I quickly looked around, hoping the absence of light was something the subway work crews were equipped to overcome, and found not a master switch or fuse box but six large flashlights strung together through their handles by a busted chain mounted to the wall, presumably some more of Shattuck’s handiwork.
I took one of the lights, switched it on, and began to trot in the direction of the distant flicker I’d seen.
My momentum didn’t last long. At the first corner, I came to an opening halfway up the wall of a large junction area, square, high-ceilinged, and fed by a dozen or so tunnels similar to the one I was in. A second steel ladder led down to the floor of this chamber. It was anyone’s guess where that flicker of light had vanished to.
Dispirited, drained by the thought that all the effort I’d expended-not to mention the blood-had been for nothing, I climbed down the ladder for a last look around. It was unlikely, I knew, but maybe in his haste, Shattuck had left some sign indicating which tunnel he’d used.
The entrances weren’t all at the same level. Some were flush with the chamber’s floor; others were located atop high ladders near the ceiling. I checked them in order, working counterclockwise, flashing my light down each one, listening carefully, until I got to the tallest of the ladders, about fifteen feet up.
By this time, I’d lost whatever edge my nerves had been keeping sharp. The roller-coaster plane ride, the drenching walk through the storm, the street sign totaling Norm’s car, the near-suicidal jump off the train, the hunt-and-go-seek with guns, all had pretty much done me in. I’d been battered, bruised, kicked, scraped, cut open, and shot at. I was beginning to feel like hell.
So I was unprepared, three-quarters of the way up the last ladder, gripping the railings with a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, to see Shattuck pop out above me like some evil jack-in-the-box, complete with a sinister grin, and jam his pistol square in the middle of my bandaged forehead.
“Hi there.” His voice was flat and quiet-a serpent’s hiss.
I was sitting at the foot of the ladder, my back against the rungs, my hands tied to the rails, my feet sticking out ahead of me. Shattuck rested cross-legged on my shins, his weight crushing my calves and causing my knees to spasm in agony. He played with his revolver-a brushed steel.357 Magnum-with a practiced nonchalance.
“It was Joe, right? Vermont Joe. You’re not looking too good. You do put up a hell of a fight, though, for a man your age.” He tipped my head toward the dim light to examine the burns left behind by his earlier muzzle flash.
“Nasty. What makes you so persistent?”
I didn’t answer, nor had I said a single word since he’d caught me.
“Is it Shilly? Did it bother you what I did to him? He was a hypocritical prick. I knew about him from the old days-big on bringing medicine to the people, saying the Establishment was ripe for burning. He was just killing time, figuring out how he could cash in, especially after he got thrown out of the hospital.
He shook his head in wonder. “What a mind fuck, you know? Tracking me down after all those years, looking for a name for your skeleton… Like a babe in the woods. You smarter now?”
I remained silent.
A furrow appeared between his eyes, and he leaned forward slightly, causing me to clamp my teeth against the jolt from my partly inverted knees. “I need to know what you’ve learned, Joe.”
Through the pain and the fear, I knew he was telling me the truth. Norm had shaken him off on our way to visit Penny Nivens at her fancy school, and the mobsters that interviewed her later obviously hadn’t communicated their findings to Shattuck, which confirmed he was working alone and beginning to feel left out.
For all his seeming confidence, he hadn’t gained any ground since he’d kidnapped Shilly. Which made me his one reluctant ally.
Nevertheless, I didn’t want to answer his question, or reveal how little I knew. “What do you want after all this time? The money?”
His face tightened with emotion. “Don’t sell money short, Joe. Money is power, when you use it right. And I want those who betrayed me-all of them. They stole my future with that money, and the hopes of everyone I would have saved. And when I find them, you’ll think Kevin Shilly died a peaceful death.”
I watched the swollen vein pulsing on his temple and the hard glitter in his eye. The intensity of his anger made me think of Alfredo Bonatto-his interest barely perceptible beneath a demure, discreet, almost bland exterior-the exact opposite of the firecracker facing me. I wondered whether I could get the two of them to keep one another off my back. Given my position, it was as realistic a notion as any, and perhaps a good way to keep Shattuck off balance.
“You may not get your chance. You and I aren’t the only ones interested in this.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shilly told you what he did for Pendergast, didn’t he?”
“You mean putting in the metal knee?”
“Because the real one had been blown off by a mobster named Tommy Salierno.”
Unconsciously, Shattuck leaned back slightly, easing the pressure on my knees. He sat there thinking for a while. Finally, he rocked forward, bringing his face close to mine and the pain to new heights. I couldn’t swallow the groan that gargled in my throat.
“So the Outfit’s in on it. Tell me, Vermont Joe, you think this buys you some slack?”
It wasn’t the question I wanted to hear, but the leering quality he dressed it in cut through my fear. I was angered that he thought somehow he’d be able to walk away from all this-untouched and a winner. “I think it puts you in a worse position than I am.”
The gun settled in his right hand and his index finger slipped around the trigger. “Yeah?”
He straightened slightly, slipping the pistol between us, so that our eyes met just over the front sight. The only light came from the flashlight lying on the floor, which dimly caught the gleam of sweat on one of Shattuck’s hollow cheeks, his wide, unnaturally bright eyes, and the dull gray glow from the revolver’s burnished barrel.
“You don’t know shit about me. I’m the bear who’s been hibernating for damn near twenty-five years, and now that I’m out, I don’t give a rat’s ass who gets in my way-you, or the Outfit, or the fucking National Guard. I’m real hungry, and the last thing anyone wants to do is to get between a pissed-off, hungry bear and his food.”
His voice was a whisper, a farewell sigh, and I knew then that I’d miscalculated, that I’d allowed him to count me out of his plans. The pain from my legs melted away, along with the hope I’d been collecting and hoarding. I watched those dark, gleaming, too-wide eyes and felt nothing but weariness. He wouldn’t survive in the long run-that was a given-but I knew now I wouldn’t be a witness to his end.
Shattuck’s thumb pulled back the hammer. I could see the vague outline of his mouth, still locked in its smile-friendly, comforting, supportive, or so I worked to make it, to remind me of the sweet things in life-a little something to take with me.
His index finger tightened slowly on the trigger, like a good shooter’s should. The barrel didn’t waver. His eyes narrowed slightly in anticipation of the explosion.
I closed my eyes.
And the hammer fell.
There was a sharp, brittle click, like the sound of teeth snapping shut, but louder and more painful.
Shattuck lowered the gun as my eyes reopened. The smile widened but the voice remained a whisper-barely audible. “Shucks-must’ve forgot to reload.”
And then he left me alone in the dark.