“Here!” whispered Liz, who stood and motioned for the others to follow.
Mr. Jay stepped forward, and Whistles tipped his head back to extend the hand of howdy-do.
“I’m a friend of the Creature,” Mr. Jay hissed. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“You too,” Whistles grumbled, frowned and then popped the whistle into his mouth. “Joints still hopping upstairs and it’s midnight. Nobody can hear you.” He tapped his foot and looked Mr. Jay up and down. “Not often Creature trusts anybody your height. You a Nightcare worker?”
Conan knew that the Creature allowed some trusted grownups to help protect the Nightcare: sawbones and teachers and others who could go on the open Levels and get information or money. Conan kept his distance.
“No,” Liz blurted. “He’s traveling with a girl we’re trying to help.”
“All right,” Whistles grumbled, then smiled at the little fighter. “Conan, it’s been a long time.”
And Conan couldn’t contain himself. The magician had sprung something true enough, he was bubbling up all over. The little fighter leapt forward and carefully hugged the barkeep. Whistles’ eyes softened with surprise- keeping a close watch on the fighter’s death-bloom.
Whistles couldn’t hide a smile though, and hugged him back. The fighter with the murderous fist snarled at the Quinlans and took his place at Mr. Jay’s side. He caught Whistles’ look though, and saw the tear.
“Well,” the barkeep cleared his throat. “How can I help you?”
“We had to let you know we were close,” the magician said. “And we need to eat and rest.”
“I’ll do anything I can,” Whistles tapped the brim of his hat.
“Hopefully, you’ll never see me again,” Mr. Jay said removing his pack.
“Okay,” the bartender mumbled, looking confused. “And the buses?”
“Buses?” Mr. Jay shook his head.
“Yeah,” Whistles said, nodding. “The Creature contacted me three weeks ago. Wanted seven buses fueled and ready.” He shook his head. “I’ve got them-they’re junkers but they run. The Workers she sent to drive have been sleeping in them. They’ve got a couple trucks too.”
Mr. Jay looked at Liz. She shook her head. The Quinlan boys shrugged. Conan shook his helmet and twitched his murder-mitt.
“You don’t know about it?” Whistles asked looking up at Mr. Jay and then back to Conan. “It cost me a pretty penny too.” Then he leaned in whispering, “I was hoping you could tell me what they’re for.”
49 – The Nova SS
“His lair is in the lowest part of the Maze,” the Marquis said, aware that the assassin’s gun followed his every move. “Under Zero-the sewers.”
Tiny covered the transvestite with his. 357 magnum. He noticed with a laugh that Driver had both automatics pointed too.
They took the door beside the stairs to the basement where Felon said it opened on the driveway. The Marquis’ hands fluttered lifting his dress clear of the golden bows on his slippers.
They’d already agreed to take Driver’s car.
“It’s the fastest thing in this city,” the Texan said with calm certainty. “And I drive it fast.”
“You do,” Tiny had agreed, glancing back at Bloody. The dead gunman was carrying the nun. The Marquis had promised that her “spell” would wear off soon but the salesman was getting tired of the Marquis’ soon. He’d already delayed their departure by about six dangerous hours. They’d spent the time huddled in the basement taking turns covering the “Angel” while Driver popped out to gas and oil the car. The Marquis said he required time to create the necessary doorway past Lucifer’s defenses and salutations were essential. He’d spent the hours cross-legged on the bed doing a quiet inward chant, eyes rolled up; but that had just put Felon more on edge, if that was possible, expecting another double cross.
Tiny couldn’t believe his luck. Lucifer! If this crazy shit was true then the salesman was on his way to meet the father of all salesmen. Felon grunted “dangerous” and nothing else. That left Tiny to discuss it with his partners and they weren’t religious scholars by any stretch. He wanted to pick the Marquis’ brain on the subject but that was still a sticky idea.
He just didn’t want to blow this opportunity on a cold call.
The slowing drizzle and mist from Level Five overhead suggested that the rain had let up. That high up in the City, leaks and bleeds from sewers and runoff were more likely. Tiny looked at it optimistically: since it hadn’t percolated through quite as much human misery, what fell on his suit was cleaner.
They crossed the driveway and made their way to the side of an oversized garage where the Marquis kept several limousines. Driver had parked his car in the shadow there.
“A classic Nova SS-that’s 375 real horse!” Driver whispered proudly as he climbed in. “Metallic black, steel fenders and mags. If the engine weren’t so damned heavy I could put her up on her back wheels and dance.” The Nova was the child of another nostalgic wave that passed through the comfort seeking imaginations of the doomed, this one a re-design of the pre-Change seventies muscle car. Driver loved the Nova because it was roomy inside and its souped-up suspension was rugged enough to take the broken down roads of the Change.
They scanned the courtyard for signs of trouble as they piled in the passenger door. Felon hissed and snarled, still climbing the walls about a trap. Tiny didn’t bother reminding him he was about to cross the City in a car full of gunmen with enough outstanding warrants to choke a whale.
There was a sudden rumble of power and then a harsh rev that brought a girlish sigh from the Marquis. The Nova’s throbbing muffler echoed giving its monstrous voice. The wide muscular vehicle rumbled, its tailpipe making hot, wet noises.
Driver rolled his tinted window down. “Let’s go.”
The Angel was manhandled into a rough spot in the back seat between the angry handguns of Felon and Bloody. Tiny slid the sleepwalking nun onto the front seat beside Driver and climbed in. She was waking up but was blinking and still a little dull like she’d been smoking cheap Mexican weed.
Driver pointed the car down the drive and the Nova rumbled smoothly into life, quickly gliding onto the street and flying down the avenue toward the guard post for the gated neighborhood. The Marquis played along real nicely and just flirted with the guard and talked about going “clubbing.”
The Nova passed the gate and hit Currency Boulevard. That took them south to the main Skyway ramp. There were a lot of cars out, but that was to be expected. Day and night meant little in the covered city. Some cars bore the designs of other nostalgic waves, but about half had the squat shapes of Skyway riders. These were small vehicles with wide set tires and powerful engines designed for the challenging angles and precipitous drops presented by the Skyway designers.
Driver pulled the car up to an intersection. The Skyway ramps looped down from the east and west. Felon hissed in the back seat. Across from them, Tiny spotted the Authority Cruiser too. There were two uniformed Enforcers in it looking right at the Nova.
“The car!” Felon grumbled.
“I reckon she caught their eye,” Driver said patting the dashboard.
“Drawing attention,” Felon growled.
They watched the Enforcers lift a radio-telephone.
A spotlight burned out of the cruiser, slid over the car.
“Reading the plates.” Felon’s ire was growing.
“I ain’t got none,” Driver chuckled.
“AUTHORITY!” boomed a mechanical voice. “Turn your engine off and exit the car.”
“Do you think I’d draw attention to myself?” Driver glared into the rearview mirror. “If I couldn’t do somethin’ about it.” The Texan hit the gas and the Nova’s tires screamed.
The acceleration pressed Tiny into his seat as the car burned through the intersection sliding under the rusted rear corner of a flatbed. They flew toward the Level Five Skyway ramp. Sirens came to life behind them.
“Down to Zero!” Felon shouted.
“I figured a scenic route!” Driver chuckled as he worked the gearshift. The car’s engine roared and the tires squawked as they caught on the slippery asphalt. The Skyway incline rose rapidly to forty-five degrees.
