Islands, and in Venice, and in Tokyo and Hawaii and Egypt? It's so neat. And-I haven't figured this out yet-it may very well be the same water that splashed against the Nina, Pinta andSanta Maria and against Napoleon's ships. The same water they used to wash away the blood after Marie Antoinette got the axe… I'm guessing that it might be… That's the part I'm not too clear on. Does water, like, die? I remember something from science class. I think it just keeps recirculating.' Shelly said, 'You have quite an imagination.' 'I've been told that before.' Rune jumped back on deck. 'Coffee? Something to eat?' 'Just coffee.'
They sat in the pilot house. Rune was putting peanut butter on her toast while Shelly sipped black coffee. The woman may have been a celebrity in the flesh trade but today she looked just like a Connecticut housewife. Jeans, boots, white blouse and a thin, light blue sweater, the arms tied around her neck.
'Find the place okay?' Rune asked. 'Wasn't hard. I would've called first but you didn't give me a number.'
'I don't have a phone. When I tried to get one the New York Bell guys drove up, laughed and left.'
A moment passed and Shelly said, 'I've been thinking about the film. Even after you agreed to the final cut approval I didn't want to do it. But something happened that changed my mind.' 'The bombing?'
'No,' Shelly said. 'What happened was I had a bad fight with one of the guys I work for. I don't want to go into the details but it brought a lot of things into focus. I realized how sick I was of the business. I've been in it too long. It's time to leave. If I can get some legitimate publicity, if people can see that I'm not a bimbo, maybe it'll help me get legitimate jobs.'
'I'll do a good job. I really will.'
'I had a feeling about you.' The pale blue laser beams of her eyes fired out. 'I think you're just the person who could tell my story. When can we start?'
Rune said, 'How's now? I've got the day off.' She shook her head. 'I've got some things to do now but why don't you meet me this afternoon, around, let's say, five? We can do a couple hours of work. Then tonight there's a party this publisher's giving. Most of the companies publishing skin magazines are also into adult films and video. There'll be a lot of people from the business there. Maybe you could talk to them.'
'Excellent! Where do you want to do the filming?' She looked around the room. 'How's here? I feel very comfortable here.'
'It's going to be a great interview.' Shelly smiled. 'I may even be honest.'
After Shelly'd left, Rune was at the window. She caught another glint of red from the roof of the pier across the spit of slick water.
And she remembered the color.
The same as the jacket or windbreaker of the person she'd seen-or thought she'd seen-in Times Square, following her.
She went into her bedroom and dressed.
Five minutes later the red was still there. And five minutes after that she was on her way toward the pier, running low, crouched like a soldier. Around her neck was a big chrome whistle, the kind football referees use. She figured she could get 120 decibels easy and scare the hell out of anybody looking to give her trouble.
Which was fine for skittish attackers. For the others Rune had something else. A small, round canister. It contained 113 grams of CS-38 military tear gas. She felt its comfortable weight against her leg.
She hurried along the highway. The river water gave off its rotten-ripe smell, riding on the humidity that the clouds-now covering the sky-had brought. The day became still. Several church bells chimed. It was exactly noon.
Rune twisted through the gap in the chain link and walked slowly up to the pier. It rose three stories above her and the facade was weathered down to the bare wood in many places. She could make out part of the name of the shipping line across the top, in a dark blue paint that she associated with old-fashioned trains. America was one word. And she saw, or thought she did, a faint blue star.
The twelve-foot wooden doors looked imposing but were off their track and Rune easily slipped through a seam into the darkness.
It was ratty and spooky inside. At one time these piers had been the places from which the great liners had sailed to Europe. Then they'd been used for cargo ships until Brooklyn and New Jersey docks took over most of that business. Now, they were mostly just relics. A barge half the size of a football field had appeared one day, moored next to Rune's houseboat, while she'd been at the studio. But that was the only commercial shipping traffic in the neighborhood.
Rune had been to this particular pier a couple of times since she'd docked the boat along this stretch of river. She'd stroll around, imagining what the luxurious liners of the nineteenth century must've been like. She also wondered if some of the ships had dropped off contraband (gold bullion was a front-runner) that had never been found. Pirates, she knew, had sailed the Hudson River, not far from here. She wasn't surprised that she found no chests of gold. The only salvage was empty cardboard boxes, lumber and big pieces of rusty machinery.
After she'd decided there was no plunder Rune would come occasionally to picnic with friends on the roof and watch the giants in the clouds play above the city until they disappeared over Brooklyn and Queens. Sometimes she'd come just to be by herself and feed the gulls.
In the portion of the pier farthest into the water there were warrens of rooms. These had been offices and the off-loading docks and were boarded up now. Whatever light snuck in did so through the grace of the carpenters' sloppy nailing. This portion of the pier contained the rickety staircase that led up to the roof.
And this portion of the pier was what she now slipped into. Rune eased through the back of the pier and started toward the stairs slowly. At the foot of the stairwell the floor of the pier had given way; a ragged hole three feet across led down into darkness. Water lapped. The smell was sharp and foul. Rune stared through the gloom at the hole and edged slowly past it.
She listened carefully on her way up but there was no sound other than distant traffic and the water on the pilings and the wind that meant the storm would hit pretty soon. Rune paused at the top landing. She pulled the white tear gas canister from her pocket and pushed the door open.
The roof was empty.
She stepped outside, then walked carefully along the rotting tar paper and gravel, testing each square in front of her. At the edge, she walked back toward the front of the building to the spot where she thought she'd seen the guy.
Rune stopped and looked down at her feet.
Okay, so it'snot my imagination. She was looking at footprints in the tar. They were large-a man's shoe size. And were smooth, like conservative business shoes, not sneakers or running shoes. But aside from that, nothing. No cigarette ash, no discarded bottles. No cryptic messages.
As she stood there a sprinkling of rain began and she ed back to the stairs. She started down slowly, reaching out with her foot to find the flooring in the dimness.
A noise.
She paused on the second-floor landing. Stepped through an open doorway into the dark, abandoned office. Her hand gripped the tear gas canister firmly. Her pupils, contracted from the brightness, couldn't take in enough light to see anything.
But she could hear. Rune froze.
He's here!
Someone was in the room.
Nothing specific told her-no popping boards, no whispers, no shuffles of feet. The message was transmitted maybe by a smell or maybe by some sixth-sense radar.
The wave came back with a message: Whoa, honey, he's big and he's pretty damn close.
Rune didn't move. The other figure didn't either though twice she heard the air of his breath across his teeth. Her eyes became accustomed to the dark and she looked for a target and slowly lifted the tear gas.
Her hands began to quiver.
No, not one but two of them.
And they were ghosts.
Two pale forms. Humanlike, vague, undefined. They both stared at her. One held a thick, white billy club.
