The Never War (4 page)

Spader stood right by my side, looking dazed. This all must have been strange to him, too. But in a very different way.

“You two going to stand there all day?”

We looked to see the old African American guy standing by a yellow cab, holding the back door open for us.

“Look,” I said. “Thanks for bailing us out and all, but we're not gonna get in that cab with—”

“Vincent Van Dyke is my name,” he said with a smile. “My friends call me Gunny.”

“O-kay, Gunny. Like I was saying, we got things to do so—”

“I know you do,” Gunny said. “I know all about it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Spader asked. “What do you know?”

Gunny chuckled and said, “I know that if you want to start looking for Saint Dane, you might need my help.”

It was like the whole world had stopped again. Did he really say what I thought he said? I turned to Spader. He looked as shocked as I felt.

“Yeah,” Spader said. “I heard it too.”

The old guy didn't move. He stood with his hand on the open cab door and a smile on his face.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Like I said, my friends call me Gunny. And I'm pretty sure we're all gonna be good friends, seeing as I'm the Traveler from First Earth.”

He held up his hand to show us that he was wearing the familiar silver ring with the dark gray stone in the middle.

Our visit to First Earth was getting more interesting by the second.

“F
ifty-ninth and Park, my good man,” Gunny said to the cabbie as we got into the car.

It was a big, old-fashioned cab with lots of room in back. I think I have to stop calling things “old-fashioned,” though. This was First Earth. This was 1937. This was the past, but it was today. Totally whacked.

The cabbie pulled into traffic and headed toward Manhattan. Along the way I kept looking out the window to see the differences between First and Second Earth. The odd thing was, it really wasn't as different as you might think. I wasn't exactly an expert on history and all things New York, but from the view of a kid from Connecticut who had only been to the city a few times, I was surprised to see how similar things were.

Like I wrote before, the most obvious difference for me was the cars. I'd seen old cars before, but always in some black-and-white movie or picture. When I was a little kid, I thought the whole world was black-and-white in the “olden” days. But I'm here to tell you, things were definitely not black-and-white in 1937. The sky was just as blue, the sun was just as
yellow and the grass in the parks was just as green as on Second Earth. But the cars were mostly black. Some were cream colored and a few gray, but black was definitely the most popular color. They rode a little rough, too. The three of us bounced around in the back of that cab every time we hit a pothole. Yeah, they had potholes in 1937 too.

As much as I wanted to check out the wonders of the past, the guy sitting in front of me was more important. He said he was the Traveler from First Earth. I had no reason to doubt him, especially since he wore the ring. But still, he didn't fit the profile of all the other Travelers. First off, he was old. I couldn't tell exactly
how
old, but he had to be up there. Maybe sixty? All the other Travelers were young. Uncle Press was older. So was Osa. But not
this
old. Besides, they were gone. They had passed the torch on to a younger generation of Travelers. Did that mean Gunny's days were numbered too? I decided not to ask him. That wouldn't have been cool.

He seemed like an okay guy. It was incredible the way he had controlled the gangsters and helped us escape. He had a soothing voice that made you feel like everything was all right. As I had learned, Travelers have the ability to be very persuasive. It's like a hypnosis thing. I've tried it myself. It works, sometimes. I'm still not very good at it.

“You two sure do believe in making a dramatic entrance,” Gunny said with a chuckle. “My heart's still pounding.”

Wow. If he was scared back in that station, he sure didn't show it. Add that to the list. The guy was cool under pressure.

“We didn't expect a welcoming committee,” I said. “But we're sure glad you were there.”

Gunny nodded thoughtfully. “I'm guessing you're Pendragon,” he said, then looked to Spader. “Which one are you?”

“Vo Spader, mate,” answered Spader proudly. “Aquaneer supreme from the territory of Cloral.”

“I like that!” Gunny laughed. “I have no idea what an aquaneer supreme is, but it sure sounds fine!”

“What's your story?” I asked, still not sure how far we could trust this guy.

“I could bore you for hours with my story.”

“Go for it,” I said.

“Start by telling us where the name Gunny came from,” Spader said.

“The army,” Gunny answered. “It's sort of a joke. I signed up back in seventeen to fight in the Great War. Not sure why they called it that, but who am I to say? Trouble was, I couldn't bring myself to fire a gun. I tried, mind you. I really did. But it was the strangest thing. I'd pick up a rifle, point it, but couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. Didn't matter how much they hollered at me, I couldn't do it. That's when I got the nickname. Spent the rest of the war cooking and cleaning pots.”

