“Just cooking fires,” said Maddy. “People need to eat.”
Lamont shook his head. It was like the damned Depression had never ended. As his vision started to clear, he saw small groups of people shuffling nearby. They all had matted hair and wore shapeless clothes. He saw a line of them passing close by the warehouse, heading for the river. A young woman was in the lead, trailed by a string of small children, following like silent lemmings.
“Where are they going?” asked Lamont. Then something flashed in his memory. He’d seen this before. More than a century ago. Drowning was one way to end the pain, and sometimes the poorest of the poor took that way out. This was a suicide walk!
Lamont stepped off the cement step and walked toward the woman. In seconds, he was in water up to his calves. Maddy tried to support him but he shook her off.
“Stop!” he called out to the woman. His voice was still weak. It didn’t reach. He heard Maddy shout too. She was right behind him. The woman heard Maddy. She paused as the children crowded around her, just inches from the edge of the water.
Lamont was close now, close enough to reach for her. The woman turned her face toward him. Lamont looked at her intently, deeply, deliberately.
“Do not jump,” he said. “Back away.”
The woman was hollow-eyed and pale. She said nothing.
“Do not die,” said Lamont. “Do not die.”
Slowly, the woman turned away from the river. The others followed. The woman placed her hands on the shoulders of the children as they shuffled back toward the smoky campsites beyond the warehouse. Lamont looked down. Maddy was staring at him.
“What did you just do?” she asked.
Lamont looked out over the river, where a few abandoned barges floated aimlessly, then back at the woman and children, disappearing into the haze.
“Maybe,” he said, “I gave them hope.”
CHAPTER 16
AS WE WALK back toward the warehouse, I can see Lamont getting more energetic, a little more sure on his feet. He stops to look at me.
“Maddy,” he says. “That’s a good name.”
“Thanks,” I say. At least he has some short-term memory left.
I wonder if I should tell him that it was my little mouth mambo that that finally brought him back. But I decide not to say anything. Let him believe that advanced science revived him. That’s what he paid for, right?
“Maddy,” he says, “I need to go home. Maybe Margo will be there.”
“Where’s home?” I ask. I realize that I have no idea where he’s from, where he lived, how he got here.
“My townhouse,” he says. He turns to face north. “That way!”
After a hundred and fifty years, any place he used to live has probably been torn down or boarded up. But I decide to play along.
“No problem,” I say. “We’ll find a way there. Slowly.”
But Lamont is already gathering steam, heading for the alley between the warehouses. He’s shaking his arms like he’s trying to get the feeling back.
“Hold on!” I yell. “Wait up!”
I duck back inside the warehouse to grab my scooter. Fletcher is still sitting in his saggy seat, scribbling in a notebook.
“Lamont’s on a mission,” I tell him. “He wants to go uptown.”
Fletcher closes his notebook and leans forward in his chair.
“Are you crazy?” he says.
“What?” I say. “You want to put him back in the vault?”
“You know he could drop dead at any minute, right?” says Fletcher. “We kick-started him, but nobody knows the effects of long-term deceleration.”
“Look,” I say. “I know he’s your little science experiment. But he’s my inheritance. I’ll watch him.”
“I’m telling you, he needs to be monitored!” says Fletcher. “He’s not ready for a goddamned tour of the city!”
I realize that what Fletcher is saying makes sense. Things are moving a little too fast. What if Lamont needs another jolt?
“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll get him.”
I head back outside. It’s been less than twenty seconds. But now I realize that it was a mistake to let Lamont out of my sight. Because when I look down the alley, he’s gone.
CHAPTER 17
CHIRP-CHIRP!
It’s the sound of an electronic alert from a parked car just up the street. A luxury L20 electric coupe, the latest Chinese import. I spot Lamont looking baffled in the driver’s seat as I run up alongside the car and tap on the half-open window.
“Hey!” I say. “You’ve been alive for two hours and now you’re stealing cars?”
“We’ll just borrow it,” says Lamont. “Just show me how to work…” I can see him struggling for the right words “…the goddamned thing!”
He looks over the dashboard and shakes his head.
“Where’s the tach?” he asks. “The fuel gauge? The speedometer?”
He’s staring at the black plastic control screen and I realize that he has no idea what it’s for. I open the driver’s-side door.
“Lamont,” I say. “Maybe we should do this tomorrow.”
“No!” he shouts. “Now!”
I decide not to argue with him. Truth is, I can’t wait to get out of this neighborhood myself.
I nudge him on the shoulder. “Shove over.”
I toss my scooter into the rear compartment. Lamont slides over to the passenger’s side. I’ve seen cars like this, but I’ve never touched one. Never sat in one. Never driven one. Never driven at all, in fact. Cars are for rich people, not for poor kids like me.
But how hard can it be?
I press the red power button on the console and the car starts to hum. The screen lights up. The icons kind of make sense.
“Where to?” I ask.
“North,” says Lamont. “Fifth Avenue. Number…” He pauses and rubs his head, trying to remember.
“Never mind the number,” I say. “The addresses have all changed anyway.”
“Just go!” says Lamont. “Please!”
