Lindsay thought of the number they’d done on her, and begged to differ. If anyone could stand up against the Moles it would be these women protecting their young. Still, this wasn’t their battle to fight, and that was the point. She pulled a t-shirt over her head, and when she could see again, she could tell Jack had been looking at her naked torso.
His eyes met hers. “You need to get yourself checked out before we go.”
“Jack, I told you—”
“And I’m telling you, you’re getting yourself checked out.” He grabbed his stuff and shoved it into his bag. “I’ll meet you outside. Hurry up.”
“My bruises are not your fault, and neither are the Moles,” she said softly.
He was at the door, his hand on the tarp. “You’re not the only one who’s wanted to make things right.” He hitched his gun over his shoulder. “I’ll wait for you outside. And kill the candles on your wait out.”
The hospital was a hut constructed completely, straight down to the door, in corrugated metal. Jack tapped on the door and pushed it open. “No one’s here. Go in and I’ll send someone over. I’ll be by the fire when you’re done. Okay?”
Lindsay slipped inside and sat on a low wooden bench that ran along one wall. The only light from a large kerosene lamp that hung from a hook in the middle of the ceiling was sufficient to make out her surroundings. The place was large compared to its neighbors, roughly the size of an ambulance’s interior, and like an ambulance, it was fitted with rows of cupboards stuffed with assorted medical supplies and equipment.
She expected Shamba, but it was not to be. Gali banged open the door and unbuckled her bandolier of knives, draping them over a peg above the bench as if it were an old coat. She stared down at Lindsay, her eyes like the cold gleam of her blades. Instinctively Lindsay squared her shoulders.
The two faced each other in a silent showdown. It was Gali whose gaze shifted away first, though her next words showed that she was only changing tack.
“Strip. I need to see where you’re injured.”
Lindsay opened her mouth to tell her what to do with that directive, then thought better of it. If Lindsay refused treatment, Gali wouldn’t care, and it would appear that she was disobeying Jack. So with as much nonchalance as she could muster, she shed clothes until she was left shivering in her underwear.
Gali inspected the numerous bruises. Lindsay was tempted to say that Jack had kissed them all better. There were a few places where she’d been struck hard enough to draw blood, and these Gali began to clean with a stinging antiseptic, pouring on way more than necessary in Lindsay’s opinion. Even the follow-up bandages were pressed forcefully onto her broken flesh. It was as if she was getting a beating all over again. Determined not to show pain, Lindsay focused on the erratic patterns of shadows that the lantern cast on the walls.
Gali was applying a bandage on Lindsay’s upper thigh with enough force to embed it there, when she spoke. “You know how long I’ve lived in these tunnels?”
Lindsay shook her head.
“Fifteen years. Ever since I was thirteen. A friend of mine brought me down here to have my baby.”
“Oh…”
“I wasn’t a whore, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
“Then what were you thinking?”
“That thirteen’s very young to be having a baby.”
“It is,” Gali’s voice was clipped. “I guess some men don’t care much about that. That’s why I came down here. So my baby wouldn’t be put through the same shit I was.”
“That’s brave of you.”
Gali finished the bandage with one final tight yank. “Didn’t do any good. I lost her at birth. Would have died myself if it wasn’t for Shamba.”
Lindsay didn’t know what to say. This was Gali’s tale of brokenness, part of the anthology everyone in the tunnels had contributed to. What else could have brought them to this dark and dangerous world? Seline was constantly telling her about the people who fell through the cracks in the system. Here they were, having literally dropped past sewers, holes, tunnels to land in this pit. And yet they called it home, a place to raise a family.
As sad as Gali’s story was, Lindsay knew her sympathy wasn’t wanted. She looked the woman in the eye. “Why did you tell me this?”
The answer came quick. “So you know that you're no match for me. Jack needs to be down here. You're just a topsider.” The last word was spat out like poison.
