The Never War tpa-3

by D. J. MacHale

  Max Rose poured his drink and squirted more fizzy water. I could tell he was thinking about what I had said. The question was, whatwas he thinking? The answer would probably mean the difference between life and death for Spader and me.

  “What did you hear about this score I got coming up?” he asked.

  I shrugged. I had to keep up the tough-guy act or he’d eat me alive. “Not much,” I said. “Just that there’s some big payoff coming in for something you did, and that there might be more where that came from. A lot more.”

  I didn’t want him to know we knew about Ludwig Zell and his connection with the Nazis. That would put us dangerously close to the category of knowing too much. Rose looked at me. I felt like he was deciding whether to keep up the conversation or grab his gun and shoot me. I really hoped he was feeling talkative.

  “That’s all you know?” he asked.

  “That’s it,” I said. “But you’re the smartest, best-connected guy we’ve ever met. It would be an honor to work for you.” I figured throwing in a little butter couldn’t hurt.

  “So that’s it,” Max Rose said. “You want a job.”

  “That’s it,” I answered confidently.

  “Why should I trust you two?” he asked. “You’re nothing but snot-nosed kids.”

  “With respect, mate,” said Spader. “We’re snot-nosed kids who saved your life.”

  Max glanced over to Harlow. Harlow raised an eyebrow. “They’ve got more smarts than any of the clods you got on the payroll now,” she said. “Maybe you should give ‘em a small job to start. You know, as a test.”

  Rose looked at Harlow with a mischievous little gleam. “You got something in mind?” he asked her.

  Harlow stood up and slinked over to us. She walked around us, sizing us up like a cat plays with a mouse. Of course, right after a cat does that it usually kills and eats the mouse.

  “Why don’t you send these boys down to see Farrow,” she said slyly.

  “What for?” Rose asked. ”To give him a message,” was the answer. “Have them tell Farrow to lay off. You’ll give him a pass for sending his hitman up here, but only if he lays low for a couple of days. Let him know that if he doesn’t back off, you’ll come down on him, hard. If he listens, you won’t have to worry about him until after your score comes in.”

  “And if he doesn’t listen?” Rose asked.

  “Then you’ll know you’ve got to take care of business,” Harlow answered.”Hisbusiness.”

  Wow. Harlow may have been beautiful and talented, but she had some cold blood running through her. She liked playing dangerous games. Trouble is, I didn’t. There was no way I wanted to go meet this Winn Farrow dude. From what everybody said, he was a psycho and more dangerous than Max Rose.

  “I don’t get it,” I said, trying not to sound chicken. “I thought we proved ourselves last night?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” answered Rose. “But you turned yellow. Buck. You didn’t shoot when I told you to. If somebody’s gonna work for me, I gotta know they got the guts to do what I tell ‘em, when I tell ‘em, no matter how ugly it is.”

  Harlow walked behind Rose and played with his hair while he spoke.

  “I got enemies,” he said. “Hard to believe since I’m such a sweet guy, but it’s true. That gunman last night, I know him. He works for a competitor of mine.”

  “We know. Winn Farrow,” I said. “Your old partner.”

  Rose looked up at Harlow. “I told you these boys were smart,” she said.

  “Yeah, Winn Farrow,” said Rose. “I have no beef with the man. He’s got his business, I got mine. But lately he’s been getting a little, I don’t know, jealous. You’re right. I got a big score coming in. I don’t want Farrow doing anything to mess that up. So here’s what I want you to do. Go see my old friend and tell him to back off. That’s it. Just tell him to back off. Tell him I’m mad, and by all rights I should hit him back for what he did. Hard. But for old times’ sake, I won’t. But if he doesn’t mind his own business, then I’ll come down there and put a hurt on him like he’s never seen before.”

  “That’s it?” asked Spader. “All you want us to do is deliver that message?”

  “That’s it,” answered Rose. “Do that for me, and you’re in.”

  “He’ll kill us,” was all I could say.

