Apocalypse to Go

  We passed a few street people who paused to give me the once-over. Some stared; others glanced sideways, trying to hide their attention. I picked up SPPs that told me they were wondering about something and longing for something. Logic filled in the blanks: wondering if I were Nuala and fantasizing about the Chief’s reward money. Most lost interest and turned away as my disguise held. Two, however, a woman on Market Street and a newsboy as we crossed Sutter, stared a little longer and looked a little deeper. Their SPPs seemed to say, “could be her, could be her.” I hoped I was only being paranoid.

  We reached Spare14’s office to find the metal grate and the door behind it locked. Ari took his piece of wire out of his jeans pocket. I stood between him and the alley while he picked both locks. He held the door for me, then followed me inside.

  “We could have just rung the bell,” I said.

  “I know, but I want to give Spare14 something to think about. If I can work these locks, a professional would have the doors open in no time at all.”

  “I’m glad you don’t consider yourself a pro.”

  He chuckled under his breath. At the top of the stairs Jan stood waiting with his gun drawn. “Oh, it’s only you,” he said. “I thought so, but Sneak here is ready to transmit the panic code.”

  “I am not.” Spare14 stepped into view. “Nathan, I do wish you’d ring the bell like a normal person.”

  “I was just proving my earlier point. You should get better locks on those doors.”

  “Ari?” I broke in to what looked like a brewing argument. “I’ll take that bag.”

  I braced myself for the weight. Ari unslung it and handed it over. It weighed only a reasonable amount, as if the anti-theft app had turned its gravitons off, or whatever it is you do with gravitons.

  “It’s much lighter now,” I said.

  “Yes, I noticed that the moment we touched down on Interchange.”

  Spare14 quirked an eyebrow. Ari crossed his arms over his chest and said, “About those locks.”

  I left the men arguing over Ari’s criminal tendencies and carried the set of boxes into the bedroom. I laid the satchel in the bottom of the suitcase and piled our clothes over it. I returned to the living room to find Spare14 sitting at his desk and Ari standing at the window, keeping watch. Jan nodded my way to acknowledge that I’d come back into the room.

  “Things have gone quite nicely on Five,” Spare14 said to me. Your father should arrive here tomorrow.”

  My heart pounded for a few beats, so loudly that I was surprised no one else heard it.

  While we’d been on Four, Spare14 and Hendriks had laid in a supply of deli food, including some green salad that I could actually eat. It also provided leftovers to feed Or-Something when it showed up with a note from José.

  “Want to talk too. Tomorroh Leftys’ Hoffbrow on Eddy just up from Market 3 o’clock. Can you be thair?”

  Along with some pasta in pesto, I fed the Chaos critter a note saying yes, Ari and I would be there. It gobbled everything down, burped with a waft of garlic, then vanished on its way back to the BG camp.

  That evening the three TWIXT officers spent a long time arguing about what to do next as well as how far their authority to do anything extended. Although the SanFran justice system was utterly corrupt, it had been officially designated an indigenous cultural expression derived from local conditions. According to TWIXT regulations, agents thus had no right to meddle with it, as Spare14 pointed out.

  “Yes, of course,” Jan said with some exasperation. “But the gang we’re dealing with has no respect for the trans-world legal system. Law and order mean nothing to them.”

  “As far as I can tell,” I said, “we’re dealing with an essentially Chaotic world level, worse even than my home world.”

  “True,” Ari put in, “but we’re here to represent the forces of Order, as your agency would have it, not to increase the Chaos. If TWIXT embodies anything, it’s the principle of Order.”

  “Ah, but remember, I’m not part of TWIXT. That makes me a wild card in this poker hand.”

  All three of them stared at me for a moment. Jan seemed to be suppressing a smile.

  “Besides,” I went on, “if TWIXT should respect the indigenous system, and if that system’s Chaotic, then you really should act in a Chaotic manner yourselves.”

  “You’re having a joke on me, aren’t you?” Ari said.

  “No, I’m being logical.” I grinned at him. “Just like you’ve taught me.”

  Ari growled. Jan laughed, and even Spare14 looked amused.

