"Yessuh."
The old man sat back down on the easy chair. "My granddaughter," he said. "She need a job. Can't get no work."
"What does she do?"
"She went to school. She gots some education. College. Scholarship."
"Wonderful."
"She quit. Took up with some friends. They take her out drinkin'. All night sometime. She come home, sleep all day. She say she can't get no work. Ain't nothin' she wanta do anyway, she say. No good jobs for colored girls. Don't wanta make no beds or scrub no floors."
"Can she write?"
"Yes, suh. Has a fine hand."
"Yeah. I didn't mean quite that. There's a position open in one of my companies here in Dutchtown. Importers. They need someone to write brochures and catalogues. A little college is all a person would need."
"These people… they colored?"
"Yes."
The old man nodded. "She might like that. She one smart little girl. She could do it."
"She'll have to do her own typing."
"She can do that too."
"Castle Imports, East One Hundred Forty-fifth Street. Tell her to tell them I referred her."
The old man nodded. "Thank you, suh."
Carney took another swig. The stuff was flowing smoother now. "I'm beginning to like this."
"It get better and better."
"I'll bet." Carney set the bottle down. "I have to use your bathroom."
"In the hall."
The bathroom door was ajar. He opened it and stopped. There, on the floor in front of the commode, lay a girl of about nineteen. Her head was wedged between the seat and the wall. She had vomited and missed the bowl.
Carney checked her. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned.
The woman was standing at the door.
"I don't put her to bed no more. She can stay there all night for all I care. She can live in there."
Carney picked her up. She was light, a soft bundle in a cerise cotton party dress, one shoe dangling.
He carried her into the bedroom and put her on the big bed. There was a quilt at the foot of the bed; he unfolded it and covered her. He looked at her face for a while. The girl was pretty.
Velma was standing behind him. He turned and she gave him his hat. She was holding the bottle.
"Let's get out of here," she said.
He took out a wad of bills and offered it to the woman. She regarded him gravely, looked at the money, then took it.
"Good night," Carney said, putting on his hat. "Say goodbye to Mr. Hamilton for me."
The woman nodded silently.
Tony woke up when the car door opened.
"Have your beauty rest?" Velma asked, sliding in beside him.
"Jeez, musta dozed off." He rubbed his eyes.
Carney got in and shut the door. "Let's get over into Hellgate."
Tony watched Carney drink from the bottle. "You come all the way up here to buy some bootleg hooch?"
"Yeah. Start the car, you dumb guinea jerk."
Chuckling, Tony turned the engine over. He was adjusting the choke when a car went past. Something made him lift his head.
"There's Riordan."
He gunned the motor, pulled out of the parking spot, made a U turn, and raced down the street, making the Leland's engine whine and roar. He tore around the corner, left, raced a block, careened right, and nearly collided with an oncoming cab. A horn blared. He swerved, straightened out and slowed, glancing into the rearview mirror.
"I think we lost 'em."
Tony cruised for a block, then checked the mirror again. His eyes widened.
"Madonn'!"
He floored the accelerator and the straight-eight Leland engine howled.
"Where's the hardware?" Carney asked.
"On the floor in the back!"
Carney got to his knees and reached, couldn't get it, and tumbled into the back seat. He picked up the submachine gun and cocked it. He pushed Velma down in the seat, then rolled down the back side window and stuck the barrel of the gun out.
A green Durant Roadmaster was pulling into the oncoming lane to pass. Carney let it have a few rounds in the general area of its huge shiny grille.
There was an answering shotgun blast that shattered the rear window. Carney ducked, waited, then sat up. He pointed his index finger through the jagged hole in the glass.
Fire left his finger and enveloped the Durant.
The Durant slowed, flames dancing on its shiny paint. But the fire began to dissipate, rolling off and turning to smoke. The flames soon burned out, leaving the car untouched. The big car sped to catch up.
"They got somethin' workin', boss!"
"Yeah, so I noticed."
Tony tore right around a corner.
He slammed on the brakes, and Carney hit the back of the seat. Ahead, a huge truck was angled into the street, unloading, and blocking the way.
"Out!" Carney yelled. "Run for it!"
Tony reached into the back seat for the submachine gun, brought it out, opened the door, raised the gun and got off about twenty rounds before being cut down by a storm of bullets.
While that was happening, Carney opened the back door, rolled onto the pavement, crawled between two parked cars and hid behind one.
He heard advancing footsteps. He summoned power ― and was amazed by how much was available.
"Carney!"
He recognized the voice as Seamus Riordan's, who would have been Tweel's capo de tutti capi had Tweel been Italian. Since he was not, Riordan was lieutenant hood, first under the demons.
"Come on out, Mr. Carney. You can't win. The deng's got us fixed up so good you can't touch us. Come on out. We won't hurt the dame. She's one of us."
Carney stood up.
Seamus Riordan, tall, tweed-jacketed and red-haired, stopped in his tracks when he saw the strange-looking long tube in Carney's hands.
"Whatcha got?"
"Bazooka," Carney said.
"What's that?"
Carney demonstrated, aiming at the Durant. The missile left the tube with a whoosh. By the time Riordan swiveled his head to follow it, the Durant had blossomed into a gorgeous red fireball. The concussion knocked Riordan down.
"They didn't fix you up good enough," Carney said.
Riordan got to his knees, groped for his lozenge-magazined submachine gun, got it and raised it ― but by that time Carney was there to kick it away. Carney then kicked Riordan's solar plexus.
"Not quite good enough, Seamus, me boy."
Another kick. Riordan groaned.
"Were you sent to pick me up or kill me?"
"Pick you up."
Carney's foot found a softer spot near Riordan's groin.
Riordan screamed, "Kill you!"
"That answer was extracted under duress, but I believe you."
Carney went to Tony. Most of the bullets had found his legs, but a few had hit his chest. He was still conscious.
"Madonn'," Tony said. "I'm hit. It don't hurt, though. Funny. Always wondered."
Velma was on her knees on the front seat, looking down at Tony.
Carney asked her, "You okay?"
She nodded, then reached for something. She handed Carney the bottle. "Saved it."
Carney took it and pulled out the cork. He tipped the open bottle to Tony's lips.
"Drink a little."
Tony drank. He choked. "Boss, that tastes like lighter fluid."
"You get used to it. It might save your life."
The big Durant burned, thick black smoke coiling into the narrow band of sky between the tenements. Out of the sleeping city night, sirens approached.
Eighteen
Voyager
It was a tight fit for two beasts and two humans inside the tiny craft. There were four seats, but they were small, obviously designed for nonhuman occupants. Ironically, the nonhumans were the most discommoded: Snowclaw spilled out of his chair, and Goofus's sufficed only for his tail and hind legs.
Jeremy's voice came out of the intercom speaker. "Okay, everything seems to check out. We're ready any time you guys are."