Princes of Arkwright (15 page)

Tucker sat for a moment, squeezing his eyes.

“I’ve always hated that expression,” he said at last.

“
What expression?”

“
Just friends,” said Tucker. “I hate it. It implies that friendship is unimportant.”

“
Well,” said Victoria, “I just mean that we won’t be more than that. We won’t be lovers.”

“
Victoria,” said Tucker, standing up, “friendship is the greatest form of love. It’s impossible to be more than that. So please don’t feel uncomfortable. I don’t want or anticipate anything from you, OK?”

“
You’re very deep,” said Victoria. “Oh, God, I feel so much better now. I was so afraid you were going to hate me.”

“
Well relax, lady,” said Tucker, “I could never hate you. But if you ever start acting like Aly, we’ll have to talk. Anyway, I should get going. Give Lenore my best and tell her I will see her soon – if she can stay awake.”

“
I’ll do that, Tuck,” said Victoria, hugging Tucker and putting her head on his shoulder. “And thanks for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

As Tucker closed the apartment door behind him, his smile collapsed into a frown. The only sound that could be heard in the long dark hallway was the word
“damn,” which he whispered as he stared at the closed door.

17. THE ARCHANGEL URIEL

T
ucker Bromley paused at the crosswalk in front of St. Michael’s Church, searching for a break in the traffic. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a black tie. He still hadn’t returned to work, but he didn’t have many casual clothes, and they were all in the laundry right now.

The violent wind had stripped most of the remaining leaves off the red maple trees, making them look like mammoth wooden skeletons. The wind slapped pedestrians furiously and toppled a pillar in the middle of the crosswalk that read,
“Yield to pedestrians.”

As one car slowed to turn into a parking lot, Tucker ventured out into the crosswalk and bent down to straighten the pillar. The screeching of brakes and the sudden appearance of chrome in his line of sight caused him to drop the pillar and fall backwards.

“What are you trying to do, kill me?” he bellowed as he pulled himself off his back and limped around to the driver’s side of the car. “You know,” continued Tucker, now shouting at his own reflection in the windshield, “It’s state law that you have to yield to pedestrians in a crosswalk!”

Tucker was about to pull out his badge when the window rolled down. It was Roland Lemieux. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, Tucker,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”

“
Roland!” said Tucker, “Are you OK?”

“
I just got a call from Victoria. She rushed Lenore to the hospital. It doesn’t look good. I think her life is despaired of.”

“
Oh my God!” said Tucker. “Is there anything I can do?”

“
Pray for a miracle,” said Roland. He rolled up the window and drove off down the street.

“
I can do better than that,” said Tucker, still standing in the middle of the road and watching the Chevy Lumina battle the traffic. “I know someone who barters in miracles.”

Tucker broke into a sprint
, heading for the Lovecraft Street bridge which was now closed to everyone. Tucker jumped the jersey barriers in front of it and raced to the other side.

Wallbangers was closed. The windows were dark. The red-white-and-blue
‘open’ flag that usually flew in the front was gone. Tucker pressed his face against the window, but could see nothing inside but the glare off the red tile floor.

“
That’s right,” said Tucker to himself, “she was supposed to work tonight. There’s no one else here.”

Tucker walked to the side of the building and around the rear, making a circle back to the front. There were a couple of other doors, but they were all locked.

“Damn!” he said, remembering the words of Uriel: “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“
How can I find you if I can’t even get inside?” he mumbled.

Since the bridge was closed, this section of
Lovecraft Street was quiet. Tucker turned with his back to the door and jammed his elbow hard through the plate glass window, shattering a jagged hole in it. Craning his neck to make sure no one had seen or heard, he reached inside and opened the latch of the heavy door. He swung it open and stepped inside the bar.

The chairs had all been placed upside-down on their tables and the floor was swept clean. The last wisps of twilight permeated the bar with a dim light, which reflected off the tile floor, giving the place a faint red glow. All the stools were upside-down on the bar, except for the one at the very end, where the archangel sat, staring at his bottle of
Narragansett.

Tucker approached the archangel slowly but deliberately and stood next to him. The angel made no attempt to acknowledge him.

“Uriel,” said Tucker. “I need your help.”

The archangel made no sound or motion.

“Lenore – Victoria’s little girl – she’s sick. She’s dying,” stammered Tucker.

“
I know,” said Uriel.

“
You do?” said Tucker

“
Yes,” continued the archangel. “That’s why I’m here. That’s my mission.”

“
Oh, thank God,” said Tucker with a sigh. “Shouldn’t you get going if you’re going to save her life.”

“
You do not understand, Tuckerbromley,” said the angel.

“
What do you mean?”

“
I’m not here to save her life,” said the angel, still staring at his beer. “I’m here to claim it.”

Tucker stood as still as a statue, certain he had misheard the angel.
“What?” he said in a whisper.

“
I am here to see that the child dies,” said Uriel.

“
That doesn’t make any sense,” said Tucker. “Oh my God. Aly was right. You’re no angel at all. Who are you?”

“
My name is Uriel,” he said, “one of the seven archangels who enter and ...”

“
I don’t believe it,” interrupted Tucker. “You wouldn’t …”

The archangel turned around to Tucker with a fire burning in his eyes.
“WHAT DID YOU EXPECT, SON OF MAN?” he screamed.

