Michael Harvey - We All Fall Down

Except this wasn’t a bat. It was a bullet. And Philip wasn’t here. Just me. Falling backward. The desk toppling until it was standing on its head. Then a row of rafters, slabs of scarred wood, laid across the ceiling. After that it was over and down, heels first through a hole in the floor. The tunnel, black and smooth. The fall itself, fast. A long way up, I could still see the gun. Eyes like boreholes above it. Hammer falling. Always falling. There were voices in my ear. Images reflected in the stygian gloom. I tried to stop my fall, but couldn’t. Silence pressed against my skin. The physical weight of falling. And the wind. Without a shred of pity. Then the fall stopped. I lay in the darkness. Darkness became light. And then they were one. And that one was nothing.

My eyes moved under their lids, then opened. I saw tiny honeycombs of white. Soft cells stretching around my face, enveloping. A voice scratched at my consciousness. I wiggled my hands, pinned to my sides. I was lying on what felt like a wooden floor, wrapped head to toe in plastic bubble wrap. The voice scratched again. It was Ellen, talking through a micro-receiver tucked into my ear.

“Can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” I whispered and hoped Gilmore wasn’t standing over me giggling.

“Good. Just give me a minute.”

The package Ellen had given me contained a “smart shirt”-one of CDA’s prototypes made with a weave of carbon nanofiber. Testing showed it could take a. 40-caliber round at fifteen feet. I moved my shoulder. Deflect, yes. Entirely bulletproof, no. All in all, however, no complaints.

“Michael, the shirt detected some loss of blood and released a little Adrenalin into your system. Your vitals look fine, but I’m going to give you another spike. Should wake you up. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was shot twice. Might have gotten clipped in the shoulder. Or at least bruised.”

“Can you move?”

I wiggled my fingers again. “Give me a minute.”

Ellen fell silent. I felt for the small knife I’d stashed in a pocket along my thigh. Gilmore hadn’t bothered to check me for weapons. Why would he check a man he’d shot point-blank in the chest? It was a couple of minutes’ work to get the knife into the palm of my hand. Another minute to cut myself loose. I was in a small room, just off the main space on the second floor. Someone was typing in the next room. Gilmore. Probably figured he’d finish up some paperwork, wait until it got dark, and dump me somewhere. Fuck him. I crept to the door and took a look. He was fifteen feet away, back to me, working at his desk.

I edged out of the room and across the floor. I had the knife. There was a gun at Gilmore’s elbow. It was still raining, harder now, and the sound of it against the windows covered my approach. I got to within two feet before I saw his shoulders tense. He grabbed for the gun and turned. But it was too late. I cracked him across the side of the head with the brass butt of the knife. He fell sideways off the chair and hit the floor hard. I was on him quickly. He tried to turn his body, but I was behind and had the leverage. I slipped my good arm around his neck, fitting his Adam’s apple into the crook of my elbow. Then I squeezed.

He snapped his head back, hoping to break my nose. I kept the pressure on. He struggled to his feet. I stayed with him. We circled backward and to the right, locked together in a staggering sort of dance. His arm swept a stack of papers off his desk. His hand pawed at my face. I bit his finger. He went to a knee. I hung on. It had been fifteen seconds. His brain was begging for blood. Oxygen. He tried once more, rearing up, slamming me into a wall. Then he crumpled to the floor and was done.

I flex-cuffed one arm and leg to a chair. He sat forward, head lolled against his chest.

“Ellen?”

“I’m here.”

She had listened to the struggle and never said a word.

“I’ve got him tied up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Who else knows I’m here?”

“No one. Just like I promised.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Michael.”

“I’m gonna shut down this comm for a bit.”

“What are you gonna do?”

I looked down at Gilmore. He was starting to come around.

“He’s got a lot of paperwork here. Hang tight until I check back in.”

I took out the earpiece and shut down the transmitter. Then I pulled out my knife. Gilmore’s head was just starting to lift off his chest. I spread his free hand out flat and took a final look out the window. The rain was sluicing off the roof and running past the windows in tiny waterfalls. I drove my knife through the meat of his hand until the blade buried itself in the wooden desk.

The scream made me feel almost sorry for the one who had killed so many. But not quite. He thrashed around for a second, not realizing his predicament and only causing himself more pain. I kept my hand on the hilt and leaned close.

“Awake yet?”

I cracked a couple of teeth with a straight right. He spit out a knot of blood. His arm was spasming despite himself.

“Fuck you.”

I twisted the blade. He grunted. Then smiled.

“Need to do better, Kelly.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

I pulled the knife out. He couldn’t help but look down at his ruined hand.

“Up here.”

He glanced up. I slashed his left check to the bone. His left eye trembled in its socket.

I slashed the other cheek, taking a flap of skin from the jawline as well. Gilmore was shivering. Still smiling, but now a little shocky.

“Kill me.”

“In due time.”

“I did them all.”

“I know.” I moved forward with the knife. And pretty soon I knew the rest.

“Fruits and vegetables. That’s what it says, Kelly. Fruits and vegetables. Like it’s one category.”

I was sitting at the bottom of the fire escape, watching Johnny Apple peel his namesake with a knife and expand on the reason why.

“Doctor tells me more vegetables. I say, ‘What does that mean?’ He shows me the pyramid. With the categories.”

“Fruits and vegetables?”

“That’s right. I figure one covers for the other. Now, I love apples.” Johnny took a bite and held up the aforementioned fruit. “Good for six or seven a day. Cunt of a wife tells me I’m a dumb fuck. Like I need her to tell me that? Says they need to be green and leafy. Green and leafy? What the fuck is that?”

“Vegetables?”

“Exactly what she told me.”

“It’s not fruits or vegetables, Johnny. So maybe you can’t substitute one for the other.”

“You don’t like the categories?”

I shrugged. Johnny finished his apple. I finished my smoke. Then Vinny DeLuca’s hitter took a look up the stairs.

“He up there?”

“Yeah.”

“Wrapped.”

“Bubble wrap.”

Johnny chuckled. “Bubble wrap. Federal Fucking Expresso. Bet it does a nice job.”

“Where are you going to take him?”

“Better if you don’t know. Don’t worry. He won’t never be heard from.”

I stood up. Johnny put out a hand. It was full of knuckles and rings. “You don’t have to go up.”

“I got a few things I need to grab.”

Johnny shrugged. “You all right?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t look it.”

“Let’s get him out. I’ll feel a lot better.”

We went upstairs. Johnny Apple commented on the fine packing job. Then he threw the bundle over his shoulder, took it downstairs, and dumped it in his trunk. He slammed the lid and offered his hand on a job well done.

“Got something else for you, Johnny.”

The hitter’s face went blank. His hand dropped to his side. In Johnny’s line of work, no one likes surprises.