Lindsay hopped off the table, landing so she was chest to chest, nose to nose with her rival. Because Gali was a rival, intent on stealing Jack away from her and in so doing, dragging him into the underground where he would once again lose himself in this soul-shriveling world.
“It’s because I am a topsider that Jack needs me. He had a whole year to come back to you, and he didn’t. That should tell you something, Gali. He wants to be up in the world, and I give him reason to be there.”
Gali’s lips curled, and she tapped her head. “In his mind he never left. That’s where it counts. He’s come back and this time he’ll stay. You’ll see.”
The steely confidence in the woman’s voice chilled Lindsay, not because she believed her but because she could see that Gali believed it. And any woman who carried knives as easily as another woman did a purse would likely fight for her convictions.
Lindsay stepped around Gali and began pulling on her clothes. This little doctor’s visit was over as far as she was concerned, and from the way the woman was tossing the bandages back into the kit, the feeling was mutual.
Gali was done first and, leaning against the wall, watched Lindsay put on her boots. “The tunnels have a way of keeping people, even if they don’t want to be kept.”
Lindsay yanked on her laces. “I think Jack’s strong enough to make his own choices.”
“Then what is he doing back here?” Gali retorted. “Last time he walked out of here I was sure I’d never see him again. Especially considering his wife.”
Lindsay felt a sudden buzzing in her ears, as if the breath had been knocked out of her. It was only good luck that she was bent over her boots, otherwise her face would’ve betrayed her. She licked her lips. “Wife?”
Lindsay had aimed for casualness. It didn’t work. Gali gave a laugh of pure pleasure, like a chess player who'd discovered the winning move. “You don’t know about her? Well, well. Jack always was good at keeping secrets, though I didn’t think he was the cheating type. Not that it would’ve mattered to me. I’m not so hung up on the marriage thing. You’ve probably fallen for all that romantic crap. Probably why he kept his mouth shut about it.”
Lindsay remembered Jack’s version of events. “How do you know that he didn’t just say that? Did you consider it was his way of cooling the hots you had for him?”
Gali’s eyes flared at Lindsay’s goading question, though her smile didn’t fade. “If you don’t believe me, ask Reggie.”
It riled Lindsay that Gali should know more about Jack than herself, and made her sick to know that Jack hadn’t shared that intimate detail.
“I guess I will.” She sounded like a pathetic little girl trying to stand up to a bully. “I suppose that’s the Tasha you mentioned before.”
“Sure is."
No wonder Jack hadn’t wanted to talk about the mystery woman. Was she involved with a married man? Why then wasn’t he living with his wife?
He said he’d only marry for love. He said that if he couldn’t be with the woman he loved he wouldn’t want to be friends, either. So either she was dead or they were divorced. Either way, she felt heartsick. For him. And for herself.
“Anyway, I’m sure Jack can mind his own affairs,” Gali said, opening the tin door with a grand sweeping motion.
Lindsay stood with as much dignity as possible. “Thanks for your help,” she said with absolutely no sincerity.
Gali smirked. “My pleasure. The pain will stop soon enough, I’m sure.”
&n
bsp; Lindsay knew the woman wasn’t referring to the bruises.
* * *
One look at Lindsay’s grim expression and Jack knew that Gali had got to her. God knows what had been said, but considering that Lindsay was looking at him with all the suspicion of an alley cat, he guessed it was about Tasha. And once again, there was no time to deal with it. Maybe that was a good thing. Better for now to focus on the reason that they were down in these godforsaken tunnels in the first place.
They left Agharta via a crawlway, squeezing down its narrow passage until it opened into a larger tunnel. Reggie led the way with Lindsay steps behind, and him on her ass. She stumbled once, quickly righting herself, though he knew that with her injuries, it was all she could do not to slow them down any more than she was. Still he crowded her every step, silently urging her on.
His eyes were peeled, his ears strained for all sounds. Reggie would be doing the same, but Jack had more experience. The Moles weren’t near, but they were coming. The scout would’ve reached The Pits by now, and his old keeper would be plotting moves on Jack. Perhaps the things were already on their way up. He needed to get Lindsay and Reggie behind the secure walls of Seneca.
