Apocalypse to Go (35 page)

“
Libri,
” he said. “
Abest TTT. Specta, stulta!
”

He disappeared. Books, right, full of information in a place that had no Tela Totius Terrae, that is, no World Wide Web. I looked around as ordered, saw a shelf marked “Local History” and went right for it. I riffled through the decaying volumes and pamphlets fast. Even though my hands got filthy and itchy, I found treasure:
Playland As We Knew It
, a crumbling volume with blurry pictures, but pictures nonetheless. I hurried after Ari, who was standing at the back of the store with my father.

They were facing the counter, talking with a guy who looked around thirty. At first I thought I was seeing Itzak Stein. Mitch was a short guy, kind of stocky but by no means fat, with the same sort of looks as Itzak, neither handsome nor unattractive, with thinning hair cut real short. But the smile—not Itzak’s charming grin—was a predatory twitch of his mouth, and his dark eyes stayed narrow behind his wire-rim glasses. He wore faded jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that once upon a time had been white.

The son, I assumed. As Dad had suspected, the old man must have died. I picked my way through the narrow aisles between bookcases and dodged around unstable stacks of books. Mitch was standing behind a counter scattered with magazines. An old-fashioned mechanical cash register sat at one end, a gooseneck lamp at the other.

“Remember me?” Dad said to him. “You were little more than a boy, the last time I was in here.”

“Not real well, but yeah, you look familiar. A friend of my father’s?”

“A customer of his, anyway. Years ago now, I bought some rare books from him.”

“I think I do remember you.” Mitch smiled briefly. “You took a couple of items from the occult list.”

“I did, the ones in Irish.”

When I joined Dad in the pool of light, Mitch looked up and caught his breath. He went pale around the mouth.

“Nuala,” he said in a less than steady voice. “Oh, my God! Nuala.”

“What?” I put a snap in my voice. “What’s with this Nuala crap? My name is Rose, you sucker.”

Mitch leaned over the counter and took a good long look at my face. “Shit,” he said eventually. “Yeah, you’re not her. Sorry. You’ve got to be related to her somehow.”

“Maybe I am. None of your business, is it?”

“None!” Mitch held up one hand like a Boy Scout and glanced at Ari. He focused a terrified gaze on the Beretta. “What is this? A heist?”

“Not if you’re a good boy.” Ari patted the shoulder holster. “Jamaicans aren’t known for their patience, however, so I suggest you cooperate.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Information. You’ve been selling transport orbs to a Spottie, haven’t you? I know an organization that’ll pay me for a rat-out. Ever hear of TWIXT?”

Mitch began to sweat.

Dad joined in. “You don’t want to go inside on Five. Take it from me. I hear that slam on One is worse.”

Mitch gulped, but he never looked away from Ari’s gun hand. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’s the Spottie, and what’s he doing here?” Ari said.

“I don’t have a name for him. He wouldn’t tell me, would he? He comes in with cash, a lot of cash. I’m not about to ask him where he gets it, either. I don’t want a faceful of claws. Get it?”

“Don’t get stroppy with me, Mitch.” Ari stepped closer to the counter. “Unless you want a faceful of what I have on offer.” He drew the Beretta.

“Okay, okay! He calls himself Claw. That name’s probably a pseudonym, though.”

“Gosh gee,” I said. “Ya think?”

Mitch made a sour moué in my direction. “Whatever. He’s got to be a renegade from Two. I don’t know if he works the meat market or not. I’d guess he does.”

“Why?” Ari snapped.

“He wants orbs that’ll take him to Two and then back here. He must have some reason to go back and forth.”

“That makes sense. Does he ever ask for orbs to other worlds?”

“Yeah, just lately he wanted a couple to Four. I had some, luckily.”

Our world. Dad and I exchanged a knowing look.

Ari kept after Mitch. “Is Claw Orange or Blue?”

“Blue all the way. He came in here the first time with Scorch the Torch.”

“Scorch vouched for him?” Ari holstered the Beretta. “So he’s linked to Storm Blue?”

Mitch nodded.

“Where are you getting the orbs?” I said. “From the cops?”

“Not from any of Hafner’s men. If this guy’s a cop at all, he’s from some other force. I don’t know where he’s from or what he is. He’d kill me if I tried to pump him.”

His SPP radiated truth and terror. “I believe you,” I said. “He’s not a pleasant customer, huh?”

