“What do you want to know?” Black said tonelessly.
“The Astronomer. He’s escaping tonight. He’s got a ship, some kind of spaceship. I need to know where it is.”
“Spaceship? Like aliens from space? Like Dr. Tachyon and that kind of shit? You must be crazy.”
Fortunato gave him another little jolt of power. He was starting to feel dizzy. “He must have been planning to take you with him. Otherwise he would have killed you.”
Black looked puzzled. “Yeah, he was . . . but he decided to keep me here, keep me alive for ‘contingencies.’ ”
“Like pulling the guards off Kafka?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
“And where is it he’s going?”
“It’s funny. I really can’t remember.”
“Funny,” Fortunato said. He let himself come loose from his physical body and went into Black’s mind. The man wasn’t lying. The memory of the ship, where the Astronomer got it, where it was hidden, where he was taking it, was gone. Neatly cut away. Just the way the Astronomer had cut up Eileen’s brain.
Fortunato turned to go.
“You’re just . . . going to leave me here?”
“You’re no use to me.”
“But . . . aren’t you afraid I’d try to get back at you?”
“Yeah,” Fortunato said. “I suppose you’re right.” With the last of his strength he reached into Black’s chest and stopped his heart. Black made a noise like a cough and slumped sideways in his chair.
“Her name was Eileen,” Fortunato said, and walked away.
Hiram’s right foot was soaked up to the ankle; he’d appeared half-standing in the toilet, and it was sheer good fortune that an ongoing phone conversation had covered up the splash he made when extricating himself. As it was, he got nervous every time he took a step, fearful that the squishing sound would give him away. So he tried not to move much.
He crouched in the bedroom, near the door to the spacious living room. It was open, as was the door to the adjacent room. He couldn’t see a thing but the empty living room, but he could hear everything, and that was what mattered. He’d been there twenty-odd minutes now, and he’d heard more than enough.
Ring. “Latham? This is Hobart. Subway’s secure. The Egrets are down on the platforms, no way anybody gets on any trains without us knowing. I’ve got men hanging around every turnstile. You sure she’s heading this way?”
“Our friend from Justice seem to think so. I spoke to Billy Ray a few minutes ago, he says that she’s heading up Broadway and he’s not far behind her. Wyrm has been informed, and he confirms. He’s on his way.”
St. John Latham of Latham, Strauss, obviously gave his clients a good deal more than legal representation.
Ring. “Cholly, man. We’re at the Port Authority. I’m in a phone booth, we got guys at all the doors. Lots of pimps and ho’s, man, but no sign of a white chick in a bikini.”
“Keep watching.”
The ringing of the phone was constant, as was the soft sound of Latham’s practiced fingers on the IBM keypad. Hiram edged closer to the door.
He felt sorry for the prey, whoever it was. Latham and his people were closing a net around the whole Times Square area. Each phone call pulled the weave a little tighter, and the phone kept ringing.
Ring. “Sinjin? This is Fadeout.”
“Where are you?”
“In front of Nathan’s. No sign of her. It’s not quite as bad as New Year’s Eve, but it’s not far off either.”
“You visible?”
“For the moment. Otherwise I’d have nat assholes bumping into me every other second. Besides, I may need the energy if she shows.”
“She’ll show. Wyrm is certain of it.”
“Where the hell is he?”
“In his limo, fighting traffic. Where are the rest of our people?”
“Egrets and Werewolves all over the place. Our jokers are all wearing Dr. Tachyon masks, so we know who they are. The Whisperer’s up by the Cohan statue, Bludgeon is hanging around outside the Wet Pussycat, Chickenhawk’s perched on top of the tower. He’s supposed to be watching, but he’s probably eating a goddamned pigeon. We’ve got a few guys in cabs too, in case she tries to hail a taxi, maybe she’ll get one of ours.”
Hiram tensed at the mention of Bludgeon’s name. When the next call rang through, and he heard a familiar razor-cruel voice come out of the speakerphone, he edged forward until he was in the doorjamb. “Loophole, you fucker,” the voice said. “It’s me.”
“Yes,” Latham replied in polite, icy tones.
