Charlie Huston - Half the Blood of Brooklyn

A time I figure they’d kill to keep hidden.

I put the thoughts away. Blink. And look up into the spymaster’s eyes.

– I’m Society, Predo. I was out, now I’m back in. You want to fish for what goes on behind closed doors, find another place to drop your line. I don’t run your errands anymore and I don’t give up skinny on my people. You want to know do I care about anything, now you know.

His eyes widen.

– Heaven’s, Mr. Pitt, have you seen the light? Are you a believer again? Forgive my surprise. I was under the impression that you had taken over Society security because it was the only way Terry would tolerate you on their turf anymore. My apologies if I’ve been mistaken. I never meant to impugn your devotion to your cause.

– Impugn my ass and tell me what the hell you want.

– There, that is the Pitt I am most familiar with, the one I have come to know and manipulate with such ease in the past.

I think about throwing my chair through the covered window behind him and pushing him after it. But it’s probably safety glass and I doubt the chair would break it. And we’re only on the second floor of the Coalition’s Upper East Side brownstone anyway. So what the hell good would it do? Not like the sun’s shining out there or anything.

– Thinking about hurting me, Pitt?

I nod.

– Most of the time.

– Naturally. It is your nature to think ill of your betters. As to what I want, well, simple professionalism. You handle security for your Clan, I oversee somewhat larger and more complex operations of a similar nature for mine. In an era of détente such as we now enjoy, I merely wish to keep open the lines of communication between our offices when threats emerge that might endanger the well being of all. Something like a Van Helsing, I would have hoped to receive a direct call rather than having to find out about it through sources of my own.

– While we’re on the subject.

– Yes?

– What sources of your own are spilling news about what happens below Fourteenth?

– Below Houston is open territory. We have alliances just as you do.

– Still dancing with the Bulls and Bears?

He blanks his eyes.

– Anything you want to know, Pitt, ask it directly. Attempt to winnow information from me and you will only become frustrated and waste your limited resources.

– Seemed that was a direct question.

He ignores it anyway.

– What can you tell me about the Van Helsing?

I hold up my hand, tick a finger off.

– He killed the Candy Man.

I tick another finger.

– He did it old school.

Another finger.

– He tainted a load of blood.

And my last point I tick off on my thumb.

– And he dumped ammonia around to get rid of his scent.

Leaving me showing him one finger.

– And that’s it.

He nods, looks at a couple papers on his pin-neat desk, ignores the finger, and makes a couple notes.

– Well, then. Dismembered corpse. Two dozen tainted pints. And you are on the job. Very well.

He places a paper in his out-box.

– Good luck finding him.

I lower my finger.

– That it?

He glances up.

– Of course. As I said, a consultation was all I wanted. I have no interest in prying into a matter that lies so close to Society turf.

I get up.

– Yeah, sure, because that would be out of character for you.

He looks back at his papers.

– Have it as you wish. My wish is simply to facilitate the secrecy the Coalition believes is in all of our best interests. I have no desire to advance the goals of the Society, but interfering in a matter like this can only lead to unwanted publicity. That said, should you require any assistance in your investigation, you have only to call.

The fingers of one hand waft in the direction of the office door.

– Until next time.

I look at him, illuminated by the green shade lamp on his desk, surrounded by hardwood filing cabinets, the walls decorated by black-and-white photos of former holders of this office. All of it as it has been for more years than I learned to count in school. And I make for the door.

– Yeah, sure, next time.

– Pitt.

I stop with the door half open.

– Yeah?

– How did things go with the Docks?

I hesitate. It’s a heartbeat. Less than a heartbeat. But I hesitate.

– Docks?

– The Brooklyn Clan that’s looking for a Manhattan ally.

– Sure, I know who they are, just haven’t seen them myself.

– Odd.

– How’s that?

He taps a finger against his chin.

– We had scheduled a meeting with them. Understanding that they were to meet with the Society first.

– News to me. How’d that go?

– They never arrived.

– Hunh.

He watches me.

I shrug.

– Bridge-and-tunnelers, guess they got bad manners.

He lifts an eyebrow.

– I suppose so.

I start to go out the door, turn back again.

– Hey, that thing.

He looks up again. - Thing?

I point at his desk.

– The thing with the pen, the way you put it there, all perfect. The way your boy downstairs does it the same exact way. I got a theory about that.

– Yes?

I purse my lips.

– He’s studying you. Marking your moves, the way you go about it.

– About?

– Your business.

I pistol my fingers at him.

– He’s trying it on, Predo, seeing how the job would fit him. Yours, that is.

And I’m out the door and down the stairs and through the lobby past the giant who’s gonna have Predo’s eyes in the back of his head from here on out, and on the street where I can breathe.

I light a smoke.

Did it tell him anything? That hesitation, did it spill what went down with the Docks? I don’t know. But he’s better at this than I am. He’s better at everything than I am. It probably told him every fucking thing he wanted to know. Every goddamn thing he got me up here to find out from me.

I’m getting screwed.

Figure I know that much. God knows I should recognize the feeling when Predo slips it in. Scumbag’s had his action in my ass often enough.

Manipulate, he said.

Guess that’s the way the polite folks are saying fucked over these days.

Like to say he’s got it all wrong. Like to say he’s never had my number. Never pulled it over on me. Never made me dance on his strings. But I’d be lying. And lying to yourself pays out nothing. Not that it’s ever stopped me before.

Terry and his damn forest. Well, he was right about that. Way Predo snagged me at the end there, asking about the Docks, figure he’s seeing the same landscape as Terry. Both of them looking across the Brooklyn Bridge at all that territory, the couple thousand infecteds that have been living in the bush out there, and how they’ve suddenly started crossing the bridge looking to come back into civilization.

A Van Helsing?

Like Predo could give a fuck.

Pull my ass up here, drag me across 14th Street for a consultation he knows Terry won’t let me bow out of. Do that for a lone whackjob? Bullshit.

Do that to fish for what Terry’s up to with Brooklyn? Yeah, figure that’s how Predo plays his games. And figure Terry’s got that figured just as well.

Now I’m supposed to go home, turn in my report, tell him how it went down so he can take a read on Predo’s hand.

Both of them trying to get an idea of the other guy’s cards by looking at my face.

Fucking job!

Oh. Fuck me.

Two dozen pints. He said, Two dozen pints. Fucker knew what Solomon had in stock. Predo. Van Helsing. Would he do that? Send one of his enforcers down to do a job that looks like a Van Helsing? Do that to get me in his office where he can look me over? Hell yes, he would.