Already Dead

– 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.

– 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.

– Uh-huh. So how'd you get back down?

– I was able to make an arrangement. You can always make an arrangement if you're patient and flexible.

– That arrangement have anything to do with giving Predo passage down here so he could pop in on me?

Terry shrugs.

– Well, I did grant a transit. But I didn't ask questions about how they would use it.

– That was part of the arrangement?

– One must bend to avoid breaking, Joe.

– Thought you didn't look too concerned about Predo being at my place and all.

– That's not fair. I'm always concerned about you. You're a friend.

– Sure. That why I'm here? Friendship?

He leans forward in his chair.

– I'd like to think that all our arrangements are made on the basis of friendship. But Tom is right. There has been a great deal going on. And I am very interested in hearing your side of it.

– Fair enough.

I take a moment to get my story together.

– So it's like this, Terr, there was some trouble.

I stop. Terry nods encouragingly.

– And I took care of it.

Terry waits. And waits some more. And smiles.

– Is that really the way you want to handle this, Joe?

– Yeah, it really is.

– OK, OK, man. That's fair. But it raises other issues.

– Like?

– Well, you know how I feel about capitalism, no fan of the WTO am I. But there are advantages to doing things on a quid pro quo basis. Like a barter economy. So let's put this on a goods and services level.

– How so?

– Well, like the Dusters. That cost something, asking them to go uptown and pick you up. Not to mention that it aggravated an already sensitive relationship with the Coalition. So that's one, I don't know, call it one unit.

He holds up a finger.

– On a less tangible level, there's just the general bad vibes you've been stirring up around here that last couple days.

He holds up a second finger.

– You're also asking us to kind of, I don't know, take it on faith that whatever's been in the air is cool. That's trust, Joe. That's, and I hate to put it in these terms, but that's an expensive commodity. So that might need a little extra compensation.

Two more fingers.

– And then there's the cleanup I hear Tom did on that Leprosy kid and his dog. Now that's a big service, but I know you liked that kid and whatever went down must have been tough on you. So.

He sticks up his thumb, shows me his open hand.

– I'm not sure how to assign value to all of that. So maybe you have an idea of how to make us even on this deal. Because otherwise, I just don't see any way around it, we're going to have to insist on getting a little more information, a little more than just your say-so that things are gonna be cool. You get me?

– I get you. I come across with something worth something or you're gonna put me in a room with Tom and Hurley.

He puts his hand on the table.

– Don't be like that, Joe. The Society is a collective, man, I have to keep everybody happy. If it was up to me, I'd just take your word, shake hands and maybe ask you to buy me a beer. You know how I work.

– I know how you work, Terry.

He grins.

– Sure you do. So.

The grin goes away.

– What you got, Joe?

I pull the case out of my back pocket and set it on the table. The hinge creaks open. He looks at the teeth. Looks at me and raises his eyebrows.

– It's a bomb, Terry. Set it off and all hell will break loose.

I don't tell him everything. But I tell him enough. And he likes it.

– What the fuck?

Tom is standing on the sidewalk with Hurley when Terry brings me out.

– Easy, Tom.

– Where the fuck does he think he's going?

– He's going his own way, Tom, just like all of us have to.

– Fuck his way! You can't just.

– Cool it, OK? You want to be security chief, you have to learn that it sometimes involves some subtlety, some grace.

– Fuck subtlety. You can't make a decision like this on your own.

There needs to be a hearing and a vote.

I get out a smoke.

– You know, Tom…

I light it.

– You are one lousy anarchist.

His hand goes in his pocket and comes out with the revolver he took off me. Before he can point it at me it's in Terry's hand and Tom is on the ground. Terry looks down at him.

– Joe is gonna take off, Tom. He's walking clean. That's the way it's gonna be and there's not going to be a vote. Hurley, take him back in.

Hurley helps Tom off the sidewalk and they head for the door.

Tom stares at the sidewalk the whole way, tears of rage boiling down his cheeks.

