“Will it be strong enough?” Cesar asked.
“Should be,” Marshal said. “Elevators are all about pulleys and counterweights and don’t really use as much power as you might think. Anyway, the Tesla should be enough to get us through today. Assuming that we can install several banks of solar panels on the roof, then power should be the least of our problems.”
It was another half hour before they left, as Marshal insisted on two more drone launches before he was satisfied that the coast was clear. And then, after that, he did another internal fly-by all through the first floor and the stairwells, just to be sure. No other undead were flushed out, but Marshal didn’t care.
“It takes several trips,” he said, “to bore yourself to death, but it only takes one failed attempt, to actually get dead. I’d rather be alive than quick.”
“No argument here,” Cesar answered. “Better safe than sorry.”
“That being said,” Marshal said, “it’s done, and we’re as safe as we’re going to be. Let’s do this.”
Marshal started up Crapmobile and moved forward. Thanks to the wide open doorways and the high ceilings, they were able to drive right up the ramp and into the main lobby. Once inside, they found the polished marble panel floors to be mostly clear and empty of obstructions. They had no difficulty in making their way directly to the small electrical room that was adjacent to the elevators.
As with everywhere else, the door had been torn from its hinges. Marshal backed Crapmobile up against it so as to allow the back hatch to provide cover.
“Okay,” he said. “There’s something that we need. Torstein? The construction company you worked for… Did they ever get any jobs on a place like this?”
Torstein frowned. “Yes,” he answered.
“Then you would know where the property manager’s office is, is that right?”
Another frown. “Yeah. What about them?”
“They should keep a copy of the building’s blueprints in there,” Marshal said. “If your guys were doing renovations, then I’m guessing you know exactly where they are. If we could get our hands on them, I’m thinking they’d be invaluable in any work we might plan on doing in the future.”
For a moment, Torstein seemed to forget his hostility.
“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing his chin. “Yeah, they would. Um... but...”
He turned pale, glancing at the viewing screen.
“It should be safe to move around out there,” Marshal said. “I mean... I know it’s asking a lot, but...”
Torstein hesitated, and Marshal shook his head.
“You know what? I shouldn’t even be asking. I’ll go. It’s my stupid idea any-”
“No!” Torstein snapped, glaring at Marshal. “You wouldn’t know where to look. I’ll do it. You and Cesar just get this elevator running and I’ll be right back.”
He stood up and strode to the back flap. Then, in spite of himself, he paused to peek out the crack between the wall and the back of the canopy. Then, as if daring any zombies to stop him, he stepped outside.
“I’m glad it’s him and not me,” Cesar murmured.
But Marshal turned on him the second Torstein was out of hearing range.
“All right, Cesar,” he said. “He won’t be gone for long. Tell me, if you know. What exactly is his problem with me? I know it has to be something. He doesn’t act like a jerk around anyone else.”
“Torstein?” Cesar looked uncomfortable, and shook his head. “Nah. He’s okay. I just don’t think he likes you very much. Not since he found out who you are.”
“Found out who I am?” Marshal repeated, blinking in surprise. “Who the hell does he think I am? I’ve never even met the guy! All I did was save his life!”
“No, no,” Cesar said quickly. “Marshal, you got to believe me. We’re all really grateful for what you’ve done, and what you’re trying to do. Even Torstein. He may not like you, but he won’t cause any trouble. Gladys made him promise.”
“Gladys had to make him promise?” Marshal exclaimed in disbelief.
“We all did,” Cesar said. “Torstein got angry, and said of course he was going to help. But he doesn’t trust you because of the Sabbatini construction company, or something. You and Luca both. He thinks you’re bad people.”
“Oh.” Marshal considered this information. “I see.”
“It’s just Torstein, man,” Cesar assured him. “The rest of us don’t care that your dads helped build the Sabbatini crime family. It’s a totally new kind of world, right? We need you guys. Shit, we need each other, but you guys, you got the vision, man. Ain’t nobody gonna hold your past against you.”
“I never helped build anything to do with the Sabbatini business,” Marshal said, though the words rang hollow. He may not have been involved directly with the less savory operations of the Sabbatini family, but he was hardly outside the wall. He’d performed wire sweeps for Frank, installed hidden cameras and listening devices for him, helped protect his secrets.
“And anyway,” he added, “my father was just a construction worker who happened to be best friends and partners with Antonio Sabbatini.”
Cesar shrugged. “Torstein doesn’t think so. He said your dad was one scary son of a bitch. But it doesn’t matter, bro. That was then, and this is now, and you don’t got nothing but friends among us.”
Utterly baffled, Marshal could only stand there for a moment, but he shook it off. There’d be time to get to the bottom of this later.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s see if we can get an elevator moving.”
Torstein returned after only ten minutes, but it took about a half hour of tinkering before Marshal was able to understand the system well enough to hook up the battery, and then another fifteen minutes after that before the elevator was operational. By that time, the risk of zombie exposure had returned, and Marshal insisted that they do another full sweep with one of the drones. The shadows were beginning to lengthen and the clock struck six, before they were standing in front of the elevator.
At the touch of a button, the doors to the passenger elevator slid smoothly open.
