One of the girls answers my buzz. She doesn’t want to let me in, but he tells her to do it. I take the stairs. Poncho is there at the door, holding it open. She stands aside to let me in, giving me a nasty look as I go by.
He’s on the couch, Pigtails on one side, PJs on the other, taking turns bathing his face with a damp cloth. Ignoring the fact that everything that’s gonna heal has healed.
Poncho walks past me. She goes around the couch and stands behind him, hands on his shoulders.
He gives me a little finger wave.
—Hey.
I nod.
—Hey.
He tilts his head.
—So we cool?
—Yeah. We’re cool.
—Cool. Cool. Have a seat, man. Ladies, don’t be rude. Offer the man something.
Pigtails sniffs.
—I offered last time. He didn’t want it. And then he was mean to you.
She hops off the couch and flounces over to me, bends low from the waist.
—But that doesn’t mean I won’t offer again.
I hold up my hand.
—Maybe just a beer for now.
She straightens up, puts one hand on her hip and points a finger at me.
—You are no fun.
She turns her back, looks at me over her shoulder.
—But I’ll get you a beer anyway.
She skips to the fridge.
PJs has put her head in The Count’s lap. He strokes her hair.
—Sure you don’t want something stronger, man?
He points to the fridge. Pigtails is standing in the kitchen, fanning her hand in front of the open fridge, displaying the contents like a model on a game show. Blood. Lots of it.
—Just the beer for now.
He shrugs.
—Whatever you want, man.
Pigtails skips back over with the beer and an opener. She pops the top, takes a sip, and hands me the bottle.
—Yum.
She points at my lap.
—Mind if I sit?
The Count snaps his fingers.
—Come here, love. That man isn’t playful.
She giggles and goes to him.
—I knoooow. I’m just teasing. I like to tease.
She takes her place next to him and puts her head next to PJs’.
—And be teased.
He pats her cheek.
—Naughty.
I point at his nose.
—You might want to straighten that out before the cartilage knits. It’ll stay crooked if you don’t.
He touches it with his index finger.
—I thought I’d leave it as is. The girls like it.
—Sorry about the teeth. Those won’t grow back.
He smiles, shows me the gaps.
—Well, it wasn’t fun getting this way, but I’m gonna make the most of it. Thought I’d get some gold caps. Do the gangsta thing. Work on my street cred.
He flexes his shoulders, arms akimbo, hands flashing in front of his chest hip hop style. He laughs.
—Anyway, it’s no big. I had a role to play. I played it. Gotta admit, I played it all the way.
I nod.
—Yep.
—Terry fill you in on the whole thing?
—Most of it. He said there were some details I could get from you.
—Cool. That’s cool. So, where do you want to?
—Vandewater?
—OK. So, this is pretty fucked-up shit, funny fucked up. You’re gonna love some of this. OK.
Poncho has been rolling him a smoke, she puts it between her lips, lights it, moves it to his. He takes a drag and she removes it, his hands occupied with petting the girls’ heads in his lap.
—So, do you know what she does up there?
—Besides make anathema and spin fucked-up plots to stir up shit that will get us all killed? No.
—She makes enforcers. Really, man. That’s what she’s there for. Predo sends them to her. Sends her the raw recruits, and she sends back little order-following assassin robots. She’s the chief programmer. She’s been doing it forever.
—You mean that literally?
He shakes his head.
—Well, no, man. But a long damn time.
—Uh-huh. And you?
He grins.
—Me. Well, that was me. Funny as it sounds, man, I’m an enforcer. Anyway, I was supposed to be. She, like, handpicked me. I mean, I was really up there, pre-med and all, and she has these scouts, kids on campus, recruiters like? Mostly they’re looking for kids they can snatch, for the, you know, for the stuff?
—The anathema.