I watch till he's inside, then shoot a look at Terry.

– Still got the moves.

He tilts his head and shrugs.

– The tools of the oppressor have to be used sometimes.

– Sure.

I point at his hand.

– That's my gun.

Terry looks at the revolver, then holds it out to me.

– Be careful with it.

I take the gun and drop it in my pocket.

– Always am.

I start down the street, he calls after me.

– By the way, you ever find out who it was that was poking around? The no-scent thing?

– Gonna go look into that.

– Let me know.

I stop and turn around.

– I almost forgot, Predo was asking after you. Didn't know you guys had a personal history.

Terry takes off his glasses and polishes them on his Grateful Dead T-shirt.

– Well, live long enough, and you get to know everyone.

– So I hear.

He puts his glasses back on, waves and goes inside.

Lydia stops me at the corner.

– She wants to see you. I rub my head.

– Later. I have to go somewhere.

– How much later?

– Not much.

She nods, gives me the address.

– She's a peach, you know.

– Whatever.

– Sure, whatever you say.

I head west toward A, where I know I can flag a cab.

– Joe.

I keep walking.

– Yeah?

– No lie, Joe, I don't like men much.

Still walking, letting her talk at my back as much as she wants to.

– And I like straight men even less.

Walking, thinking about what I have to do next.

– But you might be OK with me one of these days.

Calling back over my shoulder.

– Then I got something to look forward to.

She laughs.

– If you can keep alive that long, Joe.

– Come in, Simon.

I do. I sit on the floor of Daniel's cubicle and watch him eat. He sits cross-legged and holds a tiny bowl between his thumb and index finger. The bowl can't hold more than a generous tablespoon. As we speak he brings it to his lips, wetting them with drops of blood that he then licks away with the tip of a tongue as pale as his skin. He gestures to me with the bowl.

– Would you like some?

I look at the meager brass vessel in his hand.

– Why not, it's probably from my stash anyway.

He puts his nose close to the bowl and inhales.

– Yes, I think it is.

He offers the bowl to me.

– Please, finish it. I've had my fill.

I take the bare thimble of blood, then toss it down my throat. It's good.

– You gonna tell me why, Daniel?

He nods.

– But I would like to ask you a question first.

I run a finger through the gloss of blood left in the cup, lick it clean, and set the bowl on the floor between us.

– Shoot.

– How did it feel?

I watch the empty bowl.

– What?

– Please, Simon. Be coy with others, but not with me. That's not for us. How did it feel?

I think about starving. I think about the cramps and the burning that followed. I think about being helpless. And I think about the shimmering brightness of the world when I was at the naked edge of death.

– It felt good.

– And?

– Dangerous.

His hand spiders over his skull.

– Apt as usual. Good and dangerous. You have just summed up the existence of Enclave. Thank you. And your question now. Why?

– Yeah.

– Because you are Enclave, Simon.

– No, I'm not.

He shakes his hand in the air.

– We don't need to have this debate again. You are what you are and nothing can change that. You simply need to become aware of it.

– So you decide it's time for me to find out about myself, and you pitch that… whatever the fuck it was at me? That Wraith? Have that thing come into my place and strip my stash. I almost got killed.

– But you didn't. And tell me, if you hadn't been so close to the Vyrus, so close to your true nature, would you have survived your encounter? Would you have been strong enough to face down your enemies?

I think about the enforcer and his strength, and Horde's bullets ripping into me.

– No. But I don't think I would have been there in the first place.

– But you would have. If you had been fat and well-fed you would have fought events as they happened, and you would have died before you ever reached that room. As it was, you were forced, by what you perceived as weakness, to acquiesce to events. Until you were ready.

– That's just plain crap.

– No, it's truth.

– No such animal, Daniel.

He nods.

– That may be the greatest truth of all.

– Christ. Is there more of this?

He pinches his lower lip.

– Just a little more. Just a small promise from you.

