Nightworld

MANHATTAN

What a night.

Jack stood yawning in the chilly dawn outside Gia's townhouse. He shivered and tugged the zipper on his windbreaker a little higher.

It's almost June, he thought. Isn't the weather supposed to be getting warmer?

Across the East River the sun was rising red and quick over Queens. He thought he could almost see it moving. Around him, Sutton Square had never looked so bad. The little half block of townhouses hanging over the F.D.R. Drive had been spared Friday, but last night had more than made up for it. Shattered glass on the sidewalks, lacerated screens hanging from the windows.

The chew wasps and the belly flies had been back, but other things—bigger, heavier things—had come as well. Luckily, the louvered wooden shutters flanking the windows of Gia's townhouse hadn't been merely ornamental. They were hung on real hinges and actually swung closed over the windows. The night had been long and tense, filled with hungry, predatory noises, but they'd passed it in safety.

Other places hadn't been so lucky. Jack was wondering whether he should check out some of the neighboring townhouses to see if anybody needed help when he noticed something hanging over the arm of the street lamp on the corner. Something big and limp.

He took a few steps toward it and stopped when he realized it was a corpse. Female, maybe, but so torn up and desiccated it was hard to tell.

But how had it got there? Twenty feet up. Was there a hole creature flying about at night big enough to fly off with someone?

It was getting worse faster than he'd thought.

Jack checked the 9mm Llama in his shoulder holster and the extra clips in his pockets, then went back and checked Ralph. The Corvair's black canvas convertible top had been shredded during the night, the antenna scored with teeth marks and bent almost double; the paint on the hood had been bubbled off as if it had been splashed with acid, and the windshield was fouled with some putrid-smelling gunk that Jack wiped off with a rag from his trunk.

"Eeeeuuuu! What happened to Ralph?"

Jack turned and saw Vicky standing in the townhouse doorway, dressed in bib-front overalls, a flannel shirt, a jacket, and her green-and-white N.Y. Jets cap. With the little suitcase in her hand, she looked like a country cousin arriving in the big city for a visit. But her blue eyes were wide with shock as she stared at the ruined top of the car.

"The things from the hole," Jack said, waving her forward to distract her from the corpse on the lamp post. "That's why I want you and your Mom to leave."

"Mom still doesn't want to go."

"I know that, Vicks." Jeez, do I know.

Gia didn't want to leave the city, thought she and Vicky could weather the wolf just fine in their brick house here on Sutton Square. Jack wasn't having any of that. He was willing to let her have her way in most anything unless he thought she'd be in danger. He'd been relentless last night, wearing her down until she'd finally agreed to leave the city with Abe first thing this morning.

"Is that why you and Mom were yelling last night?"

"We weren't yelling. We just had a…difference of opinion."

"Oh. I thought it was a fight."

"Your mother and I? Disagree? Never! Now come on, Vicks. Let's get you settled in Ralph."

As Vicky stepped down onto the sidewalk, Gia emerged behind her. She was dressed in jeans and a navy-blue V-neck sweater over a white turtleneck. Her eyes, the same shade of blue as Vicky's, went as wide as her daughter's when she saw the street. She ran her fingers through her short blonde hair.

"Oh my!"

"This is nothing," Jack said. "Wait'll you see the rest of the city."

He put his right index finger to his lips and pointed to the body on the lamp post. Gia started and staggered back a step when she spotted it.

"My God!"

"Still think you'll be safe here?" Jack said.

"We did okay last night."

Stubborn to the end.

"But it's going to get worse."

"So you've said—a thousand times."

"Two-thousand times. I get paid to know these things."

"And you're sure Abe's place is better?"

"Like a fortress."

She shrugged resignedly. "All right. I'm packed. Like I promised. But I still think this trip is overkill."

Jack ducked past her into the house to grab the suitcases before she changed her mind. He stowed some of the luggage in the front trunk and put the rest in the back seat with Vicky. Grumbling all the way, Gia reluctantly settled herself in the passenger seat. With the wind flapping through the shredded top, he zig-zagged down to 57th Street and started up the long incline toward Fifth Avenue.

It was bad, but not as bad as yesterday. Early Sunday morning is about the only time midtown Manhattan can be called silent, but there were even fewer cars on the streets than usual. And most of those were either police cars or emergency vehicles of one sort or another. All the streets were littered with sparkling glass fragments. Here and there along the way he spotted an occasional shrunken husk that had once been a human body. One or two dangled from high places, as if they'd been dropped or thrown there after being sucked dry. Jack kept glancing back at Vicky but she was slumped down in the back seat, engrossed in one of her Nancy Drew books, oblivious to her surroundings.

