Gabriel shook his head. “No. I will never be that man again.”
Abraham ran a hand over his suit, smoothing it. “You changed once; you will change again. I have always known how to motivate you. This will be like old times.”
“Please don’t…”
Abraham waved jovially as he descended the curving staircase, laughter in his voice. “This will be fun. I look forward to working with you again, Father.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Zoya opened another can of the energy drink she was supposed to be cutting back on with her left hand and moved the joystick with her right. She was curious, that was all. Curious. She had spent the day doing her work for the sisters and developing her new idea for a personal defence system. Rather than be reliant on somebody realising the danger in time and pressing some button, she was developing a jacket that could determine when somebody was being attacked and respond accordingly. Military aircraft had automatic defences that deployed when an attack was detected; why shouldn’t a human being have the same? She had come up with the idea last night while watching a dreadful movie. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. The film had provided some of the inspiration, but she had also been spending quite a bit of time thinking about coats – one in particular.
It wasn’t an invasion of privacy, because she wasn’t trying to invade anyone’s privacy. She knew that was weak logic, but it spoke to intent. She was just… curious. Jackson Diller seemed like a very nice guy who, despite having little to his name, went out of his way to help others. Zoya reasoned that such a person was deserving of her help. You couldn’t help somebody while invading their privacy at the same time, could you? Those sounded like sort of opposite things. Still, Zoya was hoping she’d never have to explain why she had a camera outside Jackson Diller’s home or why the new coat she had provided him with had a small but powerful tracker in it. Come to that, she wouldn’t like to explain why she was currently using Birdie to follow him either.
She only did it at night, as Birdie would be too visible in the daylight – looking into that was on her to-do list. Still, it was proving to be an excellent test. Birdie had successfully homed in on the tracker and picked Diller up at a bicycle shop in Longwood. He had just acquired a new mountain bike – or rather, it was new to him. It was in pretty banged-up condition and in need of repairs, but he looked pleased with it. Birdie had followed him home, which was again an excellent test of how the autopilot software, programmed to avoid all obstructions, integrated with the tracking software while maintaining surveillance on a reasonably fast-moving target – because Jackson Diller was lightning on a bicycle.
He’d raced home to stash his new acquisition and then he had gone out to the store, having checked with Mrs James to see if she wanted anything. Zoya had done a bit of digging there – Mrs James was a 76-year-old lady who had lived in Hunts Point her whole life and had no living relatives. It seemed that Jackson Diller and his mother had taken her in, inasmuch as they didn’t technically own the property they were living in. It had been condemned six years ago, as had all the houses on that street, but the city hadn’t got around to doing anything about it yet. Zoya had also looked into Jackson Diller’s mother, which was a more complicated story.
She watched as Diller left the store, three large grocery bags in his arms. He smiled and nodded at those he passed, and was greeted warmly in return. The man had a way with people that Zoya could not begin to understand. People scared Zoya. No, scared was the wrong word. And it wasn’t that she hated people either. Uncomfortable? Yes, that was it: Zoya was uncomfortable around people. She didn’t like people standing close to her, and she wasn’t good at conversation. Sure, she could talk to Dionne, but that was different. She could also chat online, but again, not the same thing. Words on a screen were one crucial step removed. If it got awkward, you could just stop. No biggie. It wasn’t that simple IRL – in real life.
Jackson Diller stopped as a motorbike suddenly pulled up on the sidewalk in front of him, blocking his path. Zoya cranked up the sound. A big man with a muscular build was riding it, with a short blonde woman hanging on to his back. The man pulled off the visorless helmet he was wearing.
“Hey, Diller, long time no see.”
Jackson Diller smiled nervously. “Hey, Barksdale, how you been?”
The woman piped up. “He’s been waiting for his money, that’s how he’s been.”
“Hey, Carol,” said Diller, “me and Barksdale worked all this out. We got a plan agreed, and I paid the money my mom owes for this month already. I can’t give you what I don’t got.”
