The Dead Slam: A Tale of Benevolent Assasination (24 page)

M
olly ran
to stay ahead of Max who was carrying the starving girl in his arms, but taking long, powerful strides down the cobblestone street. Molly’s apron and big rubber boots didn’t help, but she led the way into the Brewery’s lobby and pointed to the grand staircase. “Around the bend in the Atrium, over where the orange trees are.”

Molly headed for the kitchen. Max took the stairs.

He leapt the first few two at a time. The girl slipped, but he gave her a gentle toss. She landed squarely in his arms and tucked her head under his chin. He adjusted his grip and held her tighter. Her faded green eyes tilted up just enough to catch a glimpse of him then looked away.

He nodded reassuringly, a toothy grin on his face. She relaxed and they both felt it.

She was on her own, but not entirely without resources, despite her shabby condition. Her collapse had not been entirely sincere, and she fully intended to keep this ruse going, having no other options. All she knew was this: she was at a very particular physical disadvantage.

Max rocked her side to side, keeping up a thunderous stride up the long staircase.

Her wool coat, once a creamy white, had lost its buttons and was held fast by a long scarf cut from a stage-curtain she’d found at the defunct Serbian Social Hall, back in her neighborhood. The scarf was her favorite thing. It was grayish blue with velvet flocking and gold tassels three inches long. One end of the scarf fell. Max dipped her legs to catch it, effortlessly scooping it up in the crook of her foot. His strength far exceeded anything she could have ever imagined. Strong enough to be graceful. He aimed his goofy smile at their silly rescue of the scarf. A tiny grin formed at one corner of her mouth.

Provisional approval? He hoped so.

They flew up the timeless staircase, golden tassels dusting the organic contours of its art nouveau railings. Max burst into the atrium, searching for MacIan, who wasn’t there. He jogged down the long wooden floor, passing the sprouts and fish, a warm mist wafting over everything. As he approached the citrus trees, the girl caught their fragrance and Max heard her sigh. Molly came through the double doors with a serving tray. She nodded toward the room back in the L. Max sat the girl on the bed. The huge window threw soft light into the little nook, which was far more private than his and separated from the orange trees but not their delicate perfume.

Max stepped back as the girl arranged herself next to the tray. “Eat,” said Molly. And she did, tearing into the small loaf of bread and gulping half a bowl of soup in one swig. Relief swept the room as the sharp edge of hunger dulled.

“What’s your name?” said Molly.

The girl swallowed and smiled politely. “Lily.”

“Lily? No. No. No. Oh no! Lily? This is too corny. Even for you, dog-bear-boy.”

Max smiled at the insult. “I’m from a village named Lily. Up in the mountains. I’m Max.” He extended his hand.

Lily’s eyes smiled, from behind the soup bowl. “Nice to meet you.” She didn’t take his hand.

“How old are you?” asked Molly.

“Seventeen.”

“Your parents?”

“Gone.”

“How long?”

“Mom, a couple years. Dad, ’bout a week.”

“How’d you end up at the Hospital?”

“We got thrown out by our own people.”

“Out of where?”

“Blanox . Know where that is?”

“Yeah. Up the Allegheny, across from the Leprechaun Wall,” said Molly, as she headed for the door with the empty tray. “I’ll be back.”

Max sat on the edge of the bed, trying to fill the hospitality void left by Molly.

Lily set the bowl down, tore the last piece of bread in two and offered half to Max. “My dad kept doing stupid things, especially after my mom died,” she said. “He just couldn’t let anyone tell him what to do. He couldn’t listen.”

“Where’s Blanox?” He felt dumb, since that question had already been answered, but to his utter bewilderment Lily fell profoundly silent and just looked at him as though she had met him before.

She searched his face for some unknown connection. Her eyes sharpened as she suddenly recognized him — she knew him from a thousand forgotten dreams.

