by Darren Shan
Vincent made a sour face. “I was only saying. ”
“Don’t.”
“So,” I said, trying to smile as if I weren’t nervous, “what’s the deal?”
“Get in.” Ford opened the door. When we were out of the damp fog he outlined the night’s mission. “We’re after him ,” he said, laying a stack of papers in my lap. “Aaron Seidelman. Owns a stack of factories by the waterfront. We’ve been trying to buy them for years. He won’t sell. We’ve been waiting for him to die—he’s old as fuck and his kids would sell in a second flat—but he’s a tough fucker. We can’t wait any longer. The Cardinal wants those factories. We haven’t come down heavy on Seidelman so far but he signs tonight, one way or the other.”
I scanned the papers while he talked. “I’m going along to see how it’s done? Another lesson?”
“No. You’re going to make him sell.” I looked up. Ford was staring out the window.
“And if he won’t?” I asked quietly.
“Your call.”
I was about to question him further when Vincent hissed and drew a gun. “Ford! We’re being watched!”
Ford’s head swung round. Through the rear window I glimpsed a figure nine or ten feet behind the car. The muscles in Ford’s neck tensed, then relaxed. “You’re a dumb fuck, Vincent,” he laughed.
“The fuck?” Vincent snapped.
“See his eyes?”
Vincent squinted and so did I. As the fog swirled I saw a man in long white robes with blank, unseeing eyes.
“Shit,” Vincent growled, “how was I to know?”
“I’ve seen him before,” I muttered, trying to remember where.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ford said. “They’re easy to spot.”
“They? ”
“There’s a group. All blind and dressed the same way. Religious nuts. They come out whenever the fog’s up. I think they worship it. They’re harmless. Still…” He tapped Vincent’s shoulder. “Let’s go. Just because he’s blind doesn’t mean he’s deaf.”
I focused on the file as we drove. Aaron Seidelman had been born in Germany in the 1930s. His parents died in the concentration camps. He was smuggled out by an uncle. Fled to France. Worked for a living from the age of twelve. Built up a small business, came here in the 60s, bought loads of old warehouses down by the docks, most of which he’d never done anything with. Old, past his prime, but wealthy and influential.
I burst into his house with Ford, Vincent and two others. He was in a robe and slippers, listening to some classical shit, sipping a glass of brandy. He tried to fight but one of our thugs knocked him down. “Careful,” Ford said. “Nobody hurts him unless Mr. Raimi says so.”
I walked over to the old man and studied him as if he were one of my insurance customers. He was frightened, obviously, but there was strength in that face. A few broken bones wouldn’t crack him. He’d been bullied and tortured before. He hadn’t given in then and he wasn’t about to start now. He held his tongue. He knew pleas wouldn’t work on us, just as violence wouldn’t against him.
“Well?” Ford asked. “Do you want to talk to him here or do we take him out?”
“I’ve never had a Jewish takeout,” Vincent giggled. “Does it come with bagels?”
“Mr. Seidelman,” I began, “we want your factories. I know you want to keep them in your family but your children don’t care. They’ll piss away their inheritance or sell to the first bidder who waves a check under their noses. They only want the easy things in life. They’re useless, selfish wastrels.”
“They are,” he admitted. His voice was firm, healthy, unharmed by the years. “But I cannot control the world from my grave. I can, however, safeguard my business assets while I am alive, and I will never sell to one who plans to befoul what I have built. Your blasphemous Cardinal would turn my factories into whorehouses and opium dens.”
Opium. Was this guy behind the times!
“I will not let him soil what I have worked so hard for. There will be no revolution, no new order .” He smiled bitterly and one of his arms lifted slightly. I glanced down and noticed a faded smear, an old tattoo.
I stood back and studied him again, thinking about the way his lips had lifted, his peculiar choice of phrase. He was fit, healthy for his age, glowing skin, a fine head of hair. For some reason I fixed on the hair and an idea blossomed. I took Ford aside and whispered, “You know how the Nazis destroyed the Jews?”
“Showers and ovens,” he replied, staring at me curiously.
