Dying Is My Business

Fifteen

Down the canyon of Central Park South, bookended on one side by the edge of the park and on the other by skyscrapers, the sky was already fading from black to gray. In the distance, a violent slash of pink tore at the eastern horizon.

They’re coming at dawn.

How much time did I have left? Half an hour? Less? I cursed under my breath. Wherever he was now, Bennett obviously had no intention of sending me back to the safe house. That left me with precious little time to cover roughly a mile’s distance and get the others out of the house before it was too late. I looked at the strange burlap charm he’d given me, but I didn’t have the first clue how to make it transport me back. I stuffed it in my pants pocket. The only way I was going to get back to the safe house was on my feet.

I put my back to the impending dawn and darted across Columbus Circle, up the sidewalk to Ninth Avenue, then swung left to bolt downtown. An empty cab drifted along the street beside me, but when I tried to hail it the cab sped by, its off-duty light shimmering in the predawn gray.

I kept running, trying to outrace the rising sun and wishing Bennett had just stayed dead where he belonged. Why had he come back to warn me? He certainly didn’t owe me any favors after I’d handed him over to Underwood.

I pushed the question from my mind and tried to focus on just getting back to the safe house, but the void it left was instantly filled by more questions: Without an amulet like the one Thornton wore, how had Bennett come back from the dead? When he said I pissed off the wrong people, who did he mean? Who was coming to the house at dawn, and why couldn’t I stop them?

I barreled down empty sidewalks and through intersections, the gun in my trench coat pocket banging against my hip, and all the while the sky kept brightening. I crossed Ninth Avenue against the traffic light, barely avoided getting hit by a speeding Daily News delivery truck, and ran up a side street toward Tenth. How much time was left? How soon before dawn?

Farther up the block, I noticed a figure walking toward me. From a distance the man was just a shadowy silhouette, but as I drew closer his features clarified, sharpened. My heart jumped into my throat. I skidded to a halt, breathing hard.

It couldn’t be.

Tomo.

Where the hell had he come from?

I turned to run back the way I came and slammed into a wide wall of a man coming up behind me. “Whoa, where you goin’, T-Bag?” Big Joe asked with a sneer. “Been lookin’ for you.”

His fist connected with my jaw. I fell, the back of my head hitting the sidewalk and flaring with pain. I tasted blood and wiped it from the corner of my mouth. “How did you…?”

“Find you?” Big Joe finished for me. He grabbed the lapels of my trench coat and hauled me onto my feet. “Underwood’s got eyes everywhere. You know that.”

He dragged me across the sidewalk to a run-down building whose glass front door was propped open with a brick. He yanked the door open all the way and pulled me into the vestibule inside. The stench of urine was overpowering. Two homeless drunks lay curled against the walls, sleeping off the effects of the empty bottles scattered around them. Tomo followed us in, pulling his gun and using the butt to smash out the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. Big Joe kicked the drunks awake and told them to clear out. They didn’t wait to be told twice.

Big Joe slammed my back into the wall. I groaned as pain flared through my wounds.

Tomo put his gun away, which was a relief, but the grin of sick satisfaction on his face told me not to get too comfortable. “I think it’s time to teach this piece of shit a lesson,” he said.

Big Joe brought his face up close to mine, his breath hot on my cheek. “We oughta kill you now while we have the chance.”

“We’ve been waiting for the right time ever since you wasted Ford,” Tomo added.

“And we’d do it, too, if we thought it would take,” Big Joe said. “But I know you, freakshow. You wouldn’t even have the decency to stay dead. Though that could be kind of fun, too, killing you as many times as we like. We could take turns, try out interesting and exciting new ways of making you die.”

I reached for my gun, but Big Joe grabbed my arm before I got it. “Nice try.” He twisted my arm away, took the gun out of my pocket, and put it in his own. Then he punched me in the stomach.

I doubled over, gasping. He’d knocked the air right out of my lungs. Big Joe grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me upright again. “You’re lucky Underwood wants to see you, T-Bag. Otherwise me and Tomo could do this all day.”

I bristled at the nickname T-Bag. I’d always hated it. He knew it, too, which is why he kept using it. I spat in his face and said, “Go fuck yourself.”

