Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead (25 page)

The uppercut catches me under the jaw and dislocates it. I fly into the air, across the
bed, crash into the wall and tumble onto the mattress. He's stronger than the enforcer
was.

The giant scoops me up and full nelsons me in front of Predo. Predo squares up.

--Where?

I try to say something smart, but can't get my jaw to move, so I just shake my head. Predo
cocks his fist. He'll knock my jaw clear off this time.

--'Lo, Joe.

We all look up to the top of the little circular stair that leads down to this room. I
grind my jaw and it pops into place.

--Hurley. How you doing?

He stands at the top of the stairs looking down at us, a huge hammerlike .45 held casually
in either hand, neither of them pointing at anything, yet.

--OK. Door's unlocked up 'ere.

--Yeah?

--Tought I'd come in. Ya don't mind?

--Naw.

He nods at Predo.

--Mr. Predo.

Predo lowers his fist.

--Hurley. It has been a long time. How is Terry?

--Same. But he won't like yer bein' down 'ere none, Mr. Predo.

--He'll be understanding on this occasion. Trust me.

The giant is eyeing Hurley, wearing the unmistakable expression of a big man who wants to
prove he's the most dangerous guy in the room. Hurley keeps his eyes on Predo, wearing the
expression of a man who
knows
who the most dangerous guy in the room is. Predo's face shows nothing.

Hurley lets the barrel of one of the forty-fives wave in my direction.

--Terry sent me over. Wants ta see ya.

--He's back?

--Yeah, wants ta see ya.

--Well, I'm busy, but I think I can get away.

I look at Predo. He lifts his chin at the giant, and the giant releases my arms.

--Let me just go to the can.

I walk into the bathroom, pick up the case and stuff it in my back pocket. The tableau in
my bedroom remains in place. I stand at the foot of the stairs.

--Don't worry, Mr. Predo, I'll take care of what we were talking about. Get it to someone
who can handle the responsibility like you suggested. And you look after my friend. OK?

He doesn't say anything.

--OK, Mr. Predo?

He nods, begins stripping the gloves from his hands.

--Yes, I suppose that will have to do.

--Yeah, I suppose it will.

Halfway up the stairs I get hit with a last piece. I pause and look back down.

--I took care of business, didn't I, Mr. Predo? Did that job you wanted done?

He rolls his sleeves back into place and begins to fit the cuff links to their holes.

--Yes, you did.

I'm thinking fast, trying to make it fit, trying to get something out of this.

--I killed Horde?

--Yes.

He is straightening the knot in his tie and pauses to look at
me.

--Rather esoterically, I am told. How did you go about freezing his blood?

I'm watching him close.

--Figure you know more about that than me.

He looks down at his tie.

--I assure you, I do not.

I play it as it lies.

--However I did it, I figure I'm owed.

He smoothes the tie down his shirtfront.

--You were thinking?

--I'd like my stash replaced.

He picks up his jacket.

--Replaced?

I dangle it one more time.

--Yeah, from when your guy without a smell snatched it.

A spark of interest flares across his face, and dies in the same instant as he snuffs it.

--I don't employ such things, Pitt.

I leave it there. He slides his arms into the jacket.

--You are correct however, you did provide a service. I will arrange delivery of
compensation.

He tugs on the lapels of his jacket, seating it firmly on his shoulders.

--But the Coalition is a progressive entity, Pitt. We do not deal in superstition.

He flicks a loose strand of hair into place.

--If it is the
paranormal
that you are concerned with?

I wait.

--You should try talking with Daniel. He is the only one who traffics in such things.

I open my mouth. Hurley taps me with one of his sledgehammer guns.

--Terry's waitin' on ya, Joe.

II look at Predo. He tilts his head.

--I look forward to seeing you again, Pitt. I touch my sore jaw.

--Yeah. Do me a favor. Lock up on your way out.

I follow Hurley up the stairs and out onto the street. He tucks his guns into his
waistband and buttons his jacket over them. We walk side by side toward Tompkins Square.ÊÊ

--Didn't know you knew Predo, Hurley.

He shrugs.

--Yer around long enough, Joe, ya get ta know everyone.

--Not only is he an agent provocateur, but he's an escapee and I want to know what the fuck
has been going on!

--Sure, sure, Tom, we all want to know what's been going on, man. But you don't get
knowledge by screaming, you get it by listening. So let's just, you know, try to cool it
and listen to the man. --Fuck that shit. You heard Hurley. Dexter Predo was in his
apartment. Fucking Predo! He's their fucking spy master! What more evidence do you want?

--Well, if we're supposed to
execute
a man, as you suggest, then I want a whole lot of evidence, Tom.

It's just like old times.

