Terraplane (20 page)

Not far-distanced stood downtown's needles; we neared.

"You and Doc partnered long?" I asked, desperate for the human
touch.

"Since I was eighteen."

"So few years-"

"Norman was sixteen." She smiled. "It was arranged," she said,
not explaining further. As we instationed the conductor shouted
Desbrosses' name. "This is it." Standing, she centered her balance
to keep from tumbling as the train slowed. "Come on."

Descending, following a zigzag north of Canal, we scuttled past
radio shops hustling Tesla lamps, restaurants offering pigs' feet at
ten cents per plate, grocery windows shuddered with carcasses of rabbit, pig and calf, clothiers peddling knickers, flappers, breeches
and BVDs.

"Haven't seen a phone yet," she said. "He'll just have to
wonder. "

As we waded Broadway's river a Rheingold beer truck nearly
swept us out with the tide; its carmine flatbed bore a hundred
wood-staved kegs. As hoped, familiarity's narcotic began settling;
the more seen, the more all contained a certain expected inevitability that vanished only with examination of details. They
carried the charge that shocked without warning: the thumb-andfingered way a cig was held, the shine of an amber button; the
pattern of a pair of socks, the letters on a box of cereal; a pronunciation, a haircut, a gum wrapper twice expected weight for its foil
being tin and not silvered plastic. Without the details all might
have bored.

"Centre and Grand," I said, pinning his dot. "Exact."

`All right," she said. "Here on out, you stick right by me. Don't
be a wiseguy hotfootin' it off by yourself."

Beyond Broadway streets narrowed and darkened; buildings
grew heavy with cornice and molding. Where sightlines showed
backcourts, long lines evidenced, sagging between windows,
clothes pinned upon them flapping like flags. Children's shouts
grew overloud; vegetable perfumes freshened the street stink.

"These dagos down here act like they own the damn city, but
they definitely do own this part. They mouth off, you ignore 'em.
They do anything, let it pass. Don't fight back, don't smart off.
Walk fast like we're just passing through and be set to scram. If
we're heading where I think we're heading-"

Her thought faded without ending as we continued on. Bakeries
rich with yeast's smells, stoops crumb encrusted, showed their
loaves piled high in windows, near framed snaps of Mussolini, this
quadrant's Big Boy. Further along saints appeared in windows,
crucifixes upon chests; the lingua overheard carried flowing phrase
rather than harsh bite. Throughout downtown there'd seemed a
shortage of non-Caucasians; here, we were sole and only. Elderlies
crossed themselves as we paced by; middle-aged women eyed us
updown, sending only mutterance and not audible word; keg shaped men turned vast backs towards us until we drifted past. A
ganglet of young men lounged at cafe's door, near Centre. One
wore a sleeveless under to better flash his furry shoulders; a forearm
tattoo looked to have been done with hot coat hanger and crayon.
As we passed, Wanda stepped lightly when the tattooed boy thrust
out his foot.

"Watch where y'goin'," he giggled.

"Lookit that turban," one said; I'd nearly forgotten my bandage,
and how it showed. "Must think he's Gandhi."

"Why ain'tcha monkeys in the zoo?" another shouted. "Lookin'
for y'organ-grinder?"

"Keep walkin', Kingfish." Something pebblelike struck my back
as we turned briskly northways, onto Centre. "Ruby Begonia-"

"Fuckin' niggers," 1 -heard the one who'd tried the trip say.

"That word," I said as we left earshot. "What problematicks
them so?"

"Ignore 'em," she said, tightlipped; her pupils dilated as if to
draw in all existent light, to defend against the dark. "Got to if
you're going to be flatfootin' it down here."

Something unignorable rose above the surrounding town ahead;
if it ever stood in our New York I'd never vizzed it. Likely it was
long-wiped; in our day this sector was well within the old Loisaida
Zone, years cleared by Mister O'Malley's order, its scraps delivered
uptown, for the new Bronx buildings. Possibly only the contrast
between the low redbrick buildings surrounding the close lent the
effect, but no cathedral showed so holy, no castle seemed so secure.
Its carved-stone walls stood as bulwarks; over its windows rock
curved and swept as if poured and frozen fast. Above its defended
roof rose a pillared barrel capped with green copper donne. The
tracker pulsed as we drew near, reaching the square's edge.