T
wo bodyguards
with Celtic knot face-tattoos held the door for Freddy Cochran as he limped from the administration building and stopped on the outside landing. His hip didn’t hurt that much, it just didn’t work too well. He stroked his fiery beard, eyeing Boyne’s transporter parked in the lot below. His secretary closed the doors and put a key in the lock.

“When was he here?” barked Cochran.

“Hour or so. Left with some pain-in-the-ass woman.”

“’Bout time,” Freddy sniggered. His bodyguards grinned, but never stopped scanning the area. Cochran hobbled down the staircase and across the parking lot, then sidled up to the driver’s window and shaded it with his hand. But it was tinted so dark he couldn’t see inside. He pushed the ends of his huge mustache away from his mouth and admired himself in the blackish reflection — Efryn Boyne sitting in a bloody heap only inches away. He shrugged and made one last attempt to see through the windows. No use.

His number one bodyguard, Roy Wills, the most sociopathic of all Leprechauns, said jokingly, “You know where they are.”

“Aye,” said Freddy Cochran. “Club Shillelagh.”

* * *

M
ax and Lily
found themselves alone. Molly had promised to be right back, with seconds, Lily hoped, but her absence lingered. Lily warmed her cheeks with the empty soup bowl. Max watched her color return. Even her eyes, at first so pale, had become glowing emeralds. She put the bowl down and with both hands gathered her hair into a pile of matted straw on top of her head. She exhaled as though she’d not done so in a while, then looked at Max. It was just a look. An exploration. She couldn’t help it.

He fought an overwhelming urge to touch the magnolia whiteness of her cheeks. To cradle her face in his hands. Just once. And although the orange blossoms flavored every breath, the air around her tasted entirely different.

She stretched her arms to their full length, checked to see if they were still alone, then said in a hushed voice, “To be honest with you.” Max leaned closer and a tiny splash of pink rose to her cheeks. “They were going to kill him. My dad. We snuck down to the river and stole a little rowboat. Blanox is right on the Allegheny. Lots of rowboats. We crossed just north of the Wall. To the bad side, the Burbclave.”

Her voice was hoarse, the cadence urban. She was a bit of a mess right now, but Max could see she had a sturdy simplicity. A natural loveliness too fragile for sophistication. She was the opposite of Miss Camille, but every bit as captivating. She was tall and pale and determined to survive. “The Burbclave?” he said, hoping she’d continue.

“On the other side of the Wall. It’s all different territories and neighborhoods. The Burbclave is mostly Preppers. It’s crazy. But there’s one street, the one right up against the back side of the Wall, where anyone can go. As long as you stay on the side next to the Wall. A neutral zone. We just kept on going as far away from Blanox as we could get.”

Max could easily imagine such a place. He’d flown over the Wall and had a rough idea of the hilly layout and that huge gate.

She dropped her hair and pulled the blanket up to her neck. Her cheeks were sprayed with tiny pink freckles. A nasty scratch ran down and across her forehead and left ear, then raked across her jaw and down her neck. “But every night my dad would slip away, then come back to where I was hiding with something to eat. ‘Fell off the back of a truck,’ he’d say every time. Ha ha ha.”

Max heard the tears in her voice. He thought of Fred and his heart sank.

“The Wall goes up over a big hill, above Braddock. Braddock’s on the Mon, where the Wall ends.”

“The Mon?”

“The Monongahela River. We started on the Allegheny River and followed the Wall across the hills to the Mon. There used to be a golf course up there, on the hill above Braddock. A huge boulder on the road up says ‘Grandview Golf Club’. On the top, right at the very top, there’s a long building with a sign that used to say ‘Club House’, but someone scribbled one of those Black Heart things on it.”

Max had never heard of the Black Hearts until Gina’s shooting, so their particulars were a mystery to him.

“A whole clan lives in that club house. It’s huge. Way up on that hill, river down below. You can see for miles and miles.

