by JJ Zep
“Julie says we should help,” the man said, pronouncing each word with deliberate care.
Beyond him, another man waited, this one scrawny and olive-skinned.
“Bit of help wouldn’t go awry,” Chris said. “Figure we should try and right the truck first.”
“You and Pete do that and I‘ll haul this feller out.”
Between the three of them, the task was easily achieved. Pete scooted around to the passenger side and pushed, Chris stood on the running board and acted as a counter weight, Moon-face leaned into the cab and pulled Joe out as though he weighed no more than an infant. Then he cradled Joe in his arms and carried him up the embankment.
By the time Chris reached the top, Hooley had regained consciousness and had a dirty bandage wrapped around his head. Joe was lying on the pavement, his shirt torn open, revealing ugly bruises along his diaphragm and lower ribcage. A man was leaning over him, an ear pushed to Joe’s chest.
“This is Doc,” Julie said. “Only he ain’t a doctor, he used to be a nurse over at Bellevue. That’s the booby hatch in case you ain’t informed. Still, he’s all we’ve got.”
If doc took exception to the introduction, it didn’t show. He continued pushing and probing at Joe’s ribcage.
“I appreciate your help,” Chris said.
“Yeah well, I just heard how you ended in the ditch, how you swerved to avoid hitting my boy. So I guess it cuts both ways. Only don’t go thanking us just yet. The Montagues ain’t going to take their ass-whipping lying down. Caught out here in the open like we are, we’re likely to get ourselves shot.”
She did a quick scan of the buildings and Chris followed her gaze. They were indeed in a vulnerable location, but Julie clearly knew a thing or two about securing a perimeter. He spotted sentries and lookouts covering every possible approach.
Doc had by now completed his examination. “This feller needs to get to a hospital pronto,” he declared. “Won’t see it through the night, otherwise.”
“What’s the score, doc?” Julie said.
“Far as I can see, he’s fractured a couple of ribs. One of those suckers has cut into his lungs. That being the case, there’s likely to be other internal damage. Oh, and he’s got a fractured ankle too. Come to think of it, he probably ain’t going to make it, even if you do get him to a hospital.”
nineteen
Justine Goodwillie crossed into Manhattan via the Triboro Bridge, presenting papers that would have passed muster if the guards had bothered to check. The guards hadn’t though, they’d been firmly focused on Justine, which was exactly as she’d intended it.
“Where are you coming from today ma’am?” one of the men had said, a rote question that she countered with her prepared response.
“From Queens.” She flashed a dazzling smile and ran her hand lazily through her luxuriant, raven hair. “I have family there.”
“A husband?” the guard said, proffering her with a grin.
“I’m not married,” Justine said with a tinge of regret. “Seems like all the good men are already taken. You gentleman excepted, of course.” She placed a hand on the burly soldier’s arm and could have sworn the big feller blushed.
He gave her a final, appreciative glance. “You’re good to go,” he said almost reluctantly. “You have yourself a good day, ma’am.”
“Justine, please,” she said as she retrieved the deliberately aged identification papers and then strode languidly towards her car. She all but felt the men’s eyes tracking her and she played to them, swinging her hips more than was required, her tight jeans showing off her athletic figure to good effect.
She slid behind the wheel, turned the engine over and put the Hyundai SUV into drive. Ten minutes later, she made the turn onto 125th Street and saw the barrier she’d been briefed about, a towering breezeblock wall running directly down the center of the road, guard towers spaced at regular intervals, machine guns facing outward towards the area that was known locally as the Wastelands, the portion of Manhattan that the good citizens had not yet been able to claim back from the Z’s. Her mission, part of it at least, was to breach that wall.
She’d never been to New York before, but her prep for the mission had been thorough. The map of Manhattan was etched into her memory (not difficult, the island was all straight lines and numerically numbered streets).