“Did you know you were a Traveler back then?” asked Spader.

“Nope. Found out two years ago,” Gunny said. “I've lived most of a life thinking things were one way. Come to find out it wasn't that way at all. I can't say I'm too happy about it, but I guess I don't have a choice, do I?”

No, he didn't. Neither did we. Welcome to Travelerhood. I glanced quickly up at the cabbie, wondering what he would think of this conversation. My guess was New York cabbies had seen and heard far stranger stories than this.

“How'd you find out?” I asked.

“I work at this hotel,” Gunny explained. “Near twenty years now. Started scrubbing pots, now I'm a bell captain. One
day this fella showed up. Nice enough gentleman. Soon as I showed him to his room, he started telling me things. Things about me he never could have known.”

“Like what?” asked Spader.

“He knew about my family; about where I was raised down in Virginia; about things I said and did forty years before that I near forgot myself. I have to tell you I was a little scared of this fella. But he calmed me down and said everything was going to be fine. He said it was time I knew about my true calling.”

“So he laid the whole Traveler gig on you right there?” I asked.

“Not exactly. He asked me to take a trip with him. Uptown. If I had known just how far uptown he meant, I'm not so sure I would have gone with him.”

“I guess he took you to the flume,” I said.

“That's right. Before I knew it, I was flying through space. I was lucky my poor old heart didn't give out right then and there. We landed at a place called Ta Da or some such thing.”

“Zadaa?” I asked.

“That was it. Zadaa. It was this beautiful city in the desert, with a river running under the ground.”

Spader and I shared looks. We had been there too. It was Loor's home territory.

Gunny continued, “And he introduced me to the most beautiful lady I had ever seen.”

“Osa,” I said.

“That was her!” Gunny stopped talking for a second. I could tell his mind was back on Zadaa, with Osa. She was Loor's mother and like Gunny said, an amazingly beautiful woman. Gunny came back to the present and said, “She's the one who told me all about being a Traveler and how it was up
to us to stop this Saint Dane fella from causing trouble. I wanted to know why I was chosen, but both of 'em said I'd find out in due time.”

“Sounds familiar,” I said.

“It was too much for my brain to take in all at once. I'm still not sure I understand it all, even now. The gentleman took me on a few more trips, just to show me more of what was out there. I never thought I'd ever see such wondrous sights. Then he brought me back home. I asked him what I was supposed to do, and he said I didn't have to do anything except wait and keep my eyes open. That was two years ago. After a time I began thinking I dreamed the whole thing. I kept my eyes open, but there was nothing to see. That is, until today.”

“The guy who took you to Zadaa,” I asked. “What was his name?”

“Went by the name of Tilton. Press Tilton. I suppose you know him.”

“He was my uncle,” I answered.

“Your uncle!” exclaimed Gunny with a smile. “Now that explains a few things. He told me all about you. Said you'd be showing up someday. He talked about you like you were the upside of buttered bread. Now it makes sense!”

“Upside of buttered bread?” said Spader, giving me a sideways look.

“Hold on,” Gunny said. “You said he
was
your uncle?”

“Yeah,” I answered quietly. “Uncle Press is dead. I hate to tell you this, but Osa is too.”

The smile dropped from Gunny's face. He looked down, letting this information work through his head. “I am truly sorry to hear that,” he finally said. “He was a good person. I can say the same for Osa. The world is worse off without them.”

“Thanks, but there's more you gotta know,” I said.

“I'm not so sure I want to,” Gunny shot back. For the first time since we'd met, he looked nervous.

“Those gangsters back at the subway station,” I began. “They're the ones who killed Uncle Press.”

“No!” exclaimed Gunny. “Press came back?”

“No. We were at a flume in another territory. Saint Dane took off, but before we could chase him, bullets came back at us through the flume.”

I could feel Spader grow tense next to me. This was a tough memory for him.

“Uncle Press was killed by those bullets,” I continued. “Saint Dane had his hand in it. I'm sure of that. He's the only one who could have activated the flume to send those bullets through.”

Gunny looked away. The expression on his face grew dark. He needed to get his mind around this. After several seconds he finally spoke.

“I guess that means it's starting,” he said softly.

“What?” asked Spader. “What's starting?”

Gunny was anxious. His mind was racing to places I didn't think he wanted to go. “I hear things, you know?” he said nervously. “Being at the hotel and all, I see and hear it all. Maybe that's why I was chosen for this Traveler business.”

“What did you hear?” I asked.

