Half the Blood of Brooklyn

by Charlie Huston

  He looks at his feet.

  —Not the deaths. The useless cattle the Vyrus rejects aren’t to be mourned. I pity them perhaps, for the half-lives they’ve been given. But the ones harvested for the anathema, the ones the Vyrus takes and doesn’t cast off, they have been wasted. It all smacks of waste. And manipulation of the Vyrus. I know that’s my own perception, and a limited one, but I feel it nonetheless. Even though I know the Vyrus cannot be manipulated. It uses us, not the other way around.

  I grunt. At a loss for anything else to say.

  He taps my thigh with a finger.

  —But no lectures tonight, yes?

  —Fine by me.

  He stretches his neck.

  —I’m tired. Finish the story. Why do you need him?

  I look at him, see Evie again, wasting in her bed.

  —He was premed in school. Terry loaded him up with medical books. Had him studying. Trying to maybe figure out some stuff about the Vyrus.

  He sighs. —Medical books. Poor Terry. He’s so…material.

  He brings his feet up on the dock and rises.

  —And if that’s what you need from him, his medical knowledge of the Vyrus, you should have let him die. In the usual sense.

  I look at the litter in the gutter.

  —I have to ask him some stuff.

  —Well, whether you had stuff to ask him or not, we’d help him.

  —Didn’t know ministering to the weak was your new line.

  He gestures at the darkness in the warehouse.

  —It’s not, but he’s Enclave.

  —The fuck?

  He scratches his head.

  —Not that I knew him before, but, yes, he’s one of ours.

  —So, what, you look at him and you just know he’s in the club?

  He shrugs.

  —That’s all it took when I first met you. You’re either Enclave or you’re not, it can’t be hidden or mistaken. Believe in Enclave or not, it believes in you. And the Vyrus tells me.

  —The things you believe, Daniel, I don’t know how you remember how to stay out of the sun.

  —And what do I believe, Simon?

  —Got me, man. Got me.

  He shakes his head.

  —It wasn’t a rhetorical question. I’m asking for you to articulate it, my beliefs. You want my help, this is what I’m asking for. Tell me what I believe.

  I look around, at everything but him.

  —It’s, man, it’s complicated.

  —No, it’s simple.

  —You, you guys, Enclave, you believe the Vyrus is, what, spiritual? Supernatural. You believe it, man, it consumes us and when we die we pass into its world. You believe that if you starve it, take in just enough blood to keep it alive as it consumes you, that you can be made, Jesus fuck, I don’t know, into something like it, but stay in this world. For what reason you’d want that, I do not fucking know.

  He stares at the ground.

  —One by one, Simon, all Enclave test their limits. Wean themselves from this world, give up more of their physical selves to the Vyrus by forcing it to consume more of its host than it would do were it fed well. One by one, reaching their limit, they fail, wracked by their own insufficiencies, dying in the dark. But it will not always be that way. This is what will happen, Simon.

  He puts his mouth close to my ear, the heat off his body far more intense than what I felt from the Count, his burning unlimited.

  —One day, as many have before, one of us will open the doors of this place and in the bright light of morning, will walk out naked. And not be burned. The Vyrus having consumed entire its vessel and made of it something not earthly. When it happens, when one of us crosses into the Vyrus’ plane, but retains corporeality, that one will guide the others through the same path. And we will be true vessels for the Vyrus. Uncorruptible to the sun, intangible to the weapons of this world, able to project the Vyrus through our physical selves at will. We will bring it to all, the great and the meek. And make the world Enclave, make it Vyrus. As it is meant to be. As it already truly is.

  He’s at my side, burning me and crazier than fuck.

  I don’t move.

  —There’s only a hundred of you.

  He steps away, raises his hands.

  —Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do.

  He turns to go.

  —Daniel?

  —Mmm?

  —The way you know the Count is Enclave?

  —Yes?

  I watch his back.

  —The way you say the Vyrus told you that? Does it tell you other stuff?

  His shoulders rise and drop.

  —How so?

