D. MacHale - The Never War

“And then we showed up,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Gunny. “And a Traveler died. I’m afraid that can only mean one thing.”

“Yeah,” Spader said to Gunny. “Looks like your days of watching and waiting are over.”

“Whatever Saint Dane’s plan is for First Earth,” I said, “it’s on.”

The car came to a stop and the cabbie slid the glass partition back that separated the front seat from the back. “Fifty-ninth and Park,” he announced.

I wondered how much of our conversation he’d heard. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have made any sense to him.

“Where are we?” asked Spader.

“This is my home,” said Gunny. “The Manhattan Tower Hotel. They all come through here sooner or later-movie stars, politicians, captains of industry. And gangsters.”

“Gangsters?” I said with surprise.

“Yes,” answered Gunny. “After what I’ve seen and heard today, I’ve got a feeling they’re the reason we’ve all been gathered together.”

“Welcome home,” I said to myself and stepped out of the cab.

(CONTINUED)

Gunny paid the cab fare as Spader and I gazed up at the Manhattan Tower Hotel. It was a real swankadelic place. It was thirty stories high and definitely the tallest building in the neighborhood. The front entrance was set back from busy Park Avenue to make room for an elaborate garden in front. There were trees and fountains and everything. It must have been a full-time job for a team to take care of, because even though it was March and kind of chilly, the garden was green and packed with colorful flowers. It was a dense, colorful jungle in the middle of a gray city.

The building itself stood out from the others because of its color. Every other building was some shade of cement. But the Manhattan Tower Hotel had a touch of pink to it. I’m not talking pukey-bright, Pepto-Bismol pink; it was softer than that. It made the place look warm and inviting. I couldn’t remember if this hotel was still around on Second Earth. But then again, like I said, I’m not an expert on New York history.

“Let’s try something,” Gunny said as he joined us on the sidewalk. He took off his long woolen coat to reveal he was wearing his bell captain uniform underneath. ”Hobey!” exclaimed Spader when he got a glimpse. “What a spiffer!”

Gunny had made an amazing transformation. The dark woolen coat he had been wearing made him look like everybody else on the street, but the outfit underneath was spectacular. The jacket was a deep, dark red with shiny brass buttons that went all the way up to the collar. The collar stood straight up and had two lines of golden trim running all the way around his neck. On each cuff of his sleeves were four golden bars. On his left breast was a fancy logo with the lettersMTHfor Manhattan Tower Hotel. On the other breast was a name tag that read “Vincent Van Dyke, Captain.” The pants were black, with a gold bar running down the outside of each leg. To finish it off, his shoes were shined to within an inch of their lives. The whole package had a military feel, like he was ready for a parade.

Gunny stood up straight and proud as we admired the uniform. He was a big guy, I’m guessing at least six foot four. But in his uniform, he looked seven feet tall. I think he knew it too. He had a little smile on his face. That was cool.

“Be honest, Gunny,” Spader said. “You were kiddin’ us before. You’re really a royal prince, right?”

Gunny laughed. “Don’t I wish,” he said. “Come here, Pendragon.” Gunny held up his woolen coat for me to put on. “Can’t have you guys walking through my hotel looking like Martians,” he added.

The coat was about a dozen sizes too big. The sleeves were so long you couldn’t see my hands and the bottom dragged on the sidewalk.

“Now I look like a Martian wearing my father’s coat,” I complained.

Gunny took off the coat and put it on Spader. It looked a little better on him. At least the bottom only skimmed the ground.

“It’ll do,” Gunny said. He then turned to me and winked. “We’ll take our chances with you looking like a spaceman, shorty.”

“Gimme a break, I’m only fourteen!” I said defensively, but I knew he was just giving me a hard time. I was beginning to like Gunny Van Dyke.

Before we could head into the hotel, a big limousine pulled up to the curb near us. I didn’t think anything of it, but Gunny got tense.

“Stay right here,” he said to us under his breath.

The two front doors to the limousine opened at the same time and four guys in suits jumped out. It all happened so fast it was almost funny. All I could think of were clowns jumping out of a car at the circus. I wondered how many other guys in suits were packed inside. One of the suits hurried to the back door and opened it up. The others stood around, scanning the sidewalk like Secret Service agents. A second later a guy pulled himself out of the back of the limo.

I knew instantly that this was “the man.”

He wore a suit like the others, but that’s where the similarity ended, because he was big. I’m talking massive. Everything about this dude was huge. His hands, his head, his feet, his body. He wasn’t fat. He was just big. His suit was light gray, and I could see he had a big gem stuck in his dark blue tie. I’d bet anything it was a diamond. His hat was the same color as his suit, with a dark blue band around it. A perfectly folded handkerchief that was the same color as his tie poked up from his breast pocket. He had a couple of rings on his fingers that looked pretty expensive too. This guy seemed like someone who pretty much got whatever he wanted. He stood up, adjusted his suit so everything looked just right, then turned toward the hotel. The other guys gathered around him, forming a protective shield. As they walked, they kept scanning the sidewalk for any threats.

No question. They were bodyguards.

“Who is this guy?” I asked. “Some foreign president?”

“I wish,” answered Gunny under his breath. “Most foreign presidents aren’t killers.”

Uh-oh. Not a good answer.

The guy caught sight of Gunny and broke out in a big smile. “Gunny, my friend!” he bellowed. He changed direction and headed right for us. That meant all of his bodyguards had to adjust and follow. It was like a big cargo ship had suddenly changed direction and all the little tugboats around it had to hurry to keep up.

Gunny tried to look casual. Spader and I didn’t move.

“You working the street now, Gunny?” the guy asked with a big smile.

“No sir, Mr. Rose,” answered Gunny politely. “Just taking a break. Wanted a breath of fresh air.”

“Good man,” the big guy exclaimed. He reached into his pocket and pressed a dollar bill into Gunny’s hand. “Don’t work too hard now, understand?” he said, and gave Gunny a friendly cuff on the shoulder.

“Only when I’m working for you, Mr. Rose,” Gunny replied.

The guy let out a laugh that was bigger than necessary. But that was okay. If he was a killer, then I wanted him to be in a good mood. It seemed like he thought Gunny was okay. That was good too. But then he looked down at me and stopped laughing. Uh-oh. Was I in trouble? What should I do? I had this image of King Kong-gazing down on all those poor natives who were running around-getting ready to choose one to pick up and swallow.

“Howdy there, Buck Rogers,” he said. “Little late for Halloween.”

I wasn’t sure of how to react, so I pretended he had made a really funny joke and forced out a laugh. It was the right move because the guy laughed with me. He grabbed my hand and stuck something in it.

“No offense, pardner, just making a joke,” he said. “You look real cute.” He then walked toward the hotel with his boys scrambling to follow. I looked down at my hand to see he had given me a dollar bill too.