They’d come to an understanding, evidently.
Slater said, ‘I don’t think so.’
She kept her hands where they were, and he liked it. It was the first move either of them had made. Despite the alcoholic haze, there’d been an undercurrent of agreement that they would both play hard to get.
Until now.
He kissed her. She smiled as he did, her lips against his and her white teeth bared, and then kissed back. The rest of the club fell away. They probed as best as they could with their hands given the public setting, and when they parted she kept her arms draped over his shoulders. She seemed ready to shed her dress at the slightest provocation. He gave silent thanks for the torture he put himself through on a daily basis. It made him irresistible to women of her calibre, and as far as he was concerned in his drunken state, that was all there was to life.
At least in this moment.
He said, ‘I have a place.’
‘Where?’
‘Upper East Side.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Someone’s doing well.’
‘Wait until you see it.’
‘You’re acting like that’s a foregone conclusion.’
He shrugged, feeling her palms on his collar bones. ‘Suit yourself.’
She offered a playful smile. ‘You knew I was going to come back with you, didn’t you?’
‘I had a suspicion.’
'How’d you know?’
‘I’m persuasive.’
‘You are.’
‘Has it worked?’
She kissed him again, then went up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. ‘It sure has.’
‘Should we get out of here?’
‘Let’s.’
He took her by the hand and turned away from the booths. He didn’t bother searching for any sign of aggression from Rico’s booth. The security were level-headed enough to know their place, and there were five of them. He’d won them over, so they’d keep Rico away from him if the kid had any malicious impulses. But Slater imagined he wouldn’t. He’d been humiliated, and he wouldn’t be feeling as drunk as he had a few moments ago. Sobering clarity sinks in as the haze of confidence falls away.
Making him realise, That guy just took my gun and made my sicarios babysit me.
So Slater looped an arm around Serena’s shoulder and started to guide her toward the exit.
Then the music cut out with an audible whump. Compared to the deafening bass, the silence was eerie.
Concerned murmuring rose off the dance floor, and spread through the club like wildfire.
Slater paused.
A second later, the lights went out.
11
Dead quiet.
King didn’t move a muscle.
He stood under the night sky, barely able to make out his surroundings. He could see the outlines of buildings, now akin to mammoth archaeological relics without any lights to demonstrate their modernity. The darkness was all-encompassing. Perhaps in the countryside it might have seemed normal. But Manhattan was a different beast. New York was the city that never slept — powered up twenty-four-seven, running around the clock, complete with shouts and horns and flashing lights everywhere you looked.
King listened intently to the silence.
But it only lasted a few seconds.
It was like the whole city paused in unison, staring around in awe at the blackout. Then, like clockwork, the cacophony of noise returned. Drivers leant on horns, pedestrians in the distance shouted to one another, and the general murmur of the city cranked up in decibels.
People were concerned. And they had every right to be.
Finally, King moved. He turned around and stared down the alleyway. He could see cars flashing past its mouth, their headlights still beaming. He turned back, and peered down to the other end. Same deal. But the buildings stayed dark. The streets stayed dark. It was like a great swathe of black, illuminated by a maze of interconnected roads and streets and laneways still teeming with vehicles.
Only half a dozen feet away but practically invisible, Rory said, ‘What was that?’
King said, ‘A blackout.’
‘I know, but…’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘The power will come back on, right?’
King looked up at the skyscrapers.
Nothing.
Quiet.
Dark.
Dormant.
It had only been a few seconds since the lights had gone out.
It felt like hours.
Rory said, ‘Jason?’
King realised the man had been speaking. He hadn’t heard a word.
King said, ‘What?’
‘I’ve never seen you like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘So quiet.’
‘I don’t talk much.’
‘This is different.’
King realised minutes must have passed. He was deep in his own head, skewered away, very close to something eerily similar to panic. And Rory was right. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d succumbed to emotions like this. He tried to force them back down.
But this time he couldn’t.
He said, ‘How long have we been standing here?’
‘Maybe five minutes.’
King’s legs felt concreted to the ground. He pulled out his smartphone and fired it up. The screen glowed like a furnace in the total darkness.
He saw what he expected to see.
EMERGENCY ALERT.
Right there on the screen. Sent to every smartphone in the city probably. Possibly the entire New York Metropolitan Area, depending on how widespread the blackout was.
He read it.
Power outage in New York. Await further details.
King held up his phone for Rory to see. ‘This isn’t good.’
‘That’s just the default protocol, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What do you know about power outages?’
‘That they’re never this big.’
‘It could just be this block.’
‘It’s not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘They wouldn’t have sent that alert out if they knew what was happening.’
Neither of them said a word. They listened to the sounds of the city. It wasn’t pandemonium. Far from it. In fact, there was an undercurrent of excitement in the air. The murmuring was excited. King understood why. It was a Friday night, and half the city’s socialites were a few drinks deep. Those prone to panic were more likely squared away in their apartments. Right now, with most of those out and about shrouded in a pleasant buzz, the darkness would seem exciting.
But not for long.
Rory didn’t seem to like the quiet. He managed a laugh, but it came out hollow, with a tinge of nervousness. After all, he’d spent enough time with King to