“I just spotted the gash. I’m watching her tight little butt right now. You ought to see her, nothing on but a fuckin’ bikini, her titties just hangin’ out there. Should I kill her?”
“No,” Lathan said crisply. “Follow her.”
“Shit, I could twist her fuckin’ head off before she knew I was there.” He laughed. “Fuckin’ shame to waste the rest of her, though.”
“She is not to be killed, not until we have the book. Obviously she’s not carrying it. Keep her in sight, but don’t touch her. Wyrm is on his way.”
“Fuck,” Bludgeon said. “Can I have a little fun with her, after we get the shit back?”
“Follow her, Seivers,” Loophole said. He hung up.
The penthouse was strangely quiet for a moment.
Then Hiram heard the creak of Latham’s swivel chair, followed by the soft sound of the lawyer’s footsteps. The bathroom, he thought in sudden panic.
The footsteps moved closer.
Spector pushed another plastic garbage bag to one side. A rat the size of a dachshund launched itself toward him. The animal scrambled up his arm toward his throat. He grabbed it by the tail with one hand and banged its head into the edge of the metal barge. The rat squealed and twitched convulsively. He let it drop.
The sparkler was burning low, singeing his fingers. Tiny flakes of burning metal were irritating the back of Spector’s hand. He tossed the sparkler over the side of the barge. There was a faint hiss when it hit the water.
“God, I wish it was daylight. We might have a shot at finding them,” Spector said.
“If it was daylight, you’d have to fight the gulls. They swarm around these barges like bees to honey. Pick you to pieces if you’re not careful. Don’t give up yet,” said Ralph. He pulled another sparkler out of the box and lit it off the one he was holding, then handed it to Spector. “Those notebooks are on this barge somewhere, and we’re going to find them.”
Spector was feeling stronger as time passed. His foot didn’t hurt nearly as much as before. The stump was getting longer and separating at the end, like toes were trying to reform. The smell on the barge was so strong that even Spector was bothered by it. He wished for a breeze and started digging through the garbage again.
“That’s it. Don’t give up.” Ralph sorted through the trash quickly but carefully. But he’d had a lot of practice.
Spector liked Ralph, but he wasn’t happy about it. He couldn’t remember the last time somebody went out of their way to help him. He’d feel pretty rotten if he had to kill the guy, but it was probably the smart thing to do. He couldn’t have somebody running around who could connect him with the stolen notebooks.
“Say, friend. You never told me your name.”
“Allen,” Spector said. “Tommy Allen.” He didn’t know why he’d bothered to lie; he was going to snuff Ralph anyway.
“Nice to meet you, Tommy.” Ralph extended a garbage-smeared hand. Spector hesitated, then grasped it and shook once. “What’s your line of work?”
“I’m, uh, an exterminator.” Spector took a few steps away from Ralph and dug into some fresh garbage. He tossed a couple of paper sacks aside and unearthed a broken-down couch. The cushions were gone and the beige paisley fabric stained, but it looked okay otherwise.
“See what I mean?” Ralph was still right behind him. “Perfectly good stuff. I could clean it up with my Steamatic and it’d be alm
ost as good as new.”
Spector slumped onto the couch. The chance of finding the notebooks was getting worse and worse. Just his luck, to get hold of something like that and lose it right away. He could have nailed the Astronomer and set himself up for life.
Ralph sat down beside him and looked at Spector’s clothes. The stains from the garbage helped to disguise the blood. “Boy, those guys worked you over good. That’s one thing about living in a garbage dump, crime rate’s mighty low.”
Spector was silent. He stared directly at the sparkler, letting the magnesium brightness burn itself onto his retina. He wondered what the Astronomer was going to do to him. Things were probably going to get even worse than they were now, impossible as that seemed. Dying again was the simplest solution, but it wasn’t what he had in mind.
Ralph stuck the handle of his sparkler into the edge of the couch, then leaned over and shoved his arms back into the trash up to his elbows. He turned to look at Spector and furrowed his brow, then pulled out a plastic-covered package. “Look familiar?”