—Yeah, man. Like, raw material for the anathema. But sometimes, if they spot someone promising, they may try to recruit them. Nothing too obvious, right? No, Hey, man, what do you think of vampires? But she’s got a profile she looks for, something she’s put together. Traits she thinks you need to have. If you have them, and if you’re vulnerable to a snatch, she has you snatched. Has you infected. Or, tries to anyway. Sometimes it just don’t take. You know.
—But it took with you.
—Oh, man, did it ever. All of it. I don’t know what it is she looks for, but I have it. I took to this shit. The life. I know that bugs you, like the way you went all Raging Bull on my head, I know you don’t want to hear that kind of thing, but it’s the truth. I just plain took to it. And, I got to admit, I like it. I like the way it makes me feel. And, sure, I got it easier than most. The money, that makes a difference. And that shit I told you about mom and dad cutting me off? That was bull. Mom and dad divorced years ago. From each other and from me. All they want is not to know I exist. It might remind them of how old they really are. My trust fund ain’t going anywhere anytime, not unless people stop buying gas. I’m set. So, yeah, I’m spoiled fucking rotten. And I love it, by the way.
Poncho feeds him another drag.
—So I had whatever kind of crazy she was looking for. Not for, like, the standard enforcer thing, but for this special gig she had cooked up. This infiltration.
He moves his hands like cat’s paws.
—A lone agento secreto in the heart of the Society, carrying out a plot to subvert the youth of the Clan. Cool, huh? I mean, who wouldn’t love a gig like that?
I light a cigarette of my own.
—So what went wrong?
He takes a drag, blows a ring.
—What went wrong is I likes to party! I likes to have a good time. And one thing the enforcers do not get to do is have a good time. Also, according to Vandewater, I happen to be the most amoral kid you’re likely to ever run across. Besides being, you know, a spoiled little shit. When I was down here, it was, like, the bomb. Secret agent on his own.
He raises his arms, indicating the room.
—Sweet pad, nice threads, piles of money.
He looks up at Poncho. She bends and kisses him. He looks at me.
—Beautiful ladies. Like James Bond, man. But cooler.
He frowns.
—But then I’d have to go see M. Go Uptown like I was going to class, stop by her place. Have tea for fuck sake. Give my report. Man! That is not the kind of Vampyre action I was looking for. Then this thing came up.
I finish my beer.
—Tell me about that.
—Man, talk about your blessings in disguise. OK, so I’m down here. I mean, she’s had me down here, but laying veeeeery low. Don’t want to get scented. Once I’ve kind of established residency, I open a vein one night. Actually, one of her boys opened it for me, but that’s just details. The good part is when I stumble into a place we knew Tom liked to hang at. This agro-vegan joint on C. I come in bleeding, the staff, it was like raw meat to them, they freak out. Tom is all over me, saying he’ll get me an ambulance and shit. I’m pretty sure he thought a free meal had just landed in his lap. Then he got a good smell. Once he realized I was infected, I moved up from meal to recruit. Not his fault he didn’t know I’d been infected for years. I did the whole act.
> He puts his hands to the sides of his head.
—Vyrus? What Vyrus? Vampyre? You’re crazy! Crazy! It can’t be! It just can’t be! Well, you saw my act a couple times today. What can I say? I got talent! So I played it freaked out, but not for too long. Then I played quick study, but not too quick. Then I played true believer. I played that all the way. Tom loved it. I was his star pupil. All the Anarchist meetings, calling on me to answer questions about doctrine and shit? A total drag. But I’ll give the guy this: He was sincere. For whatever that got him.
I take a drag, having witnessed what being sincere got Tom.
—What about Terry?
—Terry! Now that man, he is the mac. Me, I think he had me pegged the first time Tom brought me in for vetting. He sat back, let Lydia and Tom and some of the other council members drill me on my story and my compatibility with the goals of the Society.
He makes his hand into a puppet and flaps its mouth open and shut.
—All that crap. He barely asked shit. But I think he knew then. Not that I had a clue. I thought I was smooth. But, man, well, you know, Terry is the smoothest. I had no idea he was on to me until he showed up here with Hurley and gave me the score.