Good. He kept an eye on Gia, as well, watching her expression grow tighter, her face grow paler with each passing block. By Madison Avenue she was ashen. As he pulled to a stop at a red light, Gia looked at him with eyes even wider than before. Her voice was barely audible.

"Jack…I'm…what…?"

She closed her mouth and stared ahead in silence.

Jack said nothing, but he was sure he wouldn't have any more resistance to the idea of getting out of town.

From the right came a sudden explosion of glass as a display case crashed through a corner jewelry store's only unbroken window.

A guy with glazed eyes and lank, oily brown hair, sporting a stained tee-shirt and torn jeans, followed it through the hole, laughing as he landed and rolled on the pavement. He was white but he had on enough gold chains and necklaces to qualify as a Mr. T runner-up. His fingers were stacked with so many rings he couldn't bend them. Another guy, heavier but dressed identically and sporting an equal amount of gold, made a more traditional exit through the door. They gave each other a metallic high five. Then they spotted the Corvair.

"Hey, man!" the first once said, smiling as he approached the car. "It's a ride!"

The heavier one followed him. "Yeah! Want some gold? We'll give you some gold for a ride downtown. We got plenty!"

Jack couldn't help laughing.

"Yeah, right. And like maybe I'll let you hold my wallet while I drive you around."

As the looters' disarming grins twisted into rage, he gunned the Corvair and pulled away through the red light. The thin one began running after them, screaming. For an uneasy moment Jack thought the guy might catch them. The Corvair was loaded down, its old engine was small, and it did not exactly leap up the slight incline toward Fifth Avenue. But it turned out to be just fast enough to leave a stoned looter behind.

Trouble was, Vicky was now sitting up and alert to her surroundings. After watching the looter through the scarred plastic of the rear window, she leaned forward between the bucket seats.

"Why didn't you give that man a ride, Jack?"

"Because he's one of the bad guys, Vicks. What's called a looter."

"But he just wanted a ride."

"I don't think so, Vicks. You know those silverfish we find crawling in the bathroom every so often?"

Vicky made a face. "Yuck."

"Yeah, well, looters are lower than silverfish. When the good folks are occupied fighting fires or helping earthquake victims or storm victims, looters sneak in and carry off anything that's not nailed down. Those guys didn't want a ride; they wanted Ralph."

"That's not fair!"

"Fair's not a word they care about, Vicks."

"Look!" she said, pointing to her left as they crossed Fifth Avenue. "More looters!"

She was right. Knots of people were jumping in and out of the broken windows all along Fifth, scampering off through the dim dawn light with jewelry, leather, anything they could carry. Someone had pulled a panel truck up on the sidewalk in front of Bergdorf's and was loading it with dresses. As Jack was pulling away, he saw a bearded, professorial type step through the open space that had once been the big front window of the Doubleday shop balancing a two-foot stack of books against the front of his tweed jacket.

"Everybody's getting into the act," he said. "Where the hell are the police?"

"It's anarchy, Jack," Gia said and he could hear the fear vibrating in her voice.

"Not yet. We've still got a police force—somewhere, I think—and we've still got electricity for lights, and we've still got gas to run the police cars. When the sun's all the way up these cockroaches will crawl back under the floorboards."

"But what happens when the gas and electricity go?" she said, reaching over and clutching Vicky's hand.

"Then they'll own the streets. That's when we'll see real anarchy."

"It's only been two days. I never dreamed…" Her voice trailed off.

"What? That things could fall apart this fast? This city's a sewer, Gia. All the garbage wandering around this half of the country seems to end up here. I've been watching it fall apart for years. Its veneer of civilization is about as thick as the layer of gold on the electroplated jewelry they hawk on the streets. A couple of good rubs against your jeans and the base metal underneath shows through."

"What about neighborliness and hanging together in times of trouble?"

"Maybe they'll have some of that out in Iowa where you grew up, and maybe there'll even be a pocket or two of it around here, but not enough to matter. The good folks will be driven into hiding and the slime will be free to do whatever they damn well please."

"I don't believe that. I don't want to believe that. And it disturbs me to know you believe that."

