Terraplane (25 page)

As an apparent Russian national, miss, you'll understand why
we wonder that you have no visa-"

"Is that your picture of Stalin? What sort of books are those in
your grips?"

`Are you a Russian national?" the blond asked me, possibly
remembering Pushkin. `Are you a member of the American Communist Party?"

"Shit," Edgar said, interrupting. "You assholes aren't going to
get anywhere this way."

"This is a federal case," said the blond; we watched the burgeoning debate. "Your jurisdiction, such as it is, enables us to move
freely throughout the neighborhood but-"

"Meanin' if we drive you all won't get the shit kicked out of you
out in the alley," said Nate.

"You want answers?" Edgar said. "Up here you don't get the
right answers unless you ask the right questions."

"Mister Hoover disapproves of methods used by your patrols,"
said the brownhaired one, moving again to Oktobriana, with light
finger stroking her beneath the chin. "They're unprofessional-"

"Mister Hoover disapproves of havin' a colored police force, too,
but that don't make much difference when push comes to shove,"
said Edgar. "You decide on who to make an example first. Of the
four, who're the ones to keep?"

"The Russian girl's essential," said the brownhaired.

"We think the Venezuelan might have been the pilot," said the
blond. "We're not sure yet what role the older couple play although
she was with him this morning-"

"Should've figured," said Edgar. "All right, then. Just gotta show
em you mean business." So saying, turning his pistol Doc's way, lie
fired twice at point-blank, his silencer holding sound to no more
than brief pings. Doe's knees buckled under him as his white shirt
reddened; sagging forward, he tipped floorways with a thud. The el rolled by as Wanda screamed, rushing over; none stopped her. By
the pink foam bubbling from his lipcorners I could tell that his
lungs were hit; by the darkness of the blood issuing forth, it
evidenced that his aorta went as well. He looked upward as Wanda
held him, as if baffled.

"Norman," she pleaded, "don't go. Don't go. Don't. Don't go,
God, don't go-"

"God," Doc whispered. "God damn. God God damn. Damn.
Damn God-"

"That's what you need to do, you want results," said Edgar.
None of us moved; Oktobriana's lip showed deeper red where she'd
just bitten it. Doc lay on the floor; his heart beat until it had
pumped itself dry. Ills eyes glossed; his foamy lips closed. What
ran inside now pooled round our feet.

"Feel like talking now?" the brownhaired one said to
Oktobriana, his fingers still playing about her chin. She kept her
head level, her eyes fixed ahead. "No?"

"I think we should bring them in," said the blond. "There're a
number of things we need to go over-"

"There'd be questions we'd have to answer, too. I think we
should get everything straightened out here. What's your name?
Nate? Hold her for me, will you? Just put your arm round her
neck."

"What are you going to do?" his companion asked. Nate stood
there, uncertain himself of what was planned.

"Must be federal procedure," said Edgar, looking disgusted.

Nate held her neckround, in choke position, his gun aimed at
her temple with his other hand. Wanda held Doe's face against hers
as if to breathe life into him again. Jake's collection lay where Edgar
dropped it, across the room; the blond, standing near, was giving
closer attention to his associate's actions than to protecting the
weaponry. If I lunged at the proper time, perhaps I might retrieve
something with which some damage might be done before I was
sent away.

"No procedure I'm familiar with," said the blond, stepping
forward. "There'll be no violence here."

"Course not," said the brownhaired one, taking his fingers from her chin, fixing them on her jumpsuit's closure strip, pulling it
open. "You haven't been in the New York office that long. There're
benefits to the job-"

"Don't help 'em, Nate," said Edgar. "Take your hand off that
woman-

The brownhaired one raised his own pistol with his right hand,
leveled it first at Edgar, then Nate. "Follow the instructions of a
federal agent," he said. "We can say anything we want about what
had to be done with you two and it'll pass muster. Now just do what
I say-"

"I'll file a report," said the blond.

"No, you won't," said the brownhaired, looking up. It was all the
distraction needed. Sending her feet elevating express, Oktobriana
clapped her ankles to his face, the strength of her lower limbs
further increased by DS's effects. The crack heard, the caving-in
seen, awared all that she'd broken the fed's jaw on both sides.
Stumbling backward toward the window, his arms outstretched, he
struggled to vocalize, to sound his pain loud.

