Half the Blood of Brooklyn

– And I am to offer my apologies for my threats. I went far beyond the limits of my duties. A simple request not to smoke would have been more than enough.

He sits, picks up his pen and starts pretending to do something in an appointment book.

I walk to his desk and stand there.

He looks up.

– Yes?

– I never heard the actual words I’m sorry.

His fingers tense, the stainless steel barrel of his pen flattens between them.

– I’m sorry.

I tap invisible ash onto his desktop and make for the doorway that leads to the stairs.

– Keep your fucking apology. First time I get the chance, I’m gonna see how many bullets I can fit in that empty head of yours.

He presses the buzzer that lets me pull the door open, masking whatever it is he’s muttering about my mother.

Like I ever gave a shit about her.

– I’m wondering, Pitt.

I’m remembering what it was like when I was a kid, the handful of times I attended school, the way those days inevitably ended in the principal’s office or a police station. The lectures. The rhetorical questions. The, What were you thinking? The, How do you expect to get anywhere doing things like that? The, Is this how you act at home? The, Do you think you’re scoring any points with that attitude?

– I’m wondering, is there anything you care about at all?

Nights like this, it’s easy to remember those days.

I stop picking at the knot tangling my bootlace.

– I care about getting out of here as soon as possible.

Predo places the pen on his desk, aligning it perfectly with the vertical edge of his blotter.

– If that is your goal, you might try paying attention for a few moments.

I point at the pen.

– You know your receptionist did that the exact same way. What do you think that’s about?

– I wouldn’t know.

– Hunh.

He watches me, the bright blue eyes in his smooth boyish face looking at me, slouched in the uncomfortable small wood chair across from him.

– Any other random thoughts, Pitt?

I give up on the knot and uncross my legs.

– Nothing just now. Why don’t we get to your thing.

– Thing. My thing. That is what I am talking about. A Van Helsing, well versed from what I hear, at large, and you evaluate it as a thing. An object or idea of no value relative to any other thing. No better. No worse. Of no greater concern than a rock or a tree, perhaps.

– What is it with people and trees tonight?

– Excuse me?

– Nothing.

He brushes the flop of dark bangs from his forehead.

– Someone was talking about trees?

I shrug.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward.

– Was Bird speaking on the subjects of forests and trees?

– What’s it to you?

The corner of his mouth straightens.

– Nothing. I have heard similar lectures in the past.

I look back at the knot, give it a tug, pulling the wrong end and drawing it tighter.

– Pitt?

I keep my eyes down. Thinking about Terry and Predo. Hippie Terry. Head of the Society. Revolutionary who organized all the downtown riffraff and Rogues almost forty years back, got them on the same page and broke off a piece of Coalition turf to make their own. And old man Predo. God knows how old, but so well fed, so blooded up he still looks twenty-five. Coalition whip and public face of their Secretariat. The one who straightens the rank and file. Head of the enforcers. The man who counters the Society’s drive to unite all the infecteds and take us public with the Coalition’s doctrine to unite in utter secrecy. A couple of true believers in separate corners. Guys taking potshots at each other every chance they get.

They go back.

Back to a time when Terry was up here. A time when they worked the same side. A time maybe only they and a couple other people know about. Like me.

A time I figure they’d kill to keep hidden.

I put the thoughts away. Blink. And look up into the spymaster’s eyes.

– I’m Society, Predo. I was out, now I’m back in. You want to fish for what goes on behind closed doors, find another place to drop your line. I don’t run your errands anymore and I don’t give up skinny on my people. You want to know do I care about anything, now you know.

His eyes widen.

– Heaven’s, Mr. Pitt, have you seen the light? Are you a believer again? Forgive my surprise. I was under the impression that you had taken over Society security because it was the only way Terry would tolerate you on their turf anymore. My apologies if I’ve been mistaken. I never meant to impugn your devotion to your cause.

– Impugn my ass and tell me what the hell you want.

– There, that is the Pitt I am most familiar with, the one I have come to know and manipulate with such ease in the past.

I think about throwing my chair through the covered window behind him and pushing him after it. But it’s probably safety glass and I doubt the chair would break it. And we’re only on the second floor of the Coalition’s Upper East Side brownstone anyway. So what the hell good would it do? Not like the sun’s shining out there or anything.

– Thinking about hurting me, Pitt?

I nod.

– Most of the time.

– Naturally. It is your nature to think ill of your betters. As to what I want, well, simple professionalism. You handle security for your Clan, I oversee somewhat larger and more complex operations of a similar nature for mine. In an era of detente such as we now enjoy, I merely wish to keep open the lines of communication between our offices when threats emerge that might endanger the well being of all. Something like a Van Helsing, I would have hoped to receive a direct call rather than having to find out about it through sources of my own.

– While we’re on the subject.

– Yes?

– What sources of your own are spilling news about what happens below Fourteenth?

– Below Houston is open territory. We have alliances just as you do.

– Still dancing with the Bulls and Bears?

He blanks his eyes.

– Anything you want to know, Pitt, ask it directly. Attempt to winnow information from me and you will only become frustrated and waste your limited resources.

– Seemed that was a direct question.

He ignores it anyway.

– What can you tell me about the Van Helsing?