“No. Before they targeted their bodies, they wrecked their spirits. Stripped them naked, humiliated them, starved them, beat them, covered them in filth. They deprived them of their humanity.”
“Interesting history lesson,” Ford snorted. “How does it relate to… ?”
“I know how to crack him,” I said quietly.
“Then do it.”
“Whatever it takes?” I asked.
“Like I said earlier—your call.”
“I want him out of here,” I said to our thugs. “Stick him in the car. We’re going for a ride.”
I told Vincent to drive to one of our shops. I’d been there a few times for an old-style wet shave. Y Tse had introduced me to the place. It was late and the owner grumbled at being woken, but he shut up quick when he saw Ford Tasso. He got what I asked for, no questions, and stuffed it in a brown bag. I thanked him and left.
The others stared at the bag, wondering what fierce instrument of torture lay inside. I said nothing. Seidelman was trembling a little but was otherwise showing remarkable reserve.
We drove to the docks. I knew the sort of place I was looking for, a disused factory where the power had been supplied by coal-stoked fires. Large furnaces. We found one after a short search. Dragged Seidelman in and propped him by one of the cold, damp, metal walls. It had been a long time since one of these had been used in the name of evil, but memories last. I knew Seidelman wouldn’t have forgotten the fate of his parents.
There were flashlights in the trunk of the car. We trained three of them on the shaking old warrior with more heart than sense.
“Strip,” I commanded. Seidelman hesitated. “ Strip , you Jewish scum! Now!” The words came with frightening ease, I don’t know from where.
Seidelman stiffened. Tears of fury glittered in his eyes. Sneering, he stripped naked and kicked his clothes away. “So,” he snarled. “You act the commander. Go ahead, young man. You would have fitted in well, ja ? But I have dealt with your sort before. I did not crumble then, and will not crumble now. Your kind can never defeat mine. You tried once and failed. So try again. The fool never learns. Try and fail, bastard.”
Vincent and Ford were unsettled. They glanced at me skeptically. This wasn’t their style. Tasso had tortured men, women and children. But not this way. He’d never tried to squeeze a man’s soul.
I stepped forward. Seidelman was quivering like a leaf now, unsure of my intentions. He didn’t know how far I was prepared to go. A faint breeze blew his gray hair into his eyes. He thumbed it away. I stepped closer, opened the bag and let him peer inside. He’d been expecting a gun or a knife, something brutal. He was ready for that. But not for this.
His body sagged. “No,” he wept. “You cannot do this. I am a human being. You are too. You must not resurrect the past. It is unholy.”
“Sign the document,” I said softly, running a hand through his hair, soothing him as if he were a child. “Sign or I’ll take this out and use it.” He stared at me with loathing and fear. “Nein? ” I smirked when he hesitated and made a pass at his head. When he flinched, I said again, “Sign.”
“You are a monster,” he sobbed.
“Yes. Me, Adolf, Hermann. We’re all monsters. And you are our victim. Now sign and make the monsters go away. You have a choice this time. It’s in your hands.”
“No,” he said, taking a pen from me. “You destroyed my hands many years ago. And my will. I thought I was strong but I was wrong.” He signed his n
ame, gave me the pen and paper, and said no more.
We left him alone, crying, naked, broken. The silence in the car was oppressive. Ford and Vincent thought they’d seen it all. I’d proved them wrong, shown them a new form of cruelty, an older kind.
When they stopped to let me out, Vincent grabbed the bag. “I’ve got to see what’s in it.” He opened it slowly, as if something alive and hideous were in there. His face dissolved into confusion as the object revealed itself. “I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s so fucking terrifying about hair clippers?”
Adrian didn’t report for work the next morning either. It was Thomas again, silent, obedient, dour. The fog was clearing and we made good time on the way to my office. I called Adrian’s agency and asked about him. The woman on switch didn’t know him. I looked for Sonja when I got to the office but she was out. I tried calling him at home—no answer. Worrying about Adrian, I lowered myself into my chair with my first café latte of the day. I’d barely sat down when the phone rang. Ford Tasso. “The Cardinal wants to see you later.”
My heart jumped in my chest. “Anything to do with last night?”