Only a few locations interested her, though - the abandoned subway stations close to 125th, the downtown offices of mayoral candidate Joseph Barlow, and an apartment building on Columbus. She wanted to check out that building now, which gave her a few options, continue on 125th and make a left on Columbus, make a left at 5th Avenue and skirt the park, or cut through the park via any of the four traverses. She decided to make a left on 5th and go around the park. It was a pleasant fall afternoon and she had time to kill. Besides, she wanted to get the lay of the land.
What she’d seen so far had impressed her. She’d known from her research that Manhattan was a well run community – clean water, electricity, decent roads, even a TV station that showed re-runs and local interest pieces. What she hadn’t known, what she’d only been able to garner by being on the ground, was just how efficiently the place operated. Take the wind farm on Randall Island for example, dozens of huge turbines straddling the field providing enough power for ten times the number that now resided in all of the five boroughs. Back in Pendleton they still used diesel generators. And they considered themselves sophisticated.
She reached the edge of the park and made a right onto West 57th. Traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, was light. She remembered a picture she’d seen from the days pre-event (as the Pendleton bigwigs liked to call it), bumper-to-bumper yellow cabs gridlocked in a virtual parking lot. Perhaps there were some benefits to Rolly Pendragon’s little Z cocktail after all.
She passed through Columbus Circle and turned right onto Columbus Avenue. The apartment building she was looking for should be on her left about two blocks down. She saw it now, and an unexpected bonus too, a petite woman with short dark hair, walking quickly along the sidewalk. Justine recognized her immediately, she’d studied her photo often enough. It was Kelly Collins.
twenty
“Sorry I let you down, compadre,” Joe said.
Chris looked down at his friend, trussed up on a stretcher, ashen faced, a bandage wound around his midriff. They had Joe laid out in the bed of an old pickup that didn’t look like it would make it to the end of the block, let alone to Manhattan. Julie had assured him, though, that it would be okay, that with Hooley acting as guide, they’d get Joe to the hospital by nightfall.
“You didn’t let me down, Joe,” Chris said. “You punched a rib through your lung is what you did. Not a whole lot you can do in that condition other than get medical attention, rest up and get well.”
“Still,” Joe said. “Feels like I’m more of a burden than a help these days, just got fixed up from the last time, crocked again. Shit!”
“Quit whining, you old soak, just get yourself to Mt. Sinai and be well. I’ll track down Ruby and we’ll be in to visit you in a couple of days.”
“Sure you’ll be okay, compadre?”
Chris wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to tell that to Joe. “I made it all the way cross country on my own, and that was with your Corporation goons trying to track me. I think I can find my way around Brooklyn.”
“Sure you don’t want me to go with you, Chris?” Hooley cut in. “Pretty sure Joe can direct these fellers.”
Chris pretended to consider. Truth was, he could probably have done with Hooley’s help. But that last incident had shaken him up. After all that they’d been through together he couldn’t stand the prospect of Hooley or Joe getting killed out here. He was going to do this alone.
“Nah,” he said after a while. “You go along and get your head seen to.”
“If I had a nickel for every time someone told me that, I could buy myself a damn fine steak supper,” Hooley said.
“You k
iss my mother-in-law for me, tell Kelly I’ll be home soon.”
“You take care, Chris,” Joe said as the pickup trundled away. “Bring her back safely, yourself too.”
Chris watched as the truck rolled towards the junction, waved as it rounded the corner and disappeared between the dilapidated buildings. He felt suddenly, utterly alone.
“Did I hear right?” Julie said, speaking at his back. “You’re out here looking for your daughter? Was she taken? Runaway?”
“Cage fighting,” Chris said turning towards her
“Cage fighting? You mean, as in, participating? She-it! How old is this girl?”
“Fifteen.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No,” Chris said. He could understand Julie’s disbelief, though. He doubted he’d buy the story he was telling if he didn’t know better.
