He holds the sledgehammer like a machine gun and waves it back and forth.
– Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat.
He rubs his stomach.
– Serious stuff, a belly full of lead. Such a ting had happened, would have saved Montaigne some weepin’.
He frowns.
– Instead of which it came down ta me an Terry lookin’ him up at a place he kept off Mott Street. Little lay-by he had wit a fluff I recall was named Eileen.
He winks.
– I always remember da purdy ones, Joe. No matter how far back.
He lifts his shoulders and drops them.
– Shame we had ta put her in da ground wit Montaigne an all. As part of makin’ it look right.
He drapes the hammer over his shoulder, trudging along with me.
– He’d just made one splash too many is what he’d done. Could have moderated himself a bit, he might still be about. Not likely, but possible. But even if no one sussed to what he an his fellas was really about, still they were makin’ far too much of a ruckus. Too many o dem yella press stories. Too many o dem gangland headlines. Coppers had to make a move sooner or later. Dey started pokin’ ‘bout, it wasn’t gonna do no good fer no one. Me an Terry, we had our own business concerns to worry on. Montaigne, he just served no purpose a’tall. Good ting ‘bout dem times, ya just put a few bullets in a fella, dropped him in a gutter. Yella press had dem another headline, an da story came to a close.
He kicks a few gallons of water out of his way.
– Now, Joe, da story ain’t never come to an end.
He points the hammer at me.
– Ya ask what I hear? Well I tell ya, I hear tell on da TV dat dere’s maybe a serial killer on da loose in Manhattan. Not no normal serial killer, but like a team o dem. A gang o serial killers. Dat’s what da story is dey like to tell. In da absence of any sense comin’ from the police on da matter. I won’t tell ya what da headlines in da Post look like.
He waves the hammer at the arched roof of the tunnel.
– All dis conflict and bad feelins, it’s makin’ fer more dan a man’s fair share o sloppiness in tings. Not all bodies get hid, not all witnesses get taken care of. Just makes fer a mess. An a story today, it never dies, not till dere’s a better one. An tell me, Joe.
He bumps my shoulder with the hammer.
– Where are dey gonna find a better story den Serial Killer Gangs? Unless it’s us, Joe, I don’t tink dat’s a story dat’s like to die soon. Not o natural causes anyhow.
He swats the air with his hand.
– An dat’s what I hear. Trouble an woe. Maybe, Joe.
He nods to himself.
– Maybe an so dere’s nothin’ better to do now but to make a big cannonball and go out wit a splash.
He wags a finger at me.
– Not dat I’m one fer despair, mind. Not, leastways, not while Terry is still about ta mind the store fer us all.
I grab a fistful of my stomach and squeeze, trying to distract myself with a different kind of pain.
– Yeah, Hurley, I hear you. Be a terrible thing to find out Terry wasn’t in there doing it like it should be done.
– Shake a man’s faith to lose Terry.
– Yeah.
I give another squeeze to my gut.
– What else you hear, Hurl?
– How so, Joe?
He chuckles at the rhyme.
I glance at the compass, still bearing north, still on the path.
– What’s the word on how it splits up? Coalition’s got the Bulls and the Bears, the Wall, the Family. Society and the Hood together. Any word on how the others jump?
– Others, Joe? An who would dose be? Dat rabble in Brooklyn, we don’t make truck wit dem no more.
I look into the dark water ahead.
– Any word on Enclave picking a side?
He holds up a second.
– Enclave, Joe.
He carries on with me.
– Dey don’t have no side but dere own mad selves.
– Sure, I know that, but what do you hear?
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.