“You’ve been here before?” I ask him.
“Just briefly,” says Lamont. He pushes the door open and BAM! It all hits me at once. The heat. The music. The smell. The cellar is tiny. I don’t think two more people can even fit. But Lamont steers me in. As soon as we clear the door, the crowd closes around us. No turning back.
The noise level is insane. The only light in the whole place is pointed at a dinky little stage. I have no idea what’s going on.
“I hope this isn’t another healthcare debate!” I shout into Lamont’s ear.
“Just watch!” he shouts back. I can see him scanning over my head, searching the crowd.
The music dips a few decibels and a man’s voice blasts out.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Please put your hands together for the most dangerous man in New York City—Danny Bartoni!”
A sturdy young man hops up on stage with a handheld microphone. The crowd claps and howls like crazy. He gives a little bow, which shows off the bald spot on the top of his head. He doesn’t wait for the noise to die down. He just beams a big smile and plunges right in, pacing back and forth on his little stage.
“Thank you!” he shouts. “And welcome to the end of civilization as we know it!” Loud cheers. “My name is Danny Bartoni and I’m here to make you all forget your arrest records for the evening!” Big laughs. He stops in midstride and stares at a patron sitting near the edge of the stage. He leans down.
“Sir, it’s okay—you don’t need to wear your mask in here!” He pauses. “Oh. Sorry. You’re not wearing a mask! Must be the lights!” His victim is either a good sport or too drunk to care. He laughs along with everybody else.
“So let’s get started!” Bartoni says. “Anybody do anything illegal today?”
The crowd goes wild. He lowers his voice. “I mean, other than being here.” More laughs and whistles. Whoever this guy is, the audience loves him.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing and hearing. For one thing, everybody is drinking, which means the booze must be stolen, since the government controls the supply. I’ve never seen or smelled or stepped in this much beer in my life.
For another thing, this guy Bartoni is making fun of the government—one joke after another about stupid police, filthy streets, and crooked officials. Is he crazy?
Now he’s holding up a poster with two photographs. My God! One photo is of Gismonde. The other is of Sonor Breece, the chief of staff. “And how about these two guys?” Bartoni says. “Beauty and the Beak, right?” The crowd noise dies down. People look at each other. There’s an uncomfortable shift—like maybe he’s going too far. You don’t mock the two most powerful people in the world. You just don’t. But he’s not stopping.
“World President Gismonde!” Bartoni says, patting his own wiry head. “Can I please have your hair-care secret?” Murmurs and mumbles. “And Sonor Breece!” he shouts. “When this guy loses his can opener, no problem! He just uses his nose!”
BANG!
A bright flash and loud explosion from the back of the room. Then screams. I see lights and helmets and guns pouring through the back door.
Oh, shit.
Bartoni drops the mic and tosses the poster aside. Fans reach up to pull him off the stage. But a squad of TinGrins are already on him.
Somebody cuts the power. The place goes totally dark. The screams get louder. Gunshots blast into the ceiling. Lamont grabs my arm and pulls me forward. I feel strong hands around my waist. I try to wrestle away. A woman’s voice says, “Don’t fight me. Just move!” It’s the lady bouncer, pushing me toward the entrance. Then another blast blows the front door off its hinges. More TinGrins pour in.
In a split second, we change course. I’m in a human sandwich between Lamont and the bouncer lady. We push through the crowd and end up behind the bar. There’s a hatch in the floor with a big metal ring. The bouncer pulls it up. I see stairs leading down.
“Go!” she says. A rifle pokes over the bar, pointed straight at me. The bouncer grabs the barrel and shoves it away. A spray of bullets hits a mirror. I can feel Lamont right behind me. The hatch closes with a thud over our heads.
The passage below is narrow and pitch black. We work our way through for about twenty yards—heads down, breathing hard—and then, we’re out, somewhere behind the club. We can see police vehicles left and right. But we slip straight through.
“Keep moving,” says Lamont. “Do not look back.”