Barksdale put the kickstand down on the motorbike and they both climbed off it, moving closer to Diller.
“Is that right?” said Barksdale.
“C’mon, Barks, you know I’ve always been straight with you.”
“Really?” said Carol, an undisguised edge of excitement in her voice. “Then how come you’re out buying yourself fancy new coats?”
Zoya held her head in her hands. Unintended consequences. Why had she not considered something like this?
“Yeah,” said Barksdale, “how come you out living large on my money?”
Zoya looked up as her PC pinged. The recognition software had picked up the licence plate on the bike. Someone had reported it stolen from Queens a day ago.
“Look,” said Diller, “straight up – this was a present. I’ve been nothing but straight with you.”
“Bullshit,” said Carol. “I think it’s time you send this punk-ass bitch a message.”
Diller took a step backwards as Barksdale took a step forwards.
“Maybe I should. Maybe I should.”
Zoya chewed on her nail and watched the screen, her heart racing. This was going badly – really badly.
“Look,” said Diller, “this is all a big misunderstanding.”
“Sure it is,” said Barksdale, taking another step forward.
“Well then,” said Carol, “how’s about you give us that nice coat of yours?” She walloped Barksdale on the arm. “That’d fit Tito, and he got that birthday coming up.”
“Yeah,” said Barksdale with a nod. “How about we do that?”
Jackson Diller sighed. “I… I can’t.”
“What?!”
“It was a gift, I…”
“Let me get this straight—”
Barksdale didn’t get the chance to get anything straight, as he was distracted by the searchlight in the sky that had just burst into life. He looked up, throwing his arm over his eyes. A female voice boomed, “NYPD. Move away from the stolen vehicle. Put your hands in the air. You are under arrest.”
Diller placed his grocery bags neatly on the ground and raised his hands.
“Shit!” In their rush to get back on the bike, Barksdale and Carol got tangled up with each other and Barksdale accidentally kicked his girlfriend off the seat.
“Jesus, Barks!”
“C’mon!”
She hopped on behind him and Barksdale kicked the engine into life. In his panic to get out of there, he throttled it too soon, causing the bike to leap forward and slam into the wall.
“Damn it, Barks!”
“Shut up, Carol!”
He walked the bike backwards, kicked it into life again and raced off down the road, the engine screaming as he rocketed up through the gears. As they did so they passed old Willie Franks. Willie was the closest thing Hunts Point had to an institution. He’d been pushing the same shopping cart around for as long as Diller could remember, stopping to look in every trash can and dumpster. Right now, he was standing with his mouth open, gawping up at the air.
Diller also looked up into the air – at a light that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He stared into a sky notable for its lack of helicopters.
Willie wheeled his cart down the path towards Diller.
“I seen it, Diller, I seen it.”
Diller, blinking his eyes to try to clear the spots left by the light, didn’t look d
own. “Yeah, I saw it too, Willie. I’m just not sure what it was.”
“I know. I know.”
Diller lowered his head to look at Willie.
“Aliens!” said the older man excitedly.
“Really?” said Diller. “UFOs are working for the NYPD now?”
Willie nodded his head as emphatically as it was possible to do while allowing it to remain attached to his shoulders. “I telling ya, Dill, I seen ’em. You take my advice – you get out of here before they probe you.”
“Right,” said Diller, not really processing what had just happened.
“Aliens are all perverts,” said Willie, grabbing his cart and pushing past. “Sticking things up a man’s ass. Ain’t right. Ain’t right.”
Diller bent down and picked up his bags. He watched Willie Franks scurrying down the uneven pavement as fast as his old legs would carry him. His shopping cart kept veering off course and banging into the wall, as he was steering it one-handed. The other hand was firmly clamped over his rear end.
Chapter Thirty
Sitting outside the office, Emilio was a picture of sweaty-palmed terror.
Rosario popped her head out of the door. “Why you looking so frightened?” she said, doing nothing to make him any less frightened.