A promise to Daniel. A promise to the man who sent something into my home to starve me. And then sent it again to watch over me. Sent it to kill Horde before Horde could kill me. A promise that will have to be kept.

– What promise?

– Just a promise to think. About your life. How you live your life.

Oh, Jesus.

– You were given the Vyrus how long ago?

– About thirty years.

– Yes. That's quite a good span for most. Many last not even a year. Most, no more than ten. Those who endure find they must dig deeper, burrow into little caves and secret places. They find they need the protection of others who will not question the manner in which they live their lives. The dark hours, the healed wounds, the strange persistence of youth. But you. To live alone, without protection, among those without the Vyrus, for thirty years. That can be seen as an accomplishment. Or a great failure. You, Simon, you are clinging to life as you think it should be led by a man. But you are not a man, not a human man. And you have not been a man for so very long. You have a true nature, all of us who receive the Vyrus have a true nature, but only Enclave see that nature. You see it, and that's why you cling to a life that cannot last, because you are frightened of it. And that's good. The Vyrus is awful. Trying to embrace it, trying to become it, is a terrible task. Exhausting. Painful. But to do anything else? Anything else is a lie. And you, Simon, you aren't made for lying. That's a truth.

I stand up.

– That it?

He tilts his head to watch my face.

– Yes, I suppose it is. Just that you keep your promise and think about it.

– I'll keep my promise.

– Of course you will. And what will you do now?

– Now I'm going.

I head for the door.

– You know, Simon.

– What?

– Most of us, we only touch the Vyrus at first under supervision.

Even I was watched over when I took my first fast. Few manage it alone. And you did it under extreme circumstances. So I hear.

I stand at the doorway.

– And?

– That could mean something.

– What, Daniel? Can you just tell me what's on your mind and cut the crap?

He laughs.

– What's on my mind.

He wipes a single milky tear from the corner of his eye.

– What's on my mind.

Still he laughs.

– What's on my mind, is that I am failing.

He looks at me, a skeleton smile cracking his face.

– And someone will have to take my place.

And I get the fuck out of there.

Sela's place is on Third Avenue and 13th, above a deli. She buzzes me in.

– She's asleep.

– Wake her.

The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom. The front door opens directly into a living space, doors to the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom open directly off of that. The place is done up in an ultra-feminine Middle Eastern lounge kind of thing. There's lots of pillows and rugs, mandala-printed fabric hanging from the walls, and scarves draped over lamps. Sela leaves me in the living room and passes through a beaded curtain into the bedroom. I hear her talking softly and hear some mumbled replies. She comes out and waves me over.

– Don't keep her up long, she needs her sleep.

– Yeah, tomorrows a school day.

I start for the bedroom and feel a vise clamp on my shoulder. I turn back to Sela. She takes her hand from my shoulder and puts a finger in my face.

– Whatever she was shot up with is still making her dopey. She needs her sleep.

– Yeah. Got it.

She takes her finger out of my face and I go through the curtain. The bed is a huge futon on the floor, piled with more pillows. There's a little floor space rimming the edge of the mattress, which is fine because all that's in there besides the bed is a hookah and several wicker baskets that look like they stand in for closets.

Amanda is sitting up against a mound of pillows, wearing a tattered and massive Tears for Fears T-shirt that is probably left over from Sela's more conventional youth. However long ago that might have been. She rubs her eyes.

– Hey.

I squat down next to the bed.

– Hey.

She looks around for a clock that isn't there.

– What time is it?

– After two.

– Hn.

My leg starts to throb where the bullet went in. I ease myself down and sit on the edge of the futon.

– You OK?

– Yeah. But I feel tired all the time.

– Sela taking care of you?

– Yeah, she's fierce. Says she's gonna show me a great workout so I can get arms like hers.

– Huh.

She scratches at her tangled hair.

– So what happened?

– What's the last thing you remember?

She leans deeper into the pillows and looks up at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up there in a swirl.

– We were getting ready to leave the school.

– That's it?

The air conditioner in the window gurgles and hums.