A half block down, we back into a doorway.
“You okay?” asks Lamont.
“No holes. You?”
“Fine.”
We peek around the corner. All clear. We head back uptown, walking fast.
I can still feel the adrenaline pumping.
“I’m sorry,” says Lamont. “It was stupid to put you in that kind of danger.”
That’s true, of course. On the other hand, it was pretty exciting! It made me feel alive.
“No, you were totally right to bring me,” I say. “I needed that.”
CHAPTER 43
THE NEXT NIGHT, it’s my turn. Different nightspot. Way different.
“Where are we going?” asks Lamont.
“You’ll know when we get there,” I tell him.
It’s midnight. We’re walking north in midtown. We take a long detour to avoid the Presidential Residence, then wind past Columbus Circle and cross over into the wilderness. Lamont perks up.
“This is Central Park!” he says.
“Used to be,” I say. “Watch your step.”
We start making our way up an abandoned roadway. The pavement is cracked. Curbstones gone. Plants sprouting in potholes. And most of the trees are missing their lower branches. Taken for firewood.
I haven’t been back here in years. Not since things got really bad. But up ahead there’s this big rock I remember that’s great for climbing. It’s craggy and rough with plenty of good footholds. Rat Rock, they used to call it. And not for the shape. The rats are still here, but if you make enough noise, they just scatter.
I stamp my feet a couple times when I get to the base, then I start making my way up. “C’mon!” I call to Lamont. He follows me. Pretty agile for a guy his age. Even in dress shoes. From the top of the rock, the park looks like a jungle. Everything is thick and overgrown. In the distance, we can make out the turret of an old castle.
“Why don’t I see any police?” asks Lamont.
“They don’t even bother to patrol here at night,” I say. “Whatever happens, happens. Murder, rape, suicide. They just come in and pick up the bodies in the morning.”
We climb down off the rock and keep heading deeper into the park, farther north. Toward the place I need Lamont to see.
Lamont and I haven’t talked much about Margo tonight. I know she’s always on his mind, but I didn’t bring him here to stir up memories. I brought him here to show him reality.
“Almost there,” I say.
Up ahead we can already see the glow.
We work our way through one last stand of trees, and there it is. A city within the city. Tents and shacks as far as we can see. And barrel fires—thousands of them. We can hear babies crying and people shouting in about a hundred different languages. On old maps they call it the Great Lawn. Not so great now. Now it’s basically one big refugee camp.
“Good God!” says Lamont. “It’s like a shantytown from the thirties! Who are these people? Where did they come from?”
“From everywhere,” I say. “This is where you end up when you don’t have anyplace left to go.”
We work our way around the camp and end up on the west side, keeping close to the inside of the park border. Suddenly, right ahead of us, we see a bunch of people, maybe eight or nine, sneaking outside the railing. Probably looking for food or a missing kid. It happens all the time.
A large black van is waiting by the curb, with a squad of police behind it. The TinGrins avoid the park, but they’re always hiding around the edges, watching for stragglers to pick
up. The police have a nightly quota and this is an easy way to fill it. Before the refugees can run for cover, the police surround them.
I pull Lamont down behind a hedge. The police grab the prisoners and shove them into the van, one by one. Mostly men. A couple of women. I can feel Lamont straining.
“I can’t watch this!” he says.
“Let’s go,” I say. I try to pull him backward into the park.
“No!” he says. “Not this time.” He’s dead serious.
Before I can stop him, he creeps forward and picks up a couple broken hunks of cement.
“Lamont! Don’t be crazy!” I whisper. I duck back down.
I see Lamont move up past the van. He winds up and heaves a rock at the escort vehicle parked in front. The rock doesn’t even make a mark in the armor, but it makes a loud bang.
The TinGrins spin around toward the sound. Now Lamont is in the middle of the street. He heaves another rock. This one ricochets off the rear window. The TinGrins spin around again. They’re all in crouch positions, looking for a sniper. Now Lamont is on the entry step of the van. He leans in. What the hell is he doing?