“Am I… in t… t… trouble?”
“No, you ain’t in trouble. Where’s Trey? He’s supposed to be with you.”
Emilio just gave his one-shouldered shrug.
“I don’t think I ever seen you without either him or Bianca in tow. Three of you is thick as thieves. Thick as thieves! Come to that, where is she?”
Emilio shrugged again.
“I told Trey five o’clock,” said Rosario. “Why is he not here? You gotta keep the right time if you’re working for a living.”
“He disappeared. Don’t know.” Emilio held his cell phone up. “I been t… t… texting.”
The back door opened and Bunny stuck his head in. “Have you told him yet?”
“Trey ain’t here.”
“Where’s Trey?”
Emilio shrugged again.
Rosario looked at her watch. “I gotta go now. I need to pick up my aunt at the thing. I was gonna wait for Father Gabriel, but he’ll be in his meeting for a while. Will you tell him to ring me? You know he don’t like the phone.”
“He doesn’t like the phone?” asked Bunny, walking in.
“When I tell him to ring me, he never does. I thought it was a Franciscan thing?”
Bunny shook his head. “We take a vow of chastity and poverty” – Bunny nudged Emilio’s shoulder – “so I can’t explain why he isn’t using the phone, but I can explain why he’s never asked you out to a fancy dinner.”
“Brother!” said Rosario, looking scandalised. “Such talk from a man of God!”
Bunny waggled his eyebrows. “I’m only stating the facts. It’s only a devotion to God that has you a single woman.”
Rosario hoisted her wardrobe-sized handbag over one shoulder while flapping Bunny away with her free hand, failing to keep the smile from her lips. “I gotta go.”
Bunny pointed at Emilio. “But we’ve not done the thing yet.”
“Well, half the people ain’t here!”
Bunny looked down at Emilio, who had moved from terror to annoyance at everyone talking obliquely over his head. “Wh… wh… what’s going on?”
Bunny nodded to Rosario. “Well, go on then.”
She shook her head. “You do it. I don’t deliver good news well.”
“What’s that supposed to even mean?”
“I don’t. Apparently, I sing ‘Happy Birthday’ wrong too – I been told.”
Bunny gave Emilio a quizzical look. “Are you getting this?”
“C’mon,” said Rosario, tapping her watch, “I’m running late, tell him!”
Bunny sighed theatrically. “Alright, fine. We’re having this discussion tomorrow though. And I want to hear you sing ‘Happy Birthday’. I bet it’s like Marilyn Monroe.”
Bunny smirked in Emilio’s direction, but he returned only a blank look.
“Oh, for feck’s sake, Google it when ye get home.”
“Bunny?” said Rosario.
“Alright! I’m doing it!” He turned to Emilio. “Right, so – while you were working on the masterpiece outside, d’ye remember how Trey kept sloping off into the office?”
Emilio nodded.
“Well, he wasn’t just in here enjoying Rosario’s company. He set you up with your own website, full of pictures of all your – what do you call ’ems?”
“Pieces,” said Rosario.
“Right,” said Bunny. Emilio was looking tense again. “Jesus, lad, would you relax. ’Tis good news. Not only do they look great, but Madame here got a phone call today.” Bunny pointed at Rosario. “You’re doing this bit.”
Rosario’s cheeks flushed. “OK. Fine. This nice man from a company in SoHo – one of them advertising companies – wants to hire you to do a piece for them. Three thousand dollars!”
“See,” said Bunny, “you told it grand!”
“You sure?” Rosario pointed at Emilio, who was doing a remarkably accurate impression of a landed fish gasping on the deck of a boat.
Bunny waved a hand in front of his face. “Oh Jesus, Rosario, you’ve broken yet another man.”
“Hush now!”
“I… I been hired?”
“Yes,” said Bunny. “To paint a whatchamacallit…”
“Piece,” finished Rosario.