--Fine. Fucking fine. Then I want to call a tribunal! I want a fucking court of enquiry.

This time I didn't have to be coldcocked by Hurley to get to Society headquarters. But
here I am all the same.

--Hey, Tom, if it comes to that, it comes to that. No problem. But let's just get the ball
rolling with a few simple questions, OK?

--Fuck questions! I want a full interrogation into this right fucking now.

Terry walks over to Tom, nodding his head.

--Tom. I think I need you to take a walk.

--What? No fucking.

--Hurley.

--Yeah.

--Take Tom for a walk.

Tom stares at him.

--No fucking.

Terry holds up his hand, index and middle fingers spread in a peace sign.

--Cool it, Tom. Take a walk. Now.

--This is fucking.

Terry puts the hand on Tom's shoulder.

--What, Tom? This is fucking what?

He gazes into Tom's eyes, and Tom shuts up.

--That's it, right, man? You're done? You're cool?

Tom nods.

--Yeah. I'm cool, Terry.

--Good. So take a walk.

He pats him on the shoulder and watches as Hurley leads him up the steps.

--Lydia.

Lydia looks up from the cup of coffee she's been staring into since I came in.

--You mind taking a walk with the boys?

--Nope.

She follows them up the stairs without looking at me. Terry Waits until they are gone and
the door closes. Then he comes over to the old card table and sits down across from me.

--He's a firebrand that one, very passionate in his beliefs.

I play with my Zippo.

--That must help.

--I don't follow, Joe.

--Well, I sometimes get the feeling you're grooming him for my old spot. He'll do a good
job. He likes cracking the whip.

Terry shakes his head.

--Nobody will ever do that job as good as you, Joe. You were the best.

--Yeah, well, those days are over.

--They don't have to be. You could always come back.

I don't need to answer that, so I light a smoke instead. Terry holds up his hand.

--I'd rather you didn't.

--Right.

I put the smoke out.

--See you got back OK.

--Yes.

--How'd it go up there?

He sighs.

--It's not like the old days, Joe. Digga is a much different man than Luther was. Luther
was from my school, a revolutionary, not a reactionary. He was there in the sixties, saw
how change can really happen. Luther made some of that change. It's hard now to explain
how big a change that was, getting the Coalition to give up the top of the island. Man,
truth be told, I don't know if we could have ever gotten our independence down here if it
hadn't been for Luther X. Kid like Grave Digga, history doesn't mean much to him. But I
think I got him to see some light. He knows he can't go making war by himself, and he
knows we aren't about to join in with his hostilities, even if the Coalition
did
assassinate Luther. You can't change the world if your motive is revenge. Vibes like that
just aren't productive.

--Uh-huh. So how'd you get back down?

--I was able to make an arrangement. You can always make an arrangement if you're patient
and flexible.

--That arrangement have anything to do with giving Predo passage down here so he could pop
in on me?

Terry shrugs.

--Well, I did grant a transit. But I didn't ask questions about how they would use it.

--That was part of the arrangement?

--One must bend to avoid breaking, Joe.

--Thought you didn't look too concerned about Predo being at my place and all.

--That's not fair. I'm always concerned about you. You're a friend.

--Sure. That why I'm here? Friendship?

He leans forward in his chair.

--I'd like to think that all our arrangements are made on the basis of friendship. But Tom
is right. There has been a great deal going on. And I am very interested in hearing your
side of it.

--Fair enough.

I take a moment to get my story together.

--So it's like this, Terr, there was some trouble.

I stop. Terry nods encouragingly.

--And I took care of it.

Terry waits. And waits some more. And smiles.

--Is that really the way you want to handle this, Joe?

--Yeah, it really is.

--OK, OK, man. That's fair. But it raises other issues.

--Like?

--Well, you know how I feel about capitalism, no fan of the WTO am I. But there are
advantages to doing things on a quid pro quo basis. Like a barter economy. So let's put
this on a goods and services level.

--How so?

--Well, like the Dusters. That cost something, asking them to go uptown and pick you up.
Not to mention that it aggravated an already sensitive relationship with the Coalition. So
that's one, I don't know, call it one unit.

He holds up a finger.

--On a less tangible level, there's just the general bad vibes you've been stirring up
around here that last couple days.

He holds up a second finger.

--You're also asking us to kind of, I don't know, take it on faith that whatever's been in
the air is cool. That's trust, Joe. That's, and I hate to put it in these terms, but
that's an expensive commodity. So that might need a little extra compensation.

Two more fingers.

--And then there's the cleanup I hear Tom did on that Leprosy kid and his dog. Now that's a
big service, but I know you liked that kid and whatever went down must have been tough on
you. So.

He sticks up his thumb, shows me his open hand.

