I sidle close, drop my voice.
– Come on, Hurl, you catch a little of everything. Must be rumors.
He looks both ways over his shoulders.
– Well, I don’t like to talk on what I’m no expert ‘bout, but a man hears a ting or two.
He drops his own voice.
– Generally, dough, tis a sore spot for Terry. What wit how you took da Count over dere, him an all his money an all. Dat was a dissatisfaction. A real blow. Terry now, he always had a patience wit da Enclave dat I could never muster myself. Dem religious types, remind me too much o da nuns. But Terry, he likes ta say dat what a man believes is his own damn business. An I can’t argue. Dough I find it hard to ignore dat dem Enclave believe dat anyone what ain’t wit dem is just due to be laid low when da time comes. Makes a man tink he’d be better off if dey was done wit.
– Ever fight one, Hurl?
He shakes his head.
– Much to my consternation, no. I hear dey are fierce in battle. An dat fires my imagination, it does. Course, I’ve fought some udders who was starvin’ like, in dat old Vyrus madness. I’d show you da scars, but dey healed.
He laughs again.
– Healed. Anyhow, I’ve tussled my fair bit wit da starved and savage, but I hear tis not da same wit Enclave. Hear dey can control it like. Not just berserk, but remember who dey is and what dey’s about.
He smacks the hammer into his palm.
– To a brawler like myself, Joe, dat sounds a challenge.
He shrugs.
– Someday perhaps.
He hooks a thumbs in his suspenders.
– But you were askin’ what I heard. An’ I’ll tell ya, I hear it’s no good over dere. Da rumor is, da rumor is dey got some kind of troubles o dere own. Sign o da times it is. Squabbles inside. Da Count, we knew he took da reigns over dere when Daniel croaked it, but we hear he got himself competition. What it is, I hear, is.
He looks back at some of the Bulls trailing us, leans closer, whispers in my ear.
– I hear tis a girl.
I look at him.
He nods.
– A girl is what I hear. Puttin’ up a challenge to head Enclave. Not.
He looks behind us again and raises his voice a bit.
– Not dat dere’s naught wrong wit it. But.
He shakes his head and lowers his voice.
– A girl still.
He sighs.
– Always a madness in dat place, Joe. No tellin’ which a way dey might come out on any issue, but always seemed to me dey were traditional types. Den again, long as I knew, it was Daniel over dere callin’ da shots. Never had no goings on wit da man myself, but I heard how he was reliable like. In da way of his kind dat is. Crazy, but reliable like. Fer da time bein’, I’m just happy ta have dem off on dere own while we finally settle accounts. Tell ya, Joe.
He slaps my back and I go to my knees in the water and he hauls me up.
– Sometin’ like dis? A troop o hard hitters makin’ tru da sewers ta lay a hurt on da competition? Well, it may not be good fer business in da short, but tis good fer da soul. A bit o da old days come ta life is what it is.
He comes in close again.
– It’s all up in da air it is now. Sideways like. Confusin’ even, an I don’t like ta utter da taught, but even Terry steps outside hisself frum time ta time. Some o da plays we made of late, dey just don’t make no sense. I don’t expect ta understand every little ting, but I don’t grasp how it does us good when Terry an Lydia are forever at each other’s troats.
He rubs his chin.
– An while I know it’s not how Terry’d a had it, I have ta say dat fer meself, tis more dan a relief ta be getting’ over wit da inevitable. I follow Terry’s lead, an everyone knows dat, but it is a ting dat warms my heart ta be getting’ dis out o da way once an fer all. Direct like. An maybe get all back ta normal like. Terry his old self again.
He straightens.
– Whaddya say ta a song?
He opens his pipes, belts his tenor, echoes in the tunnel making him a chorus.
– Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, Ye’re an armless, boneless, chickenless egg,
Ye’ll have to be put with a bowl to beg,
Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye.
After midnight is what Predo said.
And at his disposaclass="underline" four enforcers in cop uniforms, those action-movie types with their body armor and grappling hooks, the others in coveralls, sweat suits, business casual. One big Vampyre costume party.
Figure he can play it a couple ways. Lead with the fake cops. Put them up on the stoop to knock on the door, force their way in, make way for whichever masqueraders have been planted on the street. Commandos will be on the roof already. They can come straight down, or just sit up there to pick off anyone who tries to get out through the fire exit up top. Plenty of extra bodies to spread around the streets in case something sloppy happens and they have runners that need to be snatched away. Biggest problem with that play is the cop uniforms. Neighbors see them out their windows, they’re gonna pull up a chair to see what it’s all about. As long as the action stays inside the Cure house, it’s not all bad. But can you count on that? No. Best to count on shit getting all fucked up in this kind of scenario. Not that there’s ever been this kind of scenario. So figure he might play it straight paramilitary.
Commandos blow a hole in the roof, pour inside, start flushing everything to the bottom. Fake cops are outside, ready to do “crowd control” on anything that comes out. Some of those coveralls had ConEd logos. Guys might be set to cut power to the house, maybe the whole block.
How good are Predo and his enforcers?
One-on-one, they’re good as it gets in terms of being fit and well trained and inclined to want to hurt a person, but not big on independent thought. Rote fighters. Counterpunchers most of them. Fight dirty enough and you have a good shot. Pretty good in small group, but the same weaknesses apply.
But this?
Who the hell knows.
Mean, they haven’t done it before. And hard to figure where they’d practice. Chances are, once they pull the trigger and start this thing, it’ll all be theory they’re trying to make work the way they want it to. Counting on Horde’s people being disorganized, starving, poorly armed.
Predo had any idea how far gone things really are in there, he’d probably not be bothering. Just keep his embargo in place and wait a little longer.
Heat. He’s feeling it.
What Hurley had to say about the news. That stuff has always stung the Coalition more than it has the downtown types. Psycho-killer headlines, that tension on the streets, the feeling out there that something’s not right. Predo doesn’t like it. And if he doesn’t like it, his bosses on the Coalition Secretariat like it less.
Old schoolest of the old school. Bunch of top hat and evening cape boys sitting on the top floor of Coalition HQ. Fancy Upper East town house just around the corner from the Guggenheim. Calling shots that knock balls over the whole Island.
Used to be, I pictured them smoking big cigars and drinking port. Like from a nineteenth-century political cartoon. Red noses, round bellies, resting their feet on the backs of the slobs. Nothing wrong with it if you can get a seat at the table, I suppose. Not my style, but I get why people want to be on top. Means there’s no one overhead to drop a load on you when their bowels get loose.
Got a different picture of them now.
Lean. Burnished. Dipping fingers into bowls of something that looks like looped purple licorice ropes. Putting them at their lips and sucking.
Sucking cord blood from harvested umbilicals.
Hole-raised kids with chains on their necks scattered around the room.
Not a picture from satire, but something literal. Like I’m thinking that’s what it’s really like up there on that top floor. Very much just like that.