Every Last Drop jp-4

by Charlie Huston

  He keeps rubbing his forehead, pressing his fingertips deep into his temples, eyes closed. -But not all at once. Not like, you know, like when something is under extreme

  pressure and you release it, it just, man, it explodes out. Yeah? People get hurt. And, our life here, our life with the Vyrus, that's not like can-of-soda pressure. You release this truth you don't get some mess sprayed on the wall. The Vyrus, that's bomb pressure. That's, and I don't think this is hyperbole, but that's nuclear-device pressure. That's an explosion that rocks the world to its foundation. And.

  He stops rubbing, rests his head in his hand, eyes still closed. -And this, this secret were talking about. That, that instillation in Queens, that's pressure on a whole different order. That's like, like, if the Vyrus is a nuke, that place is like a doomsday device.

  He opens his eyes. -That place, Joe.

  He lifts his head, looks at me. -That place is like a bomb that kills us all.

  He points east, without looking there.

  — People know about that, and there is nothing, nothing short of, man, nothing short of Jesus-Mohammed-Buddha-Gaia-Jehovah itself that saves us.

  He wipes his mouth. -So, to talk about it, man, something that exerts that kind of pressure, to talk

  about it for the first time in decades, that's just blowing my mind here. That's, the whole thing, its like a mirror being held up, when you take something like that out of the box and look at it after so long. Its a, man, its trip and a half.

  He stares at his trembling hand. -A trip and a half.

  He moves his hand, reaches for his prop glasses, slips them on. -But a thing like that, it belongs in its box.

  I study that gash in the floor a little more.

  — Well, I know you re no fool, Terry. Me the jury's still out on. Even so, I think I read this one pretty clear.

  I lean down, pluck a stray splinter from the edge of the gash. -This thing, it doesn't even need to get out in the real world for it to raise hell. This thing, it spreads in our community, our people will go berserk.

  I roll the splinter between my fingers.

  — Dog with a parasite, chewing at its own insides. Ugly. Ugly things will happen. Hard to keep a wrap on the whole deal once they start happening.

  I look at the ceiling. -Something like this gets out, like you say, people gonna start looking at

  themselves in the mirror.

  I shrug.

  — Lots of them, they're gonna figure, in for a penny, may as well go for the whole pound. Been living off blood already, so why start worrying now about where some of it comes from. Some others.

  I shake my head.

  — This would be the line. Down here especially. Types get drawn to your turf, they hear about this, they wont want to go on staying undercover. Not if it means that pit in Queens stays full of bleeding kids.

  I poke the tip of my index finger with the splinter.

  — So yeah, I get it. Something like this, it needs to stay a secret. I know the score. I've kept your secrets before. Your backdoor deals with the Coalition. That thing with the shamblers a couple years back. All those bodies I've put in the river. I can keep a secret. And I sure as shit know one that needs to be kept when I stumble into it.

  I draw blood from myself. -Something funny about it. Know what I mean?

  He shakes his head. -No, man, I don't know anything funny about it.

  I lick the bead of blood from my fingertip. My own personal Vyrus. -Funny thing is, for a while now, I've had it sussed that you're not just looking to find some kind of accord with the Coalition. Not just looking to get on an even footing so you could pressure them into going public alongside the Society. Use all those connections they have to smooth the way. Some time now, I've had it figured how you were never too happy about having to leave them in the first place. All your history with Predo, I've had it figured how maybe he leapfrogged you into running the enforcers and all that. How that was a bitter pill for you. How you went off and started your revolution. A revolution, you always call it. Not like you were looking to do your own thing and let bygones be bygones, but like you were looking to overthrow something. And it stands to figure, once something gets overthrown, someone's gonna have to step in and take control. Me, I've been figuring for a while now that that's what you're about, Terry. All that building a better world for everybody bullshit. I've had you figured for some time as Predo s flip side. Just looking to run the fucking show. Settle some scores. Like everyone else.

