Strange City Page 12

  "Be right there " I fumbled for my cigarettes—I needed a smoke badly There was an irony. I needed to smoke because I needed to do something mean­ingless and get my death.

  I had no idea how to escape. I paced back and forth in my apartment I knew this call to the office was a set-up, but Mozyr said it was OK, and besides, what choice did I have? If I didn't go, they'd come for me My fingers trembled like jackhammers as I reached for the cigarettes. I couldn't get the pack out of my pocket. I couldn't have handled a match anyway.

  Death awaited me at the office. I knew that. I also knew that, whether going to the office was a good idea or not, I wouldn't be able to force myself to do it

  ! shoved some things into my pockets, emptied my bank account at the nearest ATM, and bought a ticket for the Greyhound bus to San Diego I thought maybe I'd cross the border into Mexico on foot, at night, and disappear forever. The bus was late, and I paced around the terminal I glanced from the battered soda machine to the tired-looking passengers to the gang of men in sweat-stained blue coveralls, scrambling to load and unload busses.

  The bus finally came. I took a seat in the back corner, by a dusty window. A clan of half a dozen Mexicans trickled in after me, filling all the seats in my area. The driver climbed on board in a few min­utes, but he promptly returned to the station, and spent an interminable amount of time in there. I fidgeted in torment However, as the bus finally trundled onto the interstate, I relaxed enough to watch the people in the nearby seats.

  The Mexicans had a full-fledged family. A thin man in denim seemed to be the father. He had the respon­sibility of standing up and unzipping the luggage in the overhead baggage compartment whenever the baby whimpered for a toy. A golden-skinned woman in a flower-print dress sat next to him, apparently the mother. An elderly man, his tanned skin all wrinkles, sat in the seat in front of them and occasionally turned to offer a sage word.

  After perhaps half an hour, the mother put the plump baby into the aisle, patted him on the back, and sent him toddling toward the remaining two members of the family. These were two young women, apparently young aunts or elder daughters. The one by the aisle scooped the infant up and set him on her lap, cooing at him.

  The young women chatted as the bus drove on. They had lively faces and their dark eyes flashed as they spoke. The flow of their conversation rose and fell in incompre­hensible Spanish. Occasionally, one of them chuckled, and then they both broke into gales of hilarity. Nothing seemed phony or malicious about their laughter.

  The more I watched these people, the more I realized that I had nothing whatsoever in common with them. This went far beyond the fact that I didn't know a word of Spanish. The father looked vigorous; the girls seemed warm and cheerful, and they all were wholesome and content. It was easy to envy them. However, whether their lives were good or bad, they seemed utterly alien to me. I could no more have fit into that family than Mr. Praeger could go in his suit and tie to a playground, and join in the games like one of the children.

  I felt an emptiness that I had never felt before. An emptiness that had always existed on the fringes of my being, f had never allowed myself to let it affect me and I hated this perfect family for delivering me my pain. Praeger hadn't had me shot yet, but inside I knew that I had already died a long and pathetic death.

  By the time we get to Los Angeles, I knew that Mexico would give me no redemption- I was an empty man—a killer I would have nothing to live for no matter where I went- And so, I bought a new ticket. I waited for five hours in the urine-smelling concrete warrens o{ the Los Angeles bus terminal, and then I took the bus back to San Francisco. We pulled across the Golden Gate bridge early the next morning, Up the arching bridge we went, with the suspension cables soaring to the sky on either side. Steam rose from the Bay, slowly diffusing into the air

  I returned to my apartment almost twenty-four hours after the moment I shot the waitress. Once I locked the door, I scooped the pistol out of my pocket with both hands, trying to keep it from clattering to the floor Then I stared at the dull-gray thing Possibilities ran through my mind- I could have bought a real gun, pushed the sofa up against the door and defended myself. I'd shot people before, and I could have shot whomever Praeger sent to waste me.

  But that was not going to save me. It would not save me from the welling emptiness in the pit of my stomach. And what if had killed one of Praeger's men? He'd have sent somebody else to do the job, some­one who knew what he was doing. Either that, or he'd wait. Eventually, I'd have come out, and then he'd have wasted me. Or, he might have just tipped off the police, and I'd have gone to the gas chamber. You can kill all the people you want, but nobody has invented a way to keep someone else from killing you.

  I jiggled the clip out of the gun's handle. Little brass bullets rattled in their track I pushed the clip back in and massaged it until it clicked into place. Then I put the pistol up to my eye, looking down the barrel to the shadow inside. E even caressed the seam that ran down the middle of the trigger. A tear roiled down my cheek and my head reeled. Time ticked away in a rhythmic, pulsing staccato of thumps. The thump­ing was the beat of my cold and heart.

  It all came down to this, Everything in my life had really just led up to this point, I was going to die in my own hole, and that was going to be the end of everything for me. I never had much and now I was going to have nothing.

  Still, those thoughts didn't explain the terror I felt inside When i looked into my gun, my insides felt sour, from the base of my throat to the hollows of my bowels. There was something primal about this fear. It was the fear that every living thing feels in the face of death, and it was more potent than anything I had ever felt before.