  Rose laughed. “I figure one of two things will happen. Either you boys make it back in one piece and I’ll know I won’t have any problems from Farrow, or you’ll come back in a bunch of little pieces, and I’ll have a war on my hands.” He then broke into a grin that can only be described as evil. “So, how bad do you two still want a piece of my action?”

  Gulp. I knew the answer to that. We were going to have to accept Rose’s offer. But that meant we would have to meet Winn Farrow and his gang of cutthroats. These were the guys who tried to kill Max Rose. These were the guys who tried to kill us. These were the guys who Saint Dane had taken to the flume and used to kill Uncle Press. As suicidal as this mission was, we had to go.

  At least we were getting closer to the truth. I had no doubt in my mind that when we met Winn Farrow and his gang, we’d find Saint Dane. I just hoped we’d stay alive long enough to do something about it.

  (CONTINUED)

  FIRST EARTH

  You’re going to what?” shouted Gunny with horror.

  “We’re going to deliver a message from Max Rose to Winn Farrow,” I said.

  Spader added, “And that’s going to get us in good with Rose so we can find out about the natty-do he’s cooking up with the Nazi wogglies. It’s perfect.”

  “It’snotperfect,” Gunny said nervously as he paced the floor of our hotel room. “First off, you’re not delivering a message, you’re delivering a warning. Winn Farrow doesn’t take kindly to warnings.”

  “But we’re just the messengers,” I said.

  “That’s even worse, shorty,” Gunny shot back. “He tried to kill Max Rose. Do you think he’d bat an eye over bumping off two messenger kids? No, sir. You boys can’t do this.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Gunny,” I said. “But May sixth is tomorrow! We’re running out of time.”

  “This is what we do,” Spader added. “It’s what being a Traveler is all about.”

  Gunny stopped pacing and looked at the two of us. Like it or not, what Spader said was true. This was what we were there for. To chicken out and hide wasn’t an option. I wished itwerean option, but it wasn’t.

  “Then I’m going with you,” Gunny announced.

  “You can’t,” I said. “If something happens to us, you’re the only one who knows what’s going on.”

  “He’s right, mate,” Spader said. “You’d have to push on without us.”

  This was the last thing Gunny wanted to hear.

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Gunny said softly.

  It didn’t do much for me, either, but it was the truth. “It’s not going to come to that,” I said with more confidence than I actually felt. “We’re going to go down there, give him the message, and get out.”

  “And what happens if you run into Saint Dane?” Gunny asked.

  “I’m counting on it,” said Spader with conviction.

  I didn’t like the way Spader said that. The simple mention of Saint Dane’s name always cast a dark shadow over his normally bright personality. Our best hope of pulling this off was to keep our heads on straight and be smart. If Spader lost it and went after Saint Dane, well, then Gunny would probably end up being onhis own after all. I couldn’t let that happen, mostly because I didn’t want to end up on the front page of the newspaper under the headline:

  TWO BELLBOYSRUBBED OUT INGRISLY MOB SLAYING.

  “I’m not going to argue with you anymore,” Gunny finally said, sounding tired. “You boys have had more experience with this Travelerbusiness than I have. But I know about Winn Farrow and how he operates. I promise you, the man isn’t right.”

  “We know,” I said. “We’ll be ca
reful.”

  I really, really hoped that “careful” was going to cut it. Twenty minutes later we were in a taxicab, headed downtown to meet the infamous Winn Farrow.

  I have to admit, I was having second thoughts. What if Winn Farrow was as nutzoid-vicious as everybody said? He might start shooting before we even got in the door. The more I thought about it, the more I worried that we had gotten a little bit too cocky.

  Spader must have sensed my tension because he gave me a friendly shove.

  “It’s gonna be fine, mate,” he said, actually sounding oddly cheery. “We’re the good guys. We can’t lose.”

  I wished that were true.

  “Besides,” he added, “nothing’s gonna happen to you so long as I’m around.”

  “How do you figure that?” I asked.