--I'm not sure how to assign value to all of that. So maybe you have an idea of how to make
us even on this deal. Because otherwise, I just don't see any way around it, we're going
to have to insist on getting a little more information, a little more than just your
say-so that things are gonna be cool. You get me?

--I get you. I come across with something worth something or you're gonna put me in a room
with Tom and Hurley.

He puts his hand on the table.

--Don't be like that, Joe. The Society is a collective, man, I have to keep everybody
happy. If it was up to me, I'd just take your word, shake hands and maybe ask you to buy
me a beer. You know how I work.

--I know how you work, Terry.

He grins.

--Sure you do. So.

The grin goes away.

--What you got, Joe?

I pull the case out of my back pocket and set it on the table. The hinge creaks open. He
looks at the teeth. Looks at me and

raises his eyebrows.

--It's a bomb, Terry. Set it off and all hell will break loose.

I don't tell him everything. But I tell him enough. And he likes it.

-What the fuck?

Tom is standing on the sidewalk with Hurley when Terry brings me out.

--Easy, Tom.

--Where the fuck does he think he's going?

--He's going his own way, Tom, just like all of us have to.

--Fuck his way! You can't just.

--Cool it, OK? You want to be security chief, you have to learn that it sometimes involves
some subtlety, some grace.

--Fuck subtlety. You can't make a decision like this on your own.

There needs to be a hearing and a vote.

I get out a smoke.

--You know, Tom ...

I light it.

--You are one lousy anarchist.

His hand goes in his pocket and comes out with the revolver he took off me. Before he can
point it at me it's in Terry's hand and Tom is on the ground. Terry looks down at him.

--Joe is gonna take off, Tom. He's walking clean. That's the way it's gonna be and there's
not going to be a vote. Hurley, take him back in.

Hurley helps Tom off the sidewalk and they head for the door.

Tom stares at the sidewalk the whole way, tears of rage boiling down his cheeks.

I watch till he's inside, then shoot a look at Terry.

--Still got the moves.

He tilts his head and shrugs.

--The tools of the oppressor have to be used sometimes.

--Sure.

I point at his hand.

--That's my gun.

Terry looks at the revolver, then holds it out to me.

--Be careful with it.

I take the gun and drop it in my pocket.

--Always am.

I start down the street, he calls after me.

--By the way, you ever find out who it was that was poking around? The no-scent thing?

--Gonna go look into that.

--Let me know.

I stop and turn around.

--I almost forgot, Predo was asking after you. Didn't know you

guys had a personal history.

Terry takes off his glasses and polishes them on his Grateful Dead T-shirt.

--Well, live long enough, and you get to know everyone.

--So I hear.

He puts his glasses back on, waves and goes inside.

Lydia stops me at the corner.

--She wants to see you. I rub my head.

--Later. I have to go somewhere.

--How much later?

--Not much.

She nods, gives me the address.

--She's a peach, you know.

--Whatever.

--Sure, whatever you say.

I head west toward A, where I know I can flag a cab.

--Joe.

I keep walking.

--Yeah?

--No lie, Joe, I don't like men much.

Still walking, letting her talk at my back as much as she wants to.

--And I like straight men even less.

Walking, thinking about what I have to do next.

--But you might be OK with me one of these days.

Calling back over my shoulder.

--Then I got something to look forward to.

She laughs.

--If you can keep alive that long, Joe.

--Come in, Simon.

I do. I sit on the floor of Daniel's cubicle and watch him eat. He sits cross-legged and
holds a tiny bowl between his thumb and index finger. The bowl can't hold more than a
generous tablespoon. As we speak he brings it to his lips, wetting them with drops of
blood that he then licks away with the tip of a tongue as pale as his skin. He gestures to
me with the bowl.

--Would you like some?

I look at the meager brass vessel in his hand.

--Why not, it's probably from my stash anyway.

He puts his nose close to the bowl and inhales.

--Yes, I think it is.

He offers the bowl to me.

--Please, finish it. I've had my fill.

I take the bare thimble of blood, then toss it down my throat. It's good.

--You gonna tell me why, Daniel?

He nods.

--But I would like to ask you a question first.

I run a finger through the gloss of blood left in the cup, lick it clean, and set the bowl
on the floor between us.

--Shoot.

--How did it feel?

I watch the empty bowl.

--What?

--Please, Simon. Be coy with others, but not with me. That's not for us. How did it feel?

I think about starving. I think about the cramps and the burning that followed. I think
about being helpless. And I think about the shimmering brightness of the world when I was
at the naked edge of death.

--It felt good.

--And?

--Dangerous.

His hand spiders over his skull.

