“Sunday on Times Square, they said.”
“Fuck,” escaped me. This Sunday. My imagination was much too fast, included Mandy as the main act in the show itinerary that the looking-glass-dwarf had planned with a malicious smile, and the pictures in my head almost turned my stomach upside down. “That’s my fault. I’ve dragged you into this.”
“No, it’s not your fault. I should have known that we must leave. Mandy was no longer safe here, even without your intervention. I just was too slow. I didn’t want to realize how bad it’s become.”
His gaze went to the ceiling. “And now—oh my God! My girl, they’ll—”
He couldn’t even voice it, and I understood him all too well. He didn’t know the worst yet.
This kidnapping, right now, also was a signal to me—see, you can’t protect her, we’ll destroy everything dear to you.
The message has arrived, I thought, but not the way you’re imagining it.
“Do you know the Fool? The musician?”
“I’ve heard him once, but that was long ago.”
“Tomorrow night in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Arts. Tell him I sent you, and I’ll come a bit later.” I rose.
“You’re leaving?”
“Now—I’ll get Mandy.”
“The Syndicate has her. That’s much too dangerous.”
“I’m Velvet. I’m the most skilled thief in the world, and I can steal the chair away from under the Syndicate’s ass without them noticing. I can steal Mandy, too.”
“There wouldn’t be a safe place for her.”
“I’ll get her out of here. She’ll be safe with a good friend of mine. If that’s okay for you?”
“I want what’s good for her. New York isn’t good for her. Yes, if you can, take her away. Tell her that I love her, and that we’ll meet again when the times are better.”
“I’ll do that. And now get up.”
“But I can’t—” He glanced down his chest, felt the healed wound. “Can you do magic?”
“Science, not magic. Come, I’ll help you.”
With a firm pull at his hand, I helped him on his legs.
Suddenly he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. “May the Lord be with you, Velvet.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
I felt strangely touched when I left him and hurried down the street toward Times Square. To help people, to do them good, did good to me, too, helped me to carry my burden somewhat more lightly.
Poor Mandy. I had to be quick to spare her the preparatory treatment. The Syndicate didn’t need defiant martyrs for their show, but broken victims that had been deprived of all pride and will to resist. They could be strong and outwardly unhurt so that they’d stand the entire show program, and with a healthy voice so that their screams could be heard well all over the place. Mental health wasn’t required for it.
No! It wouldn’t get that far. The kidnapping couldn’t have happened long ago—Dad could have died from his wound within the hour, but I had arrived before.
All show artists were kept imprisoned in a building inside the inner circle around Times Square, as I knew from my scouting mission. There they had a basement with small, windowless, noise-proof rooms and all kind of tools to appropriately impress the victims.
Looking-glass-dwarf had reserved the right to observe the preparations personally. If I had a little luck—if Mandy had a little luck!—he hadn’t arrived yet.
I, however, would be there within a few minutes. Once I arrived, I should better have a plan, as there were a few little complications—impersonated by armed guards.
I didn’t know yet how many there were, how they were armed, where exactly they were located, nor did I know the room layout inside and the precise place where the victims were kept. I had to scout all that first, find Mandy and get her out past the guards and then as far away from New York as possible.
One step at a time. Ideally, I should plan backward. First the escape—Mandy would need clothes, preferably black, warm, weatherproof. There were enough apparel shops around Times Square, so this problem was quickly solved.
Second step—the guards.
Seen from the street, the building didn’t show its cruel purpose—the tenants or employees on the upper floors probably had no idea of the cruelties happening in the basement under their feet week by week. They entered the house through the main entrance, stepped into the elevator and let it take them to their floor.
In case one of them would accidentally arrive at the basement, after the elevator doors opened, he’d only see this anteroom painted in light colors, where one of the two black-uniformed men of the security staff would tell him in a friendly but firm way, “Sorry, but here’s no access for unauthorized persons. Please do not leave the elevator.”
In any case, that was what this man told me. I answered, “I’m not sorry.” Then I jumped at him, knocked him out and repeated the same with his partner before he could find the time to comment the incident.
Both only carried shock sticks openly. However, under the desk near the second man, I found a pistol holster with a large-caliber pistol. I took the gun with me.
The only door was closed. I placed one ear on the door. At least four persons, I decided after a brief listening, and pushed the door open.
This room was styled to purpose—dark-tiled floor and walls, some metal racks along the sides, each with manacles to chain victims to them, ropes hanging from the ceiling with manacles, too, several tight steel cages in a corner, tight enough to only fit a man inside in a very uncomfortable folded position, and a large table with more manacle chains. I knew all this from Dandy.
Four men in the familiar black uniforms were sitting around the table. My appearance interrupted their poker game—they pushed their chairs back, jumped up, and drew their weapons.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
They were too slow for me. By the time the first had torn his gun from its holster, I had reached him and sent him to sleep. His partners had at least time for a startled cry, but within seconds, the show was over.
Only six guards for the entire cast? That was avaricious—surely Homer’s handwriting. Suits me.