“No.” Mitch laughed in a high-pitched giggle. “Not pleasant at all. He comes in every couple of months, usually has a pair for sale. When I told him I had a steady customer for trips to Two and back, he started bringing those pretty much exclusively. I pay in cash. Honest to God, I don’t know his name.”

“That I’ll believe.” Ari picked up the questioning again. “And then you get the word to Claw? How?”

“I don’t do anything. He knows somehow. He told me once that the orbs call to him.”

Ari glanced at Dad. “They could,” Dad said. “Which means he’s got talents of a sort. Most Maculates do. That’s what makes them such good hunters.”

Ari considered Mitch for a moment. In a swift strike he reached across the counter with both hands and grabbed the fence by the shirt. Magazines plummeted to the floor. Mitch squealed and flailed, but Ari dragged him half onto the counter until they were face-to-face.

“If I find out that you’ve told Storm Blue we were in to see you, I go straight to TWIXT with the tip.” Ari’s voice stayed perfectly calm. “Do you understand? They’ll take you off this level so fast you won’t have time to shit your trousers.”

Mitch made a gurgling sound that amounted to “Yes.” Ari let him go. Mitch slid off the counter, got his feet under him, and began fussing with his torn shirt. I noticed Dad
watching Ari in admiration. The dark cloud of doom crept closer.

“I want to buy this.” I waved the Playland book in Mitch’s direction.

Mitch merely stared at me as if I’d spoken in Latin. For a moment I wondered if I had. Ari took a dollar bill out of his jeans pocket and tossed it on the counter.

“There,” Ari said. “Shall we go have lunch?”

“A fine idea,” Dad said. “I might be back another day, Mitch, to look at that occult list again.”

Mitch forced out a smile, grabbed the dollar, and gibbered an “Okay, yeah, swell.”

So this was where Dad had gotten the Hisperic document I’d found in his desk drawer. As we left the store, I was thinking about how normal he’d appeared, back when we were all children, the hard-working construction foreman, the father of a typically large Catholic family, a superior sort of ordinary blue-collar guy. No wonder his sudden disappearance had baffled everyone for so long!

“Dad,” I said, “you sure know how to keep secrets.”

“I’ve always had to.” He gave me a quick smile. “I’ll tell you about Hibernia sometime.” The smile disappeared. “It would explain a number of things.”

Lefty’s Hofbrau catered to the Orange side of SanFran. Orange-and-black leather upholstered the booths. Giants’ memorabilia plastered the dark wood-paneled walls: pennants, photos, game programs, and bits and pieces of uniforms. I noticed a Willy Mays jersey, lovingly framed under glass, and saw a couple of gloves signed by pitchers I’d never heard of. Both doppelgängers and individuals unique to the world level must have made up the team.

In the front a cafeteria setup featured indeterminate animal parts in gravy and lots of potato dishes. The smell of heavy food made me gag.

“I can’t eat any of that disgusting stuff,” I said. “You guys get what you want.”

Dad shot me a sharp glance. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No. Dad, please!” I turned away to look the place over. “I don’t see José anywhere. They’ll probably be late.”

They were, and the minute they walked in, I knew why. José was dying. Skinny, bald, dead pale except for the thick crust of growths that covered half his face, he walked slowly and kept turning his head to see out of his one good eye. The two guys he’d brought with him watched every step he made, and they kept their arms out away from their bodies, ready to catch him if he fell.

When I’d last seen José, about a month earlier, I’d noticed that the wartlike growths had crept toward one eye. They’d reached it and filled in the socket. His rock-bottom Qi level told me that they were sending tendrils into his brain. I recognized one of his two friends: Little Sam, who stood well over six feet, a barrel-big and barrel-solid teenager missing half his teeth. The other guy I’d never seen, almost as tall as Sam but slender, with dark curly hair and dark skin. His right hand looked normal. Where his left should have been he had only a smooth stump of wrist, too smooth to be due to an injury.

When they sat down in the oversized booth we’d snagged, José introduced him. “This is Orlando. He’s going to take over the BGs when I’m gone. That’ll be in a couple weeks probably, maybe a month.”

I had to admire the way he refused to hide from the obvious. I figured he didn’t want sympathy, either.

“Okay,” I said. “You know Ari, and this is my father, and Mike’s, too, of course—Flann O’Grady.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” José held out a six-fingered hand in Dad’s direction. “Looks like you’ve been inside.”

“Yeah, on Five.” Dad shook hands with him. “I don’t recommend the experience.”