  “O’Grady has a point.” Spare14 leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Our problem, as I see it, is twofold. The police here have no respect for the rule of law, and Interpol doesn’t exist on this world level. On another world level, we could introduce ourselves to the local police and work with them.”

  “You’ve all got your CBI IDs, don’t you?” I said. “Or do the police here see the CBI as a rival gang?”

  “Unfortunately, they do. We’d have to find some reason for them to join our operation, and then be very careful what we told them. They might want to maintain custody of the world-walker themselves. Because of the money he could make them, of course.”

  “Nothing would be easier for this lot,” Ari put in, “than to frame Michael on some false charge.”

  We sat in a gloomy silence for some minutes.

  “I’m thinking,” Jan said eventually, “about Storm Blue. At the moment they hold the strong position. What we need to do is weaken it.”

  “Easier said than done,” Ari muttered.

  “But look,” Hendriks went on. “Nola handed us a weapon with those two addresses. If Chief Hafner learns that the Axeman is trying to oust him and take over, won’t the Chief take action? If nothing else, shutting down those safe houses would serve notice on his rival.”

  “It would also siphon some of the Storm Blue gang’s strength,” I said. “The police would probably arrest anyone they could catch.”

  “Or shoot them,” Spare14 said with a sigh. “Doubtless for resisting arrest, and it might even be true.”

  Ari turned from the window. “How do we get Hafner the information?”

  “He must have informers,” I said. “Maybe even a network of them. Huh, I wonder if the BGs can help us there? I’ve already set up a meeting with José. He might know where to place the information.”

  “It’s certainly a possibility,” Spare14 said. “Though I’d prefer to find O’Grady’s brothers before a shooting war breaks out, and one might over this.”

  “Umph.” Jan looked dour. “Very good point.”

  “I’m not dismissing your idea,” Spare14 went on. “We merely need to pick the correct time. Having the O’Grady boys killed in a crossfire would be counterproductive.”

  “Extremely so,” I said.

  “Still.” Spare14 reached for his landline phone. “Let me just see if I can reach the liaison captain. She should still be up at this hour.”

  “Is that Valenzuela?” Jan said.

  “No, Kerenskya.”

  “Oh, good! She doesn’t mind taking a risk or two.”

  I hoped that the risk would be to the regulations, not my brothers.

  Spare14 dialed, listened, smiled, and began to speak in halting Russian larded with English numbers. Ari glanced my way and rolled his eyes, probably at Spare14’s accent. Neither Jan nor I understood a word of the Russian, though I assumed that both men knew what the coded numbers meant.

  “Very well,” Spare14 said. “About Hendriks’ idea of manipulating the Chief of Police? The liaison captain agrees that it has merit, but it would be best to proceed slowly.”

  “Rumors first,” Jan said. “Vague ones.”

  Spare14 nodded. “I could contact some of my clients. Sneak makes the occasional book as well as running numbers. I could offer odds on there being a new police chief soon. Leave it quite vague, never mention Storm Blue—in fact, I could hint that one of the major Or
ange gangs might be considering a move. Just to keep things inchoate, as it were.”

  “I like that,” Jan said.

  “Very well, then,” Spare14 went on. “What would you say for the odds, ten to one against? The current chief holds four aces, to continue O’Grady’s poker analogy.”

  “Yes, but those odds are too high to arouse much interest,” Jan said. “Seven to one, I’d say.” He glanced at Ari. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t understand odds, because I never gamble.”

  “What, never?”

  “Never. It’s too easy to lose, and I prefer not to lose at anything.”

  “Wise of you, Nathan,” Spare14 said. “Seven to one sounds reasonable to me. Now, I carry accounts for some trustworthy customers, but occasionally they cut in people I don’t know. If anyone drops by tomorrow to put down money, I’ll have to ask everyone to hide in the bedroom. Except Eric, I think. My nephew, after all. I’ll feel more secure with a Jamaican gunman close at hand.”

  Spare14 scribbled some notes on a piece of paper, then began working the phone. He called only a dozen people—my best marks, he called them—but judging by his end of the conversation, they were all intrigued.