—What was the score?
He shakes his head.
—What do you think it was? Man, the score was tell him every fucking thing he wanted to know or Hurley would start chopping stuff off of me until I was a biscuit. No problem, man, I squawked. And I got to say, greatest piece of luck I ever had. I spilled it all. Spilled who I was, where I came from, where the anathema was coming from, all of it. And Terry? He watched me, just like he watched during my vetting, and when I was done spilling, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Man, an offer I would never refuse.
I hold up my empty, start to stand.
—Mind if I get another?
Poncho waves me back down and gets it for me.
I take it from her hand.
She gives me a hard look, still pissed at the way I beat on her squeeze.
I drink the beer.
—So, Terry’s offer?
The Count takes Poncho’s hand as she circles back around him.
—Well, here I am, right? I play my part in this show, and I get to stay down here. No more Mrs. Vandewater. No more sieg heil. No worrying about when I’m gonna get called back and told to put on a suit and act like all the other little robots. Freedom, man. That was the deal.
—So you told Vandewater Terry’s position was unstable.
—Yeah. Told her he was having trouble with Tom. Told her we could rock things down here, maybe start an outright revolution if we could make it look like Tom was behind the anathema. But I told her it couldn’t come from me, Terry wouldn’t buy it from me. It had to come from someone he had a history with.
—Me.
He points at his nose.
—Bingo. Terry was looking to ditch Tom. He said he needed a witness for a trial. He said he needed two. He said I was good because I was one of Tom’s guys. But he said the other one needed to be old school. He said it needed to be someone Lydia would accept. He mentioned you.
—It worked.
—Hell yeah! I sent you Uptown. Terry said not to be too specific. Said it would look weird if I knew exactly where the shit was coming from. Said to point you to the Hood and that would be close enough. Fuck it, it turned out OK. Terry said it would. You wound up in Vandewater’s clutches, she messed with your head a little, you made a move, she let you escape and told you Tom was her courier as you were on your way out.
—And all she had to do was lose an eyeball and take a bellyful of bullets.
He waves his hand back and forth.
—Trust me, for her cause, losing an eyeball, taking some lead? That is nothing. If she thought it was gonna bring down the Society, she’d cut off her tits. If she thought it’d bring down the Hood, she’d cut off her tits and fuck Dexter Predo. And she hates his ass. Lady is a stone zealot. Cra-zy. Period. Funny, though, she thinks you’re coming down here, gonna blow shit sky-high, gonna rock the boat. Had no idea she was helping to set Tom up for the fall. Helping to, like, entrench Terry’s chairmanship. Crazy, right? All the reversals, the double-agenting, I loved it. Like Deep Cover and I’m all Laurence Fishburne. In too deep for my own good, flippin’ and trippin’. But I had it under control. It’s easy if you’re not worried about right and wrong. You know, if you’re just worried about yourself. Priorities, man, I have ’em.
—And the rest?
—Easy-peasy, man. Hey, I don’t want you bouncing me around every day, but you made it easy to play the role. That shit was scary. And then in the trial? That worked out perfect. The way you were playing it all stoic set me up just right when I cracked. I mean, the plan was, you’d be telling your story and I’d hop in with mine. But the way it played was better yet. And my cherry, just when everyone is sure I’m full of it, just when they know I’m lying through my teeth, when I pop out with, I’m a spy! Did you see the look on Tom’s face? He shit his pants. He must have shit his pants. You though, you were stone cold. That’s what old lady Vandewater told me. Snap! That was it for Tom. Game ovaah!
—Yeah. Terry said something about Lydia?
—Oh, damn, Lydia. She really a lesbo? Cuz I’m just saying, some of that? I could do some of that.
Poncho slaps the top of his head.
He looks up at her.
—There’s plenty to go around, baby. No worries.
I grind some sleep from my eyes.
—How’d she go for you getting cut loose?
