“At your place.”
“At my what?” Barney jumped up. His bulk loomed over Max. “You must be mad. Not with my—”
“I count on her, too. She’s the only person who can get access to the data.”
“No. You… you can’t be serious. You planned it all along!”
“You tell her what it’s all about, and Frank will give her all the details.”
“No way. Not her. Anyone but her.”
’Oh, yes.”
“Oh, no!”
“Yes, damn it! Sergeant Douggan!” Max slammed his fist on the desk, and the device jumped with the impact.
“You can’t give me orders!” Droplets of Barney’s saliva spattered Max’s face. “The war is over!”
Max breathed out, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, red with exhaustion.
“It is indeed,” he put the glasses back on. “I’m just trying to appeal to your conscience.”
Barney lowered his head, hiding his eyes from Max. He sat back down, the chair creaking under his weight. He breathed heavily and massaged his chest. Deep lines furrowed his face.
“Anyone but her,” he raised his pleading eyes. “You know I’ll follow you anywhere. I trust your decisions. I would do anything for you, storm the police department or Memoria building, all you need is ask. Just keep Maggie out of this. Please.”
Frank blinked, uncomprehending. Barney seemed on the brink of tears.
“She’s a big girl now. You… and I,” the coach put his hand on Barney’s shoulder and glanced at Frank,” all of us together, we’ll deal with it. The situation is far from easy. We can’t afford to make mistakes.”
Barney shrugged his hand off.
“How can you be so sure we haven’t made a mistake already? You tell me!”
“Because,” the coach stood up, “because we’ve already let them down once.” He jerked his chin, pointing it at Frank. “Him, and Maggie, and all those we fought for. Who still have to live here after we’re gone. Barney, they’re being brainwashed. Who is going to tell them about the past once we’re gone? You think the migrants will? There’re not many of them left, either, and they have their hands full with other things. Why? Because they want to remain human.”
“Stop it,” Barney raised his hand. “Enough of that. Don’t you stare at me like that! Sit down.”
“Is it a yes?” Max sat next to him.
“It is. But not because of the migrants, damn them. And don’t you dare compare me to them. I’ll follow you to hell and back, and you know it. But not because of the migrants. Two years we were fighting them. And we won — we did!”
“Agreed,” the coach glanced at his watch. “What time do you have?”
“Quarter to two.”
“Go now.”
“And you?” Barney rose.
“I have some packing to do. There,” Max handed him the device and headed for the door. “The stash is safe, I presume?”
“It was, last time I checked it,” Barney replied to his back. “Are you sure force is really necessary?”
Frank couldn’t stand it any longer. “I really appreciate your help and the attention you’ve given to my problems, but really…”
Max stopped on his way to the locker room and turned to him.
“…really, I don’t understand! Who’s Maggie? What’s your plan?”
“Barney will tell you,” the coach disappeared in the locker room.
Frank turned to the veteran.
“Come on, then,” he grumbled and headed for the front door.
With a sigh of relief, Frank followed.
“I’ll be at your place tomorrow morning,” the coach shouted from the locker room. “Six o’clock.”
A locker door slammed.
“Agreed,” Barney answered.
Chapter Eight. The Expert’s Lodgings
Frank forced his eyes open. Darkness surrounded him. Somebody shook him by the shoulder.
“There we are,” Barney’s low voice boomed in his ear.
His large frame moved aside, letting some light into the cab. Barney had turned the interior light off so that no one could recognize his passenger from the outside. The weak light of a street lamp drizzled into the opened door. The car was parked on the corner of an apartment block.
“Out you come, quick.”
Frank rubbed his face and finally felt awake. He got out, stretched and took in a lungful of air.
Which was fresh and windless. A few stars showed in the sky. The rain had passed leaving a few clouds behind. The coming day promised to be sunny and warm.
“Where are we?” Frank turned his head, looking around.
“West Brooklyn,” Barney slammed the door shut, turned the alarm on and pointed at something behind his back. “That’s the East River over there. Come on now,” he climbed the stairs that led to the front door and produced a bunch of keys. The lock clicked.
“Now remember,” Barney said. “I expect you to be as quiet as a mouse. Stay put in your room. No nosing about. I’ll wake you up as soon as I’m back. Understood?”
“Sure,” Frank nodded. “Where are you to now?”
“Got to take the cab back to my partner,” Barney let him inside, cast a quick glance along the street and shut the front door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Up the stairs, second floor.”
They went upstairs together. The bunch of keys jangled in Barney’s hand as the veteran opened the apartment door. Without turning the light on in the hall, he showed Frank to his room.
“Get some sleep,” Barney whispered, lingering in the doorway.
Frank sat down on a couch. Springs creaked under the battered upholstery.
“Remember the drill?”
“Yeah. Stay put, no nosing about…”
“Hush!” Barney hissed.
“…and get some sleep.” Frank kicked off his shoes and stretched his body out on the couch. Hands under his head, he stared at the ceiling.
“In other words,” he heard from the hall, “stick your neck out, and I’ll break it.”
Frank didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and listened to the shuffle of feet, the clinking of keys and the screech of the closing lock. In a couple of minutes he heard a motor starting outside. A car drove off.
Now he could finally catch a few z’s, at least until the monstrous mustachio was back. Frank tried to relax. But sleep wouldn’t come. He turned on his side. The upholstery stank of sweat and dust. Barney must have slept here himself, not bothering with bedclothes. About time he gave the place a good clean.
Frank thought he’d heard a quiet sniffling in the next room. He really didn’t look forward to any more aggro from Barney over the disrupted sleep of his daughter or girlfriend, whoever she was. But he could use a leak.
Frank got off the couch and nearly fell over his own shoes. He swore under his breath and walked out into the hall, feeling along the wall for a light switch. He didn’t find it. In the dark, he could make out another door further on, and two more to his left. Frank pushed the one closest to him. The kitchen. The next one was the bathroom.
He flipped the switch above the mirror and squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. A cheap shower cabin took up half the space. A toilet in the corner completed the scenario.
Frank glanced in the mirror, turned to the toilet bowl, undid his fly and relieved himself. He flushed the toilet and opened the tap above the sink. Cold water helped to clear his head, heavy with exhaustion and lack of sleep.
Frank washed his face, poured some water onto the back of his neck, closed the tap and admired his mug in the mirror. Oh well… He could do with a shave and a… Frank touched his chin and the large scratch from the fight on his cheek. A shower would be a good thing, too. Still, it had to wait until the morning.
Frank yawned. Back to bed now. He needed to recover properly.
He stepped out into the hall, nearly knocking over a young woman. At first he took her for a tousled teenage boy, but then realized it was a grown-up girl in her twenties. She had a round face with large eyes and a snub nose. About a foot shorter than him, quite chubby — or rather, squat like a gym coach. Wide-boned, apparently. Must have taken after her dad.