I tap the icon for forward. As I move away from the curb, I sideswipe a traffic-control stanchion. The car’s side panel crunches like popcorn.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble. “Not too familiar with this model…” I quickly re-tap the touch screen and switch to auto run. The ride smooths out when the car locks into the lane sensors.
I look over at Lamont. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “If your house is still there, we’ll find it.”
Within ten seconds, the car is up to fifty on First Avenue. I see Lamont bracing his feet against the floor panel and pressing himself into the seat back. I look down at the screen and barely miss a guy carrying a stack of salvage wood.
At the Fourteenth Street intersection, I see a crew of pavers ahead. I think they expect me to slow down. When I don’t, they jump out of the way, dropping their tools in the middle of the street. I run over the tip of a shovel and the handle flips up. Crash! So much for the driver’s-side headlight.
“Good lord!” shouts Lamont. “Where did you learn to drive?”
“Self-taught,” I say. I lean out my window and let the wind whip my hair away from my face.
This beats the hell out of a scooter any day.
CHAPTER 18
NORTH OF TWENTY-THIRD Street, the underground suppressors automatically slow the car down to thirty. I take it off auto and make some quick doglegs to avoid police checkpoints, just in case somebody’s already reported a stolen vehicle. After a few maneuvers, I head up Third Avenue.
The slower speed gives Lamont a good look at the city, and I can see that he’s disgusted. In this part of town there’s no mix of rich and poor. It’s all poor. Everybody with money has moved closer to Fifth Avenue. On this block, just about every building is shuttered and boarded up. The few shops that are still open have long lines outside. When I pause at a stoplight, a squad of grubby kids scurries up to knock on the window.
“Get away!” Lamon
t yells. “Leave!” He pounds back from his side of the window.
“They just want candy,” I tell him, then press the horn to startle the kids so they move on. I’m not worried about the candy kids. I used to be one myself. I’m more worried about the teen gangs, like the one I see lurking on the next corner. That bunch would think nothing of slashing a tire or throwing a waste bin through a windshield.
“Who’s in charge here?” asks Lamont, his voice rising. “Where’s the mayor?”
“There’s no mayor,” I tell him. “Gismonde runs everything.”
“Who?”
“Nal Gismonde,” I reply. “The world president.”
“What happened to Roosevelt?”
“Never mind.”
I don’t think Lamont’s up for a history lesson right now. Like Fletcher said, baby steps. I doubt he’d believe it anyway.
As we approach a little bodega at the corner of Fifty-Third Street, I hear shouts from inside. Through the shop’s dirty window, I can see figures scuffling. Suddenly, two young guys burst out of the front, carrying bags. The shop owner runs after them. He grabs one guy by the arm. Not a good idea. The young guy swings his elbow back like a hammer, catching the store man hard in the face. He falls onto the pavement.
“Did you see that?” Lamont says, pounding on the smooth dash panel. “Where in God’s name are the police?”
“The police don’t bother with street crime,” I say, “unless the victim is rich, or connected. Otherwise you’re on your own.”
“That’s insane!” says Lamont.
“That’s life,” I tell him.
I can see that Lamont is starting to boil inside. I’m sure he’s wondering what kind of world he came back to. I see him looking back at the shop owner in the street.
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?” Lamont says.
I have to laugh. Just a little. I can’t help it.
Whoever this guy is, I have to admit he does a pretty decent Shadow impression.
CHAPTER 19
“WHAT’S FUNNY?” LAMONT asks.
“Nothing,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on the road. “It’s just…” I lower my voice and imitate his imitation. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?”
“What about it?” says Lamont. “It’s not funny—it’s true. There’s no telling how deep evil can go. I mean, look around! I’m seeing nothing but evil!”
I can’t tell if Lamont’s putting me on. He seems sincere, really troubled about the state of the city. On the other hand, he’s had a weird brew of drugs circulating through his body for a long time. Who knows what that might’ve done to his brain?
“So, are you a fan of the Shadow?” I ask. “I mean, from the radio show? That was on during the 1930s, right?”
Lamont is staring out the window. Nobody I know has the slightest interest in an obscure comic book hero from the past century. But there’s something about the Shadow that always appealed to me—especially his power of invisibility. I mean, how cool would that be?
“Wait!” I have another thought. “Are you an actor?” That might explain the fancy tux and the handsome face. “Were you on the radio? Did you play the Shadow? Were you the Shadow?”
“An actor?” Lamont says. “You think I’m some kind of fake?”
“I just figured…maybe that’s why you picked the name.”
“My name is my name!” he says. And then,“Watch out!”
A car is veering toward us. I make a hard left onto Fifty-Seventh Street, missing the other guy by inches.
“Sorry!” I say. “I’ll pay attention.”
But it’s just a good thing I turned west when I did. Any higher and we’d be getting close to Central Park, which is one place on the island I did not want to be.
We’re coming up to Fifth Avenue. One block away. As we pass Madison, Lamont starts looking anxious. He whips his head from side to side, checking out various buildings, back and forth. Suddenly he sits right up in his seat, so fast that his head almost hits the roof panel of the sedan. He points straight ahead.
“That’s it! Right there! That’s my house!”
