Flood

I was walking toward my car just as two of the war-wagons rolled past me and slammed to a halt. All the doors opened at the same time, discharging a cold-eyed cargo. The young Chinese marched down the wide street in military formation, looking straight ahead. They walked in silence-nobody barred their way. Their leader saw a porno shop on his left, pivoted on his heel, and entered. His men followed at his back. I knew what would be happening inside-the leader would engage the man at the desk in some polite conversation (like, “You don’t move, please,” punctuated with a 9-mm automatic leveled at the clerk’s face), and the rest of the army would fan out through the shop. They would find an appropriate space on a wall, slap on the stencil we’d made up, take out a can of the spray paint and do their work. When they pulled off the stencil, the wall would say COBRA BE WARNED! THE MONGOOSE IS COMING! Then they would walk out-nobody would call the cops, and if someone did a petty vandalism arrest with a guarantee that no complaining witness would ever come to court wouldn’t bother these boys. I could just see Blumberg defending this one on the ground that the Blood Shadows were engaged in some citywide anti-porn campaign.

It would take the army less than an hour to cover the whole area, then they would vanish. I’d given Max three hundred for the job to cover expenses in case the kids asked-but I didn’t think they would.

I had a couple more things to do before I rested for the night. First, another stop at the printer’s to make up the stationery and business cards for James and Gunther, who’d decided to call themselves Falcon Enterprises- white paper, green ink. While I was there I used the machine and made up a plastic sign for their office door too. Nothing but first class all the way.

By then it was almost ten-thirty so I headed toward the Village. I had seen a meeting of the Boundaries Society advertised in one of the local slime sheets. The topic for the night’s meeting was Inter-Generational Sex, the new euphemism for child molesting. I had been to one of those meetings before-all about how early sexualization prepares a child for the realities of modern living. Most of the audience had been male, some of them with their “wards.” It was a long shot that the Cobra would show up to greet his brothers, but still, a shot worth playing.

When I got there the guardian of the front door said “No police,” and I looked around like I was frightened at the very word but it was no go-I wasn’t getting inside without a major beef.

I decided it probably wasn’t worth the hassle, but I still had a job to do so I sat in the Plymouth listening to Judy Henske for another two hours until the meeting disgorged its vermin into the streets. I watched each face carefully. No Cobra.

It was almost one in the morning by the time I nosed the Plymouth out of its parking space and headed for Flood.

46

I LET MYSELF into Flood’s place, working the downstairs locks with my set of picks. It took about a minute-a very secure setup. I moved up the stairs, checking for feedback visually, then closed my eyes, regulated my breathing, and rechecked on audio. Nothing. I rapped on Flood’s studio door with two gloved knuckles. No response-at least she wasn’t a total idiot. I knew she’d be near the door so I called out, “It’s me, Flood” just loud enough for her to hear and the door swung open into a darkened room. I turned as it closed behind me and caught a flash of Max’s black robes. The light was dim inside, but I knew my way and I walked around the taped-off section of the floor over to Flood’s private place. She was right behind me.

“That lock downstairs is a joke, Flood. Any halfass could work his way through in a couple of minutes.”

“So how long did it take you?” sweet Flood replied.

“Don’t be snappy, babe. When you spook a weasel out of his hole, he bites. If Wilson gets wise, he’s coming for you.”

“I wish he would. I’m sick of this… this hunting. If I knew where he was he wouldn’t have to come for me.”

“That’s not the point, damn it. If someone can get in one door they can get in another.”

“We’re not trained to protect property, Burke. We aren’t guard dogs. We protect ourselves, a small circle around ourselves. If anyone comes into that circle, locks or doors won’t matter.”

“And you were waiting inside the door to this place?”

“Oh, yes.”

“So if he raps and raps on the door and you don’t answer, you just let him walk away?”

“No. If he didn’t try and work his way through the door I would answer him-I would sound scared, encourage him to force his way in and-”

“And be ready for him?”

“Yes.”

“That door’s made of wood, nothing but bullshit veneer over soft pine.”

“So?”

“So a twelve-gauge blasts it right off the hinges. That’s one barrel-the second would be for you.”

“Maybe.”

“Go ahead, Flood, pout some more-a perfect little baby you are. Maybe. Isn’t that fucking cute. I told you before, when we find this freak, you can have your duel, okay? Until then, you just be a good soldier and follow orders.”

“I’m not a soldier.”

“You are in this army. Be glad you’re a soldier-there’s worse things.”

“Maybe being afraid is a worse thing.”

“Get off that train, Flood. It’s going nowhere. Being afraid is a good thing, a smartening thing. You’re not afraid, great-but that’s not smart. We don’t have time now, you understand? We’re close to him.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. That’s my work, that’s how I keep doing my work. He’s out there and he’s close.”

She came over to where I was sitting on the floor. She sat down, put her hand on my shoulder, and looked into my face.

“Burke, I want to do something. I’m sorry-I have most of my training but I don’t have the patience-not yet. When this is over I’ll work on it, I promise. But let me do something with you on this. I can do some things-I helped you so far, didn’t I?”

I didn’t mention how she had helped with Goldor-what was the point?

“There’s something you can do,” I told her. “An acting job on the phone. It has to be done in a couple of hours, and we have to find a pay phone to do it from, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered, brightening a bit.

“I’ll go over it with you until you get it right-we won’t get a second chance.”

“And it will help bring him to us?”

“Look at the wall, Flood. You see it? Don’t glare at me like that-look at it. Okay, now draw a square on the wall with your mind-a white square-the whole border is made up of tiny pieces of tile, all different colors, dark shades. Okay?”

A short pause from Flood, then, “Yes, I see it.”

“We are going to make a mosaic, you and me. We’re going to keep filling in the square, working from the corners in until the whole thing is tiled over, yes?”

“Yes,” she said, concentrating.

“But no white tiles, all right? Only the last tiny little tile is white. That’s him-that’s the Cobra-and his tile doesn’t go down until all the other tiles are on the board. That’s the way it works. He sits outside the board holding his one white tile, deciding where to put it, running out of space. But our tiles keep coming down and the more he waits, the less space he has. He won’t put it down until there’s no other space.”

“Maybe he won’t put it down at all.”

“He has to put it down. He’s floating in the air above the board, Flood-he has to come down-the board is his whole world. There’s no other place for him to go.”