“Goliath—I mean, Johann?”
He kept walking, rejoining the rest of the crew a few feet away. Good. Nick was still invisible.
“You’re late,” Lena said from over their tall frames. Nick couldn’t see her, but her voice was unmistakable. He whirled around just in time to catch a glimpse of the dazzling flash that enveloped the five of them, just before they disappeared.
Nick stared in wonder at the place from which Lena and her entourage had vanished. Whatever she was up to, he wanted nothing to do with it. Managing territories and all that rot—none of it meant a thing to him now that he’d committed to a mortal life with Hope.
But he had to come up with some way to bow out. Things were becoming increasingly dangerous.
Right now he was tired and wanted to go home. That meant being with Hope. He willed himself to return to her, waiting for him back at La Jolla.
Nothing happened.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried harder.
Nothing.
A sharp pain entered his head like molten lava seeping into his eyes, his ears, nose, and mouth.
A man walking a Jack Russell terrier stopped.
“You okay, mister?”
He didn’t know how long he waited to respond, but the pain had subsided. And he was visible.
“I’m fine.” His nose was running, he wiped it with the back of his hand.
Blood.
Not again.
“You need help,” the man said.
“No, really, I’m all right.”
“Nuh-uh.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling you an ambulance.”
Nick started walking. “It’s just a nose bleed. Get lost!”
But the guy and his now barking dog followed him.
“Mister, just hold still, will you? I’ve dialed 911, just… hold on!”
Not feeling strong enough to outpace them, Nick cast a construct on the well-meaning nuisance. To his surprise, it worked. Gripping his dog’s leash with a shaky hand, the man froze in his tracks and began shaking and blubbering. The construct would wear off in a few minutes, by which time Nick would be long gone. But the unfortunate good Samaritan would never forget it. And that brought about a twinge of guilt.
Nick walked to the corner and flagged down a taxi. As it drove off, he chided himself for the construct he’d projected on the poor guy.
Really, Nick? Godzilla?
63
FOR GEORGE WALKER IT’S A HAPPY DAY. Not many of those since that night two years ago when he got home to find his wife and mother of his only child gone. Forever gone.
“You done good, George,” Frank Jones says, “I’m real happy for you.” A slap on the back and Frank starts toward the back of the bus. “You coming?”
“You go on, Frank. I’m waiting here for my daughter, we going to celebrate. My little girl’s eighteen today!”
“Woo-weee! Eighteen already? Better keep an eye on her!” Frank steps through the back door of the bus, which hisses shut. George turns around in response to a light tap on his shoulder.
“Why, Punkin’!”
“Hey, Daddy! Did you get it? Did you get it?”
“How long you been watching me, all quiet?”
She looks down. “The whole time you were talking with Mister Frank.”
George leans in close.
“You know what I told you about that kind of stuff. People see you pulling that, and—”
“No one saw me, not even you. So don’t worry, okay?” She clasps her hands, barely containing her excitement. “Did you get it?”
“Not yet, Punkin’. I just got paid, I ain’t had a chance to—”
“Not my birthday present, Daddy. The promotion! Did you get it?”
His eyes light up and his wide grin returns.
“Say hello to the new assistant manager!”
She lets out a squeal and throws her arms around him.
“I knew you’d get it, Daddy, I knew it!”
“Thank you, Punkin. Now come on, I’m hungry—how about you?”
“Uh HUH!”
“I’m taking you to Charlie’s, then dinner!”
“Milkshakes first? Are you crazy?”
“Guess I am,” he says.
Both laughing, they walk down Carlton Boulevard as the sky turns dark. Yellow streetlights illuminate the snow beginning to fall again, slow lazy flakes. She used to catch them on her tongue.
The air around them seems hushed as the snowfall grows heavier. Ice crunching under their feet, they take a shortcut through the back alley to Charlie’s. To their left and right are the windowless brick walls of factory buildings, ahead a dim glow that provides the only light.
George sees three men coming toward them. Which wouldn’t necessarily be so bad, but when they get close he sees they’re wearing ski masks.
And then they stop. Right in front of him.
“You must think you’re one really special nigger, George,” one of them says.
“I don’t want no trouble,” he says, but at the same time his arms tighten and his fists ball up. “I’ll ask you kindly to step aside and let us—wait a minute. Larry, is that you? What the hell you doing—”
That gets him a sock in the jaw—and a terrified gasp from Punkin’.
George stands defiant, prepared to fight. But then the man he could swear is Larry draws a knife. The other two grab Punkin’ by the arms. She struggles, but George shakes his head, warning her.
“You got to be the first nigger I ever heard of taking a job from a decent white man, George.”
“I ain’t take nothing. It’s called a promotion!”
The man charges forward and drives the blade straight at George’s chest. To his astonishment, George catches his wrist, stopping the tip of the blade about an inch above his heart. He twists the knife out of his grip, and throws it down the alley.
It’s followed by one of Punkin’s attackers—she’s freed herself and thrown him all the way across the alley. As his body crashes against the brick wall George hears a thud accompanied by the sound of cracking bones.
The second goon pulls a knife of his own and slashes it straight at Punkin’s face. The entire blade curls as it fails to cut or penetrate her eye socket. From the corner of George’s eye, he sees her grab his wrist and twist.
The bones in his forearm snap like twigs.
He turns his attention back to Larry, who’s looking for the knife. George goes after him. Before long he and Larry are wrestling for the advantage of weapon and position in the snow, and Larry is winning. He has George pinned down and is raising the knife.
Punkin’ leaps over, just as it’s poised to plunge into his heart. She grasps the sleeve of his jacket, slick with snow and water.
But his sleeve slips.
And the knife plunges in.
Too quickly for her to stop it.
“NO!” With both hands she seizes Larry, swings him over her head, and throws him up high against the factory wall.