  —If you met someone, could you tell, by looking, could you tell if the Vyrus would kill them? Or, the other thing, infect them? Make them like us.

  His head tilts back. I can see the seam of bone where the quarters of his skull meet under the skin.

  —Yes. Actually, yes, I can do that.

  —If I brought someone here?

  He lifts a hand.

  —Come back in the morning, Simon. Your friend will be sensible by then. Come in the morning and talk to him. Ask him questions. And anything you’d like me to look at, bring it with you.

  He walks into the darkness.

  I take a step toward the doorway.

  —The morning?

  His white shade is fading.

  —Just before sunrise. I’ll be going out after that.

  I take another step.

  —Going out?

  A candle flame reflects a last flicker of him.

  —I’m done here, Simon. I kept telling you I was failing. Did you think I could hold out forever? Time for me to find out what the Vyrus wants from me. And the sun will show the way.

  I step close to the darkness, but I don’t go in there.

  Instead I walk east, headed out of the no-man’s-land that surrounds Enclave turf. Turf I’ve always crossed alone, because no one else wants anything to do with it. I think about coming back across it before sunrise.

  But not coming alone.

  —Joe.

  I look up. My foot has just hit the east side of University Place

  , the edge of Society turf, and Hurley’s waiting for me.

  —Hurl.

  He moves his toothpick to the corner of his mouth, juts it eastward.

  —Terry’s bin callin’ ya.

  —I wasn’t home.

  —Dat’s what he said.

  —Man’s fucking psychic or something.

  —Must be, told me ta look fer ya comin’ offa Enclave turf. Me, niver woulda figured anyone ta be over der.

  —Yeah. Well. Tell Terry I’ll catch him later, got some things to do.

  I move around him and he drops his hand on my shoulder and almost knocks it back out of its socket.

  —Said, Terry wants ta see ya.

  I look at the hand weighing my shoulder down.

  —With all due respect, Hurley, you want to get your hand the fuck off me?

  He takes the toothpick from his mouth with his free hand.

  —Let’s nae fook aboat, Joe. Yer head o’ security, sure, but Terry’s dah boss, an’ when he calls, ya come to ’im. So, an wit all due respect fer ya an’ yer job an’ all, come da fook wit me er I’m gonna have ta beat ya till ya do.

  I lick my lips.

  —Sounds important.

  He puts the toothpick back in his mouth.

  —Fook do I know, I’m just da fookin’ help.

  The pie at the Odessa Diner is shit. But I ordered it anyway.

  Terry ordered the veggie pirogies.

  —Really, Joe, it’s just the kind of thing we have to start getting used to. Whether we like it or not, our world is getting bigger. Trying to stay on our turf won’t change that. And, think about this, if we try to just stay in our space, just kind of cling to what we have from Houston to Fourteenth between the river and Fifth Ave. while the world outside that patch is getting bigger, well, we’ll j
ust be getting smaller the whole time. Think about that, and see if it doesn’t blow your mind.

  I pick up my fork, poke the pie, but it doesn’t look any better than it did when the waiter put it in front of me.

  I put the fork down.

  —However big the world’s gonna get between now and tomorrow night, it’s gonna have to do it without me being involved. I got other things I’m working on, and I am sure as fuck not going to Brooklyn tonight.

  Terry cuts a pirogi in half and dips it in applesauce.

  —I hear you, man, I hear you. Brooklyn. Wow. I mean, how many years have we been talking about that place like it’s a different world. The undiscovered country. Like only Lewis and Clark would know how to handle a land like that, right? Going to Brooklyn? I must be crazy asking you to do that at a moment’s notice. Something like that, man, we should be planning an expedition with, like, Sherpas and stuff.

  He pops the piece of pirogi in his mouth and chews and swallows.

  —Problem is, problem is, our debate with the Docks Boss and his people last night, that seems to have caused some ripples.

  He pushes the other half of the pirogi through the applesauce and watches me.

  I point at his plate.

  —Those things are better with sour cream.

  He nods.

  —I’m trying to stay away from dairy.