  Spader didn’t answer right away. I think he was trying to find the right words. When he next spoke, it was with a serious tone I hadn’t often heard from him. I’d seen him blind with rage at Saint Dane. I’d also seen him devastated by the death of his father and the disappearance of his mother. But this was different. This was a thoughtful, sincere side of Spader that I hadn’t known existed.

  “I may not know much about being a Traveler,” he said. “But from what I’ve seen, the key to this whole thing is you, Pendragon.”

  That took me by surprise. “We’re all in this together,” I said quickly.

  “True, but you’re the one keeping us together. I think we’re all playing our parts, but I’ve got no doubt, the most important piece to this natty puzzle is you, mate. If anything happens to you, I’m afraid the show would be over. I won’t let that happen.” I didn’t know how to react. Though I was slowly starting to accept the fact that I was a Traveler, I wasn’t ready to take on the responsibility of being some kind of ringleader. It was tough enough just trying to figure out why I was chosen to be a Traveler in the first place. I didn’t want to be in charge, no way. The thought of it actually made me a little nauseous.

  “I appreciate it, Spader,” I said to him. “And I’ll be watching your back too.”

  “I know that, mate,” he said.

  I wanted this conversation to end. It was freaking me out more than I was freaked out already. Anyhow, the time for talk was over because the cab had screeched to a stop. I looked out the window and saw we were two blocks away from where we told the cab driver to take us.

  “We’re not there yet,” I said to him. “We need to go another two blocks west.”

  The cabbie turned around and said, “Maybeyougotta go two more blocks, but I sure don’t. Ain’t safe for cabs to go over there. They see us comin’, they think it’s Christmas. I been robbed too many times to go in there again. So whether you like it or not, this is as far as I go.”

  He meant it too. I didn’t bother trying to talk him out of it. We got out of the car and paid him. The cabbie then hit the gas and did a quick U-turn with his wheels squealing. He gunned it out of there like he didn’t even like beingcloseto Winn Farrow territory. We watched him for a second as he made his escape, driving right through a red light.

  It didn’t help our confidence any.

  “Maybe we should rethink this,” Spader said.

  “I’m tired of thinking,” I said. “C’mon.”

  We started walking west. As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, this was a bad section of town. Gunny told us it was the meat-packing district. Historically this was an area of Manhattan where all the slaughterhouses were. It was made up of big, rambling brick buildings where livestock were killed, cleaned, packed, and shipped. A grisly business by anybody’s standards. Luckily for us, they didn’t do the slaughtering here anymore. The main business was processing and shipping meat. It was a place most people avoided. Can you blame them? It wasn’t exactly a fun spot for a Sunday picnic. I guess that’s why so many criminals made their homes down here. It was the kind of place that even the cops avoided.

  Yet here we were, Spader and I, walking right down the street like we belonged there. Believe me, we didn’t. The further west we walked, the more I felt the hot stares of people’s eyes on us. This was the kind of neighborhood where everybody knew everybody else. A stranger stood out like a brilliant light bulb in a dark cave. People watched us from doorways and windows and from passing cars. A few people even whistled. It was their way of taunting us, knowing that we were headed for deep trouble.

  “I feel like we just arrived at a party we weren’t invited to,” Spader said nervously.

  “Or like it’s feeding time at the zoo…and we’re a couple of pork chops.”

  Our destination was an old packing plant that was built onto a pier over the Hudson River. Max Rose told us exactly where it was. It was the place where Winn Farrow and his gang spent most of their time, when they weren’t out slitting people’s throats, that is.

  After walking for a very tense five minutes, we found ourselves in front of a big brick building with the wordsWILD BOAR MEATSpainted in two-foot-high faded white letters over the green, garage-style door. ”This is it,” said Spader. “What do we do, knock?”

  The answer came quickly. Somebody had walked up behind us. I turned to see that it was more than one somebody. There were five guys, all wearing greasy clothes and worn caps. Their sleeves were rolled up to reveal huge, Johnny Bravo-style arms. I also saw that their hands and arms were stained with dark-brown blotches. I’m guessing these guys worked in the meat-packing plant, which meant those brown stains were actually, gross me out, dried blood.

