– And that, Joe, that is too bad. Too bad.
He picks up his cup, walks across the dingy kitchen and takes the chair next to mine.
– Well then, what is it, my man, what’s on your mind?
– A job. I need a job.
You could say Terry saved my life.
You could also say that over two decades back he found me on the bathroom floor at CBGB, bleeding my life away through a hole that had been chewed in my neck. The guy who put the hole in me must have had a real taste for that shit, a real yen for the old-school style. That kind of thing ain’t easy, a person’s got to be desperate- hungry, or just be the sort who enjoys it. This guy, he’d taken his time with me, buttered me up, picked me out of the crowd as an easy mark. He was right. Nineteen seventy-eight: me, seventeen and living on the street, a hard- ass punk looking for cash, looking to score. He offered me a twenty to suck me off. No brainer at the time. Terry found me right after. Scooped me off the floor and took me to a Society safe house. Not like this deal they got now, but one of the holes they used to skulk around in before they had fully secured their turf. I ran with him for a few years, learned the ropes, saw how some things got done.
Salad days, those.
– Not to make light, Joe, but we’re not really an employment agency.
– No shit, Terry. I don’t need a career, I need a gig. I need to beef up my stash and make some money.
He shrugs.
– I don’t really see where we can help. Now, don’t get me wrong; you’re hard up, we can, you know, front you a little something to get you by. But our resources are limited. You know that.
– Sure.
– What we do have, we need to use it to help support the cause. World’s not gonna change on its own.
– Sure.
– The Society is always looking for opportunities to reach outside, to aid anyone afflicted with the Vyrus, but the pledged membership, the people doing the actual dirty work of trying to integrate the infected population into the noninfected, they have to come first.
– Right.
He takes a big sip of his gunk, ponders a moment, then lays it out.
– Now if things were different, if you were still a member, there’d be a few more options. There’d be, you know, emergency funds and such that could be tapped. But for a Rogue, even one like you, one we like to think of as an ally? Well, the politics of charity are more complicated than they should be.
– That an offer?
His mouth drops open a little.
– An offer?
– You asking me to come back?
He waves his cup.
– Joe. If you wanted to come back in, all you’d have to do is ask, man.
He sips again, watching me through the steam rising off his cup.
– Well I’m not asking.
– Too bad, man. Too bad.
– Besides, you got yourself a security chief. What would you need me around for?
He sets the cup on the table.
– Your ego need stroking, Joe? Self-esteem been suffering? Need an old friend to tell you how much you meant to the cause?
I stand up.
– You’re not my friend.
I start for the door.
He talks to my back.
– Actually, I am. More of a friend than you know. And I can prove it.
I stop.
– How’s that?
– Have a seat.
I stay on my feet.
– Joe, have a seat, man. And tell me about that deal at Doc Holiday’s last night.
I stay by the door.
– Guy was spazzing on something and I took care of him before he could cause more of a scene. Why do you care?
He picks up his cup.
– Because he was one of ours.
– Why should
He takes a sip, swallows, smiles.
– Because maybe there’s a job in it. For the right man.
I take a seat.
Something happens on Society turf, Terry knows about it. Fourteenth to Houston, Fifth Avenue to the East River, if it happens on those blocks, Terry will hear. Especially if it involves anything having to do with the Vyrus. That kind of stuff is very close to the Society’s whole charter: their ultimate goal of integrating the infected with the general population. That’s Terry’s personal daydream: uniting all the Clans, bringing together a population of
But the man dreams on. And he keeps a tight watch on anything that surfaces down here, anything that might upset his long-term plans. Plans that I sometimes think have nothing at all to do with all that Society party-line BS.
– So everyone saw you ride off with the guy?
– Yeah.
– And the cops were on their way?
– Yeah, but it won’t make a difference. The bartenders know they owe me one for getting The Spaz out of there. Anyone else who maybe knows my name knows better than to mention it to the cops.
– What about the citizens?
– What do they know? Big guy dealt with The Spaz. Took him away in a cab. What the cops gonna do with that?
He stares into his cup, looking at the sludge that’s settled at the bottom.
– Yeah, yeah, I can see that. Still, I wish you hadn’t dealt with him so harshly.
– Harshly? Guy was a troublemaker. Figured you’d be happy to have him off your turf.
– In principle, yes. But he was a pledged Society member. That makes it, you know, just a little more complicated. I mean, sure, we’re completely opposed to any overt acts of violence against the noninfected population. Any behavior that will increase anti-Vyral bias when we go public is an issue. But he was pledged, and we have a protocol for dealing with these things. Ideally, we would have, you know, liked to have seen him subdued and brought to us. We could have maybe gotten him down, mellowed him out, found out what was up. Then, you know, depending on the circumstances, there might have been a tribunal kind of a thing, to determine if he had acted irresponsibly. After that, sure, there might have been a punishment phase. But, you know, vigilantism…that’s never been a tactic we’ve endorsed.
– Funny, I seem to remember you endorsing plenty of my vigilantism when I worked for you.
He looks at me over the tops of his lenses.
– Be fair, Joe. Technically, that wasn’t vigilantism. You were enforcing Society doctrine back then. That’s just worlds different from this case.