  I poke my pie again. It’s clearly store bought. The crust flat and shiny, the overhead fluorescents reflecting off it. The filling gelatinous, dotted with three or four clots of apple puree.

  He eats the last piece of pirogi and wipes his mouth with a paper napkin.

  —So, ripples. Like, the Docks weren’t the first of the Brooklyn Clans to get in touch with us.

  —I gathered.

  —Right. And now, this other group, well, they seem to have, and I’m not saying I know how this happened, but they seem to have gotten ideas of how we handled our differences with the Docks. And this has made them, I don’t know, leery, I guess. And they want, well, some assurance. Some direct contact with the Society. And they want it soon. Like, and this is where the urgency comes from, they want it tonight. They’re willing to send a representative, but they want us to handle transportation.

  I dig my fork into the pie and put it in my mouth. It’s as bad as I thought it would be. I wash it down with thin black coffee.

  —So go give them some direct contact. Last time I checked, diplomatic missions weren’t something I specialized in.

  He pushes his plate to the side and wraps his fingers around his cup of chamomile tea.

  —There’s nothing diplomatic involved. You go, you get their representative, you bring their representative back here, and after the meeting you provide return transit. And hey, you know, I wish I could go. First contact, man. I mean, direct face-to-face contact, I’m not saying it’s Nixon in China or anything, but it’s a pretty major deal.

  I look past Terry, out the big front windows of the diner, and watch the Friday-night barhoppers parading up and down Avenue A.

  I glance at the clock above the front door. Well past midnight. Way past visiting hours at the hospital. If I call the night nurse she’ll shine me on again, tell me Evie is fine no matter how she is.

  The taste of the crap pie and the lousy coffee is still in my mouth.

  I look at Terry, blow some air, give with a big helpless shrug.

  —Sure, Terry, I get it, and I don’t mean to make light or anything, but I have security issues here on our turf. That’s why you gave me the job, right, to take care of things right here at home? Way I remember it, the deal was I do things the way I think they should be done. Right now, I got to tell you, this Van Helsing is the real deal. What I’ve been poking into tonight, the tension out there in the community is high. Word is spreading and people are freaked out. Those are our folks out there, living in fear, I can’t do something to make them feel safe, well, I should just hand the job to someone else. That’s not even taking into account how riled Predo was when I went up to see him, guy’s got a serious bug up his ass over this. I don’t take care of it quickly, it could screw up all the quiet we’ve been enjoying lately. Just, hey man, just priorities.

  The waiter places the check between us, fair warning that he wants his fucking table back. Terry flips the check, looks at the total, goes in his pocket.

  —Yeah, the Van Helsing. That’s, sure, that’s a concern. Thing is, thing is, and you know how I feel about pointing fingers, and I could be wrong, but the thing is, Joe, this problem in Brooklyn, it didn’t really exist until you went up to see Predo.

  I remember that pause, that half second when Predo mentioned the Docks to me. That one moment when I cracked open and he read me cover to cover.

  Sharp bastard.

  He places some bills and change on the check, a precise ten percent tip included.

  —And, you know, these things happen. He can ferret information with the best, so I’m not saying you could help it. Predo, he’s just doing what comes naturally and putting whatever he got from you to use. If I were to guess, I’d imagine he maybe placed a call to these folks he knows we’re in contact with and suggested that we might be, I don’t know, untrustworthy in negotiations. Which, I’ll grant in this case may have been true, but generally we’re a much safer bet than the Coalition. But try telling that to new faces when the story going around is that we, I don’t know, used a containment strategy on the Docks. Which was really best for everyone. Their attitude and values may get by in Brooklyn, but things are far more sophisticated here. A lead pipe mentality like theirs would have caused trouble for all the Clans.

  —Yeah, well, we’ll never know one way or another, what with how they were contained and all.

  He recounts the money on the check.

  —You can be flippant about it if you like, Joe. —Flippant?