“I don’t remember a time when I felt so excited to take an elevator ride,” Cesar said, grinning at the others.
“Yeah,” Torstein agreed, wide-eyed as he stepped on board. “It is kind of cool. You’re a hell of an electrician, Marshal. I’ll give you that.”
“Next stop,” Marshal said, trying not to look too pleased at the compliment, “the seventy-second floor.”
The doors closed, and they all felt the downward push as the elevator ascended. The lights dimmed and a video screen was a silent blizzard of static, but otherwise, the luxurious opulence of the expensive elevator made for both a pleasant and efficient ride.
It took less than a minute to arrive, and then the door slid open.
“Look at this place,” Cesar said. “Multi-million dollar wreckage, man.”
Marshal nodded. For all that they had already seen, there was something humbling about the scene before them. Fifty thousand dollar hardwood counters lay in splintered husks beside former gilded logos that were now just twisted metal. Shattered glass, shredded drywall, broken porcelain, and tangled fiber, covered the lush carpets like fallen snow. Gaping holes in the walls of the penthouse lobby dribbled trailing vines of insulation and exposed wires, rocking gently in the breeze that swept in through the empty window panes like zephyr ghosts through a graveyard. Mixed in with the refuse and the ruin, there glittered the shiny, leftover talismans of the former occupants.
Cesar bent down to retrieve one of these shiny artifacts, and stood up holding a ten thousand dollar gold watch.
“It’s going to take a lot of work,” Torstein said, kicking a pile out of his path and stepping forward, “but I’m beginning to see what you see, Marshal. This building will stand for another hundred years or more without maintenance. There’s so much space, and this is just the top floor. Come on. I want to get a look at the city.”
Five minutes later, the three had crossed the vast, cluttered, indoor field that was the seventy-second floor of First Canadian Place, and stood at the lip of the open windows that overlooked the shadowy giants of the Toronto core. The sun was setting behind the Aetna tower, peeking through the skeletal, windowless derelict like the ribs of a Death Ship in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. And for a full ten minutes, it was all the three men could do to stare with emptiness and loss at the specter of yesterday.
“We have a lot of work to do,” Torstein whispered.
“We have to get back,” Marshal answered, noting the time on Cesar’s new gold watch, which functioned with the same perfection it always had.
It was after dark when Crapmobile pulled directly into a space that had been cleared especially for it inside the Rothman’s store, and came to a halt.
“All right, gentlemen,” Marshal said. “Reconnaissance of First Canadian Place took longer than I thought, so I’ll just drop you guys off and leave you to get acquainted with Brian and Krissy. I’ll be back with Luca to pick up whatever garbage they’ve accumulated in the morning. I’m going to ask you both to spend some time here helping out the others, if that’s all right with you.”
“No problem, bro,” Cesar said. “Whatever you need.”
Torstein, who looked lost in thought, didn’t answer, but neither did he object, which Marshal took to mean acquiescence.
“Great,” he said, “and thanks to both of you for your help today. We’ll come back and get you for the big dinner we’re having in a couple of days. Cesar? So that we don’t attract attention, you head out first, and then Torstein can follow.”
“See you later, Marshal,” Cesar said, ducking out of Crapmobile’s back hatch.
Torstein got ready to stand, but Marshal held him back with a hand on his arm.
“Hold on, Tor,” he said, “before you go, we gotta have a talk.”
Torstein looked at him coldly, then down at the hand on his arm, and Marshal quickly pulled it back.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know what your problem is,” Marshal said. “You’ve been a bit of an asshole all day, and I’ve had it. Do you have a problem with me? Cesar says that the identity of my adopted family’s got your nuts in a vice. Is that true?”
Torstein’s eyes were hard. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It matters to me,” Marshal snapped. He bit back his anger. “Look, whatever it is, I’m sorry. Whatever you think about me, we’ve got to find a way past it. There’s too much shit in this new world to let old-”
“To what?” Torstein leaned forward and poked a finger into Marshal’s chest. “Forget that your adopted family is and always has been a pack of murdering, thieving, backstabbing assholes? That, because of Sabbatini construction, there were always certain contracts that no one else dared bid on? I’m supposed to just forgive you? Trust you? Well, you can go fuck yourself.”
Marshal smiled without humor, shaking his head.
“It’s a good thing I chose to do this without Luca,” Marshal said, “otherwise-”
“You think I’m afraid of that thug?” Torstein snarled, half-standing up from his seat. “Yeah, I’ve seen Luca before, that oversized sack of shit. He was walking out of a room two years ago after he beat our foreman half to death! Then, he pulled a gun to get past the rest of us. The foreman wouldn’t even press charges.”
Marshal bit his tongue. “What’s that got to do with today?”
“Because I don’t work with criminals,” Torstein replied. “My dad did once. Twenty-five years ago, he was a foreman in Sabbatini construction. He told me all about how Tony and your dad ran the business, Marshal, and he told me how they got their success. And then, one day, he snapped, and got as far away from you psychos as he could. Now I’m supposed to be happy that those same assholes are in charge now? Fuck you and…”
He stopped in surprise as Marshal drew his gun.