“Those gunmen at the subway station, they are a couple of bad apples. I heard rumors that there was going to be a hit. Somebody was going to get killed, you know? I hear things like that all the time. Usually it's just rumors. But the thing that made me take notice this time was the place it was supposed to happen. It was that subway station. The one with the flume thing. I was hoping it was just a coincidence, but I
had to see for myself. That's why I was up there today.”

“And then we showed up,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Gunny. “And a Traveler died. I'm afraid that can only mean one thing.”

“Yeah,” Spader said to Gunny. “Looks like your days of watching and waiting are over.”

“Whatever Saint Dane's plan is for First Earth,” I said, “it's on.”

The car came to a stop and the cabbie slid the glass partition back that separated the front seat from the back. “Fifty-ninth and Park,” he announced.

I wondered how much of our conversation he'd heard. It didn't matter. It wouldn't have made any sense to him.

“Where are we?” asked Spader.

“This is my home,” said Gunny. “The Manhattan Tower Hotel. They all come through here sooner or later—movie stars, politicians, captains of industry. And gangsters.”

“Gangsters?” I said with surprise.

“Yes,” answered Gunny. “After what I've seen and heard today, I've got a feeling they're the reason we've all been gathered together.”

“Welcome home,” I said to myself and stepped out of the cab.

G
unny paid the cab fare as Spader and I gazed up at the Manhattan Tower Hotel. It was a real swankadelic place. It was thirty stories high and definitely the tallest building in the neighborhood. The front entrance was set back from busy Park Avenue to make room for an elaborate garden in front. There were trees and fountains and everything. It must have been a full-time job for a team to take care of, because even though it was March and kind of chilly, the garden was green and packed with colorful flowers. It was a dense, colorful jungle in the middle of a gray city.

The building itself stood out from the others because of its color. Every other building was some shade of cement. But the Manhattan Tower Hotel had a touch of pink to it. I'm not talking pukey-bright, Pepto-Bismol pink; it was softer than that. It made the place look warm and inviting. I couldn't remember if this hotel was still around on Second Earth. But then again, like I said, I'm not an expert on New York history.

“Let's try something,” Gunny said as he joined us on the sidewalk. He took off his long woolen coat to reveal he was wearing his bell captain uniform underneath.

“Hobey!” exclaimed Spader when he got a glimpse. “What a spiffer!”

Gunny had made an amazing transformation. The dark woolen coat he had been wearing made him look like everybody else on the street, but the outfit underneath was spectacular. The jacket was a deep, dark red with shiny brass buttons that went all the way up to the collar. The collar stood straight up and had two lines of golden trim running all the way around his neck. On each cuff of his sleeves were four golden bars. On his left breast was a fancy logo with the letters
MTH
for Manhattan Tower Hotel. On the other breast was a name tag that read “Vincent Van Dyke, Captain.” The pants were black, with a gold bar running down the outside of each leg. To finish it off, his shoes were shined to within an inch of their lives. The whole package had a military feel, like he was ready for a parade.

Gunny stood up straight and proud as we admired the uniform. He was a big guy, I'm guessing at least six foot four. But in his uniform, he looked seven feet tall. I think he knew it too. He had a little smile on his face. That was cool.

“Be honest, Gunny,” Spader said. “You were kiddin' us before. You're really a royal prince, right?”

Gunny laughed. “Don't I wish,” he said. “Come here, Pendragon.” Gunny held up his woolen coat for me to put on. “Can't have you guys walking through my hotel looking like Martians,” he added.

The coat was about a dozen sizes too big. The sleeves were so long you couldn't see my hands and the bottom dragged on the sidewalk.

“Now I look like a Martian wearing my father's coat,” I complained.

Gunny took off the coat and put it on Spader. It looked a
little better on him. At least the bottom only skimmed the ground.

“It'll do,” Gunny said. He then turned to me and winked. “We'll take our chances with you looking like a spaceman, shorty.”

“Gimme a break, I'm only fourteen!” I said defensively, but I knew he was just giving me a hard time. I was beginning to like Gunny Van Dyke.

Before we could head into the hotel, a big limousine pulled up to the curb near us. I didn't think anything of it, but Gunny got tense.

“Stay right here,” he said to us under his breath.

The two front doors to the limousine opened at the same time and four guys in suits jumped out. It all happened so fast it was almost funny. All I could think of were clowns jumping out of a car at the circus. I wondered how many other guys in suits were packed inside. One of the suits hurried to the back door and opened it up. The others stood around, scanning the sidewalk like Secret Service agents. A second later a guy pulled himself out of the back of the limo.

