The Nervous System (29 page)

The senator is wagging his head slowly. “The kind of decision-making Nic Deluccia engaged in,” says the man, soothing, “is part and parcel of being a success. No other way to go about it, dear.”

He lifts his mug. The edges of his lips arch slightly heavenward.

“And of course he had your help. Even if you only provided him information. Did he not?”

Rose is now studying her feet, looking childlike and entirely vulnerable. “But he … lied to me,” she says, simply.

The senator, the complexity of his face, he wears an approximation of compassion but snakes churn beneath that veneer. Don't like it one fucking bit. Think about my ankle holster.

Fuck. Still aware of the snipers.

“That's far enough sir,” I say, my voice not resonating authority in the way I might have hoped. “You stay put, hear?”

Howard neither looks at me nor modulates his tone, saying, “Bradley, just a warning for the gentleman.”

Red blip near my foot, small pop and there's a quartersize hole in the walkway. Watch the blip zip up my leg and land in the middle of my chest.

Sure it gives me pause, but motherfucker. Senator still approaching my girl, saying, “Rose. Child of God. You must forgive yourself. That's the first step. Here.”

Gunmen with laser sights notwithstanding, don't like this one bit, say fuck it and lurch quick and sloppy to block his progression … Howard ducks me with speed befitting a much younger man, Rose steps backward … and within a rat's heartbeat he is standing before the girl, hand on her cheek, tender.

Rose, her eyes are on me. Color them confused, but unsurprised.

“Mister X, I think …” whispers Rose.

Half kneel and jerk the Sig off my ankle, the gun is up and pressed into the back of the senator's head, getting in tight so the folks overhead might not want to risk a shot … I'm shouting something, Howard knocks me back with a simple sweep of his heavy forearm, and it's as if I'm watching a slo-mo replay of an action that's already occurred.

In which:

Senator Howard steps to one side and withdraws the tip of his cane, a long thin stiletto blade, slowly from Rose's solar plexus.
Twisting
as he does so.

Me grabbing at the motherfucker, as close as I can get, dragging the much larger man backward and down …

The front of Rose's orange torso is already saturated with dark. She watches me, not the senator, not the knife that killed her. Her mouth opens, and she says one last thing that I do not hear over the wind. Rose lifts her shoulder, and dies, folding like a dropped marionette, her head smacking the wooden walkway with a hollow thunk.

I want to step to her but I know she's gone.

So I prepare to do the senator, thick ball in my throat, get him in an unsteady choke hold, gun shoved so hard against his head it's like I wanna push the fucking thing though him and out the other side. If the gunmen above get any ideas both of us will eat a bullet, either theirs or mine, and this is clear to all present.

The big man maintains, Zen-master serene. His voice is slightly constricted by my elbow, but he speaks slowly and clearly.

“Consider your next set of actions with much care, son. I have only been the agent of divine retribution.”

“Is that what you call it?” I say in his ear. “Cause I just saw you stab an unarmed woman in front of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and everybody else.”

“No. No, indeed. Stand down now, stand down.”

I realize he's speaking into a microphone. Snap my head up and one of the snipers has me on lock. Looking up at the barrel, the scope, two perfect little circles, red all in my eye like I'm getting my vision checked.

“I suggest you take your hands off me, and we can talk properly. I want to speak to you, I need to express a few things.”

Again I have little choice but to step back. Show the snipers my hands, trying to make eye contact but the one is completely cloaked in dark and the other hangs partially in shadows.

Fuck me. I want this man dead in a huge way. For the moment, however, I back off. Until I can come up with an angle to work, and I'm calculating fast and sloppy, my processing a big jumble, machinery looping on Rose is dead, Rose is dead …

I did not … I failed her. I have failed.

Senator Howard dusts off his coat. Clears his throat. As he's adjusting his tie, he begins to speak: “When I was robbed of the one woman in Creation who I truly have loved, robbed in such a … coarse, abrupt manner, my sorrow knew no end. I will mourn her into the grave.”