  —But I can’t. I have to take these situations seriously. That forest we were talking about before? That metaphor can be extended pretty far. The forest, the ecosystem, it needs to be kept in balance. Too many new species enter the ecosystem at once, they throw it out of balance. Species that have been there for eons, they can find themselves at risk.

  He takes fifty cents off the check and puts it back in his pocket.

  I look at the clock again. There’s an orderly at the hospital, if I pass him a pint of gin he’ll get me on Evie’s ward. I try to remember when his shift ends.

  —Yeah, ecosystem, unbalanced, got it. All the more reason I need to stay here and deal with the Van Helsing.

  I start to get up.

  Terry puts a hand on my wrist.

  —Joe, sorry, I’m being unclear. Let me focus this a little for you.

  He pushes his glasses up his nose.

  —Fuck the Van Helsing.

  He looks at my chair. I sit in it.

  He nods.

  —Predo doesn’t give a damn about the Van Helsing. People out there don’t know about the Van Helsing. You haven’t been looking for the Van Helsing. What you have been doing, what you did do, was you went up to Predo and let him, you know, work you. However it played, you tipped him and he knows how we handled the Docks, and he’s pissed. He knows they would have thrown in with the Coalition and he’s pissed we, well, intervened or whatever. Now he’s getting kind of childish and trying to do the same thing with us, and the situation needs to be dealt with.

  I watch the waiter come and take a look at the check and the money. I watch the sour look on his face get more sour as he eyes the money. I watch him clear every last plate and glass and piece of silver from our table, leaving the check.

  He makes to take the teacup from Terry’s hand and Terry looks up at him.

  —I’m not finished. When I’m finished you can have the cup and the table. Until then, stay the fuck away from us. And if you want a better tip, refill the water glasses every now and then.

  The waiter takes a step back, touches the ring in his right eyebrow, turns and walks away.


  Terry turns his eyes to me.

  —Sorry about that, I’m a little, man, a little stressed, I guess.

  I wait while he works out the stress.

  —See, and that stress, a lot of it has to do with all this Brooklyn stuff. And I’d really like to bring some stability to the situation so I can, you know, decompress. I don’t want to spend my time taking out my issues on innocent bystanders like that kid. So for the sake of everyone around me, before I, I don’t know, start taking people’s heads off or whatever, I need to have this thing dealt with right away.

  I remember what it was like, back in the day, when Terry would take someone’s head off. I look at him, old man hippie, and know it’s still in there. The head-taker. One of the best.

  I lean in.

  —Bullshit.

  His forehead creases.

  —Um. Excuse me?

  —Bullshit, Terry. You didn’t want me to tip our hand to Predo, you wouldn’t have let me go up there. I’ve been played by you two before, I know what it feels like. Whatever you really want, it has fuckall to do with me running to Brooklyn. The Van Helsing? I know that doesn’t mean shit. I already got that figured. I don’t know who’s play it was, yours or Predo’s, but I know we’ve seen the last of him. You want me to do a little dance? Fine. Tell me the tune. Show me the steps. Draw them out on the floor so I know exactly where to put my feet. Because I am goddamned if I’m gonna let you two jerk me all over town again getting my head bounced off hard stuff.

  I lean back in my chair and light a smoke.

  Terry scratches his cheek.

  —Wow. Wow. That was, that was very honestly put. That was a real, I don’t want to say breakthrough, because I’ve always felt like we get each other, but that was such an honest and feeling piece of communication. I’m, I don’t know, touched. Thanks, Joe. Thanks for that.

  I go to tip some ash in the tray, find the waiter took it with everything else.

  —Whatever, man. As long as we’re clear.

  Terry waves a hand.

  —Oh yeah, we’re clear, man.

  He strokes his chin.

  —Thing is, thing is, you have no idea what you’re talking about.

  He raises a finger.

  —Playing you? Would it were so, my friend, but no, that’s not the case. I let you go up to talk to Predo because I figured you’d been around enough by now to be ready for his game playing. But you’re not ready to deal with Predo on those terms. Enough said. No shame in that. Lesson learned by us both. No, I just really, really need to take care of business.