Everyone laughed except Ari, who smiled.

“Lunch is on us,” Ari said. “Let’s go get in line, but I’m paying.”

“We’ll get stuff for José.” Orlando had a pleasantly dark voice. “Sam, try not to eat the man into bankruptcy, okay?”

Everyone laughed again as they got up and trailed after Ari, but as soon as we were alone, José let out his breath in a long sigh.

“Hey,” he said, “sorry you have to see me like this, BG Sis. Wanna ask you, how’s Sophie? She okay?”

“Yeah, if you mean her health, but she’s developed lycanthropy.”

“Jeez! And I thought I had problems!” He started to laugh, coughed, coughed harder, and grabbed a napkin from the table. He hid what he spat up, but I could guess that it was blood.

The growths, I assumed, were also putting down roots into his throat. I slid a glass of water across the table. José grabbed it and drank.

“That’s better,” he said. “So our little Sophie’s a werewolf? I guess it goes to show. You think you know someone, and here you don’t know shit.” He grinned. “Don’t look so sad, Nola. I’m glad I’m checking out of here. Why do you think we call old people lifers? This place is worse than any jail I ever heard of.”

“I never put that together, about the lifers, I mean. But, crud! Your eye—it must hurt.”

“When it gets too bad, we’ll have a little good-bye party, and then Orlando will solve the problem for me.” José pointed a finger at his head. “Bam.” He picked up the glass again and had another drink of water.

I managed—barely—to keep from crying. This guy had saved my brother’s life once and was going to help us do so again, but I could do nothing for him. When I’d first signed up with the Agency, they’d warned me that I was going to face more misery than I could fix. They’d been right.

“Anyway,” José went on, “I owe you an apology. We did a lousy job of protecting Brother Mike and Brother Sean, didn’t we? Shit, I shoulda known Storm Blue was up to something before they moved in. We shoulda gone with the guys when they walked down to the gate. Figured it was safe. Done it a hundred times. Ya know how that goes.”

“I do, yeah, and I don’t blame you for anything.”

“Thanks.” He meant it sincerely. “So, what do you need the BGs to do?”

“Spread rumors,” I said. “Let the grapevine tell Chief Hafner that someone wants his job. Mention that Storm Blue’s getting the money together to take the job. By the way, how much can the Axeman charge for a trip out of here?”

“Two thousand a head.”

I thought back to the currency section of the TWIXT file. You could buy a three-piece tailored suit downtown for fifty. Steak dinner, two or three bucks, depending on the ambience.

“That’s plenty of bribe money, all right,” I said.

“And guns, yeah.” José paused and turned slightly in his seat, as if he were getting comfortable, but I noticed that he turned his good eye toward a nearby table. He leaned forward and murmured. “You know, there might be a couple people in here now who are straining their eardrums. Don’t look. You’ll spook them.”

“Okay.” I spoke a little louder. “Did you know that there’s a renegade Maculate in Storm Blue?”

“A Spottie?” José grinned and mimicked my increased volume. “Now that’s interesting! I can sell that piece of news.”

“Can we all guess what happened to Nuala? I wonder what the Chief would think if he knew.”

José laughed, a burst of black humor that ended in a coughing fit. I risked a quick glance around and saw a woman in a tight black dress watching us. She looked away fast when she caught me looking at her. José wiped his lips on the napkin in a bloody smear and looked contrite.

“You and Mike gotta be related to her somehow,” he said. “Shit! Sorry if I was heartless.”

I realized that while he knew about world levels, he’d missed the concept of doppelgänger. “It’s okay,” I said. “A distant cousin, that’s all. But that’s why I’m wearing all this makeup. I don’t want anyone drawing the wrong conclusion.”

The others returned, balancing laden trays. Although José and I both picked at the food, the other men chowed down with a vengeance, even my father. Prison food, I supposed, had been meager and lousy. The barman appeared and brought two pitchers of beer and glasses all round to the table. I noticed that Ari and I were the only ones not drinking. Dad caught my glance and grinned.

“I never did get to drink that six-pack,” he said. “The one I went to the market for that night.”

The night when he’d been arrested, he meant.

“I don’t know what happened to that,” I said. “But Uncle Jim bought your truck. It’s up on blocks in storage somewhere. He was sure you’d want it when you got back.”

For a moment I thought he’d weep. Instead, he saluted me with the glass and had a long swallow of beer.