"He's there," I said, switching off and pocketing. "What is it?"

"They must have thrown your friend in the slammer," she
sighed. "That's police headquarters."

Dozens of black beetles lay still round their nest, as if, sprayed
unaware, they'd crawled home to die; their uniformed, weaponed
drivers showed only too much life, coming and going. Amidst the
surroundings, too, lurked threat; hanging from one building's face, crosstreet, was a pistol of four-figure caliber, aimed directly
towards the building. A shop, it seemed; a shop selling, to New
York's illteinpered public, guns.

"Think he turned himself in?" she asked.

"His affinities lean towards those assuring security," I said. "If
nabbed he'd likely volunteer all."

"All what?"

"Fables, undoubted," I said. "Dangerous nonetheless. His fancies kill. I'm judging protective mode holds throughout the place?"

"Protective mode," she said. "What the hell you talking about
now?"

"Is it secured?" I asked. "If I entered now, what would happen?"

"Go in there without a reason or an invite and you won't come
out anytime soon."

"No choice for the moment, then," I said. "Likely he'll linger.
Keep an afar eye and action if movement's seen-"

"Then we can go?" she asked. So I wished; turning, we saw,
several meters downstreet, three of our verbal abusers, waiting with
staring eyes.

"Hey," shouted the tattooed boy. "Didn'tcha hear me say keep
walkin'?" One darker than I, to his left, held a bat, palmed it with
his free hand, set to slam.

"Turn around," said Wanda. "Head north. Don't run but don't
shuffle."

We didn't run; they did. We'd not covered ten steps when I was
shoved pavementways, scraping forward.

"Ya deaf.? Not gonna answer when somebody's talkin' to ya?
Huh?" he screamed, grasping my lapels, hauling me upright.

"We goin'," said Wanda, stepping closer, attempting to loose his
hold. "Ain't no call to roughhouse." He shoved her aside, not far;
enough to annoy. Though smaller than me, he was wiry, and
showed but twenty years agrowing. Sweeping his hands from my
jacket and pushing him away, I felt my heart shudder; I'd not had a
one-to-one in twenty years.

"I'll teach y't'keep th' fuck outta th' neighborhood," he shouted,
running at me, seemingly driven mad by our presence. With the
position he held there were three defenses; I chose the one that hurt. Swinging up my leg, nearly pulling a groin muscle, I heeled
him hipways. As he tumbled, I topsided; he spat in my face. Now
I'm no Jake, no Johnson; but seeing his ape's look, feeling the
trickle down my chin, I wished nothing less than to have all his
blood before me in which I might swim. Enroute to term, however, I froze, repossessed by reason; in the interval his friends,
demurring, closed in with fist and boot and shortly had me rolling.
The batted one aimed to swing his knockout; he heard the whistle
as I did. They were up and off, back into their home's all-forgiving
embrace, into love's dark depths. Grounded, fresh blood soaking
my old bandage, I heard hard shoes click my way, felt a foot tap my
most painful side as if awaring me that all was not yet done.

"Get up," someone said. Opening eyes, I vizzed two policemen,
appearing elephantine from ground view. "Nobody gets beat up
down here 'less they did somethin'. What'd you do?"

"This man's from South America, officers," Wanda said. "He's
visitin'. Not causin' no trouble. I had to come through this way and
he was so kind, he offered to walk me 'cause he knew I was scared,
yes sir. Then them bad boys, they come up and-"

"Lemme see some identification," said the shorter of the two.
"You too, toots." Passing him Cedric's handicraft I drew myself
slowly into sitting position. They eyed the passport; lapped it back
to me.

"Sorry it happened," said the taller. "Y'gotta be careful in New
York."

"No pursuit's attempted?" I asked. "They ran that way. You can
snare-

"Pal," he said. "So you're in the right. Think it matters? Take it
easy. Go back to your hotel."