The passages were becoming older now, the concrete hallways giving way to moldering brickwork and hewn rock. They wove their way through endless dark corridors, some hot and misty with steam, others cold and slippery with ice, till at last they emerged into a large circular chamber, its walls supported by massive stone arches and lined with countless dust-covered bottles. The air stunk of acid, and he saw Lindsay wrinkle her nose.
“What’s this?” she whispered, following Reggie’s beam of light over the ceiling-high racks easily containing a thousand bottles. She answered her own question. “A wine cellar.”
Reggie pulled out a bottle at random and held it up for her to read the label.
“Oh my God, that’s a 1905 Latour…do you know what that bottle is worth?”
Jack could’ve spent a day here with Lindsay, showing her the links between the bottles and New York’s history but, as usual, there was no time. “Probably not much,” he cut in. “All of this is vinegar by now, otherwise someone would have looted it. Let’s keep moving. We’re almost there. This cellar is on the outskirts of Seneca.”
They worked their way through a maze of ancient tunnels until they came to a featureless metal door set at the end of one of the passages. A small electric light and security camera were set above it, as well as an intercom installed to one side.
“This is new,” Reggie said. “Looks like hiring the Tecos isn’t the only thing they’ve done to upgrade security.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder. The feeling from The Gallery had returned, and this time he wasn’t going to ignore it. They were being watched, and by more than the camera.
“Time to say hello.” He stepped to the door and pressed the intercom button.
There was a long silence. C’mon, c’mon. He was about to try again when a gravelly Hispanic voice came over the speaker. “Who are you?”
Jack looked up at the camera. “My name is Jack Cole, and I’m here with my woman and Reggie from Grand Central. We’ve come to speak with the Tecoacualli. Najib sent us.”
Another drawn-out silence before the voice returned. “Place your weapons and shit by the door and get up against the wall.”
Jack nodded, then turned to Reggie and muttered, “I sure hope Najib knows what he’s talking about.”
They did as instructed while the security camera swiveled back and forth to verify their compliance. Only then did the heavy door unlock, and from out of the brilliant light beyond came a group of five men, all armed with heavy automatics and clad in black army-style clothing.
They fanned out—two watched the tunnel, one snagged the sub-machine guns and packs, and two frisked their visitors, running a small metal detector over them for good measure. Inspection complete, the contingent escorted them inside.
Jack squinted under the glare of harsh fluorescent lighting, his eyes watering as they were led down a short corridor and through a barred security door. It opened into a large bunker-like chamber decorated with a collage of psychedelic posters and hardcore pornography, furnished with ratty furniture and reeking of what smelt like ammonia. A small boom box in the corner played Spanish rap music, and the room featured a grimy kitchenette, a bathroom and a row of monitors displaying Seneca’s primitive laboratories. None of it would have looked at all impressive to an average New Yorker, but the very fact that Seneca enjoyed water, sewage and electricity testified to the prosperity of this outlaw community.
One of the men, the left side of his face disfigured by burns, disappeared down an adjoining hall, while another sat Jack and Reggie, Lindsay between them, down on an old couch to wait. Lindsay shook free her hair and unzipped her jacket. The eyes of the three guards were immediately riveted to her. Sexual interest animated their deadpan expressions. Apparently Nazi conspiracy theories didn’t reach this far.
“Najib told us that there’s a man here named Tocat,” Reggie said. “He around?”
One grizzled fighter dragged his eyes sideways to Reggie.“He’ll be here soon, man. Relax.”
After a quarter of an hour passed, the guards took up the surrounding chairs, keeping their pistols in hand. By now Lindsay had completely undone her jacket and she was about to wiggle out of it when he tugged it back over her shoulders and shook his head. She shrugged and complied. She’d be glad of a jacket if, as he was beginning to worry, they had to make a run for it.