“Am I a fucking messenger boy?” Ford snapped. “Just get your ass there for eleven and don’t be late.”
“OK. See you—” But he’d hung up already.
I couldn’t concentrate after that. I endured the office for forty-eight minutes, then had to get out. I called for Thomas and told him to drive around for a while. I rolled the windows down and let fresh air sweep into the car. After a while that wasn’t enough. I needed something to take my mind off my impending meeting with The Cardinal. “Thomas, do you know any good sports centers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take me to one.”
“Any special preferences, sir? Bowling, badminton, gymnastics?”
“I don’t care. I just want something that leaves me panting for—” Then I saw the face of the woman again and this time she was holding a tennis racket, laughing. “Do you know a good tennis court?” I asked hesitantly, trying to hold the image but failing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get me there quick.”
The club was one of the best. Champagne on ice in the clubhouse, immaculately maintained courts, umpires and ball boys, ex-professionals to teach beginners. All the players oozed money, tanned and greased, sporting the chicest gear, pausing between sets to ring their stockbrokers.
The receptionist was snotty at first. They didn’t favor blow-ins who turned up without appointments. But he warmed to me when I flashed my card from the Skylight. The Cardinal’s reach extended everywhere. Only a fool turned away one of the Skylight’s guests. You couldn’t afford to make those sorts of enemies.
I had to shop for my equipment first—no rentals here. I’d picked up a few credit cards since my time with Theo (all arranged through illegal channels), so I put the skimpy T-shirt, shorts and sneakers on one of them and tried not to look at the price.
My instructor had only played semipro but I didn’t hold that against him. He asked if I’d played before. I had an impression of the woman serving to me, and could vaguely recall hitting a few balls back to her, but that was all. I told him to treat me like a beginner. He started me slowly, stressing that since this was my first lesson I couldn’t expect too much.
I slipped him a tidy wad of notes and said I wanted to let off steam and while away a couple of sweaty hours without having to worry about work. I told him to hit balls at me hard. He was a practical man. He believed in putting the wishes of his clients first. Grinning, he pocketed the cash, moved to the far end of the court and let fly.
He slaughtered me to begin with. I chased hopeless balls, flew from one side of the court to the other, puffing and panting, feeling like an idiot. But toward the end of the first set I improved. In the space of a couple of games I shed my hunched pose, found my feet, adjusted my grip and shifted up several gears. A few games into the second set, I was returning everything he threw at me, beating him on my own serve, dictating play. He was chasing the game now. I was thrashing him soundly, ex-semipro or not.
I won the second set 6–4. The third 6–1. Match to me.
He stormed over angrily. “You’ve played before,” he snarled.
“No,” I said. “That was my first time.”
“Bullshit! You destroyed me!”
“Beginner’s luck.”
“Like fuck!” He poked me in the chest. “You’re a pro. No amateur could have torn me apart like that. Who sent you? Did Sheryl pay you to humiliate me? Is this her idea of a joke?” He poked me in the chest again.
I grabbed his hand and twisted it back until it was a creaking bone away from snapping. “Do that to me again,” I said as he yelped, “and the only thing you’ll be serving up is a plate of beans. Nobody sent me. I guess I’m a born natural or you’re simply not as flash as you think. My advice—take that money I gave you, grin and bear it, and get the fuck out of my face.”
I let go and walked away, high on the buzz of the action. Not having wasted as much time as I wanted to, I hit the squash and handball courts. I wasn’t as good there but surprised myself, displaying an athletic prowess I’d never suspected. If I was this good first time out, there was no telling where I might get with some practice. Maybe I’d missed my true vocation and a career on the tennis circuit beckoned.
I popped into Shankar’s later. I was feeling fresh and alive. This was shaping up to be a great day. I could see The Cardinal throwing his arms around me, giving me the keys to his empire and the freedom of his kingdom.
I dined with Y Tse and Leonora. Told them about my ensuing meeting. They were thrilled, especially Y Tse.
“This could be the start of it, Capac,” he crowed. “He probably won’t say much tonight—it won’t feel like anything big—but your entire future could depend on what happens at eleven.”
