Jon remembered these names from his reading before coming to the city—they were the foremost experts on why the emerging daylight would make people go crazy.
“Not yet, no,” he answered.
“You should. I don’t think the MPD is nearly prepared enough for what will happen, and it’s only about twenty-four hours away.” He gestured at the top half of the transparent wall and the starless sky beyond it. “I’m not a scientist, but I can tell you something’s cooking in the atmosphere just by being this high up, and surrounded by metal maybe, I don’t know. I’ve noticed a bunch of, what do they call them… anomalies… right here in my place. Especially when the sun has broken through.”
“I just have a couple more questions,” Jon said, and Render nodded. “Would you be willing to hand over all the flight records and any other information we request about aircraft you own or work with, so we can establish that GS hasn’t transported anyone to the buildings where our crimes took place?”
“Absolutely. Anything you want.”
“And I was curious,” Jon continued. “There’s an impressive lab tech at the MPD who is a Muslim, and I understand you wouldn’t hire her because of that.”
“That’s right,” Render said without hesitation. “No disrespect or judgment about her personally, but this city saw what people of that religion can do to us. I know a lot of ’em are more moderate, but you’ve got the law of averages and there’s always gonna be some degree of suspicion. I’d rather be safe than sorry, and not roll the dice, and I believe a lot of the people in this city share my feelings.”
“Okay,” Jon said. “Or not…. I’m not saying that’s okay. But you know what I mean. Thank you.”
Render said the same, but only offered his hand this time to gesture them toward the elevator.
“Man, you really have something against that guy,” Halladay said, this time waiting until they were out of the lobby and out of earshot. “And what’s with the ‘mother’ issue? You were almost out of control.”
“I don’t know,” Jon said. “I can handle any other kind of insult, it really doesn’t bother me at all. But that one really does.” The younger man shrugged as he pulled his coat together in the front. “What can I say? I love my mother, despite our differences. And I’m the only one allowed to cuss her out.”
“Yeah, well, I love my family, too. And right now I’m going to see them, and get some sleep, no matter what you say.”
“I’ll come along, then,” Jon said, realizing he wouldn’t be able to change the big man’s mind this time. “Like I said, I haven’t slept in a long time, either.”
“Okaaay…. Well, we do have a number of beds in the old homestead,” the older cop said with a mischievous smile.
10
They got Halladay’s car from the garage behind the Flatiron Building and headed northeast to the older cop’s “homestead,” both sitting in silence during the ride. Jon studied the streets as Halladay drove, noticing the irony that there was some kind of club on almost every other block, but also about an equal number of those “survivalist” vendors and stores advertising similar merchandise in anticipation of Dayfall. The lines at some of the stores were as long as those at some of the clubs.
Before too long they reached a rather nondescript, older brick apartment building in the Murray Hill section of the city, and Halladay pulled the car into a “No Parking” spot in front of it. Jon followed him inside to a smallish lobby that was more like a wide hallway, with a black-and-white checkered floor and a reception booth at the far end of it. As they traversed the lobby toward the booth, Jon could see that it was manned by a middle-aged Asian woman and a younger Asian man who sat behind her watching a TV. Halladay stopped before they reached the booth to check a mailbox in a bank of them along the wall, and Jon found himself standing between two wide doorways on either side of the hall. He was able to glance each way just long enough to see that they both had small but well-stacked wet bars, and several men of various ages were hanging out by the bars or on the furniture nearby. Jon saw only one young woman, who was dressed normally, sitting by herself on a couch, but then he saw another one, dressed provocatively, walk into the same room and approach one of the older men.
“Country Boy,” Halladay said, “this is Bai Liang, better known as ‘Betty.’”
Jon shot a disapproving glance at him for the nickname, then turned a smile toward the Chinese lady and said hello to her.
“Don’t let her cherubic face fool you,” Halladay went on. “She can be a real bitch if she needs to. And Pan back there is a martial arts badass…. Don’t get him mad at you. Come on, I’ll show you mi casa.”
They proceeded into a hall behind the booth with two elevators and waited for one to arrive. As they did, a giggling blonde in a low-cut evening gown pulled a nervous teen boy into the alcove from one of the rooms Jon had been checking out. She was stroking his hair as the two cops stepped through a door that opened, and Halladay gestured to the blonde in a way that indicated they would be riding alone and she should get the next elevator.
“What is this place?” Jon said.
“You don’t want me to call you Country Boy, but you deserve it if you can’t tell what this is. What, you don’t have many brothels in F for Fart, or whoever you’re from?”
“Ephrata,” Jon said. “And last time I counted, I think it was exactly zero.”
“Well, there’s a few here, but this one’s unique. Officially it’s known as ‘Three Hundred Lex,’ but people call it ‘Hetero House,’ because Betty won’t allow any gay sex at all. She’s a born-again Christian, considers it her job in life to keep people biblical, you know. So she provides these… services, for teens, especially. A lot of them are sent by parents who want their first experience to be hetero, to put ’em on the right path from the beginning, they think. You’d be surprised how many people around here are worried about that, at least privately, though they might be really tolerant in front of everyone else. And Betty obliges them…. ‘Screw ’em straight,’ that’s her motto.”
“Only in New York,” was all Jon could mutter before the elevator stopped at the top floor, which was the eighth, and Halladay led them to a door with a police badge taped next to the number.
“There’s something else unique about this establishment,” Halladay said as he turned a key in the door. “It’s protected. They don’t have to move around or worry about getting shut down by the cops… as long as they let me and the missus stay up here.” He opened the door and took Jon inside to show him a modest but nice living room. “Ta da. A little ‘penthouse’ of my own…. It’s not One Madison, but I like it.” He cupped his hand to his mouth and yelled, “Yoohoo… anyone home?”
Both men stood quietly, lost in very different thoughts, until out of the far hallway there appeared a young black woman, with a hint of Asian, pulling a robe around her. Her hair was messy, but she was still quite attractive. Halladay sprang toward her and started kissing her.
“What time is it?” she said, gently pushing Halladay away.
“What difference does it make,” the now red-faced cop said jokingly, “when it’s always nighttime?”
“I was sleeping.”
“Well, you’ll have to take a little break, ’cause your man’s here now. Jon, this is Nina Cobra, my main squeeze. Nina, this is my new partner.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jon said, and looked at his partner. “Where did that nickname come from?”