“So you’re trying to tell me, your fifteen-year-old daughter’s a cage fighter? Out here in the badlands? Impossible! Most of these clubs, she wouldn’t even make it to the cage before they tore her apart.”
“Not Ruby,” Chris said. “Ruby can take care of herself.”
“Ruby? That her name?”
“That’s her name.”
“I seen that girl,” Pete cut in. Chris spun towards him. Pete was sitting on a pile of rubble cleaning his nails with a bayonet, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“You seen her?” Chris said. “Where?”
“Down at Fat Archie’s place. Threw her into a cage with just about the meanest, ugliest Z I ever seen in my life. Tore him a new asshole in ten seconds flat. Lost myself a few dollars on that fight.”
“When was this?” Chris said. His heart was pounding, breath caught in his throat. He had a lead on Ruby at last.
Pete’s answer disappointed him. “Oh, about a week ago. Ain’t seen her since.”
A week ago. Ruby had been home since then. Still it was a lead, something worth checking out. Maybe Ruby had been back. Maybe this Fat Archie could tell him where she might be.
“Where do I find this place?”
“Down by –” Pete started.
“Coney Island,” Julie finished for him “And if you’re thinking of going down there asking questions, think again. Fat Archie Flynn’s crazier than a shit house rat and he’s got more paranoid than Ozzy Osborne. He’s also got an army made up of some of the meanest degenerates on either side of the river.”
“How do I get to Fat Archie’s place?” Chris said, addressing himself to Pete.
“Jesus mister, didn’t you hear what I just said,” Julie interrupted. “The man’s a fruit loop with firepower. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Chris cut her off with a stare. “I want to thank you for helping us out,” he said. “More than likely you saved my friend’s life. Now are you going to tell me where I can find Fat Archie, or do I have to find him myself?”
twenty one
The feeling of unease had started around lunchtime, a disconcerting rumble that had nothing to do with her pregnancy. She’d fed the kids but had eaten little herself. She didn’t think she could keep anything down. Chris hadn’t given her a timeframe. In fact, he’d made it clear that he might be away a few days. But here she was, with him gone only a few hours, pacing the floor and walking to the window to stare out along the road every five minutes. Something had happened. She just knew it.
“Oh, stop being such a worry wort,” she said and only realized she’d spoken out loud when Samantha gave her a quizzical look.
“Mom?” Samantha said. “Are you okay?”
“Of course she isn’t,” Charlie said. “She’s pregnant.”
“So?” Samantha pouted. “Pregnant’s not sick.”
“Is too,” Charlie said. “You’ll see when you have kids.”
“I’m never having kids,” Samantha said.
“You kids eat your macaroni,” Kelly said hefting herself from the chair and walking towards the window. She looked out into the street, angling her head so that she could see right down to the junction. She wasn’t sure exactly what she expected to see. Hooley’s truck trundling along with Chris in the passenger seat would be nice. But none of the cars that passed while she watched was Hooley’s.
By the time she’d cleared away and washed up the lunch dishes the feeling had intensified and she made the first of her trips downstairs, where she walked to the end of the block, and peered into the distance, all but willing Chris to materialize out of thin air. Soon, despite admonishing herself for being silly at least a dozen times, the trips to the sidewalk had become a ritual.
By the time of her sixth or seventh venture, the blue of the sky had begun to deepen. She walked to the end of the block with a slight waddle, hand on the small round of her belly. The street was deserted and she briefly considered walking further along, perhaps to 60th. And what then, she chastised herself, all the way to Brooklyn?
She’d just turned back towards the apartment when a car made the turn. Her heart lurched in her chest but her excitement soon subsided, the vehicle was a white SUV in reasonable condition, not Hooley’s old rust bucket. The SUV drifted past, seemed to slow. Kelly was vaguely aware of a young woman at the wheel. She turned and started the short walk back to the apartment, saw the SUV make a left a couple of blocks on, and disappear from sight. Another car appeared from the same direction, this one a black stretch limo. Kelly thought she knew who the limo might belong to. She stepped up the pace. She had no desire for a discourse with Councilman Joseph Barlow.