– Yeah. I think so. But I had all these dreams and it's hard to. What happened"?

I open my mouth. The truth sits inside it. And stays there.

– Some guys jumped us.

She sits up again.

– No way.

– Yeah.

– Sweet. That's so cool. Who were they?

– Some guys your dad had hired. They were following me.

– No way.

– Yeah.

– So what happened?

– You got your head bonked, went out. Concussion.

She feels her head.

– There's no bump.

– Happens that way sometimes.

– So what'd you do? Wait. There was a total fight. I. One of my dreams was like about a fight.

– Yeah.

– You kick ass?

– Not really.

– Lame.

– But one of the guys had a gun.

– No. Way.

– And I got it from him.

– Dope. That is so dope.

– Had to carry you out over my shoulder.

She buried her face in her hands.

– Uhhh. Was I heavy? Did I feel totally fat?

I watch her. She looks out from behind her hands.

– Don't be lame, kid.

She smiles.

– So what then?

Once upon a time.

– Then I figured, fuck this shit. Your folks want to send out dueling bounty hunters for you that's their business. But it's not mine. So fuck 'em.

– You didn't call?

– Fuck them.

– They don't know I'm here?

– Like I said. Fuck them.

She thrusts her arms up in the air.

– Phatl

She drops her arms and pushes herself deep into the pillow.

– That is just so phat.

I look up at the stars, and back down at her.

– So what ya gonna do?

She shakes her head.

– I. Well, I'm so broke. So I'm going to the bank and get some money. Then I want to take Sela shopping to say, like thank you. Then, I don't know. She said I can hang for as long as I want. But. I think I'll go home in a couple days. Like check in and everything. Get my folks off my case. Once they chill I can bail again. But I'll get some real cash together first. And if Sela says it's chill, I'll come hang with her some more. For like the rest of the summer. That would be so cool. She's hot. I just want to like work out with her all summer and get cut and hard before school starts.

– Good plan.

I stand up. She wriggles out of the pillow.

– So, you gonna be around? You hang with Sela much?

– Not really.

– OK.

She drops back into the pillows.

– Cool. Whatever.

– Yeah.

– Hey. Can I have that?

I look. She's pointing at the cuff bracelet still clipped to my wrist. I pull out my wallet and get out a couple picks. Cuff locks are easy, it pops right open. I squat back down.

– Hold out your arm.

She puts it out. I hold the open cuff.

– You have to do something for me.

She nods.

– When you get home. Leave me out. Whatever goes down, don't tell your folks or whoever that I found you.

– OK.

– That's a promise I'm asking for.

– OK.

– Don't break it.

– As if.

– Right.

I snap the cuff onto her wrist. She looks at it.

– Hot.

I leave.

Sela holds the front door open for me.

– How much longer do I get to keep her?

I point at the TV.

– Put the news on tomorrow. She'll go home after she sees it.

– Why?

– Because her parents are gonna be dead.

– You have anything to do with that?

I think about killing Marilee, and missing out on killing Horde.

– Not the way I would have liked to.

Sela tosses her head, throwing roped dreads back over her shoulder.

– There gonna be trouble?

– Not for you, she loves you.

She taps one of those ruby-tipped fingers against my chest.

– What about for you?

I walk out the door.

– Sister, she doesn't even know my name.

I stop by Nino's on the way home and get a pie. Large pepperoni, hold the garlic. Then I hit the grocery for a six and a few packs of Luckys. At home I lock myself in and make sure the alarm is on. Not that any of it will keep out Predo's boys if he sends them. Not that anything could keep out Daniel's Wraith. Not that I care much right now. I go downstairs.

I sit up in bed and watch CNN. I eat the whole pie and still I'm hungry so I raid the fridge upstairs and find some leftover Chinese and eat that. That fills my belly. The other hunger, the real hunger, is still there. But it's always gonna be there, and it can wait for another day. I watch more news and drink more beer. When I run out of beer I sit in the dark staring at the TV screen, and smoke.