"Shit-!" Nate said, his hold loosening. At window's edge the
fellow stopped, his back to the glass above, his legs meeting the
open air beyond the curtains, just above the knees. The el rattled
uptown, its echo rebounding off rattling dishware. "Look out for
the window-"

"Jake!!" I screamed, my voice lost. "Don't-"

He'd readied, standing atop crates new-piled below the window.
Through the drapes he thrust his saw, doubling its length as he
activated it, raising it between the brownhaired one's legs. Sounds
of shredded cloth mixed with harsher grind as a puff of bone dust
rose; as he lifted his tool higher, working it through, all that lay in
the man's lower half dropped further south, squishing floorways as
if to the offal drain. Without sound or comprehension he pitched
forward, his split complete. Oktobriana, meantime, advantaged
with sharpened reflex; grasping Nate's gun barrel, pushing it
beneath his drop-mouthed chin, she crushed his hand round the
trigger. He flew back as he fired, his skulltop sending his shotaway
cap into the air. Jake bounded inside as Wanda, cognizant again,
began crawling towards the living room, offbalancing Edgar, who froze where he stood; I dived after her. Hefting his saw Jake
heaved it towards Edgar, catching him fullface, pinning him to the
kitchen's lacquered-wood cabinet like a museum butterfly.
Oktobriana rolled off the table, sliding into the bloodpool below,
allowing Jake to leap forward as the blond made for the living room;
with light spring he thrust up from tabletop, leveled his flight,
tackled the last living and brought him down as I collapsed onto
Wanda, keeping her floored; her screams unceased. Taking his
head between his hands Jake did the twist, leaving the blond
sprawled stomachways but staring openeyed, towards the ceiling.
From below, through the carpet's muffle, I heard cheerful song;
Johnson, for a short time, brought joy to all who heard. If any'd
heard what resounded above, I prayed they'd ignore. Not thirty
seconds had passed.

"Hot tamales and the red hots"Yeah, she gottem for sale.
"Got a gal that's long 'n' tall.
"Sh'sleeps in th'kitchen with her feet in the hall-"

Jake eyed the leavings of his craft, his breath coming in gasps as if
his talent overwhelmed even his expectations. "Modern times," he
said. "Postmodern reaction. Forgive, Luther."

Wanda's shoulders heaved as she struggled to crawl away from
me, away from the kitchen; I held her tight, keeping my hand
sealed across her mouth to lessen decibels. All right," I repeated in
idiot's litany. "All right. It's all right. It's all right. It's-" Her tears
soaked my hand; when she began to vomit I pulled away, allowing her to do as she needed. Looking into the kitchen, seeing Oktobriana redonning her jumpsuit while standing in slaughterhouse's
midst, I felt my own stomach churn, and so quickly shifted gaze to
the living room again, where the sole victim showed as bloodless.
Jake examined his suit; as expected, it showed snow pure but for
where he'd been spattered by his own juice the morning before.
Oktobriana made her way into the front, nearly slipping, leaving
red footprints on the carpet. Drip's sound came from the kitchen;
the charnel's smell already overwhelmed, and in the hot weather I
hated to think how far its waft might drift, how soon.

"What caused the delay?" I asked Jake. "Doc's dead-"

"Known," he said. "That downwent as I prepped to enter,
Luther. No chance I could have leapt up holding that saw without
putting the boxes in place first. I'm no superman-"

Oktobriana gripped him, squeezing until his eyes popped.
"You're all right, Jake," she said, her eyes suddenly wet with silent
tears. "Doc-"

"We can't leave him placed like that," I said. "Jake. Assist me."

As unhappy pallbearers we retrieved Doc's frame; with difficulty-he must have weighed two-sixty, even without blood-we
hauled him into the front, lay him on the sofa.

"We got to get out of here," said Wanda, surprising us with
hoarse voice's cry as she pulled herself upward. "Get the car keys.
They're in Norman's left front pocket. Go on, get 'ern. "

Moving across to where he rested, Oktobriana reached into his
pocket, fumbled; seemed surprised by something, though I
couldn't imagine what. "These?" she asked, tossing them across to
Wanda. Bringing up her hand, she peeled Doc's mustache away,
dropped it on the table like a dead caterpillar. None of us said
anything.