“How should I approach him?” I asked. “Should I act casual, treat him like an old pal? Keep my eyes down and speak only when spoken to?”
“Act naturally,” Leonora advised. “Dorry will have been monitoring you. He knows what you are like. Do not put on an act. Answer his questions truthfully. Be yourself.”
“Yes,” Y Tse agreed. “There’s no need to fawn or dazzle him. He just wants to see how his newest recruit is getting on. He might have a small errand for you. If he does, it’ll seem no different from any other task, but it will be important to him. Treat it like any other assignment, like it’s no big deal, but don’t fuck it up.”
“Got you.” I bit into my burger. They cooked them magnificently here. Black as sin and packed with just the right amount of sauce and salad. “Have either of you seen Adrian the last day or so?” I asked between bites.
“Who?” Leonora said.
“Adrian. My driver.”
“I do not think I know him. Have we met?”
“I’m not sure, but you’ve probably seen him with me. Young guy, always smiling, a bit of a clown.”
“It rings no bells,” she said.
“You?” I asked Y Tse.
“One young man looks pretty much the same as any other to me.”
“A lot of help you are,” I complained.
“It is our age, dear.” Leonora smiled. “The mind starts to go when you are old. Memories fragment. Some days I struggle to remember my own name. Do you agree, Y Tse?”
“Who?” He laughed.
“If I ever live to be as old as you two,” I said, “I hope someone has the good grace to put me out of my misery.” I stood. “I’d love to stay but I’ve a career to build. See you later.”
“Good luck,” Y Tse said.
“Yes, luck, Capac,” Leonora added.
From there it was back to the Skylight. I had a shower, my third of the day—the city knew how to make a man sweat. Conchita was waiting when I stepped out, towel wrapped around my waist. “Hello sailor,” she said in a passable Katharine Hepburn impression. “I’m up for The African Queen tonight. You game?�
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“Sorry,” I said. “That’s one river trip I’ll have to skip. I’m meeting my boss. Could be in for a promotion.” I opened the wardrobe and searched for clothes. Nothing fancy. Neat trousers, a shirt, a loose tie. No jacket—too hot.
“What time will you be back?” Conchita asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Should I wait up?”
“Not too late. Stick around a few hours. I’ll ring from Par—the office if I get away before midnight.” I didn’t want her hearing about The Cardinal. She still thought I was an insurance agent. I wanted to keep it that way. What she didn’t know about me couldn’t hurt her.
Thomas drove silently to Party Central. He didn’t speak much, responding to my conversational questions with short, curt answers. The sooner I got Adrian back, the better.
Party Central thrummed with the sounds of the night shift. It wasn’t as hectic as it got in the middle of the day, but it was by far the liveliest building in the city at that time of night. The Cardinal’s interests stretched across the face of the globe. His company was a twenty-four-hour-a-day machine, an economic monster that required constant feeding.
The Troops were on guard, cold and alien as ever. There’d been a bit of bother in the press lately. It happened every few years as young politicians tried to make names for themselves by pushing for the disbanding of The Cardinal’s personal army. It normally went on for a couple of weeks, giving the citizens time to vent their anger and get it out of their systems. Then the aggravating hotshots were either bought up or plowed under and that was the end of it.
I checked in at reception and passed over my shoes. There were bottles of foot deodorant for those who were feeling the effects of the heat but mine were fresh from the shower. I was in loads of time—thirty minutes too early—and waiting for the elevator to arrive when I noticed the door to the stairs. I’d been in the building a lot since my first night, dealing with the administrative heart of The Cardinal’s empire. In the beginning I’d had to come for new papers, official forms and ID cards to legitimize me (I must have left my own papers behind when I came to the city). I’d also done a lot of business here, making use of the building’s enormous records rooms—spread over eight floors—which were the most comprehensive in the city, with files on everyone who was anyone, as well as lots of people who were nobody. Access was limited and I was allowed on only three of the floors, but the amount of paper I’d encountered was incredible, enough to account for a rain forest or two. The Cardinal didn’t believe in transferring his files to computer—hacking was too easy and the risk involved far outweighed the benefits.