Jack shrugged. "In my work, you get to spend a lot of time hip-deep in slime. You—"

"Oh, my God!" Gia cried, craning her neck and staring up through the windshield.

Jack slowed and glanced up. Something bright in the sky. He struck his head out the window—and stopped the car to stare.

Vicky popped her head out behind him. "Ooooh neeeeat!"

"Jack!" Gia said. "What's happening? What is that?"

"Looks like an apartment building," Vicky said.

Half a mile up, probably over the West Side Highway or the midtown piers, was a heart-stopping sight…a building floating in the air. It hung as if suspended on an invisible wire, turning slowly, its roof canted slightly eastward, its torn underside westward. Light from the rising sun flashed off the few unbroken windows. Masonry that had broken away was floating up with it. Tiny figures leaned out the windows, waving shirts and towels in panicked attempts to attract the attention of the police helicopters that circled it like flies around a corpse.

"Jeez!" Jack said as he stared upward at the slowly dwindling shape. "It's still rising."

Those poor bastards trapped up there were doomed unless they could find a way of transferring to one of the helicopters.

At least now he knew where all the cops were.

"Let's get out of here," Gia said.

Jack flipped the little gearshift lever back into drive and they continued west. He refrained from saying I told you so as he ran red lights all the way to Amsterdam Avenue, then raced uptown to the Isher Sports Shop. Abe was outside, waiting by his panel truck in front of his store's smashed windows. So fixated was he on the flying building that he barely noticed their arrival. Jack screeched to a halt half a dozen feet in front of him.

That got his attention.

"Gevalt!" Abe said, cringing back. "You're trying to squish me or something?"

He was wearing a black jacket; his white shirt and black tie were clean. Obviously he hadn't had breakfast yet.

"Ready to go?" Jack said, pulling Vicky and a suitcase from the back seat.

"Yes, of course." Abe gave Gia a hug and Vicky a kiss on the top of her head. "I should want to keep two such beautiful young ladies waiting? Come with me. I've got coffee, juice, and not-so-fresh bagels in the front seat."

He opened the rear doors of the panel truck, then ushered Gia and Vicky around to the front. He returned as Jack was loading the last suitcase into the rear compartment. He pointed a trembling finger at the building in the sky.

"It's happening like you said, isn't it?" Abe's accent was gone, vanished without a trace. "All rules—man's and God's—pffft!

Jack looked and saw that the building was considerably higher than before. When would it stop rising? Would it stop rising?

"Double-pffft!" Jack nodded toward the shattered storefront windows. "Looters?"

Abe shrugged. "Nothing's missing. Must have been those flying things. Haven't seen any looting."

"Plenty of it going on in the high rent district. They just haven't got this far yet."

Abe reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He thrust it into Jack's hand.

"Here. These are for the armory. They'll need a cannon to get in without them. You need anything, help yourself."

Jack hefted the keys and stuffed them in a front pocket. "The armory" was the basement of the Isher Sports Shop where Abe stocked his weapons—the illegal ones, plus the legal ones he sold illegally. He carried everything from blackjacks to Claymore land mines. It would be handy to maintain access to that sort of variety.

"I might move in," Jack said.

"Be my guest. You have the wavelength written down?"

"Yeah. Got the shortwave set on it. I'll be listening at seven a.m. and seven p.m. Don't forget to call in."

"Don't worry."

"Which way you heading out? The Lincoln?"

Abe nodded. "From what you say, the quicker we get out, the better."

"You know it. You carrying?"

Abe patted the heavy lump in the right side pocket of his jacket. "Of course."

"Good. But maybe I'll tail you down to the entrance anyway—just in case."

"You don't think I can protect your women?" he said huffily.

"I wouldn't be sending them off with you if I wasn't sure of that."

They stared at each other in silence a few seconds.

"Seems like we should say something here," Abe said. "'I mean, two old friends at the end of the world. One of us should be able to come up with something meaningful."

"You're the guy with all the education. You do the honors."

Abe looked down, then smiled and thrust out his hand.

"See you soon, Jack."

Jack smiled as they shook hands. That just about said it all.

"Enough of this stuff," Jack said. "Get in the driver seat and I'll say my goodbyes to the ladies."

After a big hug from Vicky, Jack held Gia in his arms.

"Be careful, Jack," she whispered in his ear. "And thanks."

"For what?"

"For making us get out of town. I think you were right. The city's turning ugly. But you watch out."

He grinned. "Hell, I'm uglier than any city you can name."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about her."

