Day of the Predator

CHAPTER 49

2001, New York

‘Three minutes to go,’ said Sal.

‘Three minutes,’ Maddy echoed. They could both hear the machinery below the desk beginning to hum noisily as it sucked energy greedily from their mains feed. Not for the first time, Maddy wondered who paid the electricity bill for their archway. It had to be astronomical, the amount they used.

She smiled at her dumbness. Yes, of course, no one paid any bills. As far as the world outside was concerned, as far as their neighbour — the car mechanic in the archway near the top of their little backstreet — were concerned, this archway normally sat vacant with a ripped and graffiti-covered sign pasted on the roller shutter outside offering three thousand square feet of commercial floor space at a reasonable rate.

Except of course, for a Monday and Tuesday in September when, to anybody who bothered to notice, it would appear three young squatters had decided to move in, only to vanish again on the Wednesday.

‘Oh,’ said Sal, ‘I forgot… I saw a funny thing the other day.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, in a shop nearby. A junk shop. Well, not funny really. Just a coincidence.’

‘What?’

‘A uniform, a steward’s uniform… from the Titanic. Just exactly like Liam’s.’ Sal shook her head. ‘Isn’t that weird?’

‘Seriously?’

‘The lady in the shop said it wasn’t a real one, though. Just a costume from a play. But, still, kind of funny. I suppose I could buy it for Liam as a spare.’

‘I’m sure he’s in no big hurry to go back to the Titanic, you know? Given what he’d have to face.’

Sal’s smile quickly faded. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I suppose he wouldn’t

… none of us, really.’

The numbers on the clock flickered and changed. Two minutes left.

Maddy really could have done with Foster sitting right here beside them. Calm, relaxed, with a reassuring half-cocked smile on his old wrinkly face. Skin that looked like weathered parchment, skin that looked like it had seen way too much sun -

… I wouldn’t mind feeling the sun on my face…

Foster’s last words. He’d said that the morning he’d taken her out for coffee to say goodbye.

‘Sun on my face,’ she uttered under her breath.

Sal cocked an eyebrow. ‘Uh?’

… I guess I wouldn’t mind feeling the sun on my face whilst I enjoy a decent hot dog…

That’s exactly what he’d said, wasn’t it? One of the last things he’d said. That’s what he fancied doing with whatever time he had left to live. Sun and a decent hot dog. With all these skyscrapers, she knew there was only one place you could count on un-obscured sunlight in Manhattan, sun… and, yes, hot dog vendors a-plenty. One place and one place only.

‘I think I just figured out where Foster’s gone,’ she uttered.

They watched the clock’s red LEDs flicker to show them 11.59 p.m.

‘Where?’

Maddy stood up and pushed the chair back from the breakfast table with a scrape that echoed across the archway. ‘I’ll uh… I’ll explain another time. We’re about to have guests.’

Sal stood up and joined her in the middle of the floor, both facing the shutter door, and counting down the last sixty seconds as, behind them, the deep hum of machinery began to build to a final fizzing crescendo.

The strip light above them began to flicker and dim.

‘Well, here goes nothing,’ said Maddy, reaching out instinctively to hold Sal’s hand.