Three cellar floors followed. One led to bathrooms and storage rooms with piled-up whips and torture devices, a second to bare cells, at least with bunks inside, the third was painted black and barely lit, and here I found the designated victims.
Each victim had a cell for herself, with nothing to hear but her own noises, without the tiniest glimpse of light reaching inside, with nothing to feel but raw concrete.
Behind the first door, a young woman in her mid-twenties was waiting for her next educational lesson. She was already well prepared—hardly looked up when I pulled her out.
“I’m Velvet, and I’ll get you out.”
She didn’t react, but nicely waited while I turned to the next door.
“Mandy?”
“Velvet!” She flung herself around my neck and broke up in tears. “You’ve come!”
“Quiet. We’ll leave soon.”
“Yes—Velvet, they stabbed Dad!”
“He’s alive, Mandy, and he’s well. He sends his greetings. I’ll take you to safety until the storm’s over.”
“But—”
“A few weeks, Mandy. You’ll soon see him again.”
“But—okay.” She sniffed. “You’re right. I must be strong now. You’re risking your life by coming here.”
“I’ll have a look for the others, okay? Oh, wait—here.” I handed her the clothes I had bought before.
“Okay.” Mandy approached the young woman and took her hand. “Velvet is my friend. She’ll get us out here, yes?” Thereafter, she began to change.
The other cells were—yet—empty. I wouldn’t fool myself—they’d quickly be filled with new victims. Nevertheless, this was a clear answer to the Syndicate—yes, Velvet can protect those who are dear to her, and you can’t do anything about it.
Velvet didn’t even have to kill the guards.
<
br /> The elevator brought us to the ground floor. I hurried ahead to have a glance at the street. No cops present.
“Can I go?” the young woman suddenly asked, as if she’d just woken up from a deep trance.
“Sure. Do you know where you want to go?”
“Nnno.” She gazed at me insecurely, then her features brightened up. “Somewhere from where I can call my guy.”
“Here in New York?”
“Over in Queens.”
“You can’t go to Queens all alone. Come with us.”
“Nnno, I’d like to go now.”
“As you like. In that case, go to Harlem. If someone talks to you, tell them that Velvet sends her greetings to the Father.”
“Why?”
“Just remember.” I opened the door for her. “The street’s clean. Stay in the shadows.”
“Hum. Thanks.” She hurried away, and I noticed that I didn’t even know her name. Hopefully she’d make it to the Bones.
“She’s not well,” Mandy noticed.
“She must have been in there for some time.”
“Yes. I thought if I was alone there for much longer, I’d go mad. But I firmly believed that you were coming for my rescue, and now you’re here. So, am I mad already?”
“No, Mandy. Come.”
Chapter Sixty
Unsettled, Mandy glanced back and forth between the waterline and me. To the left before us, as far as recognizable through the bushes on the river bank, single working street lanterns at the Brooklyn bank glowed, and in the dark to the right had to be Staten Island. Far away, the glistening Verrazano Narrows Bridge connected both boroughs.
“Shall I swim now?” she asked. “I’m not safe from the Syndicate in Brooklyn nor on Staten Island. Basically, I’m safe nowhere if they send someone after me.”
“They won’t. The Navy will watch for you. I’ll send you to Annapolis.”
“Where’s that?”
“South of Washington.”
“DC?”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t swim that far. Or—you said Navy. Do you have a submarine?” She cocked her head. “I don’t think I should be alone in a submarine with so many men. Who knows, perhaps one of them is a Syndicate spy.”
“Don’t worry. I have a friend who’ll take you there tonight. However, you will become quite wet.”
“So swimming it is.”
“You will see. He’s swimming, and you’ll let yourself be taken along.” I took her hand and held it firmly. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
He was close, only waiting for my Call.
Achrotzyber.
“Whoa!” Mandy shrank back when the surface before us parted and the triangular, scaly head became visible.
Achrotzyber patiently watched us.
“May I introduce? Mandy, this is Achrotzyber Paxxchfztnach. Achrotzyber, this is Mandy. I’ve rescued Mandy from a Syndicate prison. She must leave the city without anyone spotting her.”
“That’s—that’s a Dragon!” Mandy squeezed my hand. “Velvet! A Dragon!”
“Good evening, Mandy,” my Dragon said. “Good evening, Mistress. Where shall I take the human child?”
“To Annapolis, where we came from. Take her to Cap. Katrina will take care of her. Oh—and she can’t breathe under water, unlike me.”
“Of course not, Mistress.”
“Mandy?”
Mandy flinched, and then straightened. “Pardon. Good evening, Mr. Acrot—Dragon. I didn’t understand your name right.”
“Call me Arko, Mandy.”
“Mr. Arko.” She glanced up at me. “This is a big honor, Velvet—Mistress. Dad told me there are no Dragons on Earth anymore. This is a secret, isn’t it?”
“It’s better for mankind not to know. We’d have to disappoint too many hopes.”
“Then I won’t tell anyone. But I won’t forget the day I’ve met my first Dragon. Thank you, Velvet. Thank you, Mr. Arko.”