  I point the sliver at him.

  — But looking at the way you're trying to keep that hand from shaking, I'm figuring a little different now.

  I lean toward him.

  — You've been thinking about knocking off the Coalition alright. You've been thinking about sitting in Predo's chair. And not just bis chair, but one of those chairs on the higher floors, where the show gets run. Not so you can teach Predo who's top man, and not so you can even past scores.

  I lean back, pick something from between my teeth with the splinter. -You, Terry Bird, you've been thinking about that hole in the ground. You've been thinking about what's in it. And you've been thinking about filling it in, stopping it up, and getting it out of the world. You've been thinking about being a savior.

  I spit. -And that only works if it stays a secret till you're in charge.

  He presses the bridge of his glasses tight to his face. -Only you, Joe, only you.

  He shakes his head.

  — Only you could describe a, you know, describe a man striving to do the right thing, and make it sound like he was, I don't know, like he was running the gas chambers at Auschwitz. Only you.

  I flick the splinter away.

  — Whatever.

  I stand.

  — Anyway, I get it. You need this thing to stay secret. The world Isn't ready. Infecteds aren't ready. No one is ready. When they're ready, you'll tell them they're ready. And you'll march in and make everything OK. I get it. I get it. I know this is how it has to be. I get it. Motherfucker. I get it.

  He studies me.

  — I know you get it, Joe. When it all shakes out, you're pretty dependable in one way.

  He slips the hand he's been trying to keep still from between his legs. -You're no boat rocker. Truth is, and I don't want to say you don't get the job done in your own way, but the truth is, you're no revolutionary. If you d been around in the early days, at the barricades, I have a feeling you'd have been on the other side, man. Your own back is all you've ever really been out there looking to take care of, and the best way to keep, I don't know, to keep safe, is to keep things the way they are. Just maintain that old status quo.

  He holds up his hand, looks at its new steadiness.

  — Just the old tried and true for you, man. Steady as she goes. Never any question that you can be trusted to keep a secret when the alternative would

  be, you know, bringing the whole world down around your head and changing everything.

  I get a cigarette from my pocket. -Yeah, keeping earth-shattering secrets, its my specialty.

  I put it in my mouth.

  — Give me time to think about my own self-interest and I can be counted on to jump to that side of the room every time.

  I light it. -Too bad there was no one to spell it out for me this time around.

  He stops looking at his hand.

  I suck on my cigarette. -I told the Horde girl, Ter.

  His mouth hangs open in a way I've never seen before. -What the hell, Joe?

  — It's how I got your money. Its what she wanted. To know where all the blood comes from. So I found out. And I told her. And you got paid. Nice when everyone gets what they want. -Oh. Jesus. Did you, Jesus, Joe, did you tell Sela?

  — No.

  — Thank Christ for that.

  — But the girl will have told her by now.

  He sits there, staring at me.

  I blow smoke.

  — Not that big a deal. Get your buddy Predo on the phone. You guys mo
ve fast, you can contain it. Cure has no contacts in the life. Horde cant spread the word. You can cap that one.

  His eyes are scanning side to side, reading the immediate future. -We'll need to. Yes. OK. I. OK. You should stay close, Joe. I may need you for something. And it goes without saying, you know, that this changes things, you stick here where you belong and well find a place for you again. A real place, not some corner to hide in. It'll take a few days to, you know, to contain this, but once that's done, once you've helped out with that effort, well have a spot for you down here.

  I watch the smoke from my cigarette drift.

  — Sure thing. Only you might want to wait on that until you talk it over with Lydia.

  His eyes stop moving, draw a bead on my face.

  I diffuse some smoke to his side of the room.

  — I called her on my way over. Told her about the hole. Told her what I saw down there.

  He doesn't move.

  I shake my head. -She didn't really believe me.

  He licks his lips.

  I nod. -Yeah, funny, right?

  I take a drag.