He punched me again, in the kidney this time. It hurt like hell. “Keep giving me attitude and next time I’ll use a knife instead of my fists,” Big Joe said. He shook his head in disgust. “I told Underwood from the start you’d be trouble, but he didn’t listen. He shoulda found a way to bag-and-tag you the minute you iced Ford, only Underwood thought a freak like you might be useful. There’s a fuckin’ joke if I ever heard one.”

Outside, the sky kept brightening in its unstoppable march toward dawn. I thought of Bethany and the others, still asleep, not knowing what was coming. I struggled to get free, but Big Joe’s grip was like a vise. “I didn’t kill Ford,” I insisted. “Not on purpose. I can’t control it when it happens.”

“Keep talkin’, T-Bag,” he said. “Give me a reason to see if you can come back from a bullet in the brain.”

“That’ll do,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind Big Joe.

Big Joe released me and took a step back. Tomo took a step back, too, and between them I saw Underwood standing in the vestibule doorway. He came forward until he was standing right in front of me, the overwhelming stench of Obsession for Men inundating my nostrils. He looked me up and down.

“Nice outfit,” he said. “You been shopping?”

I wiped my bleeding mouth with the back of my hand. “Underwood—”

“Where’s the box?” he said. It came out less like a question than the verbal cocking of a gun.

I saw him then for what he was, no longer blinded by the things he’d done for me. This was the true Underwood; he was a burning coal, a coiled viper ready to strike. It was why so many people were afraid of him. It was why I should have been from the start.

Through the glass door, I saw the gray murk outside grow less murky. I was running out of time. I had to get out of here fast, but there was no way Underwood was going to let that happen. He searched my face, waiting for an answer, his eyes hidden behind his black sunglasses. I had a feeling if I ever saw his eyes, they would be as empty and merciless as a shark’s.

“I don’t have it,” I told him.

“How much longer until you do?”

“I’m working on it.”

Underwood shook his head. “I asked you a question.”

“Today,” I lied. “I’ll have the box for you today. Just let me go get it. Let me do my job.”

Underwood’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “What did I say when I sent you out last night? Didn’t I tell you there was a lot riding on this? Didn’t I tell you I had a buyer waiting to dump fucking truckloads of money on me for that box? I told you I needed it ASAP, and yet here you stand, empty-handed and coughing up excuses like some fucking chump. Only you’re dressed in brand new clothes like you spent all night picking through the racks at Barney’s instead of doing what I asked. Do you know what that makes me wonder? It makes me wonder if I can trust you. And if I can’t trust you, something drastic needs to happen.” He flicked a speck of dust off the shoulder of his coat. “Here’s a little something for you to keep in mind, Trent. I may not be able to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you hurt. It doesn’t mean I can’t make you wish you could die.”

I remembered the chair behind the black door, the drain at its feet. As if on cue, Tomo pulled a straight razor from his pocket and flicked it open. I saw the sharp edge of the blade and thought of the gaping slit in Bennett’s throat. “Let me give him a taste, boss,” Tomo said.

He and Big Joe both took a step toward me, but I put up my hands. “Wait! Just wait!”

Underwood glanced wordlessly at his two enforcers. They stepped back.

I let out my breath slowly. “It’s not what you think, Underwood. It’s this job. There are complications.”

“You and your fucking complications,” Big Joe spat.

Underwood lifted a hand. “Now, now, let’s hear him out.”

“The box wasn’t at the warehouse. They hid it because there are others looking for it.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “They’re … gargoyles.”

“Gargoyles?” he said. “Never heard of them. Who are they, a street gang?”

“They’re not a gang, Underwood, they’re gargoyles. Actual gargoyles, with wings and claws and teeth—”

He burst out laughing. “Christ, Trent. When did you start hitting the pipe?”

“You’ve got to listen to me,” I said. “This isn’t like the jobs you’ve sent me on before. Things are happening that I can’t explain. Impossible things.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He looked at Tomo and Big Joe, then back at me, a half-grin on his face. I got the sense he was only tolerating this because he found it amusing.