The story breaks around six A.M. They show some stills of the crumpled, fire-blackened Jaguar sedan. It looks as horrific as Predo promised. They wiped out the car in the early A.M.s, on a lonely stretch of road just off the 27.

The anchor fills me in on how the highway was empty at that time of night and no houses were near enough to hear the crash or see the flames. By the time emergency vehicles arrived the fire had all but burned itself out. Fortunately, the license plate broke off the vehicle in the crash and was spared from the fire. The anchor tells me the car was owned by Dr. Dale Edward Horde and that it is believed that he and his wife were in the car, driving on a late whim to their Hamptons house.

By the time I wake, the Hordes' deaths have been confirmed. So has the fact that their daughter is missing. There's some hyper-ventilation after that. Some circling of carrion feeders as they sniff a too-good-to-be-true story. Then a report comes in that Amanda walked into a police station and told them she had run away a week ago and had just seen the news on TV. By the time the cameras are there to watch her leaving the police station, she is flanked by a double column of bodyguards and lawyers and the TV is already calling her the richest teenager in New York. I turn off the box and smoke.

The package arrives that evening. It's delivered by a private courier who doesn't ask me to sign for it. I take the box down to the basement room and slide the Styrofoam case out of its cardboard sheath. Inside are several refreezable cold packs surrounding ten pints of blood. A note on top. For services rendered.

Payment in full.

D. Predo

I take out one of the pints and think about the dose Horde hit me with at the Cole, the one I thought Predo had him hit me with so they could steal my stash. Now that I know better, I figure Horde did that on his own. Maybe he was trying to kill me, maybe just get me out of the way for awhile while his boy and Predo's enforcer worked the neighborhood. Hell, maybe he just wanted to see how the Vyrus would handle it. I look at the pint and wonder what might be in it other than blood. Then I drink it. Then I drink two more. Then I stop being bothered by anything Predo might be planning, or Terry, or even Daniel. I stop worrying about whether Amanda will tell the cops about the guy who found her. I stop worrying altogether.

I don't have anything to worry about.

For now.

The easiest way for Predo to take care of me would have been to dose the blood. He didn't. He won't bother with anything else. He'll be too busy keeping an eye on the Horde situation, making sure no loose ends come unraveled in front of the press. That will be a full-time job for awhile and he won't want to clutter up his desk with any other projects. Once he empties his in-box, he'll move the teeth to the top of his priority chart. Getting those back or having them destroyed so they don't end up in Terry's hands will be front and center. Too bad for Predo that Terry already has them.

Terry got it right away. I told him what the teeth had inside, and that was all he needed. I didn't have to tell him the story or name any names. I didn't even have to mention Predo. Something like those teeth, Terry could only see one reason for those to be made, and only one Clan who could have had a hand in their making. But he'll hang onto them. For a very long time. He knows it's a one-shot deal. Figure he could try and use 'em lor blackmail, but what then? Predo would never do a deal that didn't involve getting the teeth back. And what could be good enough that you'd give up the biggest stick on the block For it?

No, the only way to use the teeth is to show them to the other Clans. Do that and it will mean all-out war, the kind of war that we couldn't keep underground. The kind that would finally rip the lid off the whole thing. The kind of war Terry says lie doesn't want. So he'll sit on them for a good long time. Until he's ready to go after whatever it is he really wants.

And I doubt I'll be around long enough to have to worry about that scene. Christ, I hope I'm not.

I heal. The scabs fall from my wounds and the white puckers of scar fade to smooth skin. My stomach fits itself back together and I am whole again. It takes six pints over a couple days to get me there, but I'm whole again. And ready to take care of my last loose ends.

I go out around midnight Sunday.

I make the stop at Niagara first. Billy's behind the bar.

– Joe, whaddaya know?

– Nothing worth the price.

– Good un. Drink?

– Yeah.

He hits me with a double bourbon.

I take a drink.

– Philip?

He jerks a thumb at the back room.

– Saw 'im weasel in past me while I was weeded back here.