"Where're y'stayin'?" the short, prognathous one asked.

"Says he's at the Hotel Theresa," said Wanda. "Even if he'd been
let in a midtown place they don't have any rooms, what with the
fair and all-"

"Where's the pursuit?" I repeated, more furious than hurt.

"They live here, right? They're gone now You'll heal up, bud.
So they kicked your ass. Quit bellyachin'."

"What are your numbers?" I asked, doing what I always feared Jake of doing, of wording without thought; thought seemed unnecessary, under circumstance.

"Numbers?" said the short one, circling back as he started to
leave. "Why? Want to file a complaint or something?"

"Exact. "

"That how they do things in Venezuela?" he asked. "Lemme
give y'a New York complaint." With full strength he clubbed my
back; feeling a rib snap I collapsed groundways. "Smart off once
more I'll make sure y'miss your boat-"

"He's a foreigner, Mike," said the other. "South American-"

"Nigger's a nigger t'me," said the short one. "Don't care if he's
the King of Venezuela." Blessedly, I blanked. Upon awakening
from my brief peace I prayed to viz my own world, familiar and
dear, where if I was beaten it would be by strangers without
ideological reason; therefore understandable. Wanda knelt close,
dabbing my brow with sodden cloth.

"Babes in the woods," she whispered, wringing blood from her
scarf, mopping me anew

"YOU START PISSIN' BLOOD, WE'LL HAUL YOU OVER TO SYDENham," said Doc, "but I think you'll be all right." With a long wrap
he'd mummified my abdomen to keep my ribs from floating free.
"Lucky he didn't just kill you."

"For what purpose?"

"For the hell of it. Gimme a finger. I need fresh blood to do that
test." Compared to earlier pains his pinprick came as kiss. "There.
Didn't hurt a bit, did it?"

"This demonstrates what?" I asked.

"Let me check it out first," he said. "How're you going to get
word to this fellow if he's locked up?"

"I doubt he's locked," I said. "Probably has the king's ear in
which to shoot lies and nonsense."

"He sounds like bad medicine to me," said Doc, "and I ought to
know. You don't think he was arrested for anything? I mean there's a
lot they could've gotten you on if they'd wanted to-"

"Unknown," I said. Having bloodied a glass slide with my
extract he lowered above it a clear square; pressed the two into one.
"His condition's unknown, his plot's unknown. All's to be done is
suspect."

"You all seem pretty good at that," said Doc. "What if you can't
get ahold of him anytime soon? Thought of that?"

"Certainly," I said. `A slim option adheres that Oktobriana's
associate is still viable. He possesses prime essential. If he is,
however, he's in Russia."

Doc whistled, laying the slide onto a primitive microscope's
rounded glass. "Russia. Damn." My parents gave me such a beginner's model when I was nine, when they still hoped to later afford
medical school's unfunded costs. I used it once or twice, never
adjusting to blood's sight until later, in different context. "They've
tightened up the borders there past few years. They say old Uncle
Joe's got something going on but nobody says what. Probably be
easier getting in downtown. Sure be a helluva lot closer."

"Three weeks ago he arrived here," I said. "Never returned. I'm
doubtful he remains in existence."

"Maybe he's just lying low. Pays to over there, I'd think," said
Doc. "You know there'll be Russian scientists in town all through
the next week what with those goings-on at the fair. Maybe one of
them knows something, ran into him or something."

"Doubtful," I said. "If he's present, he's kept covered. We've no
method of safe contact in any event."

Doc cranked his scope's wheels, focusing. "Remember that
fellow hollering in the window last night? He works out at the fair.
He's a Red, too. He might be able to dig up some dirt over at the
Soviet Pavilion. See if anybody admits to hearing anything. Can't
hurt to ask."

In some situations it killed to ask. Still, any straw was worth a
snatch. "We can contact soon?" I asked.

"He'll be downstairs again tonight. Comes uptown ever' weekend. Rabble-rouses over on Lenox during the weekend, during the
day, comes listening to jazz at night. We'll go down there this
evening and wait for him. Usually gets there around eight."