Boy Nobody (17 page)

I’d sneak into his office sometimes after school, kneel on the chair even though my mother forbade it. I’d push off from his desk and I would spin in my father’s chair, the smell of him all around me, pervading the wood and leather.

I remember the feeling of being in his arms, his voice vibrating through his chest as he talked to me, my head pressed against him.

I smell him now, the warm, clean scent of his aftershave.

I smell him, but he is not here.

A part of her
, Sam had said about her mother.
It is enough.

A part of my father is around me.

But it is not enough.

I have no choice but to—

What woman?

The woman down the street.

The woman in a down vest, brown purse on her arm, 180 degrees behind me in front of the fruit stand at the Korean deli.

The woman I did not see.

The woman being pushed by a dark-haired man in a nylon wind jacket.

The man I also did not see.

He stiff-arms her out of his way, and the container in her hands spills, sending a cascade of blueberries across the sidewalk.

He tramples over them on his way forward.

On his way toward me.

I see it now, the trajectory he’s on, the fact that I missed him advancing on me from behind.

No matter.

Choices:

Do I go back toward the mayor’s with the police box that might neutralize this threat?

Or do I go forward toward the unknown, toward danger, toward potential discovery about the nature of my pursuer?

One second to decide before my retreat is cut off.

I do not need the whole second. I choose forward. Or my body chooses for me.

I start down Columbus Avenue, heading south.

The avenue is nearly deserted this time of night, and it leaves me exposed on an open street. I’ve got no choice but to keep moving.

Unusual, his methods. If he catches me here, what will he do in public and on the street?

I don’t intend to find out. Not on his terms.

I want to be on Broadway, where it’s busier and I have more options. When I hit 79th Street, I turn and head west toward the avenue.

That’s when I feel it.

The Presence from the other night.

The Presence is somewhere in front of me while the man in the nylon jacket pursues me from behind. That means there are two of them.

And then another man pops out of an alley as I pass by and joins the man behind.

Three of them now.

Maybe my turn at 79th was a mistake. I don’t often make mistakes, but maybe the move was too predictable. There’s no time to dwell on it.

I adjust and they match me, keeping pace with my zigs and zags.

Three against one. The odds are in their favor.

I feel the faint rumbling of the 1 train coming in beneath my feet. Let’s see how good they are in the subway.

Into darkness. Damp concrete stairs and flickering light from below. Two men and the Presence on the street above.

I hit the platform of the local station, and I’m relieved to find it relatively crowded.

People coming from the Amsterdam bars and an event at the museum. More people heading toward late dinner in Midtown.

The rumble in the ground becomes a wind in the tunnel followed by the oncoming rush of a southbound local train.

I slide into the crowd without anybody noticing.

Not quite true. One person notices.

“Are you following me?” Erica says.

She sways on the platform, eyes heavy.

Shit. I do not need this.

“Where did you come from?” I say.

“I was partying with some friends.”

I glance at my watch. “The party ended early,” I say.

I study her. Red-cheeked, disheveled.

Is this a setup? Is she a part of a trap?

“The party ended early because I took off,” she says. “One of the guys got all date-rapey with me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, please,” she says. “I can handle myself. The son of a bitch is going to be icing his lowboys for a few days.”

“Good for you,” I say.

Her story sounds right. The location is right, as is her appearance.

It’s not a setup. It’s a coincidence.

The train pulls in. I sense motion behind me on the platform. The Presence and his two men coming down the staircase. I can’t see them, but I feel them closing in.

“Will you take me home, Ben? I have a killer headache.”

She leans into me.

Choices.

I could leave her here, but will she be safe?

If I shrug her off fast, the people following me might read it as contact with a drunk stranger. A second longer and they’ll think I ran into an acquaintance. Longer still and she’ll appear to be someone who matters, someone they can use to get to me.

“Benji, Ben-ben,” she says, and kisses my neck.

She just made the choice for us both.

I can’t let her go now.

The train doors open and people move toward it, the platform emptying quickly.

Movement in my peripheral vision. The pursuers making their move.

The train chimes, warning of its departure.

“Stand clear of the closing doors,” a voice barks.

I wait.

I need the pursuers closer. I need them to wonder which way I will go.

I move like I don’t know they’re here, like I think I lost them with my dodge into the subway. I hesitate, my body swaying between options. I want them confused about me and my skill level. I might be good enough to know they’re here, but not good enough to know what to do about it.

That is what I make my body tell them.

“We’re going to miss the train,” Erica whines.

“We won’t miss it,” I say. “I guarantee.”

At the last second, I put an arm around her and pull her into the train car, and the doors close behind us.

A second later a man’s face hits the glass, his fingers caught between the closed doors.

Speakers blare. The train attendant shouts at the guy.

His fingers stay there.

I watch him over Erica’s shoulder. I log details.

Olive skin. Unshaven. The collar of his wind jacket askew.

I think of the man speaking Arabic yesterday. The new clothes he was wearing. This man is similar, but he’s not the Presence.

The conductor doesn’t want to open the door for this guy. It happens from time to time. Stubborn rider. More stubborn conductor. Standoff.

Usually the rider gives. It’s not like he wants to lose his arm.

But it’s not like they can drag him down the tunnel, either.

The battle goes for ten seconds, long enough for passengers to start to groan.

I’m trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Windbreaker is in public with witnesses all around, but he continues to push toward me, not caring.

The conductor finally relents. The bell chimes, and the doors open.

“Tell me something,” Erica says.

“Anything,” I say.

Windbreaker steps into our subway car. The doors close behind him.

