There was a clattering sound behind him, and Veil looked over his shoulder as two paramedics who had just come down the stairway, a Sikh and a Hispanic, unfolded the collapsible stretcher they carried and hurried up the platform, followed close behind by a black patrolman who was speaking into a crackling walkie-talkie.
“Not too trashy, pal,” the Sikh said, nodding his approval as he gazed down at the woman and her baby. “You a doctor?”
Veil started to rise, but the woman would not release her tight grip on his wrist, and so he eased himself back down beside her. “An observer,” he replied. “I’ve seen a few babies delivered.”
“You work in a hospital?”
“I used to work in a jungle.”
The Hispanic grunted as he handed Veil a towel to wipe the blood from his hands. “This is the seventy-fifth subway delivery this year. That puts us a little bit ahead of schedule. The birth rate down here is nice and steady. We’ll take care of her now.”
The woman looked around, gasped, then renewed her urgent efforts to hand Veil her baby. Veil turned in the direction the woman had looked and saw that three scowling Chinese youths, one an albino, had suddenly appeared on the platform and were standing just behind the paramedics. They were identically dressed in jeans, black sneakers, and black satin jackets embroidered with red dragons. The policeman cursed under his breath.
“She is our sister,” the Chinese in the middle, a husky youth with a tiny spider tattooed on his forehead, said in unaccented English, his tone low and menacing as he glanced in turn at the paramedics, the policeman, and Veil. “We became separated. We will take her now.”
The Hispanic said hesitantly, “Your sister’s just had a baby here on the platform, mister. It’s October, and it’s cold. They both need to be taken to a hospital, cleaned up, and looked after.”
“She doesn’t need a hospital,” the albino said, stepping around the gurney and reaching down to take the trembling woman’s baby. “We’ll take care of her.”
“I think not,” Veil said in a flat tone, blocking the youth’s movement by reaching out and planting his left palm firmly on the husky man’s chest. He gently but firmly twisted his right wrist free of the woman’s grip, then straightened up, keeping his left palm on the Chinese youth’s chest. The Chinese was pressing forward with all his weight as he glared at Veil, baring his clenched teeth and making low, guttural sounds in his throat. The albino and the third youth, a man in his late teens or early twenties with a pockmarked face, were moving to flank and press him toward the edge of the subway platform.
The policeman moved closer to Veil, said quietly, “These guys are Shadow Dragons, buddy, and we’re right on the border of their turf. As a rule of thumb it generally works out best for everybody if the Chinese are left to take care of their own affairs. They say this woman is their sister, maybe we should let them take her and the baby.”
“I think not,” Veil repeated in the same even tone, meeting the hate-filled gaze of the Chinese pressing against his hand at the same time as he tracked the movements of the other two with his peripheral vision. “They’re not her brothers. Look at her; she’s terrified. We’ll get her and her baby to a hospital, then find an interpreter to tell us what she wants.”
Suddenly the youth in front of Veil reached into the right pocket of his satin jacket and withdrew a box cutter, which he used to slash at Veil’s exposed wrist. But Veil’s left arm was no longer in the space between them, and the razor sliced nothing but air. The sudden and violent movement caused the youth to lose his balance and lurch sideways. Veil stepped behind him, grabbed the back of the youth’s jacket and his belt, whirled him around once, and then released his grip, sending the Chinese hurtling through the air like some unwieldy human discus. The youth landed on his face and chest, skidded a few feet, then lay still.
The policeman reached for his gun as nunchaku sticks and a knife suddenly appeared in the hands of the other two youths.
“You won’t need that,” Veil said to the policeman as he quickly stepped away from the woman and out into the center of the platform to give himself more room. “This is just a friendly discussion about proper health care.”
The youth with the nunchaku attacked first, the two hardwood sticks connected by a chain a blur as he whirled them in intricate patterns in front of his body and over his shoulders. Veil spun away from the first strike, at the same time slipping out of his leather jacket, shifting his weight, and delivering a side kick to the solar plexus of the knife-wielding albino, who had rushed in on his left flank. The breath came out of the albino in a great whoosh before he doubled over, grabbed at his stomach, sank to his knees, and began to retch.
Obviously startled by Veil’s quickness and skill, the pockmark-faced youth hesitated just long enough to lose his rhythm. Veil darted forward, swinging his leather jacket over his head and snagging the connecting chain between the nunchaku sticks. He yanked, pulling the sticks from the youth’s hands and catching them in the air. He tossed aside his jacket, then began to twirl the sticks as he slowly advanced on the Chinese, whose face had gone ashen. Veil stopped next to a support pillar, beat out an intricate tattoo on the steel, then casually tossed the sticks to the Chinese, who made no move to catch them. The deadly weapon fell at the youth’s feet, then clattered away on the concrete. Then the youth bolted, darting in a wide circle around Veil and going to the albino, who was still on his knees and clutching at his stomach. The pockmark-faced youth pulled the albino to his feet, and together they went up the platform to help the Chinese with the spider tattoo, who was just regaining consciousness. The three of them disappeared up a stairway at the opposite end of the platform.
“It looks like we’ll be using my health plan,” Veil said as he walked casually back to where the policeman, paramedics, and woman were all staring at him, wide-eyed.
“The Shadow Dragons are a particularly nasty gang,” the policeman said to Veil. “They’re likely to come looking for you.” Veil shrugged as he helped the paramedics lift the woman and her newborn baby onto the gurney. “I’m easy enough to find.”
The policeman narrowed his eyes as he studied the rangy but solidly built man with the glacial blue eyes and shoulder-length, gray-streaked yellow hair. “Your name Veil Kendry?”
Veil glanced at the man, replied evenly, “That’s right.”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“I hope it was good.”
“It depends on who you talk to. You’re a friend of the crazy dwarf, aren’t you?”
Veil laughed, but abruptly reached out and grabbed the end of the gurney when the paramedics started to wheel it away. The woman was still staring at him, a naked plea for help in her limpid almond eyes. “Where are you taking her?”
The two men glanced at each other, and the Sikh answered, “You may have a health plan, mister, but it doesn’t look like she does. She doesn’t even have a purse. We’ll take her to the clinic at Bellevue.”
“Take her to St. Vincent’s. It’s closer.”
“We don’t have a contract with St. Vincent’s. They won’t—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pay.”
The paramedics looked at the policeman, who nodded. “He’s a hotshot artist with big bucks. He’s good for it.”
The Hispanic asked, “How are you going to pay, mister?”
“Plastic. What else?”
“What are we supposed to tell them when—?”
“I’ll tell them myself. I’m coming with you.”
The Hispanic nervously cleared his throat, said, “We’re not running a taxi service, mister. It’s against company policy to transport civilians who aren’t relatives of a patient.”
Veil took his wallet from his pocket, removed the money from it. “I’ve got eight dollars and change. I’ll get you more if you stop at an ATM machine.”