Music and sometimes even laughter rang from plain delis and bars. Over their doors, only ends of wire were left of illuminated signs. This could only briefly deceive me.
Along Fourth Street, girls were waiting at the curb at even distances. Some of them at least wore short skirts, most unabashedly showed their shaved pubes. As far as I could see, they all looked pale and meager, and their skimpy clothing had holes. Hardly any of them wore shoes!
Before I could cross the street, I had to let a van pass. It stopped right behind the corner and spilled out four men—without pants, too, but with decent erections. Curious, I changed the roadside and waited.
The next four women—all bottomless—each took the offered five-dollar-note, and bent over, the men did their job, and five minutes later it was all over. The van drove away.
Only five dollars? Oh damn. As if that wasn’t bad enough, not two minutes later two guys in red tracksuits came from the grubby deli two doors away and mercilessly collected the dollars.
I quickly continued my way.
At the next corner, a few stringy hustlers were waiting for clients, barefoot, too, and most without pants. How would that work when the temperatures further dropped toward winter?
From Tenth Street on, where Broadway turned and now ran diagonally to the street grid, I found further signs of improvement. Here, the delis and sandwich shops had working neon advertisements and looked clean, bright, and friendly.
Along the roads to both sides of Broadway, Italian pizza bakers and Irish pubs waited for clients. At Union Square, I spotted the first member of a coffee shop chain, another sign of normalization.
At a sharp angle, Broadway crossed Fifth Avenue where both met with Twenty-Third Street, and at the tip, I found the Flatiron Building. It looked like a flat iron indeed. Here, the city appeared almost normal—nevertheless, it didn’t seem advisable for a young woman to walk around alone at night.
East of the crossing, the green in the Madison Square Park was rampant. How many decades ago had the last gardener been working here?
The dense undergrowth could probably have offered enough cover for a company of Jellies to hide for years, but I only found traces of cats, dogs and rats.
I wouldn’t starve to death in this city, but even if my Analogy told me a hundred times how many nutrients a fat rat had and that I wouldn’t catch any disease, I could still imagine better things.
According to the memorized map, I approached Times Square and the theater district. Were there any theaters left in this city? Was there still room for the musicals that Broadway once had been famous for?
The first billboards suggested so. What was offered? Ben-Hur, Spartacus, Bloody Arena—was that still musical? Island Of Sirens, Hills Of Venus, Tunnel Of Love…that sounded friendlier, but rather like a different flavor of art, too.
As it seemed, the local rulers had taken the old Roman motto Bread and Games to heart—only all too authentic, as the gladiator games were probably not exercised with theater swords. And the announcement Virgin sacrifice monthly every first Sunday for the Madison Square Garden told me clearly how urgently this city needed my help. For some poor girl, I had arrived five days late.
Okay. That left me three weeks to put an end to this madness.
None of the numerous defective lights around Times Square could escape my professional scrutiny. Would that be a cover identity for me? Electrician without vertigo?
However, the square wasn’t dominated by the numerous illuminations around, but by a large staircase to nowhere—or should I say, a grandstand?—facing a stage with a single large pole, from the top of which iron chains with manacles dangled. I didn’t want to know the details, but I examined the stage anyway. Sadly, I found the dried blood stains around the pole and manacles that I had feared.
Around the next corner, you could buy chocolate, plush bears, or the current fashion. It wasn’t midnight yet, and the shops were open. However, not many people were interested. Was it due to the strong police presence? At least two uniformed men stood at every corner, armed with special clubs, the dull ends of which were crowned with two steel tips. I examined one weapon more closely. Okay, the nearly one-centimeter long sharp-edged tips might cause unpleasant stings, but a worse effect would probably be caused by the electric shocks they emitted. If it contained a Dragon technology battery, the charge of one club could illuminate the entire square for one night. Avoid!
That’s what the pedestrians did, too. I didn’t see any solo women, not even small groups. If at all, they only dared to enter the square in company of several men, and even then they kept a respectful distance from the uniforms. What did that tell me? Avoid!
Chapter Twenty-One
Somewhat indecisive, I watched the people ambling past the brightly lit shop windows. North of Times Square, the streets were well frequented, and that made it difficult for me. All the invisibility didn’t help me if I bumped into someone—and first of all, it didn’t work if I ran close past a light source and someone had a closer look! My nanos could copy the bright hue, but they couldn’t shine at anything and couldn’t blind anyone. Wherever I stood, the light appeared dull to the observer. If this dull impression then moved with a human contour, the actual camouflage had failed.
The second downside of my exploration method was the lack of interaction with the New Yorkers. Regarding the tracksuits and the cops, I didn’t miss it, but in the light of my suddenly so close target date, I urgently needed someone to tell me more about the situation.
Of course, that was risky and didn’t match my plan. According to the plan, I’d first appear in the morning—so I only moved the risk forward.
Moreover, a favorable occasion had just arisen. Three steps ahead, a guy was just bending over to light a butt, and his wallet stuck only halfway down his rear pocket. I deemed this place risky anyway, but probably he felt safe among his four friends.