– He ever get ya with the rest of what he owes?

– Naw.

Someone down the bar hollers at Billy's back. He flips the bird over his shoulder.

– Fuck ya, ya fucker! Shut up or I'll pound yer fuckin' head.

The guy at the end of the bar shuts up. I toss down the rest of my drink and Billy fills it again and knocks on the bar. I lift the glass to him.

– Thanks. I'll go get the rest of your money.

– Sure, Joe, but you don' gotta.

– Be a pleasure.

I walk to the back room, telling myself I'm gonna do this cool. Keep it easy. This is Billy's shift and I don't need to cause a scene. Then I see him. He's chatting to a girl. She's staring at the wall, trying to ignore him.

I try to keep it cool, but I don't.

I walk up behind him and kick his chair out from under his ass. He goes to the floor. The girl gives a little yelp. I grab the back of Philip's collar and drag him to the bathroom. I kick the door closed behind us, lift the toilet seat and shove him down on the can. His skinny ass slips all the way down into the water and his legs fly up off the floor. He tries to struggle out and I shove him in deeper.

– Want to see if I can fit you down the pipe, Phil?

– No.

– Then stay the fuck put.

– Sure, Joe. Whatever you say, Joe.

– Shut it.

I pick up half a roll of toilet paper that's sitting on the sink.

– You say a fucking word, I will stuff this ass-wipe down your throat.

He nods.

I drop the toilet paper and punch him in the face and his nose breaks.

– I told you to get Billy his money.

I punch him in the face and his jaw cracks.

– Or I was gonna fuck you up.

I punch him in the face and his cheek splits open.

– And now you're fucked up.

I grab his hair and yank his dazed face up so he can see me.

– You do as I tell you from now on, Phil. You go against me again and I will feed you to a fucking shambler. No lie, Phil. I will stick you in a tiny box with a fucking shambler and eat popcorn and watch while it eats your fucking face. Got it?

He jerks his head up and down.

– Now give me your money.

He tries to get in his pockets, but he's too fucked up. I pull him out of the can and rip his pockets open and grab the wad of bills I find inside and shove him back into the pot.

– I'm the badass down here, Phil. I'm the big bad fucking wolf and Predo is all the way up on the Upper East Side. Remember that next time you think about doing a little spying for the Coalition. You be afraid of me from now on. I ever start thinking you're not afraid enough, I'll give you a reason to be.

I walk out and drop the cash on the bar. Billy picks it up,

– Joe, this is more than he owed.

I walk to the door, my heart still pounding.

– Keep it. And there's a clog in the toilet.

She sees me when I come in, but she ignores me. She sees me sit at the bar, but she keeps working the other side. I wait. She lets it go for about twenty minutes. Then someone right next to me orders a beer and she has to come around to this side. She gives the other guy his bottle, then looks at me.

– Yeah?

– Got a beer?

She pulls one out of the ice, pops the top and puts it in front of me. I take a drink.

– Thanks.

She nods.

– Four bucks.

I dig out a five and drop it on the bar. She takes it and goes to the register and brings back a buck and puts it in front of me. Then she stands there and stares at the Sunday night band and pretends that she's listening to the bluegrass.

– Baby.

She stares at the band.

– Baby.

She turns her face to me, keeping her arms folded over her chest.

– Yeah?

– You busy after work?

She looks down into the beer bin.

– Fucking-A, Joe.

– Baby, nothing happened.

Her head snaps back up.

– Did I ask? That's not my business. I told you, you want to fuck someone, fuck 'em. I shouldn't be surprised if you do.

– I didn't.

– I. Don't. Care.

I take a drink.

– Yeah. Right.

She puts her hands on the bar.

– Joe. I don't care.

She leans closer, not to be heard.

– I can't fuck you. I won't fuck you. So you want to fuck someone? I won't ask you not to. But.

She crosses her arms again and looks back at the band.

– But what, baby?

She doesn't look at me.

