Every Last Drop (28 page)

She pulls one of the books down and opens it. —He wanted a crusade. Of some kind. I know that. But he had doubts.

I get up. —Baby, we should really.

She snaps the book closed.

—The Count, he doesn't have a doubt in his empty head. He's narrow and spoiled and, Joe, he's such a prick. And he's halfway to sending those fanatics of his into the streets to start it. All he needs is something to tilt out of balance and he'll do it. Then what? People will be killed. And this place.

She holds out her arms. —It'll be destroyed.

She slides the book back onto the shelf.

—I don't want it destroyed. I don't want people killed. I don't want my friends here killed. I don't want to be killed, Joe.

She faces me. —I just came back to life. I don't want to die.

She folds her arms.

—And some of them, they believe in me. Because I was the last Enclave Daniel found, they think I'm special. And because I fasted so long. And because I'm so fucking tough. Because I am tough. I can fast longer than anyone in here. I can take the pain. I can take the cravings and the cramps. I can go deep into the Vyrus and let it deep into me before I have to feed again. So thanks, AIDS and chemo, thanks for teaching me how to be tough. Because of that, there are enough Enclave who believe in me so that the Count cant just start a holy war whenever he wants.

I nod, shake my head, nod. I look up and down.

—Baby, that, all that, it doesn't. Matter anymore. What the Count wants, what these fuckers are all trying to get, power, whatever, it doesn't matter anymore. It's all going to hell no matter what they do now. And.

I look at her, I try to cross the room to her.

And stay where I am.

—I could. I don't know. If I had a chance, the things I did, or didn't do, I could make it up to you. I could. I want. Just.

I reach. —Just come with me. Just. Now. Come with me.

A sound comes out of her, the kind of sound she made when she was dying in the hospital.

—Years. Years of my life. Years while I was dying. I spent them with you. And you, you weren't who you said you were. You weren't what you said you were. You. You. You.

Tendons jump in her neck.

—The rest of it. I could go! This place, I could leave this place. This life, I could live it with you. I could.

She grits her teeth. —But you lied to me so much.

Drops are falling around her feet. —I know what you are now.

Her fists clench, and a whiter shade shows at her knuckles.

—But I don't know who you are.

She points at the floor. —Goddamn you, Joe Pitt. Goddamn you.

She charges me, slamming me into the wall, books raining down around us. —Goddamn you, I don't know who you are.

I could say I struggle with that one, but it's not really a struggle. When there's only one thing to say, you just say it. —Baby, I'm just the guy who loves you. Same as always.

She closes her eyes, leans her forehead against my chest, my heart stops beating. —Well that counts for something, Joe.

She opens her eyes and looks up at me. —But not enough.

She pushes away. —Not now.

She kneels and starts to pick up the books. —You better go.

I watch her, sorting the books, finding their places on the shelves, reordering Daniels thoughts.

I think about the streets.

Piled high with bodies.

Back rooms crammed with them. Trucks hauling away the dead. I think about Coalition and Society and Hood and Cure at one another's throats. I think about it spreading to Brooklyn and the Bronx. I think about hunting parties of Van Helsings drawn by the chaos. And then organized hunting parities of soldiers and police.

I think about the future.

You cant hide from it. Dig a hole of your own, climb in, pull the dirt in over you, and the future will burrow up beneath you and pull you deeper.

You can't hide from the future.

But like most everything else, if you hate it enough, you can kill it.

And I hate it plenty right now.

I   take   off  my  jacket  and   go   through   the   pockets,   moving   my   few possessions to my pants. —Yeah, I got to go.

She doesn't look away from the books. —Yeah.

I hold out the jacket, the one she gave me on a fake birthday years ago. —Hang onto this for me?

She looks at it. —Seen better days.

I snap my Zippo open. —I still like it.

She takes the jacket from me.

I light up. —And I'll be back to get it.

She shakes her head. —Joe, you shouldn't bother.

I blow smoke. —Baby, you don't want me now, III go. But I'm coming back.

She shakes her head again.

Smoke gets in my eye, blinding me for an instant. —Evie. I started a war so I could see you.

I rub the smoke from my eye. —You being pissed at me Isn't gonna keep me away.

She almost smiles. But doesn't, not really.

Instead she tears some of the lining from inside the jacket. —Come here.

I go there.

She reaches up and ties the strip of black cloth so that it covers my dead eye.

—Now, go Arrghh. —Arrghh.

She nods. —There. You're a pirate.

And she kisses me.

Bitter.

But a kiss all the same.

—Whoa, whoa, that's it, you're just walking out?

I stop walking out and look at the Count. —You want to make something of it, now s the time.

He points up at the lofts.

—After all the time you spent up there with her nibs, I thought you might have got her to see some realities.

I look up there. —She sees the realities.

I shrug. —She just doesn't like them.

He frowns. —Then why doesn't she just get out?

I adjust the patch she put over my dead eye.

—Near as I can figure it, she thinks you're a psycho and she wants to stick around to make sure you don't do anything too fucked up.

