Jersey. In the subway gallery below Canal they stopped for a beer.
The sting of the day’s losses faded, and the moon of next-time rose in the sky. When they came up again it was the violet before night, and the real moon was there waving at them. A population of how many now? Seventy-five?
A jet went past, coming in low for the Park, winking a jittery rhythm of red, red, green, red, from tail and wing tips. Ab wondered whether Milly might be on it. Was she due in tonight?
“Look at it this way, Ab,” Martinez said. “You’re still paying for last month’s luck.”
He had to think, and then he had to ask, “What luck last month?”
“The switch. Jesus, I didn’t think any of us were going to climb out from under that without getting burnt.”
“Oh, that.” He approached the memory tentatively, not sure the scar tissue was firm yet. “It was tight, all right.” A laugh, which rang half-true. The scar had healed, he went on. “There was one moment though at the end when I thought I’d flushed the whole thing down the toilet. See, I had the Identi-Band from the first body, what’s-her-name’s. It was the only thing I got from that asshole White. … ”
“That fucking White,” Martinez agreed.
“Yeah. But I was so panicked after that spill on the stairs that I forgot, see, to change them, the two bands, so I sent off the Schaap body like it was.”
“Oh Mary Mother, that would have done it!”
“I remembered before the driver got away. So I got out there with the Newman band and made up some story about how we print up different bands when we send them out to the freezers than when one goes to the oven.”
“Did he believe that?”
Ab shrugged. “He didn’t argue.”
“You don’t think he ever figured out what happened that day?”
“That guy? He’s as dim as Chapel.”
“Yeah, what about Chapel?” There if anywhere, Martinez had thought, Ab had laid himself open.
“What about him?”
“You told me you were going to pay him off. Did you?”
Ab tried to find some spit in his mouth. “I paid him off all right” Then, lacking the spit: “Jesus Christ.”
Martinez waited.
“I offered him a hundred dollars. One hundred smackers. You know what that dumb bastard wanted?”
“Five hundred?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all. He even argued about it. Didn’t want to get his hands dirty, I suppose. My money wasn’t good enough for him.”
“So?”
“So we reached a compromise. He took fifty.” He made a comic face.
Martinez laughed. “It was a damned lucky thing, that’s all I’ll say, Ab. Damned lucky.”
They were quiet along the length of the old police station. Despite the green pills Ab felt himself coming down, but ever so gently down. He entered pink cloudbanks of philosophy.
“Hey, Martinez, you ever think about that stuff? The freezing business and all that.”
“I’ve thought about it, sure. I’ve thought it’s a lot of bullshit.”
“You don’t think there’s a chance then that any of them ever will be brought back to life?”
“Of course not. Didn’t you see that documentary they were making all the uproar over, and suing NBC? No, that freezing doesn’t stop anything, it just slows it down. They’ll all just be so many little ice cubes eventually. Might as well try bringing them back from the smoke in the stacks.”
“But if science could find a way to … Oh, I don’t know. It’s complicated by lots of things.”
“Are you thinking of putting money into one of those damned policies, Ab? For Christ’s sake, I would have thought that you had more brains than that. The other day my wife …” He rolled his eyes blackamoor-style. “It’s not in our league, believe me.”
“That’s not what I was thinking at all.”
“So? Then? I’m no mind-reader.”
“I was wondering, if they ever do find a way to bring them back, and if they find a cure for lupus and all that, well, what if they brought her back?”
“The Schaap?”
“Yeah.
The sting of the day’s losses faded, and the moon of next-time rose in the sky. When they came up again it was the violet before night, and the real moon was there waving at them. A population of how many now? Seventy-five?
A jet went past, coming in low for the Park, winking a jittery rhythm of red, red, green, red, from tail and wing tips. Ab wondered whether Milly might be on it. Was she due in tonight?
“Look at it this way, Ab,” Martinez said. “You’re still paying for last month’s luck.”
He had to think, and then he had to ask, “What luck last month?”
“The switch. Jesus, I didn’t think any of us were going to climb out from under that without getting burnt.”
“Oh, that.” He approached the memory tentatively, not sure the scar tissue was firm yet. “It was tight, all right.” A laugh, which rang half-true. The scar had healed, he went on. “There was one moment though at the end when I thought I’d flushed the whole thing down the toilet. See, I had the Identi-Band from the first body, what’s-her-name’s. It was the only thing I got from that asshole White. … ”
“That fucking White,” Martinez agreed.
“Yeah. But I was so panicked after that spill on the stairs that I forgot, see, to change them, the two bands, so I sent off the Schaap body like it was.”
“Oh Mary Mother, that would have done it!”
“I remembered before the driver got away. So I got out there with the Newman band and made up some story about how we print up different bands when we send them out to the freezers than when one goes to the oven.”
“Did he believe that?”
Ab shrugged. “He didn’t argue.”
“You don’t think he ever figured out what happened that day?”
“That guy? He’s as dim as Chapel.”
“Yeah, what about Chapel?” There if anywhere, Martinez had thought, Ab had laid himself open.
“What about him?”
“You told me you were going to pay him off. Did you?”
Ab tried to find some spit in his mouth. “I paid him off all right” Then, lacking the spit: “Jesus Christ.”
Martinez waited.
“I offered him a hundred dollars. One hundred smackers. You know what that dumb bastard wanted?”
“Five hundred?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all. He even argued about it. Didn’t want to get his hands dirty, I suppose. My money wasn’t good enough for him.”
“So?”
“So we reached a compromise. He took fifty.” He made a comic face.
Martinez laughed. “It was a damned lucky thing, that’s all I’ll say, Ab. Damned lucky.”
They were quiet along the length of the old police station. Despite the green pills Ab felt himself coming down, but ever so gently down. He entered pink cloudbanks of philosophy.
“Hey, Martinez, you ever think about that stuff? The freezing business and all that.”
“I’ve thought about it, sure. I’ve thought it’s a lot of bullshit.”
“You don’t think there’s a chance then that any of them ever will be brought back to life?”
“Of course not. Didn’t you see that documentary they were making all the uproar over, and suing NBC? No, that freezing doesn’t stop anything, it just slows it down. They’ll all just be so many little ice cubes eventually. Might as well try bringing them back from the smoke in the stacks.”
“But if science could find a way to … Oh, I don’t know. It’s complicated by lots of things.”
“Are you thinking of putting money into one of those damned policies, Ab? For Christ’s sake, I would have thought that you had more brains than that. The other day my wife …” He rolled his eyes blackamoor-style. “It’s not in our league, believe me.”
“That’s not what I was thinking at all.”
“So? Then? I’m no mind-reader.”
“I was wondering, if they ever do find a way to bring them back, and if they find a cure for lupus and all that, well, what if they brought her back?”
“The Schaap?”
“Yeah.
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