by Jack Womack
"It's essentialled," I said. "If he was footing, no, but at this speed-"
"Well," she said, "sending you down by yourself be like having a baby crawl through a snake pit. Don't suppose we got time to run home first-"
"No," I said. "It'll be a follow only. Safety's assured."
"Let's go then. But look, I'm not going to chase some asshole I don't even know back and forth 'cross town all day long. Once you get used to things you can do your own running." Reaching into her purse she extracted a coin, handed it over; the nickel bore a bison and an Indian, each finely sculpted. "Slide it in the turnstile slot when we go through."
The station at ascent's summit outwardly resembled an overworn Swiss chalet bearing muddy orange gables and tilting cupolas; RIDE ON THE OPEN-AIR ELEVATED was stenciled along its side. The place's innards showed as a museum's period room, its fixtures and look antique even for that day. A uniformed clerk kept watch over all from within a black-brown cubicle, guarded from those without by a window barred with brass rails. Friction of many feet gave the floorboards rolling rises and valleys. A cast-iron stove's sooty pipes shot upward, through the pressed-metal ceiling; round its black pot and stubbed legs, buckets of sand grouped as if for storytime. Blue glass windows inking the light daubed azure wash over all. Passing through the light metal turnstiles, we heaved open the high doors leading to the platform. Forty blocks down tracks vanished in perspective's depths. Cantilevered above, on track's left, were addi tional tracks; expressline, undoubted, unreachable from where we stood. Wanda spread her paper's wings; I eyed Skuratov's progress, Eighth Avenue's roar ringing unabated through my ears. He was on Canal bearing east. To lose him before finding him would make hash of hope's semblance; I swore he wouldn't get far from our grip.
"Should you contact Doc?" I asked.
"No phone up here," she said. "I'll call once we get where we're going, wherever that is."
Her paper was the Journal-American; knowing but a single city daily in my normal life, the multitude here struck me as recklessly superfluous. Studying seeable pages as she held it before her, noting an entry believed pertinent, I grasped a corner of the sheet to attempt to read.
"Want to see it?" she said, releasing the rag's front unit. Its lead concerned Landon and Edward, whose names unfamiliared; upon a quick scan, realized that the President and King of England were meant. More essential to our own moment was an astronomic note, filling lower corner right.
METEOR BELIEVED LANDED IN JERSEY MARSHES
No Martians Reported This Time
No details there inhered; as well, no word of search and seizure, though such seemed certain under circumstance. This tale, obviously, was nothing but a coverfable. How was Skuratov? While green evidenced life, it didn't guarantee consciousness-yet if his mind ranged free as ever, would he not send for us, rather than await our own search to turn him? If he developed a new cadre of minions here with which to work his ploys before we accessed him, there could be no telling the things he might manage to loose down upon us.
"Here's the train," she said, looking north. It's slim bulk widened as it neared, and soon enough its six olive-drab cars clanked to a stop before us. I approached the nearest steps; noticed pale startled faces peering through the carwindov s.
"Where you think you're going?" she asked, fastening my arm with vicious hold, dragging me rearward. "Come on. Down to the baggage car. "
"There were seats aplenty there-"
"It's the law," she said as we shoved in. The rear cars teemed with mob; we slicked past, butted through those standing, found places to toe our feet. The jungle-wet air bore the scent of a million unwashed; tiny fans bolted above us, ceiling-attached, lay still within their grilles. None but black faces glistened around us, all drenched by noon's humid sponge. As we rolled ahead half the standees lurched; none had room enough to fall.
"Why aren't the front cars availabled?" I asked, my face shoved almost into hers.
"They aren't," she said, clutching a nooselike loop hanging from the ceiling. "Things must be mighty different in your day, Mister Major General."
"Multichanged, yes," I said.
"Give anything to know how it is we turn into you," she said. I had no idea whether they would or not, and so said nothing. Through an entanglement of arms I looked towards the window, taking in views down passed streets, quick shots of Harlem's roofs and spires and steeples. At 110th the line curved as on a roller coaster, sweeping west at seven-story height. Across the park's June green bower, midtown showed by daylight, six kilometers away, its towers' pastels grayed and blurry in the shimmering air. Full though the sky must have been with particulate and poison, there was so much more of it to see, and all heaven seen seemed newmade, creation's dust yet sparkling its vaults.