“We snuck around until we found a shed, a pretty big one in pretty bad shape, a little ways over the hill. We stayed there for about a week without anyone knowing it. At night, my dad would sneak up to the club house. I’d wait, shivering in that windy old shed. It leaned downhill. It was all crooked. You should see that hill. It’s really high and really steep.”

She stopped, embarrassed by Max’s dopey stare. She looked away and continued. “One night he creeps off, and I hear a shot. I peek out and here he comes running toward the shed, a bunch of guys chasing and shooting at him. I saw the look on his face when he realized he’d brought them straight to me. He veered off down the steepest part of the hill. I watched them all run past from inside the shed. Boom! A shotgun blasted him in the back. The bastards ran over to his body, had a big laugh, then kicked my dad over the cliff. I could hear him rolling down for a long time, crashing through the bushes.

“After they left, I crawled to the spot where he went over and tried to find him. It was so steep I had to lower myself down tree to tree, until I slipped. I crashed over the hill on my ass, bouncing off trees and through bushes. I landed in the backyard of an abandoned house. One of those ones built into the hillside. I could see the old steel mills and huge concrete patches down along the river.

“The house didn’t have a roof or anything, but I found a tiny room in the cellar, think it was the ash-pit for the fireplace, and holed up there. I got crazy hungry. At night, I could see that down on the flats by the river there were small fires. Lots and lots of them. And I could hear music. I was half-loony, but I had to go down there, or I’d starve.” She rested her head on her pillow, looking away.

Max imagined her in his arms; she would be so soft. And she was a good storyteller, too, a point not lost on him.

“So I snuck down and hid in an abandoned apartment above a boarded-up store. I figured I’d wait for the sun to come up, see what I could scavenge. But I could smell food cooking the whole time. It smelled so good. I was losing my mind. There were people everywhere. Black people. No whites. None. I heard that Braddock was a place where people could go who didn’t want anything to do with white people anymore. I think that’s true. The street was busy. I could see people eating stuff as they walked along. And I was sure I could hear music and people singing nearby.

“I hadn’t eaten in days, and I was drinking melted snow from a plastic bucket caked in moss. I could tell there were fires just blocks away. I could smell the smoke. I could smell the food. I had to go. But when I stood up, my head started spinning.

“I walked out onto the street. Everyone stopped and looked at me. I was so pale, covered in ashes, they must have thought I was ghost. I followed my nose until I saw the fires. Lots of little fires and people clustered around in an open field that ran all the way down to the river. And there was music. Like they were having a festival or something. I just drifted along, everyone staring at me.

“A young boy handed me some kind of pie. Nothing ever tasted so good. I just kept walking and they kept staring and handing me food. The next thing I know, I’m standing at the river’s edge. Right where the Wall hits the water. Nowhere left to go.

“An old man came up, and said, ‘Sorry, my dear. But this is no place for you. We don’t want no trouble.’”

“He was right. That was not my place. They were not my tribe. I had no tribe. I was alone. And I know I was crazy, because this really crazy idea came to me.” She made a gaga face and twirled a finger around her ear. “On the other side of this wall . . . I can make it! I can make it on the Good Side. I have to get on the Good Side.” She aimed a can-you-believe-it smile at him. “So I bust out running.

“I ran at the Wall. Patrol boats and guards all over. Didn’t matter. I ran down the bank and into the water. Didn’t feel the cold, but I heard the gunshots. There were men on top of the Wall shooting at me. That’s when I felt the cold. That shocked me out of it, but the current swept me into the middle of the river. Really fast. All I could do was paddle just to keep my head out.

”I don’t know how long I was in the water, but just when I thought I was going to drown, somebody pulled me out and sat me down in front of a heater inside a boat. I collapsed. When I woke up, I was almost dry, and nobody was around.

“So I snuck out onto the deck. We were tied up at a dock under that bridge down the street from here. I went in the direction everyone else was going — ended up at the hospital. And now . . . I’m here.” She slowly raised her eyes to his.

“Yes, you are,” he said.

For one frozen moment they both sat looking at each other . . . just looking.