  — But she started believing me more when I told her I found out while doing some special reconnaissance for you. Told her she was supposed to meet you over here. Told her how messed up you were when I told you. How you started immediately drafting a statement and an action plan. How you asked me to tell her to get together her bulls and come here so you can fill her in on the plans for dealing with this monstrosity.

  I blow a smoke ring.

  — Should be here soon. Her and her bulls. Fury and that bunch. Ready to hear how the Society is going to start changing the status quo. Today.

  I flick some ash on the floor.

  — No. No status quo this time around for any of us. The Horde girl, she was already talking about investing in some guns. Bright kid, that girl. She sees the writing on the wall. Everyone's gonna have to pick a side. Especially seeing all the bodies I left lying around Queens. Not that I was trying to make a point or sign my work or anything, but Predos gonna know I was there. Figure he's already got his people arming up and closing the gates.

  I wave some smoke from between us.

  — No filling that hole in, Terry. No sealing it up like it was never there. Its there. And whether I walk out of here or not, too many people know now. I got no idea if the truth wants to be free, but its out of the cage. And its gonna kill some people. Anyway. You told me once there was a war coming. Looks like it's here.

  I scratch my chin.

  — So. You want to call those tough boys and Hurley into the room and make a mess of me and try to get me to change my tune when Lydia gets here?

  I point at the door.

  — Or you want me to get lost so you can start making a plan to change the world?

  He looks around the room, a man suddenly across a border, not sure how he got there. Then he nods. Claps his hands once. Stands. -Yeah. OK. You better take off.

  He bounces his head up and down.

  — Yeah, man. Brave new world. Brave new world. Change. Embrace it or get swept aside. That's the, you know, the deal. Like a wave, change is. This one, this one will be like a tsunami. And I think I need to have some alone time to get my balance for this.

  He points at the door.

  — Yeah, you do your thing, Joe. Probably better you're not here for this. I need to do some clear thinking. Look at myself in an unadorned light and come up with some truth.

  I drop my smoke, grind it on the floor.

  — Fine. You change your mind and want your boys to kill me, you got between here to the front door.

  He reaches for me.

  — You know, man, I'm just wondering. I'm just wondering if I shouldn't thank you for this. This is, you know, this is a unique opportunity for us all. And I'm not sure I shouldn't thank you for bringing it on.

  He squeezes my shoulder. -But you're gonna die for it, Joe. Not tonight. But, you know, pretty soon.

  He lets go of me. -As soon as someone has a second to spare, they're going to kill you.

  I head out. -Your hand is shaking again, Terry.

  — An1 how was it, Joe? All knitted up between the two a yas?

  I stop on the stoop to light a fresh one.

  — Well, you know how it is with old pals, Hurley. You have your fights and your disagreements, but in the end, you're too far under each other's skin to really hold a grudge. -Glad ta hear it, Joe, glad to hear it.

  He takes my gun, knuckles and razor from a pocket. -An will ya be needin' dese?

  I take them from his hands. -Thanks. Hate to need them and be caught without.

  I go down the steps.

  — Keep the welcome mat out. Sounds like Lydia and some of her girls are coming by.

  He raises a thick finger.

  — Dem ladies, ya know dey don't like ta be called girls. -So I hear. So I hear. -Take care den, Joe.

  — Thanks. And a piece of advice for you, if you like. -Sure, an why not? — Think about rolling up your trouser. -An why would dat be?

  I walk down the street, trailing smoke. -What I hear, there's high water on the way. And everyone's gonna get wet.

  Jeo Pitt 4 — Every Last Drop

  How you get what you want is, you make sure no one knows what it is you want.

  Now, the world full of new hazards, everyone charting new courses to avoid collisions that are inevitable, I give in.

  Pulled, I go west. To where forces draw me. I have time now. To take what I want.

  But a new gravity catches me on Eighth Avenue. Catches me and smashes me down and drops me in an alley with my back to a wall and my ass in a pile of trash.