"Oh."

He'd told Gia last night about how he was going to try to find Kolabati and get her necklaces for Glaeken. Gia knew a few things about Kolabati, but Jack had never quite got around to telling her that they'd been lovers for a brief time.

"Don't give me 'oh.' You got involved with her before and it almost killed you."

"That was my choice."

"She left you to die, Jack. This time she might finish the job."

"This time is different. I know what she is. I'll be careful. I've got a lot to come back for."

She kissed him one last time, long and deep, then she got back into the front seat of Abe's idling truck. Jack hurried back to his Corvair. He followed Abe over to West End and followed that downtown.

Along the way, the lights were against them. They'd gone out of synch for some reason and Abe stopped at every red. Jack knew why. He probably had enough weaponry in the back to overthrow a banana republic. He didn't want to get stopped and searched.

It happened at about where West End starts calling itself Eleventh Avenue. As Abe pulled to a stop at yet another red light, three guys leapt from a doorway and charged the truck, two running around to the driver side, one leaping up and reaching in the passenger window.

One of the guys on the left had a big hunting knife and the other had a lead pipe. As Abe tried to pull away the second guy began beating on Abe's window. Jack was already accelerating when the glass shattered and the guy started swinging the pipe at Abe.

The guy with the knife spotted Jack coming. He leapt out of the way as Jack sideswiped the truck, catching the pipe swinger hard in the backs of both calves. As he was spun and twisted between the two vehicles and tumbled to the pavement, screaming with the agony of two broken legs, Jack swerved at the guy with the knife and caught him head on with the Corvair's nose. But the car wasn't moving fast enough then to knock him sprawling. Instead he rolled up and over the hood and windshield and landed on the canvas top. He had to be hurt but he wasn't out of action yet. He rammed his knife through one of the slits and stabbed blindly at Jack. Jack ducked and grabbed the swinging wrist. He wrenched the knife free, and paused, wondering what to do. Then he heard Vicky scream.

Jack turned the guy's wrist and rammed the blade—honed side down—through the belly of the forearm, sliding it between the two bones and out the other side. Above on the roof the guy howled and flopped about and tried to pull his arm out. But the protruding edges of the point and grip caught on the sides of the slit, forcing the cutting edge of the blade to slice further down his arm. The guy screamed now.

Jack jumped out of the car and saw Abe holding his bloody scalp with his left hand, a .45 automatic in his right, and leaning toward the passenger door. Vicky was next to him, crying, but Gia was nowhere in sight and the passenger door was open.

Jack charged around to the far side and found another guy with a knife, but the point of this one was held at Gia's throat.

"All we want is the truck," he said, breathing hard. He wore a clean plaid short-sleeve shirt and beige slacks, white socks and running shoes; he looked almost preppy except for the tattoos on his arms. "Give us the truck and no one will get hurt."

"We?" Jack said, pulling the Llama from its holster and slowly, methodically working the slide for full effect. He'd have to play this very carefully. "Us? Your 'we' and 'us' are already down. They're out of the picture."

He paused to allow the guy to appreciate the wails and moans from his buddies on the far side of the truck and get a good look at the 9mm automatic in Jack's hand. He slid further behind Gia.

"You think you can get away with this?" Jack said softly.

"Yeah. I can get away with anything, man! All the rules are off! Don't you see that?" He stared for a moment into the sky over Jack's left shoulder. "We got buildings and people flyin' off into space during the day and monsters chewin' up everything in sight all night. I been through detox twice, man, and I ain't never seen shit like this, even when I was strung out like bubblegum. Anything goes, man. School is out!

"Not my class," Jack said. "Let her go."

The guy pressed the knife blade to against Gia's throat. She winced at the sharp pressure.

"The truck or I'll cut her, man! I swear t' Christ I'll cut her fucking throat!"

Jack felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. Gia's panicked eyes pleaded with him. He gave her a little nod of encouragement as he controlled himself. Had to be cool here. Had to go slow.

But if this bastard so much as broke her skin…

Jack settled the Llama into a two-handed grip and raised it until it was sighted at the guy's right eye where he peeked out from behind Gia's ear.

"You've been watching too many movies, turkey," Jack said softly. "This kind of thing doesn't work in real life. I've got a gun and you've got a knife. You cut her, you've lost your shield." Jack took a step closer. "Now, so far today you and your buddies have hurt a very good friend, deeply frightened a little girl I couldn't care for more if she were my own flesh and blood, and manhandled the woman I love." Another small step closer. "So I'm royally pissed. But I'm willing to work a deal. Drop the knife and you live. I'll let you walk."

