Charlie Huston - My Dead Body

I look at him.

He nods.

– A girl is what I hear. Puttin’ up a challenge to head Enclave. Not.

He looks behind us again and raises his voice a bit.

– Not dat dere’s naught wrong wit it. But.

He shakes his head and lowers his voice.

– A girl still.

He sighs.

– Always a madness in dat place, Joe. No tellin’ which a way dey might come out on any issue, but always seemed to me dey were traditional types. Den again, long as I knew, it was Daniel over dere callin’ da shots. Never had no goings on wit da man myself, but I heard how he was reliable like. In da way of his kind dat is. Crazy, but reliable like. Fer da time bein’, I’m just happy ta have dem off on dere own while we finally settle accounts. Tell ya, Joe.

He slaps my back and I go to my knees in the water and he hauls me up.

– Sometin’ like dis? A troop o hard hitters makin’ tru da sewers ta lay a hurt on da competition? Well, it may not be good fer business in da short, but tis good fer da soul. A bit o da old days come ta life is what it is.

He comes in close again.

– It’s all up in da air it is now. Sideways like. Confusin’ even, an I don’t like ta utter da taught, but even Terry steps outside hisself frum time ta time. Some o da plays we made of late, dey just don’t make no sense. I don’t expect ta understand every little ting, but I don’t grasp how it does us good when Terry an Lydia are forever at each other’s troats.

He rubs his chin.

– An while I know it’s not how Terry’d a had it, I have ta say dat fer meself, tis more dan a relief ta be getting’ over wit da inevitable. I follow Terry’s lead, an everyone knows dat, but it is a ting dat warms my heart ta be getting’ dis out o da way once an fer all. Direct like. An maybe get all back ta normal like. Terry his old self again.

He straightens.

– Whaddya say ta a song?

He opens his pipes, belts his tenor, echoes in the tunnel making him a chorus.

– Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo

Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo

Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, Ye’re an armless, boneless, chickenless egg,

Ye’ll have to be put with a bowl to beg,

Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye.

After midnight is what Predo said.

And at his disposal: four enforcers in cop uniforms, those action-movie types with their body armor and grappling hooks, the others in coveralls, sweat suits, business casual. One big Vampyre costume party.

Figure he can play it a couple ways. Lead with the fake cops. Put them up on the stoop to knock on the door, force their way in, make way for whichever masqueraders have been planted on the street. Commandos will be on the roof already. They can come straight down, or just sit up there to pick off anyone who tries to get out through the fire exit up top. Plenty of extra bodies to spread around the streets in case something sloppy happens and they have runners that need to be snatched away. Biggest problem with that play is the cop uniforms. Neighbors see them out their windows, they’re gonna pull up a chair to see what it’s all about. As long as the action stays inside the Cure house, it’s not all bad. But can you count on that? No. Best to count on shit getting all fucked up in this kind of scenario. Not that there’s ever been this kind of scenario. So figure he might play it straight paramilitary.

Commandos blow a hole in the roof, pour inside, start flushing everything to the bottom. Fake cops are outside, ready to do “crowd control” on anything that comes out. Some of those coveralls had ConEd logos. Guys might be set to cut power to the house, maybe the whole block.

How good are Predo and his enforcers?

One-on-one, they’re good as it gets in terms of being fit and well trained and inclined to want to hurt a person, but not big on independent thought. Rote fighters. Counterpunchers most of them. Fight dirty enough and you have a good shot. Pretty good in small group, but the same weaknesses apply.

But this?

Who the hell knows.

Mean, they haven’t done it before. And hard to figure where they’d practice. Chances are, once they pull the trigger and start this thing, it’ll all be theory they’re trying to make work the way they want it to. Counting on Horde’s people being disorganized, starving, poorly armed.

Predo had any idea how far gone things really are in there, he’d probably not be bothering. Just keep his embargo in place and wait a little longer.

Heat. He’s feeling it.

What Hurley had to say about the news. That stuff has always stung the Coalition more than it has the downtown types. Psycho-killer headlines, that tension on the streets, the feeling out there that something’s not right. Predo doesn’t like it. And if he doesn’t like it, his bosses on the Coalition Secretariat like it less.

Old schoolest of the old school. Bunch of top hat and evening cape boys sitting on the top floor of Coalition HQ. Fancy Upper East town house just around the corner from the Guggenheim. Calling shots that knock balls over the whole Island.

Used to be, I pictured them smoking big cigars and drinking port. Like from a nineteenth-century political cartoon. Red noses, round bellies, resting their feet on the backs of the slobs. Nothing wrong with it if you can get a seat at the table, I suppose. Not my style, but I get why people want to be on top. Means there’s no one overhead to drop a load on you when their bowels get loose.

Got a different picture of them now.

Lean. Burnished. Dipping fingers into bowls of something that looks like looped purple licorice ropes. Putting them at their lips and sucking.

Sucking cord blood from harvested umbilicals.

Hole-raised kids with chains on their necks scattered around the room.

Not a picture from satire, but something literal. Like I’m thinking that’s what it’s really like up there on that top floor. Very much just like that.

Types living that way, you might figure they have a vested interest in avoiding the kind of headlines Hurley mentioned. So yeah, figure again that Predo’s feeling heat, needs to get the situation under control. Minimize risks and exposures. Start with what’s right there in the middle of their turf. The Cure house.

A quiet play. Clandestine. That’s what he’ll be going for. The fake cops, they won’t lead, they’ll hold back for an emergency. Whole thing will be invisible if Predo has his way. Commandos first, dead of night, figure between three and four. Time for us to make the scene before it goes down. Get inside, make a deal with Horde and Sela, and be waiting for Predo’s enforcers when they come in.

And once they’re in and the bullets fly, I grab the girl with her baby, try and take the boyfriend if I can, and get the hell out.

Who’s thrashing?

Not me.

I have a plan.

– You said you knew the way.

– I do.

– It’s almost three in the morning.

– Just be quiet, I’m trying to smell something.

– Oh, I’m sorry, is my voice interfering with your sense of smell? Is it getting in your nose and distracting you?

– Lydia.

– Joe.

– If you’d had given me that gun, I’d be shooting you again right now.

She turns to Terry.

– He’s lost. He’s cracking wiseass now because he’s lost and it’s what he does when he knows he’s fucked up.

Terry sloshes closer.

– Joe?

I hold up a hand.

– Just shut up for a minute and back off.

A cramp hits my gut and I fold over it.

Terry presses the heel of his hand into his forehead.

– How long since you had anything?

I unfold.

– Too long what with the ass-kicking I’ve been taking. So I’m maybe not at my sharpest. So I need maybe a little space and quiet here.