Spector grabbed the package and wiped it off on his pants leg. He was seeing spots from looking at the sparkler, but knew it was the notebooks. He hurled his sparkler as far out into the river as he could. “Goddamn. Maybe my luck’s changing.”
Ralph nodded and smiled. “Told you we’d find them. Garbage can’t hide anything from me for long.”
“Well, you were right.” Spector shoved the notebooks back into his pants. He wasn’t taking them out again until he handed them over to Latham.
“Wait here.” Ralph got up off the couch and began wading away through the garbage. “This calls for a real celebration.”
Spector looked at his watch. It was 10:55. He had to get moving soon. There was no telling when the Astronomer would come looking for him, and he wanted plenty of tough company around by then. The Astronomer was saving Fortunato for last, so Jumping Jack Flash and Peregrine were probably next on the list. Or maybe Tachyon. Taking them on was bound to push him to the limit, even with Imp and Insulin around to help out. Spector sighed. He might as well kill Ralph now and get it over with.
He saw Ralph light something at the other end of the barge, then move to another to touch it off. Two small flames slowly grew into cascades of colored light, fountaining twenty or thirty feet into the air. Ralph was standing well away from them, his back to Spector. He appeared to be keeping an eye on the fountains to make sure the barge didn’t catch on fire. Couldn’t have his ride home going up in flames.
Spector made his way to the shore end of the barge and stepped off. The fireworks would attract attention and that was the last thing he wanted. There was no time to kill Mr. Garbage right now. He’d do it later. If he survived the night.
He hobbled to the chain-link fence and climbed it slowly, trying to use his bad foot as little as possible. He hauled his body over the top and lowered himself down the other side. His foot still hurt if he tried to put his entire weight on it. He could see it now. It was pink and there were toes taking shape. He might be fully healed by this time tomorrow. If he was still alive by then.
Spector had to contact Latham first. He dug into his coat pocket for the card with the lawyer’s phone number. Getting a taxi was going to be hell. He could always kill somebody and take their car, but he wanted to keep things as uncomplicated as possible.
He limped away down the street looking for a pay phone.
It took Jennifer nearly two nightmarish hours to make her way to the ground floor of the Empire State Building. She was afraid to use the elevators or the main staircases and had to continually ghost through ceilings, walls, and locked doors. Before long she had to rest between each phase of insubstantiality, balancing her weariness against the continual need to move on in case the federal agent was still tracking her. Kien, she realized, must have friends in very high places indeed. She wondered, not for the first time, what Yeoman’s—Brennan’s—connection with him was.
She finally made it, unobserved she thought, down to the street, where she merged with the pedestrian traffic and headed toward the corner of 43rd and Seventh, carefully keeping to the darkness and ignoring the occasional invitations to come party. The streets became more densely jammed with drinking, dope-smoking revelers as she approached Times Square, which was almost as crowded as it is on New Year’s Eve. The people milling about the streets were determined, damned determined it seemed, not to let anything get in the way of a good time. Their desperate attitude tainted the atmosphere with a taste of depression, as well as something of menace.
Maybe, Jennifer thought, it was all in her head. Maybe the hulking man in dirty leathers and plastic Dr. Tachyon mask who seemed to be following her was just an innocent fellow out to have a little fun. Maybe, but she started walking faster when she realized he was following her, and her fear increased when she saw that he kept pace behind her.
She was never so happy to see someone as when she saw Brennan waiting for her on the designated corner. She broke into a ragged run toward him, dodging immovable knots of partiers. He turned as she approached, and Jennifer faltered. She could see his anger by the taut way he held his body, by his hard-clenched jaw and the thin line of his lips. Some of his tenseness drained away when he saw her, and was replaced by uncertainty. Some, but not all.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” he said curtly.
“Why?” They spoke in low voices, even though none of the people milling around seemed to be paying them any attention.
“The Tachyon statue was smashed, scattered around the gallery. The books were gone,” he said in clipped tones.
“Gone?” The astonishment in her voice and on her face softened his expression. He sighed, rubbed his chin wearily.