I took a deep breath. I knew how crazy I sounded already, and I was about to sound even crazier. “Just a few minutes ago, Bennett came to see me.”

Underwood laughed again, and Big Joe and Tomo joined him. They laughed like they’d never heard something so funny. “Now I know you’ve lost it,” Underwood said. “Trust me, Bennett’s not going to be paying any visits to anyone.”

“But I saw him,” I insisted. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s the box, Underwood. Everything connected to it is royally fucked up. It’s dangerous. You may think you can handle it, but you’re in way over your head.”

I felt Big Joe’s fist hit my cheek before I even saw him swing. I fell to my hands and knees on the thinly carpeted floor of the vestibule. “Know your fucking place, T-Bag!”

Underwood crouched down next to me. “Trent, Trent, Trent. When did you become such a disappointment? How did a simple job like this become too much for you to handle?”

I spat on the floor, my saliva tinged with blood. “Walk away from this one, Underwood. Whatever’s in that box, it’s not worth what’ll come after you once you’ve got it.”

“Walk away? Do you know how much money is on the line? Come on, Trent, enough with the bullshit. I’ll tell you what, just bring me the box and all will be forgiven. We can pretend we never had this conversation. I want it in my hands by tonight. Don’t make me come looking for you again. Am I clear?”

I shook my head. “It’s not just gargoyles, man, there’s this thing in black armor.”

“Okay. Give us a minute, guys,” Underwood said. Tomo and Big Joe left the vestibule to stand guard outside the door, leaving us alone. Underwood held his hand out to me. I looked at it like it was a dog ready to bite me. Finally, I took it and he helped me to my feet. His hand was ice cold, as though he’d absorbed all the air-conditioning from the fallout shelter. “I’ve always tried to do right by you, haven’t I, Trent? I gave you a job and a place to sleep. I made certain inquiries into your past, like I promised. Do you remember what I told you last night? I think you’re going to be very happy with what I found. Very happy.”

I studied Underwood’s face, but behind his sunglasses his expression was inscrutable.

“My name?” I whispered.

He nodded. My chest went tight. Underwood knew my name. He knew it and I didn’t. It was almost too much to handle.

“Tell me,” I begged. “Just tell me my name. Please. Just tell me that one thing.”

“I’m wondering if you’re ready,” he said. “Maybe you don’t want it as badly as I thought. After all, I told you what you had to do first and you still haven’t done it.”

“Please,” I said again.

“The terms of our deal are quite clear,” he said. “Bring me the box. Leave no witnesses. Hold up your end of the bargain and I’ll hold up mine.”

I swallowed hard. I was so close to the truth I could almost taste it, but what Underwood was asking me to do …

I’d made a terrible mistake, aligning myself with this monster. I knew that now. Hell, I’d known it ever since the little boy in the crack house, only I hadn’t done a thing about it, hadn’t even tried, and now it was coming back to bite me.

Underwood sighed. “I blame myself. This is my fault. I thought you could handle this one on your own, but I see now I was wrong. That’s why I’m sending Tomo and Big Joe with you.”

My chest squeezed tight. “What? No, Underwood—”

He raised a hand to shush me. “No, it’s okay, it’s good that they’ll go with you. The job will go a lot faster.” He turned to call Tomo and Big Joe back in.

“Wait,” I said quickly. Underwood faced me again. “There’s no need to get them involved. I can do this.”

“Are you sure?” Underwood asked. “They could be a big help. They’re not squeamish about torture, or killing. To tell you the truth, I think the crazy bastards actually get a kick out of it. I once saw Tomo gun down a man’s grandmother just to get him talking.”

“I’ll handle it myself,” I insisted.

Underwood bared his teeth. It took me a moment to understand that he was smiling. “There’s the Trent I know. Good dog.”

He clapped me on the cheek, harder than usual. There was nothing remotely friendly about it.

In that moment, I knew he was lying. He hadn’t found anything, and he never intended to. He’d lied to me from the start, used me, manipulated me into doing terrible things while he filled my head with empty promises. I’d wanted so badly to believe he would help me find the answers that I’d gone along with it willingly, ignoring any second thoughts. What a fool I was. What a goddamn fool.

