Charlie Huston - Already Dead - A Novel

I think about making a break for it, but I'm done. So I take a drag instead and say what's on my mind.

— Predo, you're a dick.

The uppercut catches me under the jaw and dislocates it. I fly into the air, across the bed, crash into the wall and tumble onto the mattress. He's stronger than the enforcer was.

The giant scoops me up and full nelsons me in front of Predo. Predo squares up.

— Where?

I try to say something smart, but can't get my jaw to move, so I just shake my head. Predo cocks his fist. He'll knock my jaw clear off this time.

-'Lo, Joe.

We all look up to the top of the little circular stair that leads down to this room. I grind my jaw and it pops into place.

— Hurley. How you doing?

He stands at the top of the stairs looking down at us, a huge hammerlike.45 held casually in either hand, neither of them pointing at anything, yet.

— OK. Door's unlocked up 'ere.

— Yeah?

— Tought I'd come in. Ya don't mind?

— Naw.

He nods at Predo.

— Mr. Predo.

Predo lowers his fist.

— Hurley. It has been a long time. How is Terry?

— Same. But he won't like yer bein' down 'ere none, Mr. Predo.

— He'll be understanding on this occasion. Trust me.

The giant is eyeing Hurley, wearing the unmistakable expression of a big man who wants to prove he's the most dangerous guy in the room. Hurley keeps his eyes on Predo, wearing the expression of a man who knows who the most dangerous guy in the room is. Predo's face shows nothing.

Hurley lets the barrel of one of the forty-fives wave in my direction.

— Terry sent me over. Wants ta see ya.

— He's back?

— Yeah, wants ta see ya.

— Well, I'm busy, but I think I can get away.

I look at Predo. He lifts his chin at the giant, and the giant releases my arms.

— Let me just go to the can.

I walk into the bathroom, pick up the case and stuff it in my back pocket. The tableau in my bedroom remains in place. I stand at the foot of the stairs.

— Don't worry, Mr. Predo, I'll take care of what we were talking about. Get it to someone who can handle the responsibility like you suggested. And you look after my friend. OK?

He doesn't say anything.

— OK, Mr. Predo?

He nods, begins stripping the gloves from his hands.

— Yes, I suppose that will have to do.

— Yeah, I suppose it will.

Halfway up the stairs I get hit with a last piece. I pause and look back down.

— I took care of business, didn't I, Mr. Predo? Did that job you wanted done?

He rolls his sleeves back into place and begins to fit the cuff links to their holes.

— Yes, you did.

I'm thinking fast, trying to make it fit, trying to get something out of this.

— I killed Horde?

— Yes.

He is straightening the knot in his tie and pauses to look at me.

— Rather esoterically, I am told. How did you go about freezing his blood?

I'm watching him close.

— Figure you know more about that than me.

He looks down at his tie.

— I assure you, I do not.

I play it as it lies.

— However I did it, I figure I'm owed.

He smoothes the tie down his shirtfront.

— You were thinking?

— I'd like my stash replaced.

He picks up his jacket.

— Replaced?

I dangle it one more time.

— Yeah, from when your guy without a smell snatched it.

A spark of interest flares across his face, and dies in the same instant as he snuffs it.

— I don't employ such things, Pitt.

I leave it there. He slides his arms into the jacket.

— You are correct however, you did provide a service. I will arrange delivery of compensation.

He tugs on the lapels of his jacket, seating it firmly on his shoulders.

— But the Coalition is a progressive entity, Pitt. We do not deal in superstition.

He flicks a loose strand of hair into place.

— If it is the paranormal that you are concerned with?

I wait.

— You should try talking with Daniel. He is the only one who traffics in such things.

I open my mouth. Hurley taps me with one of his sledgehammer guns.

— Terry's waitin' on ya, Joe.

II look at Predo. He tilts his head.

— I look forward to seeing you again, Pitt. I touch my sore jaw.

— Yeah. Do me a favor. Lock up on your way out.

I follow Hurley up the stairs and out onto the street. He tucks his guns into his waistband and buttons his jacket over them. We walk side by side toward Tompkins Square.ÊÊ

— Didn't know you knew Predo, Hurley.

He shrugs.

— Yer around long enough, Joe, ya get ta know everyone.

— Not only is he an agent provocateur, but he's an escapee and I want to know what the fuck has been going on!

— Sure, sure, Tom, we all want to know what's been going on, man. But you don't get knowledge by screaming, you get it by listening. So let's just, you know, try to cool it and listen to the man. -Fuck that shit. You heard Hurley. Dexter Predo was in his apartment. Fucking Predo! He's their fucking spy master! What more evidence do you want?

— Well, if we're supposed to execute a man, as you suggest, then I want a whole lot of evidence, Tom.

It's just like old times.

— Fine. Fucking fine. Then I want to call a tribunal! I want a fucking court of enquiry.

This time I didn't have to be coldcocked by Hurley to get to Society headquarters. But here I am all the same.

— Hey, Tom, if it comes to that, it comes to that. No problem. But let's just get the ball rolling with a few simple questions, OK?

— Fuck questions! I want a full interrogation into this right fucking now.

Terry walks over to Tom, nodding his head.

— Tom. I think I need you to take a walk.

— What? No fucking.

— Hurley.

— Yeah.

— Take Tom for a walk.

Tom stares at him.

— No fucking.

Terry holds up his hand, index and middle fingers spread in a peace sign.

— Cool it, Tom. Take a walk. Now.

— This is fucking.

Terry puts the hand on Tom's shoulder.

— What, Tom? This is fucking what?

He gazes into Tom's eyes, and Tom shuts up.

— That's it, right, man? You're done? You're cool?

Tom nods.

— Yeah. I'm cool, Terry.

— Good. So take a walk.

He pats him on the shoulder and watches as Hurley leads him up the steps.

— Lydia.

Lydia looks up from the cup of coffee she's been staring into since I came in.

— You mind taking a walk with the boys?

— Nope.

She follows them up the stairs without looking at me. Terry Waits until they are gone and the door closes. Then he comes over to the old card table and sits down across from me.

— He's a firebrand that one, very passionate in his beliefs.

I play with my Zippo.

— That must help.

— I don't follow, Joe.

— Well, I sometimes get the feeling you're grooming him for my old spot. He'll do a good job. He likes cracking the whip.

Terry shakes his head.

— Nobody will ever do that job as good as you, Joe. You were the best.

— Yeah, well, those days are over.

— They don't have to be. You could always come back.

I don't need to answer that, so I light a smoke instead. Terry holds up his hand.

— I'd rather you didn't.

— Right.

I put the smoke out.

— See you got back OK.

— Yes.

— How'd it go up there?

He sighs.

— It's not like the old days, Joe. Digga is a much different man than Luther was. Luther was from my school, a revolutionary, not a reactionary. He was there in the sixties, saw how change can really happen. Luther made some of that change. It's hard now to explain how big a change that was, getting the Coalition to give up the top of the island. Man, truth be told, I don't know if we could have ever gotten our independence down here if it hadn't been for Luther X. Kid like Grave Digga, history doesn't mean much to him. But I think I got him to see some light. He knows he can't go making war by himself, and he knows we aren't about to join in with his hostilities, even if the Coalition did assassinate Luther. You can't change the world if your motive is revenge. Vibes like that just aren't productive.