“Grave I'm about to drop you in, pops,” I rasp, but the senator is talking over me, and I'm gouged-out inside anyway, can only spew harmless venom.

“Oh, my union with Kathleen is a sham. Any fool can see that. It's a political expedience. Nothing more.”

Howard pauses. Fingers the flag pin on his tie.

“And how about your child, Clarence?” I say, my mouth trembling. Everybody leaving out the child. Innocent blood. I am no better, bringer of death, magnet of mayhem. My chest tightens, need a pill, I manage, “Or is a child, is that immaterial to a big motherfucking man like you?”

The senator angles his chin at the ground, says, “Abraham faced the very same dilemma. It was not my choice to make, you see. Son, in the Book of Luke, Jesus tells us of a prostitute who came to Him.
She stood behind Him at his feet weeping, she began to wet His feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them, and poured perfume on them
.”

He moves his eyes to me, heavy lidded.

“You are perhaps a man who understands love, and in this way you must understand loss. Deep loss. So in this act,” shifts his gaze for a second to Rose, “I become unburdened. A great weight has been lifted from this heart of mine, son.” Takes a breath, then: “
The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance: he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked
.”

Wicked like my black heart. Death is my escort, my bride.

Yes, I'm cognizant of the snipers; and yes, I'm gradually bringing my gun back up. There's a corner of Hell reserved for specialized worms like myself, so I might as well get some shit accomplished before they drop me there.

Say, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, and other saggy-ass motherfucking clichés.”

“The Word is the eternal Word. Impervious to the insults of men.” Howard shows me his profile, aloof.

Jesus, the fucking nerve … that's it. Fuck a sniper. I've taken a bullet or two, I can take a couple more if need be.

I lean into the big man hard with my Sig, dig into his substantial gut. Dude has to savvy which nigger is in charge over here.

That's me. I'm running this motherfucker.

So why do I not feel like I'm in the pilot's seat?

Howard falls back casually, leans away from my pistol, appears generally unconcerned.

Cause I'm the one who's trembling. Manage: “Motherfuck your Good Book. This ain't church now. You're out here with me. Out here? This is the street, and you're just another citizen. About a minute you're just another floater headed down the river.”

Howard's earpiece is almost vibrating off his head. “No, that's quite all right.” Talking to the gunman overhead. “Stand down now, stand down.”

I cannot believe … I reach up and jerk out the earpiece, get real close, and whisper: “Think I won't I'll kill you where you stand and walk away with a satisfied mind, you're thinking wrong.”

The senator actually laughs. An easy laugh, as if we're discussing something amusing but ultimately unimportant. Says, “Yes, well, there's a lot of thinking going on, so you think on this, son. You've hit a wall. It's all slipping away, young brother. But along comes Clarence Howard, quite suddenly a man, a generous man, in need of assistance.”

I kick him in the leg. “Goddamn right you're in need of assistance, about to get a bullet right through your crazy motherfucking head.”

He stumbles, looks up, shaking his head rapidly at the unseen gunmen, signaling no, no, he pushes his rap forward: “A new security chief, perhaps, son. Something along those lines. The timing of this bodes well, as I am aware of an opening. Mr. Deluccia's men, they are a flock in need of a shepherd. You know this organization well, from within. Think on that and tell me it doesn't make good sense.”

“I'd fucking shoot my own self before I'd work for a fat snake like you.”

“Is that a fact? No, son, you're far smarter than that. And when it comes to snakes, you've kissed the ring of far more poisonous breeds than me. You'd be very much your own man anyhow. Very lucrative position, believe me. This is why I find this extortion business so surprising, why Nicholas would … he was certainly not wanting. Ah well, I suppose it's just as Proverbs would have it:
He who hath love for money shall never have money enough
.”

I couldn't be pressing the barrel any harder to the side of his face. See that I've actually broken skin. Though you wouldn't know it by the man's expression.

“Preacher, keep preaching fast. You're getting closer and closer to God by the fuckin moment.” My tongue is basically in his ear.