  It bears down, rage distilled.

  And stops, hovering over my head.

  I cough up some of my own blood and spit it at his polished shoes. -Christ, Predo, don't you have more to keep you busy right now?

  The two enforcers make a move toward me, and something comes out of Predo s throat that makes them stand down and hang back at the mouth of the alley by the car that Predo burst out of to grab me and throw me into this pile of garbage.

  I give him a look.

  — Did you just growl?

  He stands, rigid, sweep of bangs hanging over his lowered forehead, drops of my blood falling from the knuckles of one of his black leather-wrapped fists. -I have no end of things to keep me busy, Pitt. No end of worries and concerns.

  He bares his teeth.

  — On the best of nights, I have an endless list of tasks that must be accomplished. And with each following sunset, it is replenished. And now.

  He draws a finger across his forehead, pushing his bangs aside, leaving a smear of my blood on his skin.

  — That list will be torn to bits. Rendered irrelevant. Those concerns and details relating to the security of the Coalition must now be cast aside for a matter more pressing. Wartime policy.

  His head snaps back and he looks at the night sky above the alley. -Do you know what concerns me most, Pitt?

  I put a hand out and brace myself against a Dumpster and get myself to my feet, trying to figure what hurts me most. -Got me. The health of your portfolio?

  He points at the sky. -Satellites. Antennae. Wireless signals.

  He looks at the ground, points at the concrete. -Fiber optics.

  He looks at me.

  — The wealth of data and information around us, that is what concerns me. The ease with which it is collected and transmitted. But most of all, Pitt, I am thinking about cellphones. And their little cameras.

  He takes a step toward me, oblivious to a bottle underfoot and the glass that scatters about when it explodes.

  — I am thinking of war between the Clans. Now. In an age when children scamper about with digital cameras in hand to snap pictures of their nannies sneaking drinks from the liquor cabinet. I am thinking about how long it will take before there is a visible confrontation between opposing Clan members. I am thinking of photographs and video of such an en
counter, of men and women fatally shot, but still fighting, uploaded to the Internet. Aired on cable news. Analyzed by law enforcement and the military.

  He takes another step, the shards of glass ground to powder. -I am thinking of the brink. The final precipice I have used my influence and

  resources to steer us away from time and again for decades. I am thinking of the abyss we can all now clearly see between our feet as we stand at that brink with only our heels on the final edge of land.

  He stops taking steps.

  — Yes. I do have more to keep me busy. I have thousands of people, a way of life that goes back centuries, a culture threatened with extinction by self-immolation, I have all that to tend to and attempt to preserve. But none of it, I assure you, is so pressing that I cannot spare the moment it will take to kill the childish mercenary covered in years of blood who has pushed us all here because he caught sight of where his food comes from and he doesn't like the way the ranchers treat the cattle.

  His fingers flex.

  Keeper of secrets. Master of spies and murder.

  Fed on infants blood.

  If he gets his hands on me, my bones will shatter like rotted wood. My flesh will tear. And my blood will wash across the alley like dirty water.

  He's old and strong and fast and I cannot beat him.

  But I don't care to die easily at his hands.

  My hand flicks beneath the tail of my jacket and the gun appears in it like a

  magic trick. I raise my arm, inhaling, and in the space between inhaling and exhaling, everyone and everything in the alley frozen in that instant, I pull the trigger, the gun aimed at his face.

  A drop of blood hanging from my eyebrow falls into my eye.

  I blink.

  And when I open my eye he is in front of me, the bullet meant for him has put a hole in the brick of the alley wall. His hand slaps mine down and away, the gun flying.

  But I'm OK with that. That's OK by me. Because I may not have the gun anymore, but I do have the straight razor in my other hand. And he's close enough now for me to use it.

  I cut, the blade cleaving the space between us, flaring in the shifting light cast by a TV in one of the windows overhead, arcing at his throat.