—Terry Bird to the rescue. After you took off to deal with Tom, Terry did some additional interrogation. He convinced Lydia, in a way where she was kind of thinking it was her own idea, that keeping me around was best. Double agent they could use to send false information back to the Coalition. She went for it. Plus, you know, the money. The Society is always hurting for money. Long as I’m here, I can help with that. So she agreed. House arrest. Gonna put a watch on me until I prove my loyalty. But that’ll come soon enough. And, hey!
He shows off his apartment and his girls again.
—Not like it’s a hard life up in here.
I look around.
—No, I can see that. Amongst all the other luxury, you got a phone?
—Sure, sure, landline’s right here.
He grabs a cordless handset from the coffee table and tosses it to me.
I point at Poncho’s room.
—OK if I use it in there?
—Sure, man.
I get up. So does The Count.
—Hey, Joe. We are cool, right? I mean, I am. I’m totally cool. I think you handled this shit straight up. Not easy getting played like that. You got nothing but respect from me.
I shrug.
—Yeah, we’re cool. All in the way of business. And hey.
I reach in my jacket and pull out the anathema.
—Got something for you.
I toss it to him.
—From the old lady’s. Fresh this morning. Terry sent it over.
He catches it.
—Oh yeah! Knew he’d come through.
He gives me a grin.
—Thought I smelled a little somethin’ somethin’ on you.
He gives it a sniff.
—It’s a little tired, but it’s good.
He turns to the girls.
—See, ladies, told you Joe is our man. Told you he knows business from personal.
Pigtails is on all fours, arching her back cat-style.
—When we gonna get personal, Joe Pitt?
She winks and hops up to help PJs get their works together.
The Count hands the bag to Poncho.
—Sure you don’t want to hang, Joe? I know you don’t indulge, but the fridge is stocked with regular, man. Have yourself a pint. Drink some booze. Get an old school buzz going.
He comes closer, puts an arm over my shoulder, points at Pigtails, kneeling on the floor with the other girls, getti
ng the anathema ready.
—She really has taken a shine to you. And trust me, it’s freaky good. Especially after she has a skinful. She’s in another world, man.
I look at her. She catches me, blows a kiss, goes back to work.
—Maybe after my call.
He slaps my shoulder.
—That’s my man!
He joins the girls. I walk into the room made of doors.
Most of it’s taken up by a big mattress on the floor. Funky designer clothes from Lower East Side boutiques spill out of a chest of drawers. Three mobiles made of tin and colored glass dangle from the ceiling. I duck to go under one and graze it with my shoulder. It tinkles. One of the doors is paned with frosted glass. Through it I can see the ghosts of The Count and his ladies, in a circle on the floor.
I dial the phone.
He answers.
—Hello?
—It’s me.
—Hey, Joe. What’s up?
—I’ll take the job.
—Wow. Well. Good for you, man. About time you stopped being just a piece of the mosaic and started to help make it. Help make, I know how this is going to sound, but help make the world a better place.
I think about the world. I think about all the room there is for making it better than what it is. I think about the likelihood that I’m a guy who can do that.
—Yeah, let’s do that, Terry. Let’s clean it up.
—That’s the spirit. You come by tomorrow night. We’ll start talking. In earnest, I mean.
—Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow. I gotta go now. Got something to take care of.
I hang up.
I walk out through the space between two of the doors, hitting the mobile again. Hearing it chime.
Poncho and PJs are already out. Wrapped in their little coma of dreams. Seeing whatever visions it is they see. Pigtails is waiting for hers.
The Count points at the fridge.
—Sure you don’t?
I touch the blisters on my hands.
—A pint wouldn’t hurt. Or a drink.
He gets up.
—That’s the shit.
He grabs me a pint, brings it back along with a half-full bottle of Jack.
I retake my seat, open the pint, hit it.
The Count looks at me as he sets Pigtails up. He holds up the syringe.
—Want to do the honors?
Pigtails writhes on the floor.
—C’mon, Joe. Do it for me.