The guy's laugh was flat and tremulous as he peeked out from behind Gia's head to speak.

"Don't try to bullshit me. I got your bitch here. I've got a knife at her neck, I'm callin' the shots!"

A car came by, slowed for a look, then sped away. Jack slipped forward another step.

"Maybe I didn't make it clear. Listen again. Drop it, you live. Spill one drop of her blood, you die—slowly. First I shoot off your right kneecap, then your left, then your right elbow, then your left. Then a gut shot. Then I take your knife and start cutting off pieces I decide you don't need anymore and feed them to you."

"Jack…please!" Gia said.

"Sorry. Just want to let this guy know what he's in for."

"You think that scares me?" the guy said, peeking out again. "I'll show you how scared I—"

As he increased the pressure of the blade against Gia's throat, Jack shot him in the eye. His head snapped back, a red mist blooming behind him for an instant before dissipating; his arms flung outward as he lurched back and collapsed on the pavement.

Jack leaped forward and encircled Gia with his arms.

"Don't look," he said, watching over her shoulder as a red puddle grew under the guy's head.

But Gia turned for a quick glance, and just as quickly turned away. Jack led her back to the truck and they spent a few minutes calming Vicky. When mother and daughter were tightly wound in each other's arms, Jack looked past them to Abe.

"You okay to drive?"

Abe nodded. "Only a scratch. But that guy on the roof of your car—what's his problem?"

"Oh, yeah," Jack said. "Almost forgot about him."

He went back to his car and found the other knifer lying on the roof, pale, sweaty, looking sick.

"Don't hurt me," he said in a weak voice. "I give up."

Jack wondered how the guy would respond if situations were reversed. How much mercy could he expect from him and his buddies? He decided it didn't merit much consideration.

He ducked inside the Corvair. The back seat was covered with blood.

"You bled all over my car!" Jack shouted.

Through the torn roof he heard the guy begin to whimper. Disgusted, Jack yanked the knife blade from the guy's forearm. A muffled scream from above as he jerked his arm from the hole and rolled off the roof to the street. A couple more cars passed as Jack went to the corner and dropped the knife through a sewer grate, then returned to the truck.

He gave Gia and Vicky one last hug, then slammed the door shut.

"Better get going, Abe. Traffic's picking up."

"Jack," Gia said as he started back to his car. Her face was pale and tear-streaked as she stared at him through the window. "Would you have let him go if he dropped the knife? You had that look in your eyes, Jack. I've seen that look before. I know what it means. You would have let him go like you said, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "Sure."

He hoped he was convincing. Because he wasn't sure.

Pulling away from the scene, Jack glanced in the rearview mirror. One of their attackers lay in a pool of his own blood, staring skyward, another squatted on the pavement, moaning and cradling a bloody arm, while a third crawled toward the curb, dragging his broken legs behind him. Gia's question echoed in his head then and haunted him the rest of the way to the Lincoln Tunnel.

She knew him too well, damn it. Why'd she have to ask that question? He didn't like to think about that sort of thing. It wasn't necessary. The guy was dead. A part of Jack had taken immense pleasure in blowing his brains out the back of his head. But he'd learned to wall off that part of himself, to refuse to share in or even recognize the joyous partying in the dark corner behind the wall.

Would he have let the guy go? Abe bloodied, Vicky terrified, a knifepoint jabbed against Gia's throat—could he forgive that? Turn his back as the guy who'd caused it all sauntered off unscathed? Jack wasn't sure. Allowing someone who'd done damage to his friends to walk the streets with no pain or scars to remind him never even to think about doing something like that again…that might be too much to ask.

But if he'd said he'd let the guy go in exchange for dropping the knife, he'd have to do it. Or would he?

All the rules are off, man!

No. Not all of them. Some rules—at least the ones he had some say about—had to stay in effect.

He yawned. He hadn't had much sleep last night, and introspection was tough work.

Jack followed Abe's truck the rest of the way to the Lincoln Tunnel, watched and waved as it rolled down the ramp into the tiled gullet, then headed back uptown to Walt Duran's place. He hoped he'd made it through the night okay. And he hoped he was on schedule with his engraving. If not, Jack was going to have to induce him into a higher gear.