“Jesus fuck!” he shouted, scrambling backwards as Marshal aimed, looking for cover where there wasn’t any. For a second, he seemed to consider the possibility of trying to knock the weapon out of Marshal’s hand, but Marshal’s icy expression convinced him that this would be a very, very bad idea.
“Just a few days ago,” Marshal said, his voice cold, “I had to kill two men who were trying to rape Angie. Did you know that?”
“Now, just hold on a second…”
Torstein quieted as Marshal gestured meaningfully with the gun.
“I’m trying to make a point, Torstein,” Marshal said. “Please. A moment of silence while I do. I killed two men. Shot them. And all I wanted was medicine. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. And in spite of what you may believe about me, I’ve never even committed a crime. But, a couple of days ago, I killed two men.”
“Marshal, I-”
“I could kill you,” Marshal added quietly, “for the things you’ve said about my father, my family. If I was that petty. If I were that kind of man - the kind you seem to think I am - would I even hesitate? And what could you do? How could you stop me? I could kill you, right here, right now, make up a story, and no one would know.”
Torstein’s gaze fixed on the barrel of the gun.
“It’s the end of the world, Torstein,” Marshal said. “Billions of people are dead. What’s one more body added to the slaughter? Right?”
“So shoot me,” Torstein said through gritted teeth.
Marshal held the gun on him for a few more seconds, impressed with the man’s courage. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spun the gun around and held it out grip-first to the construction worker.
“No, Torstein,” he said, his eyes steady. “You shoot me.”
Torstein’s face screwed up in a mask of incredulity. “What?”
“Take it,” Marshal said. “Take it and kill me, if you can. Kill me, like I killed those rapists, and wash away in blood whatever sin you think I’m guilty of. If it means you’ll be safer, how can you say no?”
Torstein stared at him.
“Take it!”
More from surprise at Marshal’s tone than the command itself, Torstein grabbed the handgrip and held the gun up in front of him, aiming it at Marshal.
“I read this story once,” Marshal said, looking calm and unconcerned by their reversal of roles, “about a Chinese warlord who learned that a highly valued subject had received money from his enemies to assassinate him. So he took this guy up on the battlements, all alone, and pretended to show off his family sword, placing it in the hands of his would-be assassin, all the while talking about honor and duty. According to the story, they stood together on the wall, assassin and king, and in that moment, they knew each other. The assassin realized that his betrayal had been discovered but that, instead of having him killed, the warlord had gone out of his way to provide the means to his own execution, trusting on nothing more than a shared sense of honor to protect him. All the assassin had to do was stab, leap down from the battlements, and escape to the enemy lines and his reward.
“Instead of attacking, the assassin bowed and returned the weapon. Afterwards, he served the warlord faithfully, winning many battles in the name of the man he had once promised to kill.”
“You think that’s what I’m going to do?” Torstein asked. “You think I don’t have it in me to shoot you?”
“Come on, Torstein,” Marshal said. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me. That’s not what this is about. This is about you knowing why you won’t. In the story, the assassin held back because he’d seen that the warlord was willing to stake his life for honor, which shamed him into remembering his own honor. It put them on the same side, and all the Warlord had to do was expose and exploit that allegiance.
“Well, that was a fairy tale. Here in the west, we tend to be more practical in establishing our priorities. Right? The debt of honor that you might owe me - risking my own life to save yours - isn’t enough to win you over, is it Torstein? Not in comparison with
whatever crime it was that I or my father may have committed against you in the past.”
“Hey, fuck you! I’m not the criminal here!”
“I thought so,” Marshal said. “No, Torstein, what this gesture is meant to show is my level of commitment. To the future. I need your help, Torstein. Not to rob, murder, or kill my way to leadership, but to bring us back from the brink of extinction. It’s the only thing that matters now, and I’ve been risking my life over and over again to make it happen. I’m risking it now. Here. Let me make it easier for you.”
He reached out and shifted the muzzle so that it was pressed against the center of his forehead.
“If you don’t kill me,” Marshal said, “I will continue to be in charge. I will do it because I can’t be alone any more, and my best chance of avoiding that is to make sure that everyone survives. It will not be a democracy, or at least, not for a while. I will make all the rules. I will be dictator. So take the leadership by putting a bullet in my brain…”
He paused.
“… or stand down, and help me build a future. We may not possess the same sense of honor, Torstein, but we do possess a shared purpose. In fact, it’s all that either of us has left. Join me. Help me to make the right decisions. Be my foreman, my head of construction. I promise that you can share your opinions without any fear of consequence. I need to hear all of your objections, thoughts, and ideas. And believe me when I tell you that I will only be a warlord for as long as it’s needed.”
Torstein appeared to be wavering. “And how long would that be?”
“I don’t know,” Marshal answered, still looking down the barrel of the gun, “and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. We’re a broken state, Torstein. For the time being, we need cohesion and I intend to provide it. So I make no promises, and unless you’re willing to kill me, you’ll receive none.”
Torstein tried to read Marshal’s eyes and found nothing by an icy conviction looking back at him. It made him slightly uneasy, though he could detect no malice.
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 24