--Apt as usual.
Good and dangerous.
You have just summed up the existence of Enclave. Thank you. And your question now. Why?

--Yeah.

--Because you
are
Enclave, Simon.

--No, I'm not.

He shakes his hand in the air.

--We don't need to have this debate again. You are what you are and nothing can change
that. You simply need to become aware of it.

--So you decide it's time for me to find out about myself, and you pitch that. . . whatever
the fuck it was at me? That
Wraith?
Have that thing come into my place and strip my stash. I almost got

killed.

--But you didn't. And tell me, if you hadn't been so close to the Vyrus, so close to your
true nature, would you have survived your encounter? Would you have been strong enough to
face down your enemies?

I think about the enforcer and his strength, and Horde's bullets ripping into me.

--No. But I don't think I would have been there in the first place.

--But you would have. If you had been fat and well-fed you would have fought events as they
happened, and you would have died before you ever reached that room. As it was, you were
forced, by what you perceived as weakness, to acquiesce to events. Until you were ready.

--That's just plain crap.

--No, it's truth.

--No such animal, Daniel.

He nods.

--That may be the greatest truth of all.

--Christ. Is there more of this?

He pinches his lower lip.

--Just a little more. Just a small promise from you.

A promise to Daniel. A promise to the man who sent something into my home to starve me.
And then sent it again to watch over me. Sent it to kill Horde before Horde could kill me.
A promise that will have to be kept.

--What promise?

--Just a promise to think. About your life. How you live your life.

Oh, Jesus.

--You were given the Vyrus how long ago?

--About thirty years.

--Yes. That's quite a good span for most. Many last not even a year. Most, no more than
ten. Those who endure find they must dig deeper, burrow into little caves and secret
places. They find they need the protection of others who will not question the manner in
which they live their lives. The dark hours, the healed wounds, the strange persistence of
youth. But you. To live alone, without protection, among those without the Vyrus, for
thirty years. That can be seen as an accomplishment. Or a great failure. You, Simon, you
are clinging to life as you think it should be led by a man. But you are not a man, not a
human man. And you have not been a man for so very long. You have a true nature, all of us
who receive the Vyrus have a true nature, but only Enclave see that nature. You see it,
and that's why you cling to a life that cannot last, because you are frightened of it. And
that's good. The Vyrus is awful. Trying to embrace it, trying to
become
it, is a terrible task. Exhausting. Painful. But to do anything else? Anything else is a
lie. And you, Simon, you aren't made for lying. That's a truth.

I stand up.

--That it?

He tilts his head to watch my face.

--Yes, I suppose it is. Just that you keep your promise and think about it.

--I'll keep my promise.

--Of course you will. And what will you do now?

--Now I'm going.

I head for the door.

--You know, Simon.

--What?

--Most of us, we only touch the Vyrus at first under supervision.

Even I was watched over when I took my first fast. Few manage it alone. And you did it
under extreme circumstances. So I hear.

I stand at the doorway.

--And?

--That could mean something.

--What, Daniel? Can you just tell me what's on your mind and cut the crap?

He laughs.

--What's on my mind.

He wipes a single milky tear from the corner of his eye.

--What's on my mind.

Still he laughs.

--What's on my mind, is that I am failing.

He looks at me, a skeleton smile cracking his face.

--And someone will have to take my place.

And I get the fuck out of there.

Sela's place is on Third Avenue and 13th, above a deli. She buzzes me in.

--She's asleep.

--Wake her.

The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom. The front door opens directly into a living space,
doors to the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom open directly off of that. The place is done up
in an ultra-feminine Middle Eastern lounge kind of thing. There's lots of pillows and
rugs, mandala-printed fabric hanging from the walls, and scarves draped over lamps. Sela
leaves me in the living room and passes through a beaded curtain into the bedroom. I hear
her talking softly and hear some mumbled replies. She comes out and waves me over.

--Don't keep her up long, she needs her sleep.

--Yeah, tomorrows a school day.

I start for the bedroom and feel a vise clamp on my shoulder. I turn back to Sela. She
takes her hand from my shoulder and puts a finger in my face.

--Whatever she was shot up with is still making her dopey. She needs her sleep.

--Yeah. Got it.

She takes her finger out of my face and I go through the curtain. The bed is a huge futon
on the floor, piled with more pillows. There's a little floor space rimming the edge of
the mattress, which is fine because all that's in there besides the bed is a hookah and
several wicker baskets that look like they stand in for closets.

Amanda is sitting up against a mound of pillows, wearing a tattered and massive Tears for
Fears T-shirt that is probably left over from Sela's more conventional youth. However long
ago that might have been. She rubs her eyes.

--Hey.

I squat down next to the bed.

--Hey.

She looks around for a clock that isn't there.