I slow down and pull the car over to the curb. I look up the street to where he’s pointing.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Of course not!” says Lamont. “That’s it! I live right there! I should know—I designed every inch of it!”
I recognize the building. Who wouldn’t. But there’s no way we’re getting anywhere near it.
Because it’s the official residence of the world president.
CHAPTER 20
LAMONT DOESN’T UNDERSTAND.
“The world president?” he says. “Who are you talking about?”
“Lamont, listen to me,” I say, turning to look him straight in the eye. “There is no mayor. There is no Roosevelt. No kings. No queens. No prime ministers. They’re all gone. One single, solitary man holds all the power. One man. He runs everything. If you question him, you’re gone. And he lives…” I jab my finger toward the mansion. “Right there!”
We’re stopped about twenty yards short of the main gate. Already, I’ve attracted the attention of a few perimeter drones and a squad of sector police. The police roll up in two patrol vehicles with armor plating and huge black bumpers.
“TinGrins,” I say. “Right behind us.”
“Who?” says Lamont.
“Police. Coppers. The Fuzz. Whatever the hell you used to call them.”
Four men hop off the running boards and form a human barrier in front of our car. The drivers pull their vehicles into a V to block my way.
“We’re screwed,” I say. “Do not move.”
Lamont opens his door.
“Stop!” I shout. “They’ll kill you! What are you doing?”
Lamont slams the door behind him and walks right up to the two officers on his side. They raise their rifles. When they see Lamont’s tux, they think it’s some kind of crazy costume. One of the officers actually laughs. This gets Lamont more fired up. His sentences are almost normal now. Even though he’s talking crazy.
“Hey!” he says. “That’s my house. Right there! Mine!”
The officers aren’t overreacting. They probably don’t want a scene that would attract the presidential guards. That would be a mess.
“This is as far as you go,” says one of the TinGrins. I can hear his voice amplified through his chest speaker.
“I don’t think you heard me,” Lamont says. The barrels of the rifles are an inch from his belly. Suddenly the squad converges on him from all sides.
I sit frozen in the car, terrified of making a wrong move. A fatal move. I have one chance. If I can isolate the squad leader, one on one, maybe I can get him to back off. But as I try to open my door, one of the other TinGrins leans his solid hip against it. I’m trapped—and now Lamont is locked inside a pack of officers.
I see the side door of one of the police vehicles slide open. It’s like a dark box inside. Lamont is now totally surrounded by black uniforms. Only his head is visible. He turns my way and jerks his chin upward. I know what he means. He means “Go!”
I hesitate for a second, but there’s nothing I can do to stop what’s happening to Lamont. And there’s no sense in getting locked up with him. As long as I’m free, I still have options. Maybe.
I tap the screen to put the car into reverse. I swerve backward, spinning the TinGrin on my side to his knees. I back up until the front of the car is clear of the police vehicles, then whip around and head back in the other direction. In two seconds, I’m speeding down the block. I know I’m an easy target, but gunshots would stir the presidential detail. And that’s the last thing they want. They don’t care about me, anyway. They know they’ve got the real troublemaker.
I’m so mad at myself that I can hardly see. I promised to watch out for Lamont. Great job.
CHAPTER 21
LAMONT FELT HIMSELF being half dragged, half shoved toward the open door of the po
lice vehicle. He was close enough now to see a metal bench running the width of the interior. One of the officers went in first. The two men holding Lamont’s arms shoved him forward. He shook off their grip and stepped into the vehicle on his own. He slid onto the cold metal seat.
Lamont was no stranger to police. He’d dealt with them all the time. Sure, some of them were crooks, some were thugs, but most of them were okay—men you could work with, drink with, share tips with. But that was then. This was now. And these guys weren’t the talkative type. Lamont was in trouble and he knew it. Had he come back to life just to end up with a bullet in his head? There was only one way out. And he figured he had only about three seconds to make his move. He wasn’t sure that he could do it. It had been a long time.
As the officer to Lamont’s left slid further in to make room, another officer stepped into the box to bracket Lamont on the seat. Lamont closed his eyes. It was now or never. Then it happened. Just like he remembered.
The feeling was like the rise over the top of a roller coaster. A burst of energy shot through him and seemed to cause his organs to vibrate. There was a moment of near blackout and then a fluid sensation. He saw the officers panic and spin around, looking in every direction. They brought their rifles up. But there was nothing to shoot at. Lamont stepped outside the vehicle feeling a power that he hadn’t felt in more than a hundred years.
He was back.
He was alive.
He was invisible.
CHAPTER 22
MY HANDS ARE sweating. My heart is pounding. I turn in to an abandoned parking garage and pull into a dark corner. I watch the garage opening for TinGrins. Are they chasing me? Did I lose them? Are they taking positions outside and waiting for a clean shot?
A few hours ago, my biggest problem in life was getting marked up for skipping class. Seems like pretty small potatoes at the moment. Now I’ve got a choice to make. I can abandon the car, sneak out the back, and act perfectly normal. In a half-hour, I’ll be back home with my grandmother. That would be the reasonable choice. What can I do for Lamont at this point anyway? Why is he my problem?
The Shadow Page 5