I knew instantly that this was “the man.”

He wore a suit like the others, but that's where the similarity ended, because he was big. I'm talking massive. Everything about this dude was huge. His hands, his head, his feet, his body. He wasn't fat. He was just big. His suit was light gray, and I could see he had a big gem stuck in his dark blue tie. I'd bet anything it was a diamond. His hat was the same color as his suit, with a dark blue band around it. A perfectly folded handkerchief that was the same color as his tie poked up from his breast pocket. He had a couple of rings on his fingers that looked pretty expensive too.

This guy seemed like someone who pretty much got whatever he wanted. He stood up, adjusted his suit so everything looked just right, then turned toward the hotel. The other guys gathered around him, forming a protective shield. As they walked, they kept scanning the sidewalk for any threats.

No question. They were bodyguards.

“Who is this guy?” I asked. “Some foreign president?”

“I wish,” answered Gunny under his breath. “Most foreign presidents aren't killers.”

Uh-oh. Not a good answer.

The guy caught sight of Gunny and broke out in a big smile. “Gunny, my friend!” he bellowed. He changed direction and headed right for us. That meant all of his bodyguards had to adjust and follow. It was like a big cargo ship had suddenly changed direction and all the little tugboats around it had to hurry to keep up.

Gunny tried to look casual. Spader and I didn't move.

“You working the street now, Gunny?” the guy asked with a big smile.

“No sir, Mr. Rose,” answered Gunny politely. “Just taking a break. Wanted a breath of fresh air.”

“Good man,” the big guy exclaimed. He reached into his pocket and pressed a dollar bill into Gunny's hand. “Don't work too hard now, understand?” he said, and gave Gunny a friendly cuff on the shoulder.

“Only when I'm working for you, Mr. Rose,” Gunny replied.

The guy let out a laugh that was bigger than necessary. But that was okay. If he was a killer, then I wanted him to be in a good mood. It seemed like he thought Gunny was okay. That was good too. But then he looked down at me and stopped laughing.

Uh-oh. Was I in trouble? What should I do? I had this image of King Kong—gazing down on all those poor natives who were running around—getting ready to choose one to pick up and swallow.

“Howdy there, Buck Rogers,” he said. “Little late for Halloween.”

I wasn't sure of how to react, so I pretended he had made a really funny joke and forced out a laugh. It was the right move because the guy laughed with me. He grabbed my hand and stuck something in it.

“No offense, pardner, just making a joke,” he said. “You look real cute.” He then walked toward the hotel with his boys scrambling to follow. I looked down at my hand to see he had given me a dollar bill too.

“The spaceman comments are getting old,” I said.

“Who was that guy?” Spader asked Gunny.

“Name's Maximilian Rose. He's a businessman who lives in the penthouse here at the Manhattan Tower. He's got more businesses than Heinz got pickles.”

“And?…“I asked.

Gunny took a quick look around to see if anyone was listening. He continued in a whisper, “And he's about as crooked as a rattlesnake in an accordion factory.”

I looked at Spader. Spader shrugged. “Who's Heinz and what's an accordion?”

Gunny continued, “What I'm saying is he didn't make all his money being an honest businessman. He puts up a respectable front, but he is a very bad individual. Trust me on that.”

“Those gangsters in the subway,” I said. “Do they work for Rose?”

“No, they're from a whole 'nother gang downtown.”

“Is there anyone in this town who
isn't
a gangster?” Spader asked.

“I know three for sure,” said Gunny. “You, me, and Pendragon.”

“Swell,” said Spader sarcastically. “It's your basic tum-tigger.”

“Tum-what?” asked Gunny.

“Let's just go inside, all right?” I said. Hearing these guys confuse each other was getting almost as old as the spaceman comments.

A few moments later, a doorman wearing a uniform similar to Gunny's held open a heavy, glass door for us and we stepped into the lobby of the Manhattan Tower Hotel. The place was even more spectacular inside than out. It gave me the feeling that I was in some huge, rich-guy mansion. The ceiling of the lobby soared up three stories and was decorated with stained glass scenes of a beautiful green forest. The sun shone down through the glass and sprayed colored specks of light all over the room like a kaleidoscope.

We walked on thick, oriental carpets under giant crystal chandeliers that looked as if they'd come from a European castle. Several sitting areas had red-leather furniture where people sat chatting or reading newspapers. Nobody spoke above a whisper. It was like being in church, or a library. It was pretty obvious that you had to have bucks to stay here. This was no cheapy hotel like the one my parents took me to at Niagara Falls. That place was skuzzy and smelled like b.o. Here you could eat off the floor. Not that you'd want to. Everyone I saw looked as if they had just stepped out of an old-fashioned department-store window. All the men wore suits and hats. The women had on dresses.

