that it was light it was coming alive with commuters. The morning was light blue and I could see the Statue of Liberty glistening out there in the harbour. There was a strong breeze and I could feel the touch of fine spray from the occasional passing boat. There was something so fresh and pristine about the morning that it gave me faint hope. The water was a greeny-grey colour and it lapped against the concrete bank, sometimes sending a spume of spray high in the air.

  I went into the ferry terminal half an hour early, collected my ticket and sat down on a bench to wait for Jennifer. The place was enormous, with a thirties’ bus station feel to it, and a crowd of passengers was rapidly gathering. They were mostly workers going to Staten Island and I knew that the ferry would be bringing a mass of commuters back. I looked at my watch. Seven-thirty. The ferry called the Gateway arrived, disgorged its bustling briefcased commuters and began to take on the other passengers. Seven-forty. I went on waiting until I knew that if I waited any longer I would miss the sailing. Where the hell could she have got to? Jennifer was usually frantically punctual, and in a crisis like this surely she could not have overslept? Seven-fifty. I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer and ran for the closing barrier.

  The ferry was very crowded, which did not make my task any easier. Round the bar that sold soft drinks and bagels there was a massive concentration of people, and it took me five minutes of precious journey time to get anywhere near it. Once there I knew that to scrabble about hunting for microfilm would be the event of the year. Feeling the palest version of the boy detective, I realised I could only search when everyone else had disembarked.

  The short voyage was interminable; I went up on deck and watched the great open stretches of the Hudson criss-crossed by barges and the slowly approaching bulky shape of the returning ferry as it gradually came towards us. There was a little mist on Staten Island and the ferry broke through, keeping the strands curling round its bow. I turned and gazed across at the passengers. At one of the lower deck windows I saw Tim.

  It was him, sitting there, reading a newspaper. He leant over and spoke to someone next to him, but although I craned my neck to see them the crowd in front of me was too dense.

  I began to bellow and shout and rave, much to the consternation and bewilderment of the other passengers, but with agonising sluggishness the other ferry drew away.

  ‘Were you trying to raise someone by any chance?’ An old man stood there in overalls.

  ‘My dad. We got separated and I’ll lose him again when he lands.’

  ‘Get the skipper to radio them.’

  ‘What?’ I gaped at him.

  ‘Get the skipper to radio the other ferry,’ the old man repeated, chewing happily and showing darkish stumps of decay. ‘Tell your dad to wait for you at Battery Park. You don’t have any problem, kid.’

  I gazed around me desperately. ‘Who should I see?’

  ‘The wheelhouse.’ He jerked a gnarled finger. ‘It’s that way.’

  I dashed up the rusty iron steps without thanking the ancient mariner. At the top I came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘You can’t come up here, kid.’

  ‘I’ve got to ask the skipper something – something important,’ I said. At this rate the other ferry would have docked before I could do anything at all.

  ‘What’s that?’ He was looking at me suspiciously. As he stared down at me I suddenly realised a very unpalatable fact. If I did relay the message it would be tannoyed through the entire terminal, and that would raise every Sandman around. God, what had I nearly done?

  ‘Well?’ The man was wearing a uniform. Who was he? Some kind of ship’s officer? Did it matter what the hell he was? All I knew was that I couldn’t speak to him and that he was looking at me expectantly, with growing irritation.

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I don’t want to speak to him after all.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to him.’

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Passengers aren’t allowed in this area.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So get the hell out of it.’

  Mercifully he turned his back on me and I scrambled back down the steps, only to bump into the Ancient Mariner again.

  ‘All OK?’

  ‘Fine
.’

  ‘He’s gonna send your message?’

  ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I changed my mind.’ I ran off towards the stern of the ferry before he could ask any more awkward questions. I felt I’d lost Tim once again, maybe for ever.

  Five minutes later the ferry docked and there was a surge towards the front as the commuters poured up the gangway. Trying to look like some kind of casual tourist and failing miserably, I stayed on board. Luckily, apart from the catering staff, the boat was temporarily deserted, and there was no sign of the ever-enquiring Ancient Mariner. I hurried back to the bar and discreetly started to search. The catering staff were filling some vending machines right down the end and had their backs to me, and as they were talking and gossiping I slowly relaxed, but the dead feeling of loss and misery took any initiative out of my tepid hunt. The woodwork around the bar was completely intact; there didn’t seem to be a space where anything could be hidden – however small.

  It suddenly dawned on me that Kelly and I had been totally naive in thinking we could find it so easily. The microfilm could be anywhere in or around the bar and it would take far too long to look for it thoroughly.

  I stood back and stared at the bar in frustration, and then began to realise that I couldn’t give a damn about the microfilm anyway. Kelly could find that. Tim was alive and I had missed him. I felt trapped.

  The ferry slowly filled, and with frustrating slowness began to chug back across the bay. I stood at the bow and watched Battery Park slowly coming nearer and nearer, trying to make out the figures on the foreshore. But why should Tim still be hovering about the terminal? Surely he would have disappeared on to the streets of New York by now? What the hell was I going to do?

  By the time the ferry arrived back at Battery Park my nerves were in shreds. I was the first off, streaking towards the terminal and disembarkation barrier. Predictably there was no one there, and tears began to roll down my cheeks. After a night without sleep I sat down on a bench, feeling like giving way completely and crying my eyes out.