“We should depart now, young lady. The patrol boats are just changing shifts. They will soon reappear in larger numbers.”
“Oh. Fine.” With remarkable bravery, Mandy jumped into the cold water, only briefly squeaking once. “Where shall I go?”
I left it to Achrotzyber to explain the details to her. On his back, near the wing joints, shielded by a dome formed by his wings, so that she’d have air to breathe across short submerged legs, he’d take her to Annapolis before dawn. Mandy nodded at me once again, and then the two dove down.
Achrotzyber’s Signature quickly gained distance. From now on, I was truly alone.
Chapter Sixty-One
Camouflaged and in the crown of a large, old tree in the Central Park, I spent the morning digesting my breakfast and my new findings.
Yes, I was a lone ranger. My entire life, I had got along well all alone. As long as I didn’t depend on anyone but myself, nobody could disappoint me.
Alone against an entire city’s crime—so what? Where otherwise a single person couldn’t move anything, my actions showed effect. I was good at what I did.
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t suffice. Dad and Mandy had shown me the limitations. If the people of New York didn’t do their share, didn’t learn to fight for their rights themselves, then I’d fail.
If I didn’t grant myself some sleep now, I’d also fail. I had to be wide awake to inspire the handful of people the Fool would bring along.
“Good evening!” I greeted the two men who didn’t seem to have anything to talk about with each other.
“Oh, good evening, Velvet,” the Fool replied.
Dad gave me a questioning glance.
“Mandy is well. I’d arrived soon enough, they hadn’t hurt her.” At least Mandy hadn’t complained about any scratches or bruises, and as long as the girl was okay—well, reality was tough.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Then leave it. Can we?”
The Fool smiled at me and pointed northward. “I had to change the arrangement regarding the location. There’s been—well—complications.”
“Cops?”
“That, too. You’ll see.”
We walked six blocks, then he headed for the large doors under a building front formed by several arcs.
“In the Guggenheim Museum?”
“Exactly. Come.”
Dad quietly followed us.
Behind the glass doors someone had improvised two rows of heavy curtains. Smart—this way no light could shine on the street and alarm passing police patrols.
Nevertheless, an older man was waiting outside and attentively watching the area. He nodded at me as if he knew me, although I was quite sure of never having seen him before.
The same applied to the young man who held the outer curtain open for us. He started to slip past us to open the inner curtain, but the Fool held him by the arm.
“One moment, Stu.” He turned to me. “Velvet, I had to change the location because there were a few more interested people than I initially expected.”
“That’s no bad thing.”
“I didn’t know how you think about speaking to so many people. That’s different from a small audience.”
“Oh, I’m used to appearing before many people.” Even in the nude, but I didn’t have to mention that now.
“Fair enough. Stu.”
The young man pulled one part of the curtain aside, thereby opening the view on a free circular space. I entered—and paused.
The room rose across five floors, and a balcony was spiraling upward all around, one floor per turn. From the ground floor to the very top, the people were squeezing to the railing shoulder by shoulder, in the lower part even in several rows. There had to be hundreds!
Chapter Sixty-Two
You could have heard a pin drop. Nobody talked, cleared his throat, or shuffled his feet—it seemed as if nobody dared to breathe aloud.
They all had come for me. In their faces, I saw curiosity, anxious expectation, hope, but also ske
pticism. It was good this way—I didn’t need yes-men, but people who could make use of their brains.
Almost all faces were unfamiliar to me. Yes, Trevor was there, Herb, and Joe. Dad and the Fool were still behind me, but they left the stage to me—this was my appearance alone.
Among the people present, almost a third were women. That was good, too, as they had a really hard time in this city, where equal rights were practically discarded.
“I’m Velvet. No, I call myself Velvet. For my enemies, that name is easier to remember than the one my parents gave me.”
I stepped into the room’s exact center and slowly turned around my axis, so that they all could see my face. “Good evening, and many thanks that you’ve come. I assume most of you have heard of me in some way. The city is full of rumors. Some of them are true.”
Along with my next words, I indicated the rough direction with brief gestures. “On Times Square, Velvet has taken on the cops, given them the runaround, and taken their weapons, just so. That’s true.
“Velvet has taken on the Bloods and drove them away. Several times. That’s true.
“Velvet was in the Bronx and took out a Slicer gang. That’s true.
“Velvet played cat-and-mouse with the cops in Brooklyn. That’s true.
“Velvet killed a Syndicate cleaning team in Manhattan.”
A murmur went around the room.
“This isn’t known yet, but it’s true.”
I made an encompassing gesture. “In this city, I go, where I want to go, even south of Canal Street. But what is it good for? I did not come to free you from the Syndicate.”
Some hopeful faces showed disappointment.
“You’ll have to do that yourselves. I’ve come to show you that the Syndicate isn’t almighty. I’m pointing out the limits of the Syndicate, and I demonstrate you what’s possible if you only get up off your butts. And if the New Yorkers are ready, if you are ready—then I will fight with you.”
This was too early. I saw skepticism.
Lioness’ Legacy IV—Torment Page 17