There were only two people in the whole room who looked
totally out of place—me and Spader. I was feeling pretty stupid wearing a bright blue suit with shoes to match. Spader didn't look much better in Gunny's big coat.

“We're out of our league here,” I whispered to Gunny.

“Nonsense,” Gunny replied. “You'll fit right in.”

Yeah, right. If we were circus people here to juggle for the good folks.

“Come with me,” Gunny said, and walked off.

We followed him, staying close, hoping nobody would notice us. Gunny walked through the lobby like he owned the place. He had a slow, smooth walk that said, “This is my house and I'm proud of it.” Several people nodded and smiled at him as they passed. Gunny knew everybody's name and had a little something personal to say to each of them.

“Afternoon, Mr. Galvao, see you again next month. Hello, Mrs. Tavey. I see you've been to our beauty salon. Very lovely. Mr. Prevett, your luggage has all been sent ahead, just as you requested.” The guy was good. He knew every guest by name. No wonder he was a captain.

We made it across the lobby and up to a bank of shiny, brass elevators. Gunny hit the button.

“Where are we going?” asked Spader.

Gunny glanced around casually to make sure nobody could hear him. “They're doing a big renovation up on the sixth floor,” he said softly. “Nobody will know if we have a couple of spacemen staying there.”

That sounded pretty cool to me. We were going to be staying in the swankiest hotel in New York, with a whole floor to ourselves. Not bad. The elevator door slid open and Gunny motioned for us to enter.

There was a guy inside. He was a little dude, about my size, with wire-rimmed glasses, who wore the same uniform as
Gunny. The only difference was he only had two gold stripes on his sleeves and wore a round cap with a flat top.

“Going up!” he announced professionally.

“Sixth floor, please, Dewey,” said Gunny.

“Yes sir, Mr. Van Dyke,” he said with a squeaky voice. “Sixth floor.”

The little guy was the elevator operator. He slid the elevator doors closed, pushed the handle, and the elevator immediately started…down. “Oops, sorry,” he said. He pushed the handle and the elevator jolted to a stop. He struggled with it and the elevator shook. He finally found the right gear and we started to go up. Phew. The operator gave us a sheepish look of apology. I didn't get his problem. Up, down, start, stop. Not a whole lot of options. I had the strong suspicion that this guy might be a nimrod.

“This is Dewey Todd,” said Gunny. “His father built this hotel.”

That explained a lot.

Dewey looked up at Gunny with a scowl. “I asked you not to tell people that, Gunny. I don't want people treating me different. I want to make it in the hotel business on my own.”

“Well, you've almost got the elevator part, mate,” said Spader, trying to hold back a smile. “That's a good start.”

Dewey smiled proudly. He didn't get the cut.

“Sixth floor!” he announced, and slid the door open. We all made sure the elevator was safely stopped and everything was cool before stepping out.

“Enjoy the costume party,” Dewey said. “Those are great circus outfits!”

“We're spacemen,” I corrected.

“Oh, sorry.” He closed the elevator doors and we were alone.

“He really is a fine boy,” Gunny said, chuckling. “Just a little confused sometimes.”

“I know the feeling,” I said.

The sixth-floor hallway was definitely being worked on. The walls were bare and there were painting tarps spread out all over the place. As Gunny led us down the corridor he explained, “This was the first floor they finished when the hotel was new, so it's the first they're going to modernize.”

Modernize. What a joke. They were trying to make this floor look like 1937. Not exactly “modern” by my standards. We reached the end of the corridor and turned left into another long corridor. Gunny walked up to room 615 and used a key to open it up.

“Welcome home, gentlemen,” he said.

The room was huge. Actually, it was a couple of rooms. I think they call this a suite. I could imagine that when the work was finished, this was going to be a pretty fancy place. But right now, while they were doing the renovation, it was being used as a storage area for chairs and sofas.

“You sure this is okay, Gunny?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he answered with confidence. “It breaks about eighteen different hotel rules, but I've been here long enough to pull the right strings. Just don't go ordering room service.”

There were a bunch of sofas lined up in a column along one wall. They were up on their arms and reached almost to the ceiling. All we had to do was bring two down and we'd have a comfortable place to sleep. There were big cushy chairs, along with a bunch of stacked tables. There was only one thing missing.