  “There,” he said when he’d finished. “We’ll see how that rumor spreads. If it reaches the Axeman, he may drop by. Which could be interesting.”

  Spare14’s prediction came true the next morning. We’d just finished breakfast when the doorbell rang. Although Ari stayed sitting on the couch, Jan and I retreated to the bedroom to hide. I left the bedroom door open a crack and arranged my makeup mirror to give me a tiny, partial look into the living room. As soon as I heard the downstairs door open, I received a mid-level ASTA: situation dangerous, no immediate threat.

  I whispered the news to Jan, who drew his Beretta and stood to one side of the door. “Just in case,” he murmured.

  I heard voices come into the living room, Spare14 and two other men.

  “My nephew,” Spare14 was saying. “Eric is another refugee from Jamaican high society.”

  In the mirror I saw a sliver view of the Axeman. I recognized him from my earlier vision, the round face, the curly gray beard, the icy blue eyes. Behind him, I could just discern a second white guy, on the short side, thick around the middle, black hair—not much of a view, but I picked up his SPP easily enough. Psychotic and not real smart summed it up.

  “Hello, Scorch,” Spare14 said to him. “I paid up already this month.”

  “We know that, Sneak.” The Axeman had an oddly pleasant voice, the mark of the guilt-free criminal. “I came to ask you about the odds you’ve put out. What’s the big idea?”

  “I heard rumors. I have to raise enough cash to pay you, don’t I?”

  “Rumors, huh? I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you heard them.”

  “I don’t think it matters, really. Just here and there, and none of them were in the least conclusive. Hence the high odds against. I did overhear one Orangeman talking when I went to buy a bottle of gin. He shut up as soon as he realized someone else had come into the store.”

  “You and that damned gin!” The Axeman laughed and shook his head. “You’ve got to stop those little trips to Dreamland via Geneva. You’re a good customer. I’d hate to lose you to a bad liver.”

  “Well, it’s not as if I indulge constantly.”

  “Yeah, but when you do, you damn near drown in the stuff.” He turned slightly. “Eric, you need to speak to your uncle about these binges.”

  “He won’t listen,” Ari said. “My father’s been trying to sober him up for years.”

  “That’s one reason why I left Jamaica.” Spare14 sounded convincingly annoyed.

  The Axeman chuckled, then went on. “Anyway, okay, so rumors are going around, no hard facts. What I really want to know is, have you heard the names of the gangs that are going to make this move? Or I should say, supposedly make the move.”

  “I’ve heard two, yes. The Inquisitors and the Riordan Boys.”

  “Huh!” Scorch had a husky voice, as if he’d breathed a lot of hot smoke. “The Riordan Boys ain’t got what it takes.”

  “The Inquisitors do,” the Axeman said. “But only barely.”

  “What if they joined forces?” Ari put in.

  “That’s an interesting idea, young Eric! Two Orange gangs? Between them, they could squeeze a lot of juice.”

  Spare14 groaned at the pun.

  “It’s giving me the seeds of an idea,” the Axeman continued. “What if they joined forces, indeed?”

  “Always thinking,” Scorch said. “That’s you, Boss.”

  “So what if they did?” Spare14 said. “Once they took over from Hafner, the real fight would just be starting. I can’t see either La Rosa or Sullivan turning down the top job just to be polite.”

  “Especially not La Rosa with Celia to spur him on. He may call his gang the Inquisitors, but she’s the one who knows how to apply the hot irons, and I don’t mean on his shirts.” The Axeman paused for a laugh. “The question would be whose orange would get squeezed the hardest? Neither of them would have much juice left by the end. The end result: a chance for the right person to step in.”

  “Ah, I begin to catch your drift,” Spare14 said.

  “If, of course, the rumors are true.” The Axeman paused. “In this town, who knows? It’s enough to drive a man to drink, all right.”

  “It provides a temporary escape, at least.”

  “True, although I’ve had a vision lately that might lead to a permanent escape.”

  “You’ve been chewing glory seeds?”

  “Don’t get smart with the boss,” Scorch said.

