Ambient (27 page)

"Move," I said, but only I moved, falling sideways with the
shock of the noise. The woman, for a second, levitated above the
hood of the cab as if easing into the paws of Godness-before it
dropped her and she fell unseen behind the cab. Panzerman reloaded his rifle.

"One hundred percent, sir," he said, smiling silently as if the
moment didn't warrant an audible laugh.

We pulled alongside the Dryco building. Panzerman had been silent the remainder of the trip,
though at intervals he quietly chuckled to himself,
as if recalling some memorable anecdote he kept
handy to keep him cheerful. A stiff breeze lashed
me; sooty cinders etched my eyes. A copter buzzed quite low,
flying west down Fiftieth.

Drivers stood at ease beside the limos lining the plaza; Jimmy
was easiest spotted, being a head taller than any of the others. He
lounged beside the Castrolite; his arms crossed against his chest
resembled nothing so much as sewer pipes insulated with coat
sleeves. Best to avoid him, I suspected, having no idea for whom
he might truly work and estimating that I was wanted no matter
who behinded. Avalon must be inside, I hoped, entering the Fiftieth Street side so nonchalantly as I could. Thoughts of her correction by Dryco minions darted through my mind, stinging and
making raw. I unlocked the door leading to the guard's stairway.
Mine is a peaceful soul, as I have said, but if need calls I cut no
corner and cool no fire, and I had the unerring hunch that need
would call. As I climbed the stairs, eyes alight at those places
where boobies awaited tripping by the careless, I knew that were
I to discover that my arrival came too late, that my presence
changed no mind, that my explanation should not suffice, then my hands, unbound and set loose, should take so many along as
I could carry as I was sent along on my way.

The guard's stairway emerged, many floors above, into a small
closet in Mister Dryden's office. With steady silence I crept in,
looking through the long two-way mirror inlaid in the closet's
door.

Mister Dryden sat behind his desk, overlooking a thick printout. His lips were drawn so tight they appeared sewn. His desk
terminal glowed radium green as menus and graphs flashed past.
Nine phones sat on his desk; from his Russian associates he had
developed the idea that innumerable phones at close reach provided fresh mortar for his wall of perceived power. I always pictured him attempting to answer seven phones with his feet, if two
were in his hands; as only one line entered his office, the point
was more than moot. Above the fireplace, its gas logs eternally
lit, hung a large portrait of himself as done by the family's artist.
All the Drydens, I think, preferred to see themselves in this wayoutsized, as if engorged after feeding, and softened with oil's
gauzed film. On one wall, near the giant smirker and his Yale
diploma, hung a small plaque. ONE OF THESE DAYS, I knew
it said, I'M GOING TO HAVE TO GET ORGANIZIZED. His
bookshelves, for all his reading, were wonderfully free from books.
One of his less understandable conceits was a fondness for stuffed
animals. Dozens of them caught the room's dust, perched on the
shelves. The taxidermist he employed prepared them to his wishes;
sitting at tea tables or at pianos, conducting and playing in big
bands, clad in tiny vests and hats, sunglasses and shirts. Puppies,
kittens, piglets, frogs, monkeys, bunnies, duckies, and chicks,
in clever attitudes forever frozen, looked askance upon him.

His office was very large, and very dark. The room's decor
was bicolor, forest green and black oak. Though the view from
his window was so attractive as any from this height, the drapes
were pulled perpetually shut-such light hurt his eyes. I opened
the door and walked in.

"I'm here," I said; he jumped, as if he'd been shot. I began
coming toward him.

"No nearer!" he said. "Oppro spoke, OM. Your ears shut.
You could have carved your own way-"

"Where's Avalon?" I asked.

"Where you'll soon be," he said, sliding his chair back. "I
never expected this, O'Malley-"

"I can explain," I said. "Look, what's going on? Where's--

"With me, a win. With her, a loss. Your loss."

"You don't understand. Wait a min-"

"Mistakes teach, OM. Learn."

He pressed a button on his desk, signaling Renaldo.

"Fools like you come dimedozened. Deceit negates function. "

Renaldo entered, stripped to the waist, looking not so much
muscled as upholstered. The Virgin tattooed on his padded chest
seemed to sneer at me from beneath his forest. He paused at the
doorway, resting his ax upon his broad shoulder.

"Entra, desepria," Mister Dryden said. "Should have kept to
the street, OM. Waste's place. Having took out, I'll put back."

"What is this?" I said, disbelieving at how quickly, how
dreamlike, it seemed to be occurring. "I said I can explain. I
thought-"

"Fair punishment fairly given," he said, slipping into the leg
space beneath his desk; the desk itself was bulletproof, with Krylar inserts. "Solo conference. The bottle breaks where it's thrown.
Renaldo. Go!"

Renaldo lifted his ax above his head, lunging toward me. I
hopped aside with moment's notice. The force of his swing was
great enough for the ax to sink halfway through the rug, and the
floor, as it landed.

"Maricon!" he shouted to me, "Venaqui." I pulled out my
gun; Renaldo thrust out his hand faster than a snake's tongue,
flicking it from niy grasp, sailing it across the room. As he moved to set loose the ax's blade, I dropkicked him. He swung out as
he fell, punching me in the ribs; one of the lower ones split.
Holding tight to one of the office's tufted-leather chairs, I lifted
myself up, kicking the ax away. Grabbing a floor lamp, he attempted wrapping it around my head. We grappled; the lamp bent
and we threw it out of our way. The first tool my hand clamped
was my trunch; I pulled it out.

