F. Paul Wilson - Ground Zero

“Maybe he was flattered,” he called from the kitchen.

“He said it was good for business, for networking.”

“Well, all sorts of influential people belong, although I can’t see them all knowing about Opus Omega, and especially not nine/eleven.”

“I know Eddie has no idea about Opus Omega.”

He stepped back into the room with another beer. “How?”

“Because he saw a page in the Compendium with the words big as day and he didn’t react. He was more interested in the animation beneath it.”

Jack shook his head. “I’ve seen those animations. Amazing. But anyway, I’m sure the Order has lots of levels of membership with the folks on the bottom like Eddie knowing nothing about the doings of the guys on top.” His smile was grim. “Pretty much like the whole world.”

“But in the Order’s case, top would be the High Council of the Seven. As for levels of membership, I’ll bet there’s seven. They’re really into sevens.”

Jack nodded. “I think the Otherness itself is into sevens—I mean, the way the number keeps popping up.”

“Well, it’s prime, and it’s versatile, and it’s manageable.”

She jumped at the sound of the door buzzer.

Jack frowned as he reached behind him. A pistol appeared as he stepped to the intercom and pressed a button.

“Yeah?”

“It’s us,” said a woman’s voice. And in the background a little-girl voice said, “Surprise!”

Jack did look surprised for an instant, then he smiled and pressed the door-release button.

“Come on up!”

He opened the closet near the front door and placed the pistol on a high shelf. Before the door closed again she thought she spotted something that looked like a dai katana leaning up there as well.

He turned to her. “Company.”

“I gathered that. Is it who I think it is?”

He nodded. “My ladies.”

My ladies . . . he said it as if they were royalty. From the look in his eyes they were . . .

Weezy looked down at herself. Jack’s woman—his lady —would be here in seconds and she was still dressed in the sweats she’d put on for her aborted workout. No time to change. This was awful.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” he said as he turned the central knob that withdrew the four bolts on the door and pulled it open.

Seconds later a grinning nine-or ten-year-old girl in shorts and a T-shirt bounded out of the stairwell and leaped into his arms.

“Jack!”

“Hey, Vicks!”

As they hugged, a slim woman with blue eyes and short blond hair stepped through the door and planted a light kiss on Jack’s lips. She wore a white tank top and a short black skirt.

Oh, God, she’s beautiful.

Jack said, “Gia, Weezy. Weezy, Gia.”

The woman’s eyes locked with Weezy’s for an instant, then she smiled and stepped forward, extending her hand.

“Hi. Nice to meet you. Jack’s told me so much about you.”

Not too much, I hope, she thought. Like making a fool out of myself the other night.

“Good things, I hope. He’s told me about you too.”

Close up, she wasn’t really beautiful —that had been the initial gestalt impression—but she was very, very good looking. Next to her Weezy felt like a total frump.

“And this is Vicky,” Jack said, easing the child to the floor.

The child had her mother’s blue eyes but someone else’s dark hair. She wore it back in a single braid.

“Pleased to meet you.”

Good manners.

As they shook hands, Weezy said, “My mother named me Louise, but you can call me Weezy.”

She giggled. “Like Lil Wayne?”

People usually referenced Louise from The Jeffersons, but . . . “Lil Wayne?”

“Rapper,” Jack said. “That’s his nickname.”

She looked at him. “You like rap?”

“Some. Mostly no. But now and then I get stuck spending time with folks who do.” To Gia, he said, “What’s the occasion?”

“Well, I heard Weezy was here so I figured we’d stop over and get acquainted.”

So that was it. Jack had been on the phone while she’d unpacked the few things she’d brought. He must have told her about his houseguest and she’d come for a firsthand look. Weezy could understand that. Completely.

And now that you’ve seen me, you know you—especially you—have nothing to worry about.

“Are you hungry?” Vicky said to Weezy.

She was starved but determined to hold back.

“Well, um—”

“I am. Wanna eat?”

“She’s a stomach with feet,” Gia said. She hefted the pair of plastic grocery bags dangling from her left hand. “And since Jack never has anything to eat—”

“Just stocked in a brand-new, giant-economy-size box of Lucky Charms,” he said.

Vicky pumped her fist. “Yes!”

Gia said, “Ohhhh, no.”

Weezy could have told her about a study years ago that fed rats a diet of only breakfast cereal and how the ones on Lucky Charms did the best, but decided against it.

As Jack relieved Gia of the bags, she said, “There’s wine, crackers, and a couple of cheeses in there.”

“Come on in here and help me unpack,” Jack said to Vicky, “and we’ll check the fridge.”

“Okay!”

Weezy watched her run after him.

“I know he’s going to give her Lucky Charms in there,” Gia said softly, smiling, her eyes on the kitchen door. “I have to take a public stand against it to keep it verboten at home, but it’s Jack’s thing to sneak her whatever she wants. That’s why she loves coming here.”

“How long since she’s seen him?”

“A couple of days.”

“Really? I thought from the way she greeted him—”

“Day, week, month, she’s always that way with Jack.”

Weezy felt a lump of envy in her throat. Jack had a family . . .

Raising her voice, Gia turned back to Weezy. “Anyway, as far as edibles go—”

“I’ve got fairly recent leftover General Tso’s chicken,” Jack announced from the kitchen. “Hey, what’s this stuff? Quinoa?”

“It’s pronounced keen -wah,” she called back.

“Well, it’s spelled ‘quinn-oh-ah,’ and you know I don’t eat things I can’t pronounce.”

“As I was saying,” she continued to Weezy, barely missing a beat, “as far as eating goes, it’s BYO to Jack’s, unless you consider beer a food group.”

“Hops and malt,” he called. “Malt is a grain, and hops are a vegetable, which makes beer a two-fer.”

They’d obviously had this conversation before—many times. They were enviably comfortable with each other. She and Steve had shared something like that. They’d been close, but apparently not close enough to keep him from calling it quits on life.

These two had something more, something else running beneath the surface. She sensed a shared hurt, a shared trial, a fire that had scarred them but also fused them in the process. Weezy could almost see the voltaic arc of love flashing between them.

And could almost feel her heart break.

8

“Well?” Jack said. “What do you think?”

He was walking Gia toward Columbus Avenue for a cab, his arm around her shoulder, her arm around his waist. Vicky ambled ahead, gyrating to whatever was playing on her iPod.

He’d thought it had gone well. It could have been a bonfire of the ovaries, but they’d got along.

Gia looked up at him, a faint smile playing about her lips. “I think she’s in love with you.”

The idea stunned him. Weezy? In love with him? Sure, she’d hopped into bed with him, but that had seemed more like a desperate kind of need than . . . love.

“No way. We’ve known each other for ages and haven’t seen each other since the eighties. She can’t be.”