  “Down, boy!” The Axeman laughed again. “Life looks hopeless to most of us. No way out except the one no one wants to take. But you never know. There are other worlds out there.”

  “A lovely idea. Getting there, however—”

  “Yeah, not so easy. Well, thanks for the information. Come on, Scorch. We’ve got a few more social calls to pay.”

  In my mirror I saw Spare14 follow them to the head of the stairs, then start down after them—to lock the doors behind them, I assumed. Jan holstered the Beretta. We waited until Spare14 returned before we joined him and Ari in the living room.

  “Well done,” Jan said to Spare14. “I admire how calmly you deal with criminals like him.”

  “It’s all show.” Spare14 made a sour face and laid one hand on his stomach. “Inside, I’m a quivering mass of terror. Be that as it may, let’s hope my ruse worked. He’s got to believe that I don’t know he’s the one behind the current rumors.”

  “And I also hope that Javert gets back here soon,” I said. “I have to agree with Ari. I need to wait for backup before I run more scans, but I really need to run some.”

  I got my wish an hour or so later, when the landline phone rang. Spare14 answered and said, “Davis! Good. You’re all back safely, I take it.” He paused, listening. “Very well, if you’re sure that’s safe.” More pause. “Yes, of course, you’re right. Fine. We’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone. “Your father’s with them.”

  “They’re coming here?” Ari asked.

  “Yes. They came through the South Park overlap, you see, so they’re not far. They’ll drop off O’Grady’s father, then drive around the edge of the bay to the ocean. Davis has an idea about where they can hide the milk wagon.”

  I combed some of the curl out of my hair and left my bronze makeup off. Angry or not, I wanted my father to recognize me. In San Francisco, that drive across Market and up to Columbus would have meant a long trek through traffic. In SanFran, Davis called again in ten minutes.

  We all went down to the alley, although I hung back in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs and let the TWIXT officers go ahead to the sidewalk. For days I’d been brooding about meeting Dad, knowing what I knew, but I still had no idea of what I was going to say to him.

  We heard the fake milk wagon growling along, coming closer
and closer. It turned into the alley and stopped with a wheeze of brakes. Davis opened the door and jumped down. He trotted around to the passenger side and helped a thin man, dressed all in blue denim, his hair a solid steel gray, climb down from the cab. Prison clothes, I thought: jeans, blue chambray shirt, jeans jacket, and the jacket had numbers stamped in black across its chest pocket.

  I appreciated Ari’s warning when I realized that yes, I was seeing my father. Since he’d always worked construction, mostly outside, I was used to seeing him tanned and muscled. Now he was dead pale and painfully thin. He looked gray—not only his hair, but all of him, his face, his skin, his aura—washed out, used up, dangerously low on Qi. He took a step and staggered, then leaned back against the tank and shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. I could see the white-gold torus gleaming at the neck of his denim shirt. He stared down the alley with his mouth slack, simply stared in that one direction.

  “Let’s have that collar off,” Spare14 said. “Davis, you have the code?”

  “Yessir, right here.” Davis took a slender tube out his shirt pocket. He tapped one end. “Code Twelve. Activate.” He waited a few seconds, then nodded. “Okay, I reckon we’re ready to go. It’s safest for someone with no talents.”

  Everyone looked at Ari, who allowed himself a brief smile and took the tube.

  “Touch it to the collar anywhere,” Spare14 said.

  When Ari held the code tube up, I could see that it looked something like an old-fashioned glass thermometer. Numbers ran down one edge. A green line pulsed inside.

  “Mr. O’Grady?” Ari said. “Allow me.”

  Dad turned his head slowly and looked him over with a slight frown, puzzled rather than angry.

  “I assume you’d prefer to use the name O’Grady,” Ari said.

  “Yes.” Dad sounded exhausted. “Thank you.”

  Ari cupped a hand, held it up close to the StopCollar, and touched the metal with the code tube. The collar snapped open, lurched forward, and fell into his hand as a straight rod. Dad caught his breath in a gasp and smiled, but the smile struck me as weary, as gray as the rest of him. He started to raise his hands to his neck, then hesitated. He looked at Ari as if he was asking permission.