“If you had to choose between me and Sam, who would you choose?”

“What am I choosing you for?” I say.

“You know,” she says.

Windbreaker turns toward me.

I pull Erica with me to the rear of the car.

“Where are we going? I want to sit down, already,” she whines.

“We will.”

Windbreaker advances. But he moves slowly, not at all like someone who wants to catch up to us.

Interesting.

If he’s not trying to catch us, what is he doing?

Herding.

I recognize it now. Three men moving in tandem. This is a tactic, a variation of the pincer movement. It’s an attack from the front obscuring a flanking maneuver.

A military tactic.

This means the real danger is not in front but behind. In the car attached to ours.

As Windbreaker comes forward, the natural response is to retreat and transfer to another car to get away. You think you are escaping danger, but you are walking into it.

What is the unnatural response?

Go toward him.

“I see a seat down at the other end,” I say.

I take Erica with me toward Windbreaker. His eyes narrow. I am not following his plan.

The train accelerates away from the station, rocking side to side.

I head directly for Windbreaker, one arm around Erica.

Windbreaker reaches into his pocket.

Maximum danger in five seconds.

“Jerry!” I shout at him. The first name that comes into my head.

I lunge forward, Erica held tightly at my side. I reach for Windbreaker like I’m reaching to hug a friend. I grasp him before he can react, a crushing hug that pins his arms hard against his side and keeps his hand from leaving his pocket.

As the train lurches and the brakes squeal, I slam his head hard into the metal pole at the same time. The
crack
is lost in the sound of the brakes. I follow through with the motion, swinging him around and dropping him into the open seat.

Then I turn and slide open the door between subway cars, hanging on to Erica the whole time.

A brief scream of brakes and wind as we step out onto the exposed
metal platforms swinging between cars, navigate across the gap, and slam open the door, passing through to the safety of the next car.

“What was that?” she says. “Did you know that guy?”

“I thought I did. I was wrong.”

I notice an empty seat by the door.

“You want to sit now?” I say.

“If you’re done dragging me around, mister.”

“Done. I promise.”

“I’m so wasted,” she says. “I have to cut down on my partying.”

She flops down, head in hands.

I sense movement in the car we were just in. Windbreaker is out of commission, so man number two is coming forward. He’s wearing a light spring jacket and bright white, perfectly clean sneakers. Too clean.

“Are you okay for a second?” I say to Erica.

The train rocks. This conductor is a real cowboy. He’s helping me without knowing it.

“Where are you going?” she says, starting to nod out.

“I forgot something,” I say.

“You never answered the question about me and Sam,” she says.

“I have to think about it,” I say.

“You shouldn’t have to think about a question like that.”

I watch Sneakers coming forward. He reaches for the subway door in the car next to ours. Left hand on the door handle, right hand going into his jacket pocket.

I wait for him to open the door to his car, then I open mine.

We meet in the middle.

Roaring wind. Darkness.

A flurry of blows. Most of them glance off my side. He’s good. He’s fast.

I am faster.

Four blows rising from waist to head.

The train screams around a bend. Centrifugal force pulls him back and me forward. I use the inertia to straight-arm him in the chest. He reels back on the tiny landing. The guard chain snaps, and he swings out into the darkness.

Brakes squeal.

I reach for him.

He teeters on one leg, reaching back toward me, trying to stop his fall. I grasp the corner of his jacket, trying to pull him back. It slips between my fingers, and I grasp tighter.

There is no need for this man to die now. I need him disabled. I need to ask him some questions.

The noise in the tunnel doubles. On the other track, a train roars forward.

Timing.

A single hard yank to get him back. It should work.

It does not.

The jacket slips, his eyes widen in fear, his fingers claw at my face—

And then he’s gone, his body bouncing like a limp doll from train to train before being sucked beneath the rushing metal on the opposite track.

I stand alone in the space between cars with his jacket in my hands. There are no shouts from inside the car, no emergency brake pulled.

Nothing at all.

It happened too quickly.

Sneakers is gone, and that leaves only one man.

The Presence.

I glance behind me to check on Erica. She’s dozing on the bench, her chin on her chest. So I move away from her into the other car.

Toward the Presence.

I run through the car. Eyes look up at me, then back down. It’s a New York subway. You notice everything, but you don’t see anything at all.

I make it to the end of the car as we pull into the 72nd Street station.

I note movement a car away. The Presence.

He looks back at me. A quick look, but enough.

I see his face for the first time.

Dark complexion, curly black hair, and a well-trimmed beard.

I’ve seen this man before.

Faces flip like playing cards through my mind. They move faster and faster until they stop on—

The Apple Store.

I saw this man in the Apple Store on my first day in New York when I was buying my phone. That means he was the one who followed me afterward.

He’s been on me from the beginning, nearly from the time I arrived in the city.

That’s not precise. He might have been on me when I arrived, but I did not see him until later. After I entered school.

After I met Sam.

It’s a tenuous connection, maybe even coincidental. I met Sam, and then I was followed.

There are other scenarios that might explain the Presence, but I can’t know what they are without more information.

The quickest way to get information is to catch him.

That’s what I’m going to do.

Now.

I rush forward as the train grinds to a stop, racing directly at the Presence.

The doors open, and he leaps out of the car to get away from me, pushing past the riders who block his path. I jump out of my own car onto a platform filled with people.

I look everywhere trying to reacquire him, but I cannot.

The Presence is gone, swallowed up by the crowd. And with him, my opportunity.

I walk slowly down the platform and get back onto the car where Erica is sleeping.

Passengers stream in. I squeeze in next to her.