"Ninety-sixth!" At each stop the conductor shouted station name. "Ninety sixth and Columbus Avenue. Watch y'step gettin' off-
I rejudged the tracker's tale. "Whoever's with him stopped," I said.
"Where is he, then?" she asked, fanning herself with her paper as the crowd slipped away. After we pulled away from Ninety-sixth the car had nearly emptied; we took space on the varnished-rattan seats. Pressing appropriate buttons I blew the grid.
"Centre Street north of Canal," I said. "Near Grand. Chinatown. "
"That's not Chinatown," she said. "That's Little Italy. That's where we're going?"
"Unless new movement shows," I said. "It's reachable from here?"
"We can get off first stop above Canal and walk across," she said. "I forget the name but I know it when I hear it. Just be damn sure we're not down there longer than we have to be. "
As we rattled down Columbus it became Ninth, and then Hudson. Tenements became lofts became pinnacles, became tenements again, dipping and rising where in my time stood nothing but glass spire and small-balcony condo. As I sat squashed between Wanda and a sleeping man, newsprint edging from betwixt his shoe and sole, I felt sudden wrack, filled with isolation's rage: never had I felt so inconsolably alone. I'd sustained parents' loss, seen battlemates liquefied in midconversation; felt loneliness's breath cool my neck during advance solos in distant lands; scratched away at the unscarred wound left when, without warning or evident reason, my wife vanished one late afternoon. Only the latter pained as much, yet here, surrounded by strangers whose actions never showed plain, in a city disorienting by its vague similarities, in a world whose soul was of alien stuff, the worse worsened. Not even Alice could comfort here.
Not far-distanced stood downtown's needles; we neared.
"You and Doc partnered long?" I asked, desperate for the human touch.
"Since I was eighteen."
"So few years-"
"Norman was sixteen." She smiled. "It was arranged," she said, not explaining further. As we instationed the conductor shouted Desbrosses' name. "This is it." Standing, she centered her balance to keep from tumbling as the train slowed. "Come on."
Descending, following a zigzag north of Canal, we scuttled past radio shops hustling Tesla lamps, restaurants offering pigs' feet at ten cents per plate, grocery windows shuddered with carcasses of rabbit, pig and calf, clothiers peddling knickers, flappers, breeches and BVDs.
"Haven't seen a phone yet," she said. "He'll just have to wonder. "
As we waded Broadway's river a Rheingold beer truck nearly swept us out with the tide; its carmine flatbed bore a hundred wood-staved kegs. As hoped, familiarity's narcotic began settling; the more seen, the more all contained a certain expected inevitability that vanished only with examination of details. They carried the charge that shocked without warning: the thumb-andfingered way a cig was held, the shine of an amber button; the pattern of a pair of socks, the letters on a box of cereal; a pronunciation, a haircut, a gum wrapper twice expected weight for its foil being tin and not silvered plastic. Without the details all might have bored.
"Centre and Grand," I said, pinning his dot. "Exact."
`All right," she said. "Here on out, you stick right by me.
Don't be a wiseguy hotfootin' it off by yourself."
Beyond Broadway streets narrowed and darkened; buildings grew heavy with cornice and molding. Where sightlines showed backcourts, long lines evidenced, sagging between windows, clothes pinned upon them flapping like flags. Children's shouts grew overloud; vegetable perfumes freshened the street stink.
"These dagos down here act like they own the damn city, but they definitely do own this part. They mouth off, you ignore 'em. They do anything, let it pass. Don't fight back, don't smart off. Walk fast like we're just passing through and be set to scram. If we're heading where I think we're heading-"
Her thought faded without ending as we continued on. Bakeries rich with yeast's smells, stoops crumb encrusted, showed their loaves piled high in windows, near framed snaps of Mussolini, this quadrant's Big Boy. Further along saints appeared in windows, crucifixes upon chests; the lingua overheard carried flowing phrase rather than harsh bite. Throughout downtown there'd seemed a shortage of non-Caucasians; here, we were sole and only. Elderlies crossed themselves as we paced by; middle-aged women eyed us updown, sending only mutterance and not audible word; keg shaped men turned vast backs towards us until we drifted past. A ganglet of young men lounged at cafe's door, near Centre. One wore a sleeveless under to better flash his furry shoulders; a forearm tattoo looked to have been done with hot coat hanger and crayon. As we passed, Wanda stepped lightly when the tattooed boy thrust out his foot.