"Can't they trail us with number and record?" Jake asked.

"Change the plates," Wanda said, her voice frighteningly calm.
She showed none of shock's evident marks, though mayhap they
simply lay waiting to later emerge in full. "That's all we got to do
besides getting away from here fast. Must be a thousand black
Terraplanes in the city and long as we don't be too visible they're
not going to find us right off."

"Who has extra plates?" I asked.

"Cedric," she said. "Hand me the phone. I'll talk to him. Hurry
up, Luther. Give it a half hour more, they'll be sending out a paddy
wagon and round us all up." Taking the receiver, brushing away its
long black cord, she dialed the number. "Cover him up," she
added, barely heard. Using one of the sheets he'd brought in for us
the evening past, Oktobriana and I, each taking an end, billowed it
over our friend and let it float down around him. The sheet's white
showed at once its own fresh red wound.

"Such a kind good friend," said Oktobriana. "Hold me, Jake."

Without seeming thought he encircled her with his arms; before
he clasped her waist I noted how his hand shook. As I stood there,
awash with feelings I couldn't afford to let surface, I wondered that
if our presence could have such dire result for the few with whom
we'd had direct contact, what then would occur over time? What
would Doc have done, had we not arrived? What would one
knowing Doc, or receiving cure from Doc, have done? Ripples
from our ill-thrown stone might stretch oceanwide by ends turn.
The responsibility overwhelmed; I kept my reason where it
belonged, and lay such thought aside for the moment.

"Cedric?" she asked. "Wanda. I need your help, baby. Norman's
dead. Cops shot 'im. That's right. No, no, they're taken care of
already." She paused. "We need to make a run for it. No, now
That's all right. I got an idea where to go. What we need is new
plates. For the car, right. How much you want for 'em?" She said
nothing as she listened. "I don't think so, Cedric, just tell me how
much. All right then, I'll bring what I got and you can take what's
fair. Can we come on over?" Wanda shook her head. "Don't come
down here, no. Don't even act like you ever been here before. I
mean it. You don't want to know. All right. We'll be right up." She
hung up. "Let me get my money out," she said.

"He has spares?"

"He's usually got whatever you need. Cedric's a good one to
know." Kneeling on all fours, leaning down as if to drink, she
reached beneath the sofa and extracted from its guts a small metal
box. Before she could rise, Doe's hand slipped from beneath its
sheet; a delayed motor reaction, perhaps. When it brushed her neck
she knew whose hand it was; said nothing, but shuddered as would
a struck tuning fork. Reaching up, not looking, she replaced his
hand beneath its cover. With one of Doc's keys she unlocked the
box, and withdrew a thick green roll bound tight with a rubber
band. She shoved it down her blousefront, between her breasts.

"Take a gander out front," she said. "Don't let nobody see you.
Any other cops in sight?"

"Clear," I said, looking.

"Car's parked over on One Thirty-third. Just leave all this shit.
Let's go. "

As we followed, leaving Oktobriana's cases, her papers and
books, Alekhine's portrait of the Big Boy; leaving the kitchen's
grotesque additions; leaving Doc, it struck me that, with little
thought and no obvious regret, Wanda left behind her life. I
gathered she'd had to several times before, somehow; whether or
not she ever grew used to it, I couldn't say. Walking upstreet,
ignoring all who passed, we reached the car within minutes.
Applause resounded from within Abyssinia.

"Can you drive?" I asked as Wanda positioned herself wheelways.

"Can you?" The car groaned as she ignited, unwilling to start;
once it gave in we pulled away, edging slowly through two teams of
young boys playing streetball with sawed-off broomsticks. Circling
the block we turned onto Eighth, passing their building once more
and all that lay within, and headed towards Cedric's below the
overhanging el, pausing at each blue light, moving at each orange,
searching each intersection for policeman's signs. Wanda aimed
left onto the street below the candy shop and swung into the drive
of what appeared to be an abandoned brick barn just behind; above
the high-arched entranceway, at keystone position, was a stone
horse's head. Beeping the horn twice, pausing between each blast,
she gave word of arrival; the metal-shuttered door lifted, allowing
our entrance. Standing brightlit in headlight's beam, leaning
against the garage's far wall, was Cedric, his tie and vest removed
for evening comfort. The door lowered once we entered.