“Kien must have gotten to them . . . somehow . . . someway.” He shook his head. “He’s a tricky bastard. His reach extends farther and into more places than you’d ever dream of.”
“It’s not possible.” Jennifer frowned and glanced sharply at Brennan, suddenly suspicious that he might have the books and was holding out on his promise to return the stamps to her. But his shoulders were slumped, and weariness and defeat was on his face. He can’t be that good of an actor, Jennifer thought. But what possibly could have happened?
Brennan seemed to rouse himself. He straightened his shoulders, composed his features, and looked again at Jennifer. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “It looks like I have to find you some more clothes.” He frowned. “How’d you lose the ones you were wearing?”
“I’ll tell you everything,” she said, “but first let’s get some food somewhere. I’m still starved. I only had half a cracker with some chopped liver at Aces High. Why don’t we go for a late dinner somewhere? I’ll buy. I’ll tell you what went on at Aces High and you can tell me why you’re after Kien’s diary.”
Jennifer told herself she made the offer out of simple curiosity, but part of her whispered that she was rationalizing. In reality, she didn’t want Brennan to walk away from her.
He looked at her with a tight smile.
“I don’t think that’d be wise,” he began, then he lost his smile, grimaced, and swung his bowcase at Jennifer. “Duck!”
She ghosted.
A stocky man wearing a dark-blue satin jacket with a beautifully embroided white bird on the back—a crane? Jennifer wondered—passed through her. He stumbled forward, his arms windmilling as he tried to regain his balance. Brennan’s case caught him flush in the face and he went down.
“Egret,” Brennan snapped. “Let’s get out of here.”
He grabbed for Jennifer’s hand, started to run, stopped, sighed half to himself, and waited for her to solidify.
“Sometimes you’re difficult to cope with,” he complained. Jennifer smiled and offered him her hand. It looked like this affair wasn’t over yet. What, she wondered, is an Egret?
He took her hand and they ran.
It was impossible to make straight-line progress through the crowd. They le
ft a trail of partiers in their wake cursing them or whistling catcalls at the sight of Jennifer’s bikini-clad form, or both.
“We’re never going to shake them at this rate,” Brennan grumbled. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw a pack of men wearing dark jackets—more Egrets, Jennifer realized—pushing through the crowd after them. They were less subtle than Brennan and Jennifer and simply shoved past anyone who blocked their way. Few cared to lecture them about their boorishness. “Eight of them,” Brennan said, and his grip on Jennifer’s hand was broken as she suddenly stopped in her tracks.
“Oh no,” she said, staring.
“What is it?”
“Him.”
A man wearing a skintight white suit was coming toward them.
“Who’s that?” Brennan asked.
Jennifer shook her head. “He tried to arrest me at Aces High. Said he was a federal agent.”
“Great.” Brennan glanced around quickly. They were near a corner that was cluttered with a phone booth, mail repository, and several trash cans. “This way. Maybe he hasn’t spotted you yet.”
Jennifer and Brennan veered off to the side and the man in the battle suit called out, “Stop right there! You’re under arrest!”
Jennifer groaned, jostled a man wearing a mask with an elephant’s nose and ears—no, Jennifer realized, he wasn’t wearing a mask after all—apologized, and stepped to the curb just as a limo pulled to a screeching halt. Its doors flew open and Wyrm and half a dozen thugs leapt out.
“Christ,” Brennan swore. He let go of Jennifer’s hand and everything happened at once.
A battered yellow taxi rear-ended the limo just as Wyrm screamed, “Get her! Get him!” The taxi bumped the limo forward and the open door on the passenger’s side slammed into Wyrm. The reptilian joker went down as the Egrets burst through the onlookers surrounding the scene and tried to encircle Brennan and Jennifer. People trapped within the circle realized something heavy was about to come down and tried to get away. People outside the circle realized that something heavy was about to come down and pushed closer to watch. Billy Ray, now running toward them, screamed, “I’m a federal agent and you’re under arrest!” and the huge man in dirty leathers and plastic Tachyon mask, who was also pushing through the crowd toward Jennifer and Brennan, whirled and clubbed him to the sidewalk with a single blow from his deformed, clublike right fist.