Along the dark wall, I snuck up to him, gently plucked at the wallet, quickly reached inside and pulled out several notes, then I let it drop and withdrew.
He cursed, waved his lit cigarette before a laughing fellow’s face, and then picked his wallet up. Without looking inside, he replaced it.
Patiently, I waited until the five had walked away, and then I examined my booty. Fifty-two dollars.
That should do for now. I briefly disappeared into a niche, let my nanos form dark shorts, tank top and flats, and then I became visible. Only a few steps away I entered a jeans shop.
“Good night,” a young woman in jeans, tee shirt and sneakers welcomed me. “Can I help you?”
“Black, buttons, tight fit please.”
She briefly eyed me. “Oh yes, that suits you fine. Let me see.” Then she called my suspected size at a colleague, who reached into a shelf and tossed her folded pants that she caught from the air and passed on to me. “Over there’s the stall.”
“Thanks.”
I ignored the offered stall, the door of which only feigned to hide anything, as I only had to pull the jeans over my shorts and button them.
“Fits.” I turned around once.
She nodded approvingly. “Suits you well. You’re in Dragon-hot good shape. Will please your guy.”
“Thanks—I’ve got no guy.”
“Nah, really? You’re fooling me.”
“I’m still solo, really.”
“Then you’re crazy—sorry. But running around with such hot shorts is madness.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“New here?”
“Just arrived.”
“And running straight into your ruin. If the cops had found you like that!”
“I’m watching out. Have any idea where one finds a job here?”
“What can you do?”
“Serving, loading, cleaning, courier—I’m willing to do anything, I’m not picky.”
“You can find all of that everywhere. Only stay this side of Thirtieth, and keep away from Times Square and cops.”
�
�I’ll do that. I’ll keep the jeans on, okay?”
“Okay. Twenty-nine ninety.”
I handed her thirty dollars that she quickly took to the cashier.
“Ten cents back. Keep still, and I’ll remove the tags.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Were brand-new jeans perhaps too flashy for my role? Aw no, once I sleep a night in them, they’ll look used enough.
I could have built them from my nanos, too, but that wouldn’t have given me the hoped-for answers. I could all too well imagine what these cops would do with lonesome strangers.
A glance back—no, I hadn’t left Times Square far enough behind. The cops could still spot me. Lonesome woman without guy—conspicuous. Above that, good-looking—worth a closer look, perhaps on the precinct, away from the public.
No thanks, I’d better take the next corner before I considered my next steps.
First, I had to readapt. I no longer was invisible, and that meant a significant change. Not only that I no longer had to watch out to not run into anyone, I also should no longer move like someone who’d avoid collisions with much pre-planning. It would stand out if I walked in strange arcs and loops. After all, the people could watch out themselves to avoid me.
My stance became important. I had to radiate confidence. I had enough, but I had to clearly show it, had to be present. I’m not ducking, watch out, don’t cross me, that was the message.
Being visible also meant not being able to avoid every conflict. I couldn’t see around corners, and I couldn’t make a detour each time I heard steps behind a corner, as that would have appeared strange. So I ran across a group of three red tracksuits a few blocks later.
Two of the men whistled cheerfully when I dodged them with an elegant sway of my hips. I didn’t wait to find out what they might want, but easily strode on. That method worked, as I already had gained some distance before one of them called a half-hearted “Hey you!” after me.
They were probably too proud to run after me—in any case, I was spared. Phew.
The further north I came, and the later it became, the quieter the streets became. However, when I approached the small Verdi Square between Seventy-Second and Seventy-Third Street, I heard quiet guitar music.
A single young man—okay, perhaps mid-thirtyish—in jeans and checkered shirt, barefoot and long-haired, sat on one of the park benches and plucked his instrument’s strings. I didn’t recognize the melody.
I sat down on the ground before him and simply listened. This idyll was such a contrast to my experience so far that I just had to let it wrap around me—I felt some tension drop away.
Darn, had these few night hours been nerve-racking! What had I burdened myself with here? I only had come to quietly explore, perhaps to take out a few leaders, as I had done in Las Vegas. But New York was worse than Las Vegas. There, in the city of gambling, crime had worn a mask, suggesting to visitors a colorful, ideal world. Many kinds of vice, yes, but please for the pleasure of the involved! The few dark spots had been carefully concealed.
In contrast, terror ruled here—abuse and torture were raised to an art, the law of the strongest performed in its most clear form.
And my time was running out. I shivered when I thought of the poor girls that had been consumed on the seventh level, before I had intervened. I wouldn’t take that much time here again!
The melody ended. The young man looked into my eyes. “You’re carrying a difficult problem with you.”
There he had to be right. “Who are you?”
“They all call me the Fool. And who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
He smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m listening to your music. That was nice, what was it?”
“Autumn, from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, adapted for guitar by me.”
“Matching the season and this place. Do you only play this piece here currently?”
“Ah, no, of course not. The square inspired me, and I’m still practicing. But only if I have no audience.” He struck a chord. “Would you like to hear something?”
