Near Enemy (20 page)

I ask Nurse to tap me out.

When I come to, Nurse is already there as well, back in the Cloisters, leaning over me, guiding me out. Skillfully. Smiling.

She whispers.

Wake up.

I sit up in the bed. Take a second to get my bearings. Tubes still dangle. She puts a calming hand on my back.

Take your time.

No, I have to go. I have to find Lesser.

Why?

I turn to Nurse and ask her.

Lesser was the first one, right? Your first witness?

Yes. With Langland. A test case, really. And then Loeb. That’s it. Just those two.

But why did you choose Lesser?

I knew about him because I worked for Langland. Langland was obsessed with Lesser, with the fact that he’d failed him somehow, betrayed him, and now Lesser was haunting him in the limn, like his personal ghost. Once I learned all that, Lesser seemed like the perfect witness for our purposes. We could show him Langland dying in the limn and he’d spread the word out here. Wake everyone up. But he never told anyone, except you.

He never got the chance, Nurse. He disappeared the next day.

Well, when we didn’t hear anything, that’s when we went after Loeb.

How many did you plan to kill?

As many as it took. No one’s mourning either of those two men, Spademan. A few will sleep, but we’ll wake up so many.

Spoken like a true fanatic, Nurse.

She smiles.

A fanatic is just someone you don’t agree with yet. Besides, when did you become so delicate, Spademan?

I pull the last of my tubes out, not gently. Tell Nurse.

A lot of people think that Lesser knows something. That he discovered something about the limn. And the reason they think that is because of your stunt.

We had nothing to do with Lesser’s disappearance. We just wanted him as a witness.

Well, the people who have him now? They think it was him who killed Langland, or at least that he figured out how to kill someone through the limn.

What people?

I don’t know yet. Bellarmine, maybe.

And where is Lesser now?

In a bad place.

So what are you going to do?

Get him out.

But why you, Spademan?

Turns out he’s kind of a special kid. Figure he deserves a second chance, at least.

And you’re the one to save him?

I shrug. Tell Nurse.

Who else?

We stand outside the Cloisters. Say good-bye. She asks first.

So what’s next?

I find Lesser. Hopefully rescue him.

No, I mean what’s next for you and me? Are you going to turn us in?

To who?

The proper authorities.

I have no idea who that is anymore.

Nurse’s changed into nightclothes. Swapped her uniform for something long and loose and white. Hair’s up now in a hasty ponytail, the bobby pins all banished. Stands in the grass in her bare feet. Looks like a different woman. Swipes a strand back from her face.

I’m sorry I lied to you, Spademan.

Don’t worry. It happens every day.

It seemed necessary.

I’ll take it as a lesson. Never trust a person from Saskatoon.

We’re not all bad.

No. Just you.

She smiles. Tips up on tiptoe toward my ear. Whispers.

Admit it. We’re a good team.

I don’t even know your name, Nurse.

She leans closer. Tells me. Softly, in my ear. It’s a nice name.

She stands flatfooted again.

You sure you can’t stay, Spademan? Kill an hour or two before you go?

I’ve got to get home. I’ve got people waiting for me.

She sighs.

People. They ruin everything.

Then she leans in. Grabs my collar again. Kisses me again. I don’t resist, but this is becoming habitual.

I’d say bad habit, but that’s a terrible joke to make outside a cloister.

Find my purloined taxi still parked on the street, and I decide to drive it to Hoboken.

I know I’ve left a cabbie fuming in a coffee shop, but I tell myself I’ll make it up to him. Quadruple the rental price.

As I drive, phone on the passenger seat lights up and starts to jitterbug.

Check the caller ID.

Unknown caller.

Which is a good enough reason not to answer, but against my better judgment, I answer.

Hello? Is this Mr Spade Man?

Yes, it’s Spademan. Who’s this?

Detective Dandy. James Dandy. NYPD. We met last night.

How’d you get this number?

I’m a detective, Mr Spademan. I detect.

So you said. What do you want, Dandy?

You asked me about a cop, named Joseph Boonce? I told you I hadn’t heard of him. Well, I got curious. Decided to look him up. His record was a little hard to access. Seems like he’s—

Off the books?

—something like that. Deep into some cloak-and-dagger intrigue, in any case, that’s way above my station. Joined the force about a year before Times Square. Got passed over for Bellarmine’s gig. Then thrown into some other project.

Near Enemy.

That’s right.

And he joined the force after Times Square. That’s what he told me.

Either way, he seems clean, Spademan, or at least very good at covering his tracks. Just thought you’d like to know.

Thanks, Dandy.

Not all of us are dirty, Spademan. There’s a few good cops left. Just have to find them. I’m still running down a few things on those two cops that Boonce keeps close, Puchs and Luckner. I can’t vouch for them personally, but I’ll see what I can dig up. And as for Bellarmine—

Phone buzzes again. Another call coming in. Check the caller ID.

Speak of the devil.

Joseph Boonce.

Dandy, I have to go.

Okay, I’ll be in touch. Spademan, you be care—

I hang up. No time for niceties.

Answer Boonce’s call.

Spademan, I found him.

Lesser?

Yes. Or at least, I found the black room. It’s here, in the city. And it’s Bellarmine who’s running it.

You sure?

There’s only one black room in Manhattan, and there’s only one person with access. I know because we originally set it up for Near Enemy. It was supposed to be shut down, along with the project, and as far as I knew, it was. But Bellarmine’s got it up and running. Has to be where they’re keeping Lesser.

The whole thing’s a mistake, Boonce. A misunderstanding.

What do you mean?

Lesser doesn’t know what they think he knows.

And how do you know that?

Just trust me. Can you do that?

I trust you, Spademan.