She could see, though, that she wasn’t going to make it to her building before the limo did. The vehicle veered towards the curb and came to a rolling stop outside the entrance. A couple of doors sprung open, Barlow’s two henchman, the one’s he’d brought to Chris’ birthday party, stepped out.
Kelly put her head down and carried on walking, paying them no mind.
“Mrs. Collins!”
She looked up. The more muscular of the two men was walking towards her, his rotund companion bringing up the rear, already blowing hard.
“Mrs. Collins,” the man said, now reaching her.
“My husband’s away,” Kelly said, and tried to skirt him.
“Oh, we know that,” the man grinned, stepping into her path. “Councilman Barlow wants to speak to you.”
“What could I possibly have to say to the councilman?” Kelly said. The other man had reached them, out of breath from the short walk.
“That’s not for me to say ma’am,” the muscular man said. “Now if you’d just step this way.” He held out a hand, directing her like an usher showing her to her seat at the theater.
For some reason, that simple gesture annoyed Kelly. Who the hell did they think they were? She had no obligation to talk to Councilman Barlow. She didn’t even like him. Her irritation, coupled with her anxiety over Chris, combined to firm up her resolve. She wasn’t speaking to Barlow and that was that.
“I’m afraid I don’t have time right now,” she said. “Please give the councilman my best wishes.”
She tried again to walk around the man. Again he blocked her path. “It wasn’t a request,” he said, a glint appearing in his eye that Kelly had seen before, on other brutish men like Colonel Gareth Stone.
“Please let me pass,” Kelly said.
“You can pass when you’ve spoken to the councilman,” the man said and shot out a hand, moving faster than she might have thought him capable of. He grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed.
“Ow! Let me go!”
“This way ma’am,” the man said and jerked her towards the limo.
“Let her go.” The voice was calm, polite, feminine. Barlow’s goons turned immediately towards its source, an attractive woman with long, dark hair standing on the sidewalk behind them. Scrap attractive, Kelly decided, the woman was lithe and beautiful.
“Who the fuck are you?” goon one said.
“Not important,” the woman said. “Just let the lady go.”
“Fuck
off,” the man said. He turned back towards Kelly and opened his mouth to say something that he never quite got out.
The woman took a couple of steps towards him and brought her heal down hard into the back of his ankle.
“Faaarrrkk!” the man screamed, hopping instantly onto one foot. As he did, the woman swept his other foot from under him, sending him to the sidewalk where he landed on his knee with a crack that you just knew meant serious damage. The man let out another scream and the woman stopped it with a kick to the jaw. The other man, the fat one, grabbed the woman from behind, locking her in a bear hug. The woman threw her head backwards, pulping his nose then wriggled out of his grip and, in one swift, movement, turned to face him. She delivered a blow to his kidneys and then to his chin, her hands a blur of movement. The fat man was out before he hit the ground. Kelly had never seen anyone, other than Ruby, move that fast.
“You okay?” the woman said, turning towards where Kelly stood clutching her wrist. She didn’t think it was broken. It hurt like hell though.
“I…I’m fine,” Kelly said, as the limo pulled away from the curb and drifted past in the direction of downtown. She thought she saw Councilman Barlow’s face as the tinted window slid closed.
“Here, let me take a look,” the woman said. She took Kelly’s hand gently in hers and examined it. “Don’t think it’s broken. You should get some ice on it though, get it bandaged.”
“Thank you,” Kelly said. “I …” She felt tears welling, threatening to spill over, all the worries of the day taking their toll.
“Don’t mention it,” the woman said. “I just can’t stand bullies like these.” She indicated the men lying on the ground, both of them still unconscious. “They’ll be fine in case you’re concerned, but they’ll be nursing some aches and pains for a while.”