The guards all looked to be in their mid-thirties, though rough living had left the lot of them scarred, calloused and tougher than old boards. All of them were sporting a variety of gang tattoos, including an Aztec-styled one of a snake that ran around each man’s left wrist. Their clothing looked as dark and dirty as the tunnels; their guns were all clean and polished. Without a doubt these were the Tecos—brutal renegades of New York’s most feared Hispanic gangs. Marked men from topsider gangs like El Esquadron, La Raza and the Mexican Mafia. They were all outcasts to begin with, when they formed their own gang in the Burbs. The lot of them had relocated to Seneca shortly before the cops came, otherwise the carnage would have been even worse.
The military marching of heavy boots came down the hallway, and into the room arrived a short and extremely muscular man with the same uniform and wrist tattoo as his companions. Unlike his dead-eyed men, however, his gaze shone with a fierce intelligence, and by his confident stride, he was the undisputed leader of the group.
He waved his hand and a seat was vacated. He sat and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, as if about to engage in a friendly chat.
“So, Najib sent you, huh? Been a long time since I heard his name.”
As in the old days, Jack let Reggie do the talking. The big black man had developed his own effective brand of people skills. “Najib said you owed him a favor or two. Told me I could call them in.”
The man leaned back in his chair, easing into a near-smile. “Najib’s a smart man. Now you’ll owe him. What do you want?”
“There’s a topsider that got taken by the Moles. We need help going down to The Pits to rescue her.”
The hardened men exchanged nervous glances, and even Tocat’s composed expression tightened. “That’s some favor.”
“We can pay,” Reggie continued. “I’m talking five grand for the each of you. Najib told me you Tecos are the most dangerous men in the underground, so that’s why we’ve come here. We need the best.”
Tocat gave a slow, calculating nod. Greed versus fear, Jack supposed. Which would win out? “It’s a big job, man, going after the Moles where they live. Five grand isn’t going to—”
His words were cut off by the slam of a door down the hallway, followed by a string of harsh obscenities. Jack and Reggie exchanged looks and, as one, turned to Lindsay between them. She seemed more pissed than scared. “Just when we were getting somewhere,” she said through thinned lips.
Tocat didn’t even glance up. “Chill out, King. They’re here to see me.”
“Oh, that’s nice. So who the fuck are they? Fucking cops?”
“Cops never come this deep.”
“They will if we open the fucking doors for them. I pay you motherfuckers to guard this place, not have your fucking friends over for some pizza fucking party. You think I’m going to let anyone wander the fuck through Seneca on your say-so?”
Tocat rose, his controlled stance hardening into hostility. Jack double-checked the exit, scrambled to think of a deal to make. The Teco leader strolled over until the fat man, who was a good half-foot taller, had to sink his chins into his chest.
“So what you want us to do?” asked Tocat, his tone calm, dangerous.
King didn’t budge an inch. “For starters I want to be told when people show up, but seeing as how you’ve already rolled out the red fucking carpet for them I’d like to know a few other things. Like who the fuck they are, why they’re fucking here and why I shouldn’t cap the fucking lot of them in the head.”
Tocat jerked a thumb at Jack. “That man’s name is Jack Cole. You heard of him?”
King turned piggy eyes to Jack, then fixed them back on Tocat, raising a pudgy finger to the Teco leader’s face.
“I want them frisked, cuffed and brought to my fucking office. And don’t you ever let anyone through that fucking door without my permission again, or—” King stopped.
“Or what?” Tocat’s voice was a chilling taunt.
King’s already red face turned almost purple with anger. “Just bring them to my fucking office.” He stalked out of the room. From down the hallway came a loud “Fuck!”
Jack knew now who their real enemy was. He took a risk. “Who the fuck does that fat fuck think he fucking is?”
It worked. Tocat broke into a broad grin. “Fuck man, he’s the fucking mayor of fucking Seneca.”
Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) Page 17