– But Tuesday night is date night and you told me you were fucking busy and you were just fucking another fucking girl, a girl with a fucking limo. Fucker!

She yanks her bar rag from her studded leather belt and throws it at me. I let it hit my face and drop to the bar, where it tents over my beer. Someone calls for some margaritas and she goes off to mix them. I pull the towel off my beer and light a smoke. She comes back a minute later and takes up her position staring at the band.

– That was work, baby. I know it sounds like crap, but that woman was the job.

She faces me again.

– And what's that, Joe? I don't even know what the job is. I don't know what keeps you out and why you get beat up and where you get money and why you have guns or what you keep locked in that little fridge. Is it drugs, Joe?

She leans in to whisper.

– Is it drugs? That's fine, you know I don't care. I just want to know. So what is it, what's the fucking job?

I twist the tip of my cigarette against the edge of the tray, lathing away the ash.

– It's hard, baby. The job is hard.

She turns back to the band.

– Great. Thanks. That's a big help.

I keep playing with my smoke.

– The job is hard. But you're harder, baby.

She keeps looking at the band.

– You're the real work.

Still looking at the band.

– And you're worth it.

She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear.

– Give me that.

She plucks the cigarette from my hand, takes a drag.

– I changed my mind.

She holds the cigarette out to me and I take it.

– Yeah?

– Yeah. It's not OK for you to fuck other women. Or men. Or fucking anybody.

I look at the faint print of her lipstick on the smoke, and put my lips around it.

– No problem.

– And I want to go to dinner.

– No problem.

– Tonight, after work. I want a late dinner. And not diner food. I want to go to Blue Ribbon for oysters.

– No problem.

– And I want to sleep over.

– No problem.

She narrows her eyes.

– You sure you didn't fuck that bitch?

– Yeah.

– OK.

She grabs a beer from the ice and gives it to me.

– I've got to work.

– No problem.

She goes to work, taking care of all her regulars who have been patiently waiting while she fights with her boyfriend.

I drink beer and smoke and use the time until she gets off work. I use it keeping my promise to Daniel. Thinking about my life.

I think about it.

I think about what I do and how much longer I can keep it up. How much longer Predo is gonna let me hang around now that I've finally spat in his face. When Terry's gonna get tired of having me on his turf. How long it might be before Tom slips the leash and lays for me in an alley with a gang of his anarchists. I think about what Daniel said, about digging in.

I could go back to Terry, tell him I'll take my old job back. Tom would have to go. Terry'd make that happen. Kill two birds that way. But then I'd be back where I was twenty-odd years ago, the lash in my hands. And sooner or later Terry is going to get itchy about someone else knowing he has the teeth. No, I've been with the Society, and that hole's not for me.

I could go see Christian. Get my own hog. Bunk out in the Duster clubhouse. Live the Pike Street dream. They'd be happy to have me. The Dusters are always happy to have another good man in a fight. But I'd have to wear the colors, a uniform. And I'd look terrible in a top hat.

I could split the city. Go try my luck in the Outer Boroughs. Maybe find some unclaimed turf. It's out there. Red Hook. Coney Island. There could be good blocks out there. Clear off any other Rogues and start my own Clan. Make a name. Be a boss. But that's a long-odds bet, very long odds. Impossible odds. And I'm not ready to roll those bones yet.

Or I could do as Daniel says, become Enclave. Embrace my nature. Live a life of discipline. Learn how to master the Vyrus. And when the time comes, I could let it take me, and see if I survive. Daniel seems to think I might. But Daniel is crazy. And he's dying. And I'm not anybody's savior.

Amanda Horde knows that.

Besides, none of those lives has Evie in it.

The band plays "Silver Dagger" and I watch Evie open beers. Every now and then she throws me a wink or comes by and leans across the bar and whispers something funny in my ear.

I look at my life, and I find it lacking. But it's my life. I creep a little closer to the edge every day. One day the edge will crumble under my feet and I'll fall.

Fine.

Why should my life be different from anybody else's?