“One of them,” agreed Bunny. “Jesus, it’s lucky you’re good at it, Picasso, as I’m starting to doubt your data processing skills. You’re getting this is good news, right? Three thousand dollars. Do you fully understand they’re paying you that and not vice versa?”
“You gotta go meet him after school tomorrow,” said Rosario. “I already cleared it with your grandma.” Rosario bit her lip. “Oh yeah, she knows you do graffiti now…”
Emilio looked like he might collapse.
“Don’t worry,” said Rosario quickly. “Father Gabriel talked to her, smoothed it all out. Convinced her it was sorta art, and you were doing it all respectful and none of that gang nonsense.”
Emilio found his voice again. “I… I gotta go talk to s… somebody?”
Bunny clapped his hands together. “Christ on a Segway – yes, you do. Before you start freaking out about that, your business manager, aka Trey, is going with you. Don’t worry, they know you’re not much of a talker. Works perfect; gives you an air of mystery – the women go mad for that.”
“So,” said Rosario, “your grandma got you a loan of a suit from your cousin and Trey is gonna wear the one he got for his interview.”
Bunny nodded. “So, you’re all set. Congratulations – you’re on your way to being the next Banksy.”
“What’s a Banksy?” asked Rosario.
“Some English fella – his walls go for millions.”
“He must have a really nice house.”
They both stopped and looked down at Emilio’s stunned expression.
“Fecking hell,” said Bunny, “I’m beginning to think we’re both crap at delivering good news. Quick, Marilyn, cut to the song.”
“Thank you,” said Emilio, and he stood up and walked out the door in a daze.
“I dunno,” said Bunny. “Millennials – they don’t know they’re born.”
“He ain’t a millennial.”
Bunny shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know what it means. I call everyone younger than me a millennial. All I know about them is Han Solo used to fly a falcon named after one.”
Rosario’s eyebrows shot up her face. “Father!”
Bunny turned to see that Father Gabriel was now standing behind them. His vacant expression was eerily reminiscent of Emilio’s.
“Well?” said Rosario, failing to contain her excitement.
Gabriel gave her a blank look before glancing down at his watch. “I thought you were going to pick up your
aunt?”
Rosario waved the question away. “The meeting! How did it go?” Her face fell. “Oh Lord, it was very fast. That’s not good. Is it good? It isn’t good, is it?” Rosario blessed herself. “We’ll find something else.”
“For the love of…” interjected Bunny. “Let the man speak, would ye?”
They both left a pause which Gabriel didn’t fill. Belatedly sensing the eyes on him, he returned from wherever his mind had wandered.
Bunny clicked his fingers in front of him. “Earth to Padre. Come in, Padre.”
“Sorry,” said Gabriel, giving his head a slight shake. “What was the question?”
“The meeting, Father, the meeting!” barked Rosario in a near shout. “Is Mr Green going to support us?”
Gabriel’s mind finally jumped back a few minutes, into a simpler world where that was what the meeting had been about. “Oh, right. He said nothing definite…”
Rosario’s face fell.
“But he seems enthusiastic.”
And then lit up again. “Enthusiastic? How enthusiastic?”
“Oh, pretty enthusiastic I think. I mean, he represents a lot of people, doesn’t he? He probably has to go back to them and make the case for us.”
“Right,” said Rosario, biting on the knuckle of her middle finger. “But he was interested?”
“Yes. Definitely interested.”
“How interested? Like on a scale of one to ten?”
Gabriel puffed his cheeks out. “I’d say… a seven, maybe? Or eight?”
“Is ten the good end or the bad end?”
Gabriel tilted his head, struggling to follow the conversation he was trapped in.
“Ten,” repeated Rosario. “Is ten like the best or the worst on this scale?”
“Oh, right. Ten is the best.”
Rosario clapped her hands together. “And we got an eight!”
“Now, I said seven, maybe an eight.”
“Oh, Father, that’s an eight!” She gave a little squeal of delight. “We have so much we could use the money for!”
I Have Sinned Page 18