Lament is dead, the top of the rock has fallen, Digga is assassinating his opposition in order to prepare for aggressive action along the border, but he is open to negotiating a treaty that he will then break at the earliest convenience.
One of the enforcers slaps the remains of my cigarette from my hand and the others close and I’m pinned again.
Predo cleans some of my dry blood from the blades of the shears.
--All terribly shocking to me. Indeed, how could it be that I did not already know the single most disputed piece of real estate in Manhattan had changed hands? Being only the head of Coalition intelligence, how could that bit of information have slipped past me? Ah, yes, but of course. Because it did not.
He snaps the shears open and closed.
--Truly, Pitt, is that your bid? As if I would not know. As if I could not surmise the rest. Of course we will negotiate a treaty. Of course Digga will plan to break it. But not before we break it first. There are machinations at play, Pitt. Upon whom would you care to place your bet, D.J. Grave Digga or myself?
He makes certain his tie has not become untucked from his shirt.
--Now, regarding that other thumb.
I wrap the fingers of my right hand around my thumb.
--The girl with the baby is inside the Cure house.
He’s at my feet, looking down at the shears in his hand.
--Yes.
He turns away.
--That would give us something of value to talk about.
They keep coming.
SUVs and vans full of them.
Enforcers filling the top level of the garage.
I don’t have nearly enough fingers to count them all. Even very recently I didn’t have enough fingers to count them. Dozens. Over a hundred maybe. The full force. Fewer of the stylish black suits. More coveralls. Black slacks and windbreakers. Sweats. I see four dressed in police uniforms. A team of six in black tactical outfits including body armor, coiling ropes, snapping open carbon-fiber grappling hooks.
Sitting in the corner where they stuck me when the vehicles started rolling up the ramp, I remember something. I remember from the time I was on the Upper East a year ago, when I first came to the Cure house, I remember the parking garage just a few addresses west on the same block.
Lydia’s sense of what the Coalition will or will not shoot up on their own turf appears to be for shit.
I think about that some. Mostly I think about mastering the one-hand cigarette roll, but I think about a shoot-up some as well. There are just too many guns not to think about it a little. Still, the cigarette roll is pretty all consuming. The tobacco I keep spilling isn’t that big a deal, I just scoop it up and try again, but I’ve ripped a lot of papers trying to get this right. Those I’m running low on. Truthfully, it’s not a one-hand roll, it’s more a seven-finger roll. And after about ten shots at it I end up with something I can stick in my face and light on fire. It looks like a crooked Tootsie Roll more than a cigarette, but I can live with it.
I’m making do with that smoke when Predo comes over. He’s still in shirtsleeves, but he’s untucked his tie and gotten rid of the gloves. For now. I’m sure he could be ready to get back to work on my digits at a moment’s notice.
He takes a second to look at a phone one of his boys holds up for him, taps the screen a couple times, nods, and the guy with the phone and the enforcer who’s been watching me back off.
--We will be brief, Pitt.
I take a puff.
--Sure, I can see you have a set piece to coordinate here. Didn’t realize you’d gotten into the action movie business.
He’s not biting today.
--How do you know the young woman is in there?
--Digga’s man, Percy.
--He told you.
--He told me.
--Reliably?
--Dying words.
He ponders that one.
--Quote them.
--Best of my recall, he said they were in the Cure house. Said he sent them there and they sent word back they were inside.
He stops pondering, puts his eyes on me, focusing.
--They sent back word. To
One of the enforcers slaps the remains of my cigarette from my hand and the others close and I’m pinned again.
Predo cleans some of my dry blood from the blades of the shears.
--All terribly shocking to me. Indeed, how could it be that I did not already know the single most disputed piece of real estate in Manhattan had changed hands? Being only the head of Coalition intelligence, how could that bit of information have slipped past me? Ah, yes, but of course. Because it did not.
He snaps the shears open and closed.
--Truly, Pitt, is that your bid? As if I would not know. As if I could not surmise the rest. Of course we will negotiate a treaty. Of course Digga will plan to break it. But not before we break it first. There are machinations at play, Pitt. Upon whom would you care to place your bet, D.J. Grave Digga or myself?
He makes certain his tie has not become untucked from his shirt.
--Now, regarding that other thumb.
I wrap the fingers of my right hand around my thumb.
--The girl with the baby is inside the Cure house.
He’s at my feet, looking down at the shears in his hand.
--Yes.
He turns away.
--That would give us something of value to talk about.
They keep coming.
SUVs and vans full of them.
Enforcers filling the top level of the garage.
I don’t have nearly enough fingers to count them all. Even very recently I didn’t have enough fingers to count them. Dozens. Over a hundred maybe. The full force. Fewer of the stylish black suits. More coveralls. Black slacks and windbreakers. Sweats. I see four dressed in police uniforms. A team of six in black tactical outfits including body armor, coiling ropes, snapping open carbon-fiber grappling hooks.
Sitting in the corner where they stuck me when the vehicles started rolling up the ramp, I remember something. I remember from the time I was on the Upper East a year ago, when I first came to the Cure house, I remember the parking garage just a few addresses west on the same block.
Lydia’s sense of what the Coalition will or will not shoot up on their own turf appears to be for shit.
I think about that some. Mostly I think about mastering the one-hand cigarette roll, but I think about a shoot-up some as well. There are just too many guns not to think about it a little. Still, the cigarette roll is pretty all consuming. The tobacco I keep spilling isn’t that big a deal, I just scoop it up and try again, but I’ve ripped a lot of papers trying to get this right. Those I’m running low on. Truthfully, it’s not a one-hand roll, it’s more a seven-finger roll. And after about ten shots at it I end up with something I can stick in my face and light on fire. It looks like a crooked Tootsie Roll more than a cigarette, but I can live with it.
I’m making do with that smoke when Predo comes over. He’s still in shirtsleeves, but he’s untucked his tie and gotten rid of the gloves. For now. I’m sure he could be ready to get back to work on my digits at a moment’s notice.
He takes a second to look at a phone one of his boys holds up for him, taps the screen a couple times, nods, and the guy with the phone and the enforcer who’s been watching me back off.
--We will be brief, Pitt.
I take a puff.
--Sure, I can see you have a set piece to coordinate here. Didn’t realize you’d gotten into the action movie business.
He’s not biting today.
--How do you know the young woman is in there?
--Digga’s man, Percy.
--He told you.
--He told me.
--Reliably?
--Dying words.
He ponders that one.
--Quote them.
--Best of my recall, he said they were in the Cure house. Said he sent them there and they sent word back they were inside.
He stops pondering, puts his eyes on me, focusing.
--They sent back word. To
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