Good. Now can you get me into this black room? In the limn?

I can do that too. It won’t be easy, but I can. You tell me who your tech is and I’ll make sure they get whatever they need for access. I had full security clearance for that room. But who’s going to go in there and get Lesser, Spademan? You?

No. I’ll find Lesser out here.

Then who?

I have friends.

The kind of friends who can handle this?

I hope so. Where’s the black room site out here?

Now this you’re going to love.

Where, Boonce?

If you had to hide a black room in a city like this one, where would you hide it?

I’m not in the mood for riddles.

Humor me, Spademan. Think about it. Where would you hide a room in New York that you never wanted anyone to find?

I think about it. Then it hits me. Of course.

Times Square.

Bullseye, Spademan—

Then I lose him as the taxi plunges into the depths of the newly refurbished Holland Tunnel.

Times Square.

Black room.

Plan it out as I drive back to Jersey.

This should be simple, actually.

Not easy. But simple. Hopefully.

I’ll find Lesser out here in the black-room site in Times Square and tap him out. And I’ll send Mark Ray into the limn to
find Lesser in the black-room construct and free him in there, to make sure he’s clear to be tapped out. With a black room, you have to do both at once, out here and in there. Time it to the minute. Otherwise, Lesser won’t fare too well.

Like I said. Simple.

As I puzzle this out, though, there’s still one part that puzzles me.

Nurse and the Wakers are the ones who staged the attacks in the limn, looking to seed panic. Woman in a burqa crashes your dream while hoppers look on, aghast. Meanwhile Nurse, out here, stabs the dreamer full of enough whatever to make sure he never wakes up again. Let the hoppers think they’ve witnessed a murder in the limn, freak out, gossip, and spread hysteria. The plan was to clear out the limn eventually. Wake this whole city up, whatever it took. Got the idea from an actual woman in a burqa, some kind of computer whiz who showed up on their doorstep with a garbled voice. Sounds like the same woman who called me to kill Lesser in the first place, which is weird, if he was meant to be their witness all along.

Meanwhile, Bellarmine catches wind of the attacks and decides to tell the whole city about it, nominating himself as the strong protector. Then Bellarmine grabs Lesser and stashes him in the city’s only black room, looking to wring a secret out of him that Lesser never knew in the first place. Apparently using Pushbroom, the limn’s nastiest sweepers, as muscle.

Like I said. Poor Lesser.

But it all adds up, more or less.

Except for one thing.

Shaban.

Shaban and Lesser were best friends, going back to their Langland days. Bunked together. Combed through code side by side at Near Enemy. So Shaban’s known Lesser longer, and probably understands him better, than anyone.

And Shaban, for all his cool confidence, seemed the most concerned of anyone that I find Lesser and bring him back.

Find out what Lesser knows.

So what exactly is Shaban so worried about?

I arrive home to Hoboken and park my cab across the street from the patrol car. Knock a knuckle on their window. Wake up Puchs, who’s snoring softly.

Rubs his eyes. Rolls his window down.

Morning, Spademan.

Spots my taxi.

You moonlighting now?

Luckner’s got her shades on, and she never speaks or smiles anyway, so I have no idea if she’s awake or asleep or dead.

Ask Puchs.

Any trouble?

He shrugs. Stretches out his thick muscled arms, the ones with the sleeve tattoos, snakes and flames all the way up to his shirtsleeves, and yawns.

Nope. All quiet.

I say thanks and head up to my apartment.

Shaban.

He’s hiding something.

At least one thing.

Either way, I figure there will be plenty of time to ask him what it is. Once I save Lesser.

Wouldn’t mind paying Shaban another visit in any case.

Twist his arm a bit.

Just a bit.

But Lesser comes first.

I actually like my simple plan, save for one thing.

The part I don’t want to admit.

Which is that Mark, for all his hours on bed-rest and all his tap-in expertise, for all his nifty tricks and angelic swordplay, is currently hobbled, and temporarily gun-shy, and even on his best day he might not be up for this kind of raid, at least not alone.

We’re not talking about an overzealous pastor and his passel of farmboy flunkies, as was the case with Harrow.

This is a black room.

And whether it’s Bellarmine’s men, or Pushbroom muscle, or both who are standing guard over Lesser in there, they’re experts, and they’re nasty, so sending in Mark alone is a real long shot. And it’s not fair to Mark. Not even fair to ask him. And it’s likely not going to succeed.

So maybe I don’t send him alone.

Truthfully, this is the part I’m not admitting to myself.

That I know someone else who has the skills to get this done.

Someone who’s sleeping on my sofa right now.

And all I have to do is ask him for his help.

Nicely.

In some way, that’s going to be the hardest part of all.

Head down the hallway toward my apartment and find there’s someone waiting for me, casually leaning with his back on my front door.

A man in gray coveralls. Looks to be dozing.

Not dozing, actually.

Dead.

And not leaning, exactly.

Nailed to the door.

Note pinned to his chest by one of the nailheads. Right under the Pushbroom patch. Note obscured by a bloodstain now.

Note reads
Nice try
.

Ink’s red, so I’m guessing it’s also blood.

Man nailed to my door like a cheerful Christmas wreath.

I knock next to his head. No answer. But it’s unlocked.

Tip the door open.

Anybody home?

Simon’s in the livingroom, rocking a sleeping baby.

Looks up. Shushes me. Mouths the words.

She’s sleeping.

I step inside. Close the door quietly. Mouth the words.

Why is there a man nailed to my front door?

Simon scowls. Says in a whisper.

They paid us a visit. Slipped right past your useless cop friends outside. Could have used your help, actually. Since there were two of them.

Two? Where’s the other one?

In the bathtub.