“Gladly.”
“What would you like?”
“Something happy.”
The Fool nodded and began to play and sing. Only a short break, I told myself.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The last chord faded, I mimed a noiseless applause, and then nodded toward the cap that lay next to him. “I have twenty dollars left.”
“Keep it. Your company was compensation enough. Do you have a place to stay already?”
“I thought I’d just find a quiet corner in Central Park.”
“You can do that if you find a place that’s not occupied yet. But they’ll always look there first if they need a new victim.”
“Victim?”
“For the games. They sacrifice people for entertainment, you know?”
“The signs around Times Square could hardly be missed. I wouldn’t want to believe that they’d openly advertise for it. And that the cops would tolerate that.”
“Oh, the cops. They’re far too deeply involved here.”
“What do more honest policemen do?”
“Such don’t exist here anymore. If they’ve been clever, they’ve left in time, if not, they had an accident. As a replacement, we’ve got the worst of all northern America. I tell you, if you’d shoot a cop here, you wouldn’t hit an innocent. Not one.”
“Why does nobody do it?”
“It’s unhealthy. If you’ve been to Times Square, you’ve seen the pole, have you?”
“Yes. Scary.”
“Floggings are the most harmless acts you’re shown there. I better not tell you so you won’t throw up. Have you had anything to eat?”
“Raw rat.”
That made him pause for a while.
“So you can well tell me everything, I can take it.” Moreover, my Analogy could help me keeping my digestive track under control.
So the Fool reported. Outwardly emotionless, I registered the atrocities. Not once did I interrupt him; I even waited patiently when he needed a pause.
“That’s it,” he concluded. “What do you say?”
“Perhaps it would be best to wipe out the city with a few nukes. Why do the New Yorkers allow that to happen?”
“You’re not seriously asking.”
“I am.”
“The Syndicate has its eyes and ears everywhere. They’re simply too well organized. Kick against them, and you’re due.”
“Isn’t it dangerous then, if you’re speaking about it so openly?”
“I’m the Fool. They laugh at me and leave me alone. Don’t ask me why.”
“It helps them in spreading fear.”
He stared at me aghast. “Damn, you’re right.” Then he shrugged. “What does it help? Who would start to organize resistance under these circumstances?”
“Isn’t there anyone waiting for an opportunity?”
He became cautious. “Perhaps. Possible. Yes, there are honest people left in this city. Most of them, I’d say, aside from the Syndicate’s bruisers, the cops, the gangs and the losers. Why do you ask?”
“I try to understand. If I want to survive in this city, I must know what to expect.”
“If you want to survive, why do you come to New York?”
“Let’s just say I wasn’t left with many alternatives, okay?”
“Oh. Okay, I don’t ask. Another song?”
“Gladly.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The way to Broadway’s northern end wasn’t far anymore, nor was dawn. But at this early time, this part of the city that never sleeps was very quiet. I had seen why several times—the cops were on patrol. Each time I sensed the stray emissions of their cars’ micro reactors approach, I made a detour or ducked into a doorway. As soon as they had passed, I continued my way.
After the shocking report, I couldn’t sleep anyway.
How could our oh-so-sophisticated civilization
with its high ethical standards have turned so bad so quickly? Had the Dragons been able to shatter our fragile moral framework so easily—or only damaged our immune system too severely?
Had humans been too easily ready to pass the difficult tasks of ethics and morals to the Dragons? Had they forgotten that they had to fight for freedom and integrity—every day?
They’d need help again, just as Nicholas had said. Humanity was at the bottom, and they needed someone to take them by the hands on their first steps. Only—why me?
The answer was obvious; I had told it to myself often enough—because I could.
Damned Jelly goo.
My grumbling stomach reminded me of a much more proximate problem. It was time for an early breakfast, but this time, please, no rat.
Rather wearily, I covered the last kilometers to the island’s northern tip and then returned. I hadn’t expected to gain significant new insights there, and I wasn’t disappointed.
On my way back, I used streets running parallel to Broadway to see more of the city. A worthwhile idea!
I encountered several well-guarded areas, where windows on the upper floors were left open. So—down with the jeans, camouflage, and up!
As in my early days, I stuck to my principle of only taking a small share of the money I found, but after only a few visits, I had gained three-hundred dollars. I had no bad feelings about it—those belonging to the rich in this city had skeletons in their closets.
Decently dressed again, I now looked forward to breakfast with confidence. On my way north, I had passed enough shops that could sell me a good meal.
It only needed not to be a venue where the cops had breakfast, too. Okay, sure. The area where rich people lived in guarded buildings also was the area where cops patrolled and probably picked up every stranger. That was the area where people like me—potential tramps and troublemakers—shouldn’t linger at all. So this was conclusively the area where people like me wouldn’t have breakfast. To not provoke a conflict, I thus moved a significant distance south again, and I stayed on Manhattan’s western side. East Harlem was another area where people like me could only appear provoking—at least according to the cliché I knew, and it wouldn’t help my mission to put it to the test.
Lioness’ Legacy IV—Torment Page 8