“
I expected you to be compassionate,” said Tucker. “I thought angels were here to help people, like you helped me. You healed me of my kidney stones.”

“
I did what I did because it was the will of God,” explained Uriel. “Had it been his will to cut you in half, I would have done that too.”

“So it’s the will of God that a little girl die?” yelled Tucker, “Then he’s a cruel and childish god! Why would he want to hurt a little girl?”

“
In all my existence,” said Uriel, “I have never asked why.”

“
Is this because Victoria wouldn’t give her a baptism?” asked Tucker.

“
What is a baptism?” asked the angel.

“
You can’t do it,” persisted Tucker. “You have to save her. I know you want to. Deep down inside you want to.”

“
Deep down inside,” said the angel. “I want to do the will of God. That is why I exist.”

“
You just do everything you’re told – like a Nazi?”

“
What is a Nazi?” said Uriel.

“
It’s someone who just follows orders and doesn’t question.”

“
Well,” said the angel, “then I am a Nazi. You wanted to be an archangel. What did you expect?”

Tucker slinked away, clinging to the bar.
“When are you going?” he asked.

“
As soon as I finish my beer,” said the archangel.

Tucker glanced at the bottle, which had less than an ounce left in it.

“I can’t let you do this,” said Tucker.

“
It is the will of God,” said Uriel, calmly. “There is nothing I can do to stop it.”

“
Well, maybe there’s something I can do,” yelled Tucker. He ran toward the angel, throwing all his weight and strength against him. The barstool crashed to the floor, and Uriel winced as his head smashed against the tile. Tucker jumped on him, screaming, “If you want to get at her, your path lies over my corpse.”

Tucker grabbed Uriel by the shirt collar, slamming punch after punch onto the angel
’s face. The archangel gave Tucker a sharp blow to the chest, throwing him off and into a table, sending the stacked chairs crashing to the floor.

The angel stood up and reached fo
r his last swig of beer. Tucker got up, ran to the angel and jumped on his shoulders, pulling back his arms. Uriel twisted his body, hurling Tucker onto the bar and sending four barstools smashing into the glasses and bottles behind the bar.

Tucker squatted and propelled himself right at the angel
’s chest, knocking him off balance and sending both of them into another table. The angel stood up, lifting Tucker by the legs, but Tucker clung to the angel’s neck. As Uriel lifted him over his head, Tucker pounded on the angel’s back when he suddenly felt something hard and cold. He grabbed for it and pulled the hilt of an invisible sword from an invisible scabbard.

As it reached the air, it burst into flames lighting up the bar, just as Tucker crashed to the floor behind the angel. He quickly righted himself and aimed the point of the sword right at Uriel
’s face. The angel stood still.

“
What do mean to do, son of man?” asked the angel.

“
Whatever I have to do to stop you from killing that little girl,” said Tucker, clutching the sword with both hands like a baseball bat.

“
Then I suggest you do so,” said the angel, making no attempt to resist.

Tucker swung the fiery sword hard at the angel
’s chest, but Uriel fell to the floor to avoid the blow. As Tucker was following through with his swing, the angel lunged with a mighty kick hard into Tucker’s hip.

The detective screamed in pain as he dropped like a rag doll, sending the flaming sword skidding across the tile floor, leaving scorch marks in its wake.

Tucker’s hip was completely dislocated and he couldn’t move. He bit the leg of an overturned barstool as the angel slowly walked to the flaming sword. He picked it up and turned toward Tucker, who whimpered at the sight of the angel, whose impassive face made Tucker shiver. He pointed the sword toward Tucker’s head. Then, in one quick motion, he threw the sword over his shoulder, back into its invisible scabbard.

Tucker clung to the overturned barstool like a toddler with a teddy bear, and stared into the fiery
iridescent eyes of the archangel. Uriel walked to the bar and drank his last ounce of Narragansett.

“
I must complete my mission now,” said Uriel. Then he turned and walked toward the door. Tucker said nothing, but continued biting down hard on the leg of the stool. The pain was excruciating.

When he reached the door, the angel turned to Tucker and said,
“I am sorry, son of man. It is God’s will.”

“
What about your will?” choked out Tucker.

“
I have none,” said the angel, his eyes burning more brightly than ever. “Consider yourself blest that you do.”

The angel left and closed the door behind him, leaving Tucker Bromley alone on the red tile floor, whimpering in pain.

The detective felt in his pocket for his cell phone. Slowly and painfully he pulled it out, dialed, and put the phone to his ear.

“Rochelle,” he groaned, “this is Tuck. I’m at Wallbangers. I need to get to the hospital fast.”

18. MIRACLE

T
ucker Bromley slowly opened his eyes and struggled to figure out where he was.

“
Oh yeah,” he said, fingering the IV tube in his arm, “the hospital still.”

He tried to shift and take a deep breath, but the pain in his back forbade it, so he went back to surveying the room through the drug-blurred lenses of his eyes. A whirl of dark red slashed through the antiseptic whites and chromes of his convalescent chamber.

“What are you doing here?” he wheezed. “Did you have to wait till I was in this condition before you could actually win a fight?”

“
Relax, Tucker,” said Aly. “You’re going to be OK.”

“
So I hear,” said Tucker, reaching up to assess his growth of facial hair.

“
Is there anything I can get you?” asked Aly, half-rising from the seat next to his bed.