  None of them looked happy to see us. They all had scowls that told me they didn’t like strangers and would probably make us pay for invading their turf. Looking at their hands again, I really hoped that those blood stains came from working in the packing plant and not from pummeling bozos like us who wandered into their neighborhood.

  “Do you guys work here?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t about to pee in my pants.

  They didn’t answer. Their expressions got darker.

  “We’re looking for Winn Farrow,” Spader said.

  Those were the magic words. But it was bad magic, because as soon as they heard the name “Winn Farrow,” they circled us, cutting off any hope we had of escape.

  “We’ve got to see Farrow,” I said. “We got a message for him.”

  The thugs started to tighten the circle. Spader and I went back to back. We didn’t stand a chance in a fight against these brutes. I could see them clenching their fists, which made the knotty muscles in their forearms flex. Now that they were in close, I could smell them too. Didn’t these guys know about deodorant? It was getting real ugly, real fast.

  “It’s a message from Max Rose,” I said in desperation.

  The thugs stopped. I actually saw hesitation in their focused, killers’ eyes. We were seconds away from adding to the stains on their hands, but hearing Max Rose’s name made them freeze. Better, they looked scared. Up until that moment we had only heard about what a tough guy Max Rose was. Seeing these thugs turn all Jelloat the sound of his name confirmed it. Max Rose wasn’t somebody you messed with.

  Suddenly the garage door of the building flew up and four more guys stepped out. These guys were just as vicious looking as the smelly guys surrounding us, except they wore gangster-looking suits. They also had shotguns. I suddenly felt safer with the guys who only worked with their fists. One of the new thugs-I’ll call him Shotgun-motioned toward us. Instantly the smelly thugs frisked us up and down, looking for guns. Of course they came up empty.

  “We have a message from Max Rose to Winn Farrow,” I said. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  Shotgun looked back at the other thugs and laughed. The smelly thugs laughed with him. “You don’t want any trouble?” Shotgun laughed. “Well, golly gee-whiz, we wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble!”

  The thugs laughed even harder. Great. Not only were our lives in danger, we had to be insulted, too.

  Shotgun then barked, “Inside!” He motioned tow
ard the garage door with his gun. Spader and I walked inside. The shotgun boys followed close behind us, but the smelly thugs stayed outside. I wasn’t going to miss them.

  Inside we saw what was once a busy slaughterhouse. Luckily for us, it wasn’t in operation anymore. It was a big, open warehouse room that stretched up for three or four stories. There was a track running on either side of the ceiling with ugly metal hooks hanging down. My guess was this was where they strung up the cattle when they did the yucky stuff. There were cement troughs in the floor that I’m sure caught most of the yuk. At the end of the track were long rows of wooden tables where all the slicing and dicing happened. Yuk. It’s impossible to overuse the word “yuk” when it comes to this place. I like hamburgers as much as the next guy, but I never wanted to see where they came from.

  “What is this place?” asked Spader.

  “You don’t want to know,” I answered.

  “Pipe down!” shouted Shotgun. They marched us through this big room to the back of the building, where there was a large, open metal door on the back wall. “In there,” ordered Shotgun.

  I was starting to get nervous. Okay, I was already plenty nervous, but now I was getting close to that hairy edge of panic. I had a fleeting thought that we were being marched to a quiet back room where these guys would start blasting away.

  “Max Rose sent us,” I said again. “We want to see Winn Farrow.”

  I was cut off when Shotgun poked me in the gut with his gun, pushing me into the next room. Spader shot forward and grabbed the gun, but the other thugs jumped him and threw him in the room after me.

  The next room was almost as big as the first. There was a big stack of wooden crates full of I don’t know what. There were also hundreds of metal hooks that were evenly spaced along the walls and ceiling. A flight of metal stairs led up to a catwalk that ringed the walls over our heads. I’m guessing they stored the sides of beef high and low in here. There were only two doors-the one we came through and another off the catwalk above us. There were no windows.