"Watch where y'goin'," he giggled.
"Lookit that turban," one said; I'd nearly forgotten my bandage, and how it showed. "Must think he's Gandhi."
"Why ain'tcha monkeys in the zoo?" another shouted. "Lookin' for y'organ-grinder?"
"Keep walkin', Kingfish." Something pebblelike struck my back as we turned briskly northways, onto Centre. "Ruby Begonia-"
"Fuckin' niggers," 1 -heard the one who'd tried the trip say.
"That word," I said as we left earshot. "What problematicks them so?"
"Ignore 'em," she said, tightlipped; her pupils dilated as if to draw in all existent light, to defend against the dark. "Got to if you're going to be flatfootin' it down here."
Something unignorable rose above the surrounding town ahead; if it ever stood in our New York I'd never vizzed it. Likely it was long-wiped; in our day this sector was well within the old Loisaida Zone, years cleared by Mister O'Malley's order, its scraps delivered uptown, for the new Bronx buildings. Possibly only the contrast between the low redbrick buildings surrounding the close lent the effect, but no cathedral showed so holy, no castle seemed so secure. Its carved-stone walls stood as bulwarks; over its windows rock curved and swept as if poured and frozen fast. Above its defended roof rose a pillared barrel capped with green copper donne. The tracker pulsed as we drew near, reaching the square's edge.
"He's there," I said, switching off and pocketing. "What is it?"
"They must have thrown your friend in the slammer," she sighed. "That's police headquarters."
Dozens of black beetles lay still round their nest, as if, sprayed unaware, they'd crawled home to die; their uniformed, weaponed drivers showed only too much life, coming and going. Amidst the surroundings, too, lurked threat; hanging from one building's face, crosstreet, was a pistol of four-figure caliber, aimed directly towards the building. A shop, it seemed; a shop selling, to New York's illteinpered public, guns.
"Think he turned himself in?" she asked.
"His affinities lean towards those assuring security," I said. "If nabbed he'd likely volunteer all."
"All what?"
"Fables, undoubted," I said. "Dangerous nonetheless. His fancies kill. I'm judging protective mode holds throughout the place?"
"Protective mode," she said. "What the hell you talking about now?"
"Is it secured?" I asked. "If I entered now, what would happen?"
"Go in there without a reason or an invite and you won't come out anytime soon."
"No choice for the moment, then," I said. "Likely he'll linger. Keep an afar eye and action if movement's seen-"
"Then we can go?" she asked. So I wished; turning, we saw, several meters downstreet, three of our verbal abusers, waiting with staring eyes.
"Hey," shouted the tattooed boy. "Didn'tcha hear me say keep walkin'?" One darker than I, to his left, held a bat, palmed it with his free hand, set to slam.
"Turn around," said Wanda. "Head north. Don't run but don't shuffle."
We didn't run; they did. We'd not covered ten steps when I was shoved pavementways, scraping forward.
"Ya deaf.? Not gonna answer when somebody's talkin' to ya? Huh?" he screamed, grasping my lapels, hauling me upright.
"We goin'," said Wanda, stepping closer, attempting to loose his hold. "Ain't no call to roughhouse." He shoved her aside, not far; enough to annoy. Though smaller than me, he was wiry, and showed but twenty years agrowing. Sweeping his hands from my jacket and pushing him away, I felt my heart shudder; I'd not had a one-to-one in twenty years.
"I'll teach y't'keep th' fuck outta th' neighborhood," he shouted, running at me, seemingly driven mad by our presence. With the position he held there were three defenses; I chose the one that hurt. Swinging up my leg, nearly pulling a groin muscle, I heeled him hipways. As he tumbled, I topsided; he spat in my face. Now I'm no Jake, no Johnson; but seeing his ape's look, feeling the trickle down my chin, I wished nothing less than to have all his blood before me in which I might swim. Enroute to term, however, I froze, repossessed by reason; in the interval his friends, demurring, closed in with fist and boot and shortly had me rolling. The batted one aimed to swing his knockout; he heard the whistle as I did. They were up and off, back into their home's all-forgiving embrace, into love's dark depths. Grounded, fresh blood soaking my old bandage, I heard hard shoes click my way, felt a foot tap my most painful side as if awaring me that all was not yet done.
