Suddenly it didn’t look sharp enough. She worked on the edge and the tip until dawn.
Sewage Processing Plant
THE STANFORD SEWAGE Processing Plant lay beneath a hexagonal red brick building on La Salle Street between Amsterdam and Broadway. Built in 1906, the plant was meant to keep up with the area’s demands and growth for at least a century. During its first decade, the plant processed thirty million gallons of raw sewage a day. But the influx of people delivered by two consecutive world wars soon made that rate insufficient. The neighbors also complained about shortness of breath, eye infections, and a general sulfurous smell emanating from the building 24/7. The plant shut down partially in 1947 and completely five years after that.
The inside of it was immense, even majestic. There was a nobility to industrial turn-of-the-century architecture that has since been lost. Twin wrought-iron staircases led to the catwalks above, and the cast-iron structures that filtered and processed the raw sewage had barely been vandalized over the years. Faded graffiti and a three-feet-deep deposit of silt, dry leaves, dog poop, and dead pigeons were the only signs of abandonment. A year before, Gus Elizalde had stumbled onto it and had cleaned one of the reservoirs by hand, turning it into his own personal armory.
The only access was through a tunnel, and only by using a massive iron valve locked with a heavy stainless steel chain.
Gus wanted to show off his weapons cache, so they could load up for the raid on the blood camp. Eph had stayed behind—needing some alone time after finally seeing his son, via video, after two long years, standing alongside the Master and his vampire mother. Fet had renewed understanding for Eph’s unique plight, the toll the vampire strain had taken on his life, and Fet sympathized completely. But still, on their way to the improvised armory, Fet discreetly complained about Eph, about how his focus was slipping. He complained in only practical terms, without malice, without rancor. Maybe with just a touch of jealousy, since Goodweather’s presence still could get in the way of him and Nora.
“I don’t like him,” said Gus. “Never did. Guy bitches about what he doesn’t have, loses sight of what he does have, and is never happy. He’s what you call a—what’s that word?”
“Pessimist?” said Fet.
“Asshole,” said Gus.
“He’s gone through a lot,” said Fet.
“Oh, really. Oh, I’m so fucking sorry. I always wanted my mother to stand naked in a cell with a fucking helmet glued to her fucking
Fet almost smiled. Gus was ultimately right. No man should ever have to go through what Eph was going through. But still, Fet needed him functional and battle-ready. Their corps was shrinking, and getting everyone’s best effort was critical.
“He’s never fucking happy. His wife nags him too much? Bam!! She is gone!! Now, boo-hoo-boo, if only I could get her back… Bam!! She’s undead, boo-hoo-boo, poor me, my wife is a fucking vampire… Bam!! They take his son. Boo-hoo-fucking-boo, if only I could have him back… It never fucking ends with him. Who you love or who you protect is all there is, man. Fucked-up as it may be. If my mother looks like the ugliest porno Power Ranger, I don’t care, man. That’s what I have. I have my mama. See? I don’t give up,” said Gus. “And I don’t give a fuck. When I go, I wanna go fighting those fuckers. Maybe because I’m a fire sign.”
“You’re a what?” said Fet.
“Gemini,” said Gus. “In the zodiac. A fire sign.”
“Gemini is an air sign, Gus,” said Fet.
“Whatever. I still don’t give a fuck,” said Gus. Then after a long pause, he added, “If we still had the old man here, we’d be on top by now.”
“I believe that,” said Fet.
Gus slowed in the darkened underground tunnel and started to unlock the padlock.
“So, about Nora,” he said. “Have you… ?”
“No—no,” said Fet, blushing. “I… no.”
Gus smiled in the dark. “She doesn’t even know, huh?”
“She knows,” said Fet. “At least—I think she does. But we haven’t done much about it.”
“You will, big boy,” said Gus as he opened the access valve to the armory. “
Fet patted him on the back while nodding. He eyed a box of hand grenades. “Where the fuck did you get these?”
“Pfft. A boy needs his toys, man. And the bigger, the better.”
Fet said, “Any specific uses in mind?”
“Too many. I’m saving ’em for something special. Why, you got any ideas?”
Fet said, “How about detonating a nuclear bomb?”
Gus laughed harshly. “That actually sounds like fun.”
“I’m glad you think so. Because I didn’t come back from Iceland completely empty-handed.”
Fet told Gus about the Russian bomb he had bought with silver.
“
“But no detonator. That’s where I was hoping you could help me out.”
“You’re serious?” Gus asked. He hadn’t moved past the previous exchange. “A nuclear bomb?”
Fet nodded modestly.
“Much respect, Fet,” said Gus. “
“Whatever we do with it… we get one shot. We need to be sure.”
“I know who can get us the detonator, man. The only asshole that is still capable of getting anything dirty, anything crooked on the whole East Coast. Alfonso Creem.”
“How would you go about contacting him? Crossing to Jersey is like going into East Germany.”
“I have my ways,” said Gus. “You just leave it to Gusto. How you think I got the fucking grenades?”
Fet went silent, pensive, and then looked back at Gus.
“Would you trust Quinlan? With the book?”
“The old man’s book? The
Fet nodded. “Would you share it with him?”
“I don’t know, man,” said Gus. “I mean, sure—it’s just a book.”
“The Master wants the book for a reason. Setrakian sacrificed his life for it. Whatever is inside must be real. Your friend Quinlan thinks as much…”
“What about you?” asked Gus.
“Me?” Fet said. “I have the book—but I can’t do much with it myself. You know that saying ‘He’s so dumb, he couldn’t find a prayer in the Bible’? Well, I can’t find much. There’s some trick to it, maybe. We should be so close.”
“I’ve seen him, man—Quinlan. Shit, I’ve recorded that motherfucker cleaning a nest in a New York minute. Two, three dozen vampires.”
Gus smiled, cherishing his memories. Fet liked Gus even more when he smiled.
“In jail you learn that there are two kinds of guys in this world—and I don’t care if they’re human or bloodsuckers—there’s the ones that take it and the ones that hand it out. And this guy, man—this guy gives it out like fucking candy… He wants the hunt, man. He wants the hunt. And he’s maybe the one other orphan out here who hates the Master as much as we do.”
Fet nodded. In his heart the matter was resolved.
Quinlan would get the book. And Fet would get some answers.