He flexes his toes. One of the bones jutting from his bad foot scrapes the concrete floor.

—Make sure I don't do anything too fucked up. Bitch is begging to see some fucked-up shit she don't get out of my face in here.

I look at that ruined foot. —Know what I think every time I see you, Count?

He puts his hands on his hips. —What's that?

I scratch my head.

—I think to myself, Why the hell haven’t I killed this asshole already? And then I remember, Oh yeah, there's no rush, I can always do It another time.

He nods, cocks his head, cups a hand to his ear. —Hear that? You hear that, man? That ticking sound? Know what that is?

He takes his hand from his ear and starts swinging it back and forth like a metronome. —That's your time running out.

He slows his finger.

—Now, I don't know exactly how much is left on it, but it's close. See, you got exactly two uses to me. Once those are done, so's your time.

He holds up his other index finger.

—One, you crapped out on. I mean, why the fuck do you think you're here, man? That crazy bitch is your chick. If you cant talk some sense into her, then I don't know what. So that's Use Number One down the shitter.

He holds up another finger.

—Use Number Two is what I said before, about a field general. Which, from what attitude I'm getting here, is a job you re clearly not interested in. —Always quick on the uptake, that's you.

His finger stops swinging. —Ding!

He shakes his head. —Time s up.

I find a cigarette.

—Is that the sound it makes when your time is up? Ding? Talk about an anticlimax. —You should have just collected your chick and got out, man.

I put flame to cigarette. —Count.

I drop my voice to a whisper.

—You might want to stop talking shit before it gets you in too deep.

He puts his face in mine.

—You can't take me, man. Not anymore. III have your heart in my hand and be chewing on it before you stop breathing. —No doubt, no doubt. But let me tell you a secret.

I put my mouth next to his ear. —That girl up there, she still loves me.

I lean back and nod. —Yeah, hard to believe, huh?

I raise a hand.

—Now I'm not saying she's all weak-kneed about me, but she still has the feeling. I can tell.

His eyes flick at the lofts.

I take a drag and nod.

—That's right. You kill me, she's likely to stop just sitting up there keeping an eye on things. She might decide that this is the right time to come down here and settle some shit.

If he had eyebrows, they'd be pulled together.

—Doesn't matter. She's only got a handful behind her.

I tap my forehead. —You sure of that?

Our eyes meet up.

—What I'm asking is, You sure when push and shove go at It that you got your supporters all locked down? You sure some of them might not go over to the other side if things came to the big chop-sockey in here? Mean, when the limbs start flying, there's no telling which way some people might jump. And saying you carry it off, what do you lose? Daniel, he was top dog here for how long? Ever hear about internecine bloodshed on his watch? How long after that before serious doubts are raised about the quality of your leadership, O chosen one? Speaking of which?

I tap his chest with my fingertip.

—I ever tell you about how Daniel was always hinting that I might be the right guy to follow him?

I look over at the Enclave away in the shadows. —Some of these guys know. Maybe, here's an idea.

I point at the stairs to the lofts.

—Maybe I should stay. Might be cozy. Me and her up there, you down here.

I drop my smoke on the floor between us. —Or maybe you should back the fuck off.

I grind the cigarette under my boot.

—Before you embarrass yourself in front of your people, making threats you re not gonna move on just now.

I turn away and start for the door. —Don't lose the suit, Count, it's you.

He starts after me. —Uh-uh. Hang up, toughguy. You don't get last words in this place.

He raises an arm, circles it over his head.

—This is my house. And there are rules. And you need to be schooled in one of them.

He raises his voice, the sounds of sparring dying as his words echo. —Like, OK, you don't want to make the scene. You don't want to stay and add your name to mine. You don't want to lead the troops when they hit the streets. Basically, you just don't want to help me. OK, cool. I'd be lying if I said I was surprised. Like, I thought you'd take your girl with you, but I know she's

changed and so maybe she doesn't do it for you anymore. OK. But leaving here, that's not a casual thing. You're either Enclave, or you're not. You're either in here with us, or you're not. The open-door policy, that is closed. No in-and-out privileges anymore. No one gets their hand stamped with a big E and gets to come and go as they please.

I'm at the door.

He arm-bars me.

—Like you got banished once, down the sewer, and how you got out I do not know, but this time It's final. You go out, you don't come back.

He shakes his head.

—Not for her. Not for no reason. Gone. And how we settle our differences in here, the chick and me, that will happen without your help either way.

I scratch the back of my neck.

—The way I know that girl, anyone's gonna need help in here, it's gonna be you.

We stare.

And he blinks first.

Which is a relief to me and my handful of bluff.

The last of the clubbers are inside. Daylights trying to catch me out.

What the fuck now?

A rat rattles some trash cans and I sniff the humid air and smell the rat and kick the cans aside and pick it up by its scruff. —Hey, Joe, what's up? —Phil.

I let him go.

—Funny place to find you.

—Well, just a coincidence. I happened to be in the area to conduct some business.