"Get up," someone said. Opening eyes, I vizzed two policemen, appearing elephantine from ground view. "Nobody gets beat up down here 'less they did somethin'. What'd you do?"
"This man's from South America, officers," Wanda said. "He's visitin'. Not causin' no trouble. I had to come through this way and he was so kind, he offered to walk me 'cause he knew I was scared, yes sir. Then them bad boys, they come up and-"
"Lemme see some identification," said the shorter of the two. "You too, toots." Passing him Cedric's handicraft I drew myself slowly into sitting position. They eyed the passport; lapped it back to me.
"Sorry it happened," said the taller. "Y'gotta be careful in New York."
"No pursuit's attempted?" I asked. "They ran that way. You can snare-
"Pal," he said. "So you're in the right. Think it matters? Take it easy. Go back to your hotel."
"Where're y'stayin'?" the short, prognathous one asked.
"Says he's at the Hotel Theresa," said Wanda. "Even if he'd been let in a midtown place they don't have any rooms, what with the fair and all-"
"Where's the pursuit?" I repeated, more furious than hurt.
"They live here, right? They're gone now You'll heal up, bud. So they kicked your ass. Quit bellyachin'."
"What are your numbers?" I asked, doing what I always feared Jake of doing, of wording without thought; thought seemed unnecessary, under circumstance.
"Numbers?" said the short one, circling back as he started to leave. "Why? Want to file a complaint or something?"
"Exact. "
"That how they do things in Venezuela?" he asked. "Lemme give y'a New York complaint." With full strength he clubbed my back; feeling a rib snap I collapsed groundways. "Smart off once more I'll make sure y'miss your boat-"
"He's a foreigner, Mike," said the other. "South American-"
"Nigger's a nigger t'me," said the short one. "Don't care if he's the King of Venezuela." Blessedly, I blanked. Upon awakening from my brief peace I prayed to viz my own world, familiar and dear, where if I was beaten it would be by strangers without ideological reason; therefore understandable. Wanda kn
elt close, dabbing my brow with sodden cloth.
"Babes in the woods," she whispered, wringing blood from her scarf, mopping me anew
"YOU START PISSIN' BLOOD, WE'LL HAUL YOU OVER TO SYDENham," said Doc, "but I think you'll be all right." With a long wrap he'd mummified my abdomen to keep my ribs from floating free. "Lucky he didn't just kill you."
"For what purpose?"
"For the hell of it. Gimme a finger. I need fresh blood to do that test." Compared to earlier pains his pinprick came as kiss. "There. Didn't hurt a bit, did it?"
"This demonstrates what?" I asked.
"Let me check it out first," he said. "How're you going to get word to this fellow if he's locked up?"
"I doubt he's locked," I said. "Probably has the king's ear in which to shoot lies and nonsense."
"He sounds like bad medicine to me," said Doc, "and I ought to know. You don't think he was arrested for anything? I mean there's a lot they could've gotten you on if they'd wanted to-"
"Unknown," I said. Having bloodied a glass slide with my extract he lowered above it a clear square; pressed the two into one. "His condition's unknown, his plot's unknown. All's to be done is suspect."
"You all seem pretty good at that," said Doc. "What if you can't get ahold of him anytime soon? Thought of that?"
"Certainly," I said. `A slim option adheres that Oktobriana's associate is still viable. He possesses prime essential. If he is, however, he's in Russia."
Doc whistled, laying the slide onto a primitive microscope's rounded glass. "Russia. Damn." My parents gave me such a beginner's model when I was nine, when they still hoped to later afford medical school's unfunded costs. I used it once or twice, never adjusting to blood's sight until later, in different context. "They've tightened up the borders there past few years. They say old Uncle Joe's got something going on but nobody says what. Probably be easier getting in downtown. Sure be a helluva lot closer."
"Three weeks ago he arrived here," I said. "Never returned. I'm doubtful he remains in existence."
"Maybe he's just lying low. Pays to over there, I'd think," said Doc. "You know there'll be Russian scientists in town all through the next week what with those goings-on at the fair. Maybe one of them knows something, ran into him or something."