"Muerte-" he said, his hand squeezing my throat. With all
my strength I brought my trunch down against his head. Blood
spattered the air like Serena; the metal plate in his skull lifted,
spinning away like a bird in flight. He kicked out, striking my
knee with a sharp heel, and I went down, landing painfully against
the articles filling my coat. I found what I needed as he picked
up his ax. I heard Mister Dryden crying, beneath his desk.

"Suplica," Renaldo said, blood streaming down his face. Lifting the ax again, he began bringing it down; it descended as if in
slomo. Halfway through his ax's downward arc I blocked its path
with Enid's chainsaw.

"Madre de Dios-"

The saw roared out, tripling its length; the force of that impact
knocked the ax from his hands, slamming it back against his
mouth. He fell over. I sat up, my saw whirring away. His jaw
had broken when the ax handle hit it; he made no recognizable
sounds. I could see that his loss of blood was weakening him,
and I saw no need for overkill, and so shut off my saw. Sitting
down on his chest, I placed my hands around his neck, pressing
my thumbs against his Adam's apple. It didn't take long. As I sat
there, panting, hearing only the sound of Mister Dryden's sobbing and my own breathing, drying blood encrusting my hands,
my split rib stabbing my side, my cheekbone athrob, the wound
on my head reopened and stinging, I thought of Avalon, forcing
myself to move by visualizing what would happen to her if I
didn't do something more, demanding of myself that I go further
before I dropped cold.

"Mister Dryden," I said, so calmly as I could make myself
sound, "let's talk."

"There's reasons," he cried; I barely understood him. "It
wasn't-"

There were many objets d'art on his desktop: a thermometer in
the guise of the Statue of Liberty; a heavy glass paperweight,
snow ensprinkled within forever drifting down; an old photo of
himself with his mother, Susie D. Blood tickled my brow as I
perused them, awaiting his emergence.

"Come on out," I said, "Mister Dryden--

"Scared-" he mumbled. Heaving myself up, the underside
of the desk in my hands, I rose, tipping it over; it slammed against
the floor behind him with a terrific crash. Broken glass rang for
several seconds. He cowered against the floor, trembling in unexpected light like something found beneath an upturned rock. I
lifted him to his feet.

"Let's talk," I repeated. "Where's Avalon?"

"I knew you'd top Renaldo," he said, attempting to look away.
With my free hand I held his chin, turning his face toward mine so that he wouldn't be distracted by the scenery. "Only
testing-"

"No test," I said. "You wanted to kill me. I'm not quite dead.
So talk. Where's Avalon?"

"I don't know!" he screamed. "You wanted to kill me,
too-" Perhaps it was because I hurt so much, in so many places,
at that moment; perhaps it was because I had grown weary of
hearing naught but doubtful tales and elaborations of fancy.
Whatever the reason, I took my hand away from his chin and
smacked him so hard as I could across the face. He shivered.
Holding him once more with both hands, I shook him roughly,
and then pushed him against the nearest wall.

"I didn't want to kill you and I didn't try to," I said. "Keep
this up and I will. Where is she?"

"I don't know, I don't-"

"Where is she?" I repeated, slamming him against the wall; I
heard plaster dropping down within. "Somebody took her this
morning. They left a message from you. Said I was next and to
get in touch. I didn't plan to be termed. I haven't been yet. Tell
me what happened. Quick. Was anyone in the room when the
bomb went off?"

"It didn't go off," he said, catching his breath, rubbing a tear
away on his shoulder.

"It didn't?"

"Stella found it."

"What was she doing in there?"

"He wanted to fun it up while he abused me," he said, shaking his head. I relaxed my hold enough to allow him to let his
feet brush the floor. "So when we transferred to the study he
wanted her underdesk. She crawled under and spotted. Said it
looked like a gumwad with a watch stuck in it. He looksaw. Had
Scooter enter and disassemble. Unsuspected, unforeseeable circumstance-"

"No matter," I said. "What did he do? What did you do?
Somebody's been trying to term Avalon and me for two days
running."

"I tried to word you through the contact," he said, anger marring his features. "You ran. They lost track on Thirty-fourth. I
couldn't see why till I uncovered the timer. Saw when it was set.
I'd have been there still, if-"

"I set it for when we agreed," I said. "It was reset."

"By Avalon?"

"Yes-"

"Lies-"

Taking his head, I rapped it against the wall, cracking something.

"Avalon reset it. She told me on the way down. I thought
they'd have readied to term us by the time we got there. I thought
it best to run. "

"I thought her hand evidenced," he said, his head lolling on
his neck. I continued to press him fast against the wall. "I estimated that she convinced-"

"Not so," I said. "How'd he finger us? It looked like Maroon
when I finished."

"Known. He suspected me onceoff. Accused me of behinding
it. "

"As you did."

"He couldn't know," he said. "You're aware. He sounded at
once. Threatened. There was no question-"

"How did he finger us?"

"I told him-"

At the moment he said that he strangely looked no older than
he had when I first vizzed him, at the Yale co-op, so many years
before. For a second the expression on his face suggested that of
a child, caught by his parents in some ephemeral fib-on his
countenance rested a mixture of fear and bluster, and a vague
hope of being someday forgiven.

"Before or after you saw the timer?"

"Before-" he said, nearly whispering. "It was me or you-"

I hit him, this time with my fist, this time much harder. His
eye darkened before he could blink. Hauling him away from the
wall, I dragged him across the room, tossing him onto a sofa near
the fireplace. He curled up, drawing his knees tight against his
chest, and sobbed again.