Outside, sunlight swept down the street from where the sun crested the horizon. Dawn. Time had run out. I had to go now.

“I’ll have it for you by tonight,” I said again, hoping he wouldn’t see through the lie. I moved to get past him. “But I have to go—”

“Stay a moment,” Underwood said.

Damn. Why wouldn’t he let me go? “If you want the box, I have to go now.”

“Stay,” Underwood repeated. The tone of his voice told me I didn’t have a choice. “Did I ever tell you about Gibbons?”

“No,” I said quickly. The street continued to brighten. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. Each beat of my heart felt like the ticking of a clock.

“Gibbons was my collector, like you, only way back in the day,” Underwood said. “I sent him to collect a diamond shipment headed for a Diamond Row merchant who’d crossed me. Only Gibbons never came back from the job. See, he thought he could just take the diamonds and run. He forgot who he was messing with. He forgot I’ve got eyes and ears all over this city. I caught up with him in a bar in Harlem, some cheap, off-the-grid joint where he thought he’d be safe. I walked out of that bar half an hour later, but he didn’t. Neither did his girlfriend, or his brother, or any of the others who helped him take what was rightfully mine. The dumb son of a bitch honestly thought he could run from me. But nobody can run from me, Trent. Nobody can be protected from me. I always get what I want. I always take what’s mine. I always win. Funny I never told you that story. It’s one of my favorites.” He grinned the way I imagined a mad dog did when it was about to take a chunk out of you. “Now you can go.”

We walked out of the vestibule together. As Tomo and Big Joe stepped aside to let us through, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb and idled there, engine purring.

Underwood took my gun back from Big Joe. “You remember how to use this, right?” He tossed me the gun. I thought about putting a bullet in him and just ending the charade right then and there, but it would only bring Tomo and Big Joe down on me and I didn’t have time for that. Instead, I slipped the gun into the pocket of my trench coat. Underwood winked at me and said, “I knew you were my go-to guy.”

From behind the steering wheel, the black-haired woman stared at me the way she always did. Her dark eyes looked like bottomless black pits.

It seemed to take forever for Underwood, Tomo, and Big Joe to get in the car. As soon as they drove away, I took off down the block, running as fast as I could. My shadow grew with each passing moment as the sun inched its way up. I tried not to think about what might be happening back at the safe house. Were they fighting for their lives? Were they already dead?

I thought of the list of names, crumpled and hidden inside my mattress. In my mind, I saw the little dead boy in the crack house again, his tiny, shriveled corpse cradled by his shrieking, grieving mother. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to make the image go away, but it stayed, stuck there like glue. What if I was already in too deep to ever get out? Some people didn’t deserve redemption. It terrified me to think I might be one of them.

I turned onto Ingrid’s block and crashed directly into a man walking toward me. I tripped, but the man reached out and steadied me.

“Yo, I got you, pal,” he said. He looked homeless, dirty and foul-smelling with long hair and a knotted beard. His fingernails were rimmed with dirt. The words CHILD OF FIRE were written across the chest of his stained, ratty T-shirt in flaming letters. “Spare some change, pal? Can you help me get something to eat?”

I shook him off without a word and kept running. In the middle of the block I spotted the safe house and prayed I wasn’t too late. When I ran up the stoop, I could still feel the powerful ward pushing against me. For a moment I thought that meant everything was okay, that they’d fixed the ward and were still safe inside—until I reached the double doors at the top of the steps.

The right-hand door was open a crack. That was wrong. Ingrid wouldn’t have left it open. Even with the ward protecting the house, she’d still locked the doors last night. I’d seen her do it. It’s something ingrained in all New Yorkers, as deep as any primal instinct. No matter how safe your neighborhood is, you always lock your door.

I pulled out my gun and carefully pushed the door open. The entrance hallway was in shambles. The umbrella stand and shoe rack had been overturned. The Hummel figurines had been knocked off the top of the credenza and lay broken in dusty shards on the floor.

I looked to the staircase at the far end of the hallway, and my heart dropped into my gut like a chunk of ice.

Halfway up the steps, Ingrid Bannion lay on her back in a pool of her own blood.