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'You don't want to know if you like to sleep nights. How's Stephie?'
Manny shrugged. 'Better than most humans around a group of moreaus. She's been asking me a tot of questions, about you mostly.' Manny looked off to the side of the screen and lowered his voice. 'Stupid question, but did you—'
'Yes.' And he'd do it again in a minute. Manny took a few seconds to respond.
'Damn.' There were a few more seconds of silence while Manny recovered. 'Well, did you know that they've reopened the Daryl Johnson murder investigation? Internal Affairs got wind that the Shaker division dropped the ball on purpose. Congressman Binder might get called before the House Ethics committee. Half the cops involved rolled over on him. It's all over the vids.' 'I got some idea of that from Harsk.'
'My office is pissed. They've been given a court order to exhume Johnson's body, even if it wasn't the autopsy that got fugged.'
They talked for about ten more minutes. The rest of the conversation consisted mostly of Nohar's stories of the DEA, and Manny's inquiries after his injuries. Neither of them raised the subject of Stephie Weir again.
Then Nohar called for a cab. He specified one with a driver.
Fifteen minutes later, a familiar Nissan Tory pulled up in front of the building. Same driver as yesterday— Autocab probably only had the one.
' 'Spected it was you.'
Nohar climbed in the back and slipped his card into the meter. She pulled the cab away and started west toward the Main Avenue bridge. 'Busy night. Clocked in this mornin' and, whoa, the rumors. Narcs bust into dispatch and take over a remote. They ain't no drivers. They trash the van with some poor fool inside it. Never trust those remotes ...'
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S. ANDREW SWANK
The patter went on and Nohar dozed off.
She woke him up when they got there, probably after copping a few dollars from the timer. He didn't begrudge her and gave her a fifty dollar tip. 'Thanks.
Any time you call you can ask for me special. Tell 'em you want Ruby. Shit, you're not bad—for a moreau.'
Nohar stood in front of the whitewashed bar with no name and watched the Tory go. The heat was beginning to bake the early morning pavement, as well as the algae caked in his fur. But, for once—though clouds threatened—things were dry. He paused a moment where they had parked the Antaeus. The only trace of the car was one of his own bloody footprints on the asphalt.
He walked to Manny's and had barely limped up to the door when Stephie yanked him inside. Nohar followed, stumbling slightly. He could smell fear and excitement as she pulled him into the living room. Angel was there. Manny had already left for work.
Stephie was breathless. 'They started broadcasting it five minutes ago. It's on all the stations. All over the comm—'
Angel pushed her away from in front of the comm. 'Shhh-'
Nohar watched the newscast. There was a pink commentator standing in front of the video feed. 'We are now going to see exclusive footage of the disaster.
Tad Updike, our Channel-N weatherman for the Cleveland area was on the scene. We now give you the uncut video as we received it.'
The commentator faded, leaving Tad Updike there, in a safari jacket. He looked like a weatherman, slick black hair, insincere smile. He seemed to be standing on top of one of the terminal buildings at Hopkins International Airport, on the far west side of Cleveland.
'—it promises to be another record scorcher. Today, a high close to 33, and the National Weather Service is announcing the third UV hazard warning this FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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sum—cut it.' A plane was approaching, rendering Updike nearly inaudible, '[bleep] damn planes, didn't anyone look at the flight schedu—'
The cameraman had panned to the plane, over Updike's right shoulder. It was a 747 retrofit, the huge electric turbofans clung to the reinforced wing like goiters. Something streaked up from the ground and hit the plane, behind the front landing gear—
A cherry-red ball of flame engulfed the lower front quarter of the aircraft.
It was still over a hundred meters in the air. The nose of the 747 was briefly engulfed in a cloud of inky-black smoke. The right wing dipped and the camera
started shaking as the cameraman tried to follow the plane. Updike was screaming. 'My God, someone shot it! Someone shot the plane—''
The wing crumpled into the runway, pulling the nose of the plane into the ground. It skidded like that for a half-second and the camera lost the plane off the right of the screen. The cameraman overcompensated and swept the picture back to the right, losing the tumbling plane off to the left.
The picture caught the plane center frame again. The focus was fading in and out. In the meantime, the plane was skidding on its side down the runway. The left wing pointed straight up, reflecting the sun back at the camera. The image briefly resembled a chromed shark. The camera followed the plane as it twisted and started to roll. The left wing crumpled and the tail section separated, letting the body roll twice before it broke in two as well. The nose kept going the longest.
Updike's voice-over was useless, so the commentator took over for him as the camera panned over the trail of wreckage and bodies that was scattered over the length of the runway. 'Casualty estimates are still coming in, but there are at least one hundred dead. It has been confirmed that among the dead is Ohio Congressman Joseph Binder—'
Nohar felt like someone just kicked him in the stomach.
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S. ANDREW SWANN
'—Binder was returning to Cleveland from Columbus, where he was reorganizing his Senate campaign which has been in chaos ever since the assassination of campaign manager Dary! Johnson. Also, sources say Binder's return was to answer allegations that there was a cover-up involving the Shaker Heights police investigation of Johnson's death.
'The FAA will not comment on the possibility that a surface-to-air missile was involved in the crash ... '
Nohar slowly sat down. Someone, it had to be Hassan, had killed a few hundred people just to kill Binder. Nohar could feel that events had steamrollered way past him. Everyone who had any connection with the Binder finance records was dead now—
With one exception.
Nohar reached out for Stephie, and pulled her into his arms. They watched the plane explode a few dozen more times.
Nohar turned off the water in the shower. He had finally gotten the baked algae out of his fur. He stepped out and unkinked his neck. Stephie was sitting on the John and drying her hair.
Nohar faced her, dripping, and asked, 'What do you mean, I've been 'too hard on Angel'?'
Stephie looked down, shaking her head. Nohar could tell she was smiling. She picked up a washcloth and cleaned off a streak of algae on the inside of her thigh that her shower had missed.
Nohar was getting impatient. 'Come on—'
Stephie handed him a towel. 'I just think you haven't seen how bad this has all been for her.'
Nohar started squeezing the water out of his fur, wishing for a dryer. 'Stephie, this whole business has been bad for everyone.'
'I know. But she's taking it hard. I know she puts on a brave face—' You mean an irritating, obnoxious one, Nohar thought. 'But she's scared, Nohar. Scared FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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and alone.' She stood up and helped him towel oif. 'She has nightmares.'
'Look, she should have known better than to answer Manny's comm. And I'm sorry if her wiseass attitude