Suddenly, I see the prisoners slip out the door of the van. They make a run for it—across the street and back into the park. There’s no way the TinGrins will follow. They’ll just grab Lamont.
But they don’t. They totally ignore him. They sling their rifles back over their shoulders and go back to leaning against their vehicles.
Lamont walks back to where I’m hiding. He seems wrung out, but really proud of himself. “How about that?” he says. “A little justice at last!”
I pull him down low. I grab him by the shoulders and shake him.
“How could you be that stupid? How did you not get shot?”
Lamont looks puzzled.
“How could they shoot me?” he asked. “They couldn’t see me.”
“What do you mean, they couldn’t see you?”
“I was invisible,” he says. “I’m the Shadow, remember?”
“I know that now,” I say. “But I could see you the whole time.”
This brings Lamont up short. He wasn’t expecting it. And I’m not sure he really believes it.
“You saw me?” he asks. “Even when I was invisible?”
“Yes! Every second! No question. You were never invisible. Not to me.”
Lamont sits back on the grass. He blows out a long breath.
“Impossible!” he says. “There is no way that could happen.”
“Sorry, Mr. Shadow. It just did.”
This definitely adds a new wrinkle to our relationship.
CHAPTER 44
ONE A.M. JESSICA held Bando by the leash as they made their final trip around the block. Recently, Lamont had been taking doggy duty, but he and Maddy were still not home from their trip to the park, and Bando could not wait. Jessica didn’t mind. These Bando walks were a good time to collect her thoughts. About Maddy. About Lamont. About everything.
The power to the neighborhood was out again—third time this week—so even the video screens were black. That was fine with Jessica. She’d heard enough of Gismonde’s evening homilies for a lifetime. And she had no problem navigating the neighborhood in the dark. It had been her home for almost twenty years, since before Maddy was born. She knew every building, every shop, every vehicle.
So when she got close to her apartment steps, she realized instantly that the van on the corner had not been there on her last circuit. She pulled on Bando’s leash, tugging him closer. She backed up and started to head down a side street, just in case.
She never made it.
The back of the van suddenly burst open. Ominous blue light illuminated the interior, silhouetting the helmeted figures moving in her direction. In an instant, they had her. She felt the leash being ripped from her hands as one of the police bent her right arm up behind her back.
“Bando!” Jessica shouted.
Another officer leaned in, the cold jaw plate of his helmet pressing against Jessica’s ear.
“Shut your mouth,” he commanded. “Do not resist.”
Jessica heard Bando growling. When she looked down, she saw him circling the booted feet of the officers, nipping at their thick leather heels.
“Bando! Stop!” Jessica shouted. A thick glove covered her mouth. She struggled to break free, but each man outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. It was like wrestling with bags of cement. She heard a thick thud and a whimper as a boot connected with Bando’s rib cage. He cowered and ran off a few yards. As he circled back, she saw a gunshot explode the pavement just behind his rump.
“No!” shouted Jessica, her voice muffled by the glove. She was almost in the back of the van now, propelled forward, her feet barely touching the ground. There were two officers waiting to pull her in. Then she was on the floor. A gag was wrapped around her mouth. She heard loud laughs from the two men still outside the van.
Then two more shots.
CHAPTER 45
WHEN LAMONT AND Maddy returned from the park at two a.m., they paused in Lamont’s usual spot across the street from the apartment. Lamont looked left and right. When the street looked clear, he tapped Maddy on the arm.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
As they started to move toward the building, Lamont heard a jangly sound from around the corner. He pulled Maddy back. Suddenly, Bando ran between his legs, his leash dragging behind him.
“Bando!” yelled Maddy. She bent down to rub his belly and felt something sticky in his fur. When she pulled her hand back, it was streaked with crimson.
“Lamont!” she cried out. Lamont gently lifted Bando off his feet and rolled him onto his side, revealing an angry-looking red stripe across his belly. Maddy screamed. “No!”
