Part 30 (1/2)
His eyes went narrow. Chin jutting. ”S-so?”
”So that's the only time you could've found that s.h.i.+t.” I pointed at the pack next to his knees, unsurprised to see his fingers coiled securely through its handle. ”Stole it from the Choirboys, didn't you?”
He almost exploded, hugging the bag to himself as he stood and shrieked, irrational and embarra.s.sing. ”The f.u.c.k's wrong with that?” He snarled. ”The f.u.c.k's wrong with thaaaat? You saying, you saying I shouldn't steal from them a.s.sholes?”
”Course not. I'm saying don't steal s.h.i.+t that'll turn you into a p.r.i.c.k. Sit down.”
”f.u.c.k y...”
”Or, don't steal s.h.i.+t that'll bring an army of motherf.u.c.kers chasing after you. Sit down, Nate.”
”That's not why they're comi...”
”Or even better, don't steal s.h.i.+t when you're an ex-junkie.”
Quiet.
He sat.
”Tell you what I think,” I said, feeling sharp things moving in my words but not caring. Bella's face was swimming behind my eyelids, and for some reason it made me angry. ”I think you never quit.”
”What?”
”Back in London. You used to live there, you said. You said you quit, remember?”
He didn't say a word.
”I think maybe you were telling half a truth there, mate. I think what actually happened is, the supply ran out. Tough call, getting smack right after The Cull.” His white eyes dipped, firelight reflecting. ”But then along comes the Clergy and tells you they can fix you up, sort you out. All you got to do is clear off stateside and look after some kiddies on the way through...”
”That's... wasn't like that...”
”And for a couple of years it's all gravy. Probably wasn't even smack they gave you, right? Some weird new military s.h.i.+t. Am I right? Even better. Double the high.
”Then some dumb English f.u.c.k arrives and screws the whole gig, and before you know it you're out on your ear. Right? Am I right?”
He was just staring at the fire, face closed-down. Nothing to say. Nothing to deny.
I noticed a stain on his trousers and wondered if he'd even noticed he'd p.i.s.sed himself.
He swallowed and looked up at me. ”I... I just...”
”Why should you stay with me? Oh, f.u.c.k, there was all that s.h.i.+t about me protecting your life, blah blah. Didn't buy it for a second, mate. But then we get to the Secretariat and bang, you've got right what you wanted. That big case right there. And I'm thinking... That's a big place. How did he find it? Unless maybe he knew where to look...”
”J-Jesus...”
”And that makes me wonder how you knew we'd be going to the Secretariat at all.”
His eyes gave it away. In the end.
Flicked away from my face. A split second, no more, to the green sack hanging on my shoulder.
The penny dropped.
”The map...” I said, kicking myself. ”f.u.c.k. Of course. Of course.”
I always knew he looked through my bag, back at the start, as I lay dying on the tarmac. I a.s.sumed he'd l.u.s.ted after the booze, the Bliss...
But no. He went straight to the map. The New York City map, marked with a b.l.o.o.d.y-red ring around the UN Headquarters.
”So you saw where I was heading... Right? And you thought... Well now... Maybe I'll just... tag along?”
I glanced up.
He stared.
”You didn't even have the guts to tell me the truth, Nate.”
I wouldn't have cared, if he'd been honest.
I don't care, even now. Don't give a s.h.i.+t what he does to himself.
I just don't like being wrong.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
”Parasite,” I said.
I stood up and walked away.
I went for a walk.
Took a look around. Found Malice and sat down to talk and draw maps in the sand. Scheming. If she was p.i.s.sed about the Inferno and the others, she didn't show it.
Around midnight I went and fetched Robert s...o...b..ar, and he took me to the Tadodaho. I politely declined anything to eat or drink.
Around four o'clock the camp moved, all at once, across the great concrete bridge spanning the sinuous lake, and by six I was up to my armpits in cold water.
By seven we were ready.
They didn't keep us waiting.
The Meander Reservoir was a twisting strip of spilled water, dividing Youngstown from the green ocean of fields surrounding it. On the Tadodaho's map - an ancient and laminated thing, long-faded and well-worn - the lake was an obvious part of a chain, connected by creeks and ditches, that ran south all the way from Lake Eerie. It wasn't a huge watercourse, I suppose. Maybe five or six miles, tip-to-tip. It wouldn't have taken too long to go around either, if someone'd had to, but what was perfect about it was this: The I-80, straight from New York, spanned the lake dead across its centre on a single, exposed, vulnerable and oh-so-deliciously-narrow bridge.
If ever there was a better place for an ambush, I would've liked to have seen it.
For the record, somewhere - deep down at the rotten core of my mind - I shouted and cussed at myself, waggling a subconscious finger at this daft display of time wasting.
Not my problem, it kept shouting. Focus on the mission!
And my response, my considered reply to this seemingly watertight argument, went something like this: f.u.c.k off.