Hardbingers

2

Jack didn't want to be seen too much with Zeklos. No such thing as a dark and private place around the hospital—not with all those HSP lamps lighting up the night like day—so he walked him up to John Jay Park.

Marched him along 78th, over the FDR, and down the steps toward the waterfront promenade where Rasalom had caught up with him earlier. The stairway ended in an alcove under the ramp. Smelled like urine. Chain-link fencing penned them in on two sides.

Uptown-bound traffic roared past just ten leet away but Jack positioned them out of sight. He kept the Kahr buried against Zeklos's spine as he leaned him against the alcove's rear wall.

Zeklos said, "If you are going to kill me, please do it swiftly."

"What makes you think I'd do that? I've got no beef with you unless you were driving the truck."

"Truck?"

"The one that ran down the woman and the child. Was it you?"

"No."

"Who was driving then?"

When Zeklos shook his head, Jack jammed the pistol harder against his spine.

"Who? It was Miller, right?"

A long hesitation, then Zeklos nodded.

Jack closed his eyes. How do you reach a point where you can do something like that?

He felt the darkness bloom from its cellar room, looking to take over. He beat it back. Later maybe. But not now.

"Do you know who that woman was?"

"All I know is that 0 say Ally want her dead."

"I was going to marry her. And the little girl with her…" Jack felt his throat clench. "She was going to be my daughter. And the baby she was carrying was mine."

Jack felt Zeklos stiffen, then sag. He started to turn and Jack stopped him, then stepped back and let him. In the faint light he saw his expression migrate from disbelief to acceptance to sadness.

"This is truth?"

"I wish to hell it weren't."

Zeklos dropped to a squat.

"I am so sorry. This is terrible." He looked up at Jack. "I do not understand."

"I do. And I've got scores to settle."

"You will not kill me then?"

"Only if you get in my way. My beef is with the 0 and the guy who was behind the wheel."

"Is that why you killed him?"

"Who?"

"The 0."

Jack felt as if he'd been punched. The Oculus… dead?

"Christ! When did that happen?"

"This afternoon—shortly after you left me—and left that bullet."

The Starfire. He'd forgotten all about it. Damn. But he'd had only one thing on his mind at the moment.

"Why would you think I did it?"

"Miller does."

Yeah. Miller. Figured.

"I was racing to Second and Fifty-eighth. Care to guess why?"

Zeklos hung his head. "I am so sorry."

"What are you guys going to do without an Oculus?"

He looked up. "Oh, but we have one. We have the daughter, Diana."

"She becomes the Oculus—just like that? What about her eyes? Hers were blue and her father's—"

"Hers are black now."

Jack tried to imagine how she'd look. The picture he conjured creeped him out.

Zeklos said, "What are you going to do?"

"About your pals?"

He nodded.

"Well, I was going to wait in that little room in the hospital until I knew whether my ladies were going to live or die. But I can't do that now, can I. Your rotten yenieeri friends have made that impossible, because they'll keep trying. Am I right?"

Zeklos looked down again. "I do not know."

"You do know. Miller won't let this go."

Zeklos didn't reply.

"Your people leave me no choice. I've got to make sure no one else tries to finish your job."

"You will kill Miller?"

"And anyone who gets between me and him."

Zeklos rose. Jack raised the pistol and backed away a step. Never let anyone get too close.

"You must not! We fight Otherness!"

"You know, at this point, I don't give a rat's ass. And what do you mean, 'we'? They demoted you to the farm team."

"It does not matter! I am still yenigeriV

With the last word he leaped. Jack had been half expecting him to do something stupid, but the little man's speed surprised him. He got under Jack's arm, grabbed his wrist, and threw his right side against him while trying to twist the Kahr free. Jack chopped at him with the edge of his left hand but Zeklos was well padded in his winter coat and kept his head down, giving Jack no angle. He'd locked Jack's pistol hand in a death grip.

"Don't be an idiot!" Jack said.

"You attack one yenieeri, you attack us all!"

"You're going to lose this one. Back off."

"No!"

Slowly, inexorably, Jack rotated Zeklos's body to the right and angled the little pistol leftward until it pressed against the little man's chest.

"I'm not looking to kill you." True. Zeklos wasn't one of the bad guys. "So don't force my hand."

With that Zeklos bent and sank his teeth into Jack's wrist.

Jack pulled the trigger. Zeklos's coat muffled the report. He sagged to his knees and toppled over onto his side. His eyes were open. Jack could see his breath puffing into the air.

Jack stood over him. "What'd you have to go and do that for?"

The puffing stopped. The little man's dark eyes remained open.

"Shit."

So goddamn unnecessary. Just like everything else that had gone down today.

He pocketed the Kahr and looked around. No one in sight. He needed a place to hide the body—didn't want the yenigeri to know just yet.

When they heard no news of a hospital shooting, and Zeklos didn't show up or report in, they'd suspect he'd lost his nerve and bailed. At least that was what Miller would think, and he'd sell it to the others. Zeklos turning up dead would put them on guard.

The park with its locked gate and pool and spiked fencing would be the perfect spot—not exactly a busy place in January—but that meant carrying the body over the FDR. Too risky. Yeah, he might make it unseen, but the odds were against it.

Then he realized he was standing just a few feet from an almost-perfect spot. He slipped his hands under Zeklos's arms and dragged him into the darkest, most sheltered corner of the alcove. He'd keep there at least until morning, maybe longer. He emptied his pockets of everything, especially anything that might identify him.

Jack noticed his crushing weariness had faded. Adrenaline, probably. Or maybe it was having a purpose again. He'd been drowning in helplessness, unable to do anything for Gia and Vicky. Now he could. Now he had to. It might be an empty exercise. Maybe the outcome would be the same whether someone pumped cyanide-tipped slugs into them or not. But he couldn't let that happen.

Jack took the walkway back to 78th Street and headed for York Avenue to catch a cab home. He had four pistols on him now. He wanted to dump two before going back to the hospital. He'd bring back a pad and pencil, sit in the family lounge as before, and start making plans.