“Gunshot,” said Lamont. “But just a graze.”
Bando whimpered as Lamont pressed lightly along the length of the wound, feeling for fragments. All clean.
Maddy felt her stomach sink and her chest tighten.
“If he was out, Grandma was with him!” Maddy stood up and shouted, “Grandma!” Lamont pulled her down.
“Quiet!” he said. “We’ll check out the direction he came from. Stay close to me.”
Maddy picked Bando up in her arms, careful not to press his wound as she nuzzled his head. “Shhh, baby,” she said. “We’re going to fix you up. We just need to find Grandma first, okay?”
They peeked around the corner. Nothing moving. It didn’t mean there was nobody there. They moved slowly across the street, peeking into every stairwell and doorway. At the curb, Lamont’s foot kicked a small piece of metal in the street. He picked it up. A shell casing. He sniffed it. Recently fired.
There was a rustle from behind a row of garbage cans. Lamont pushed Maddy and Bando behind him. Slowly, a head popped up in silhouette over the metal containers.
“Don’t shoot!” a voice said.
“No guns,” said Lamont, holding his hands up. “Who are you?”
Slowly, a man emerged from behind the battered containers. He had sores on his face, fingerless gloves on his hands, and plastic sandals on his feet. As he approached, a wave of stench preceded him. Garbage, urine, maybe worse.
“Is the little guy okay?” he asked, angling his head to look at Bando.
“He got shot,” said Maddy, holding Bando close.
“I know,” said the man. “They did a little target practice on him. But he’s quick, that one.” He reached out to pat Bando’s head. The stench was overpowering. Maddy pulled back. Lamont stepped in between them.
“Someone was with him,” Lamont said. “A woman. Sixties. Small. Feisty.”
“Yeah,” said the man. “They got her.”
Maddy rocked back. “They shot her?”
Lamont leaned down, right into the man’s face. He could smell the decay wafting from his mouth.
“Did they?” asked Lamont slowly. “Did they shoot her?”
“The lady?” said the stinky eyewitness.
“No. They wanted her alive.”
CHAPTER 46
I’M HOLDING BANDO down on the kitchen table. Lamont is dabbing at the clotted blood on his belly.
“Why would they take her?” I ask Lamont. “Grandma is the most law-abiding citizen ever.”
“They were looking for me,” says Lamont. “The police, one night, they saw me with Bando. Maybe they made a connection. If they didn’t kill her, it means they want her for leverage. I’m the one they want.”
“We have to find her!” I say.
“First,” says Lamont, “I need to get some answers.”
“What answers?” I ask. “From who? Where?”
Lamont has been quiet since the incident in the park. I can see his brain working. And now he thinks he has an answer.
“We’re going back where you found me,” he says. “The warehouse. That’s where it all started. I think Fletcher knows about Margo.”
I can feel myself losing it. How am I supposed to care about some mystery woman I’ve never met when my grandmother just got dragged away?
“Lamont!” I yell. “They took Grandma! She needs to come first!”
“You don’t understand,” says Lamont. “It’s all connected. Margo. Your grandmother. Me. You. Once we find Margo, we’ll go find Jessica. I promise.”
An hour later, Lamont is banging on the door of the warehouse. I can’t believe I’m down here again. At four in the morning, the place is even creepier. The fires are still burning, but there’s nothing moving but us.
“Open up, dammit!” Lamont is out of patience. He picks up a big rock and gets ready to heave it against the door. Then the door opens. Just a crack.
I can see Fletcher’s frizzy head peeking out. He squints at Lamont, then at me.
“I’m impressed,” says Fletcher. “He’s still alive.”
“I’m better than ever,” says Lamont. “Let’s talk.”
“Look,” says Fletcher. “I did what I was paid to do. I brought you back. You left. I’m done.”
I step up and nudge Lamont aside.
The Shadow Page 10