Howard isn't bothered. The big man sighs. “One of the saddest things about you, son, is your illusion that you have any control whatsoever over the course of your relatively worthless life. Sadder still because you could be a man of accomplishment.”

Try to speak but I am at a momentary loss.

“Son, I read this whole situation wrong, I afraid, and I am truly sorry if I spoke harshly to you at any point along the way. Apologies are due to you and our mutual friend, the late district attorney. No, it was my own house that was not in order. Well. Let me make amends with the modest means at my disposal.”

The senator simply lifts his hand, and gently nudges my pistol out of his face. I'm so fucking shocked I let him do it. I stand back reflexively, and realize that I've relinquished control to him. That he was always steering this ship.

He lifts his cane, indicates the lights of the Empire State Building. Even at this hour, helicopters orbit the top, casting lights here and there. That there is ongoing activity is clear.

“We're doing great work here, son. Rebuilding the Kingdom of God. You understand so very little of what has been set in motion. And yet you were part of it once.” He gestures in the direction of Midtown. “I don't expect you to understand. You're a foot soldier. But it's just as Christ had it in John 2:19:
Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days
.”

Pegged, frozen. The universe demands I execute this loathsome man. What stops me?

He then slides his attention back toward me, looks down, and very deliberately, the senator begins to clean the blade at the head of his cane on my pant leg.

“In my generosity, I offer you a renewed opportunity to participate in this new great American experiment, and in a greater capacity. I do so because for all your … erratic ways, you have solid
bones
. Do you know what I mean? You're raw, but in possession of all the makings of a leader. Capable of much.”

He presses the top of his cane and the knife disappears. Indicates my pant leg, now decorated with Rose's blood.

“Gonna need to dry-clean that, son. Send my office the bill, no problem at all.”

Trying to speak. Chest empty, constricted.

“Well. That's about the long and short of it, son. I will leave you to your private thoughts, and be on my way.”

Find some air, saying, “Wrong, boss. Another step, you meet your cocksucking Jehovah in person.”

Howard lifts his brow, and offers up a sympathetic look. “I am,” he replies, not unkindly, “walking away now son. My chariot awaits.”

He steps around me. I let him pass. I do not know why.

Turn with him, my gun still raised. Open my yap, close it. Open it again. “Three seconds,” I blurt, just chinwagging, “and I start shooting. One.”

Senator pauses, rotates back in my direction. “Oh, I do hope I haven't done anything unwelcome, but upon your return to your library you will find certain … repairs and restorations have been made there. Consider this an advance on your first payment, and furthermore a gift of the U.S. Congress for which I proudly serve.”

“Shit on your gift, I don't do fucking bribery, Uncle Tom.”

Clarence chuckles. “Well, let's just see about that, now.” He claps his hands, raises them skyward. “Yessir!” The exclamation makes me jump and I almost inadvertently pull the trigger.

His face is beatific, rapturous. His insanity profound and rare. Specific. It occurs to me that all men and women of power have varying degrees of this sickness within them.

“What a fine morning.” He takes a moment, his true thoughts utterly unknown to me. “Does the Lord not work in unfathomably mysterious ways?”

Nods his head. Digs on the view. The very first light is just visible, spreading diffuse over the surface of the river, the southern islands. Morning creeping in.

My left hand is getting tired, and I'm still just a touch away from shooting this man.

Slaps his forehead. “Yes,” he says. “I believe you have some paperwork for me?” As if discussing a dental chart or a W-2.

I think about that. And then I withdraw the file, hand it to him. He takes it, hefts it. Says nothing. Glances at me, lifts his eyebrows yet again, as if impressed by its weight.

Gun still trained on him, we stand there in silence for a bit, the senator looking out over the water. Humming a tune. Something secular. I recognize it, having only recently heard that track in a twenty-year-old video, it's fresh in my mind.

Finally he taps his cane to his hat.

“So, now. Goodness. The question at hand is: are you interested in the future, my boy? Cause if not, well …” Lets that dangle. Then, “Get in touch at your leisure, and enjoy what promises to be a beautiful day, young man.”