  Whenever I've made a decision, I've always tried to do the smartest thing. I've been rational. However, even though f knew it would be best to shoot myself, I real­ized that there was more to it than that- Hard realities were not the only things that shaped me. I didn't know if love existed, or hope, or honor or morality, but I was face-to-face with pure, animal horror. If I'd known that sooner, I might have been a different man, but it was too late.

  When you die, it's too late for anything.

  I hurled the pistol across the room. Then I waited. Sooner or later, Praeger's men would come and kill me for me. If my shot had missed entirely, maybe Mr. Praeger would have let me live, punished me, but let me live. However, I'd killed a bystander That meant police and a real investigation. Mr. Praeger was going to arrange for me to commit suicide and then let the cops pin it all on a dead man

  Sure enough, I heared a single, reverberating knock on the door.

  I had no idea what came after the knock. That memory always trails off into a typhoon of horror. I do recall pain tearing through my chest, bubbling up into my head, choking out everything. I do not think any­one survives such pain. There isn't really much doubt in my mind about what happened. Praeger's men came in and drilled a bullet through my body-Even before the bullet came, I plunged into delirium I sank through the floor into the dream-world, scream­ing at the top of my lungs. My body faded before my eyes, and my whole consciousness dissolved into a crimson nightmare.

  This wasn't supposed to happen to me, it was sup­posed to happen to Julie. I thought of her and the world faded around me. As I plunged into dreams again, memories of her rose around me. This was from before she went to Von Roon. It was from before Praeger sent me to kill her. This was the moment when I first met Julie.

  I tasted liquor in my throat. Muffled strains of music rumbled from the walls, confused by the bab­ble of conversations. The lights were dim, and the springs of a hotel bed creaked beneath the weight of two people, lulte sat on the bed next to me, her red dress a tittle rumpled, her face flushed with alcohol.

  I was on my back, a little dizzy, and she was sitting up. I eased my arm around her hips, far less smoothly than I might have hoped. Then I propped myself up a little on one elbow, my other arm still wrapped around Julie. "Great party"

  Julie just nodded.
She wasn't really smiling. She looked down at me, her blue eyes steady, and as focused as they could get at that stage of drinking. I tickled her stomach through her dress, but she moved her body and kept looking at me.

  "Hey Steve, are you . .. satisfied?"

  "Huh?" I tried to slide my hand a little lower, but she shifts away. "What d'you mean?"

  "Satisfied." She sighed with the sincerity of the drunk "With your job . with your Life, I mean, I know Cm not. I keep trying to imagine my life as being different. Do you want things to be different? I mean, are you happy?'

  I just grunt. What kind of dumb question was that? I slid my hand upward, brushing her bosom with my knuckles.

  Julie kept looking at me.

  "We all sell our souls." I pulled in closer to her, working my hand closer, "That's just how it goes."

  "OK, Steve." fulie wraps her arms around herself. 'But is it worth it?"

  I had no answer for that. I breathed heavily in her ear, dismissing what she had said She pulled back, as if she wanted to say something more, but I ignored her. I reached up for her breast. When I touched her, it was as if something had snapped between us She jerked away.

  Julie stood up, leaving me still lying on the bed, with my arm around nothing. She pulled open the door of the hotel room and headed back toward the rest of the party, her arm protecting her breasts. And as she left the room, she looked back at me. and wrin­kled up her face, as if she was looking at a snake.

  I just lay on my back, half drunk and miserable, Julie was the only woman I'd come close to having in years That was the first thing on my mind—f had blown it. But that was not the only reason I felt so miserable Julie's questions dug into my mind like burrowing worms.

  It was only a few days after that Mr. Praeger told me he wanted Julie dead. And I accepted the job

  Now, as i live through the scene again, I think about Julie's questions. Was it worth it? I don't dare try to answer that.

  Then the nightmares begin again.

  When I regain consciousness, I feel more lucid than I've felt for... for a long time. The things at Walter's, and the things in my apartment—those were just memories. What's happening now is new. I haven't remembered it before, i don't think I'm living old events any more. The things I see are real.

  My gaze falls on the telephone again. Then it falls on the gun, which still lies in the corner, by my VCR. My apartment is almost the way E remember it. However, strips of yellow tape crisscross the window and run around the room, A circle of tape runs around the gun. A brownish stain marks the floor. Someone has drawn chalk marks all around the stain.

  I had only one more question and my mind searched for an answer What happened to Julie? She was the person who didn't cave in to Praeger. She was the person who made me wonder if I could defy him too. She was also the person [ had tried to kill, and in trying to kill her, I had brought on my own doom. Julie was the only chance I ever had to make my life differ­ent. Now, E desperately wanted to know her fate

  I track Julie until I find her Although Julie does not seem to see me, I cling to her unnoticed, like a piece of lint on her black satin blouse, Julie is in Praeger's office—the upper-story office where I used to meet with him. She sits upright before his broad mahogany desk, her hands clasped in the lap of her skirt, her exquisite lips pressed together, Praeger has his back turned, and he makes Julie wait, which is what he always does. Julie's cheeks look soft and creamy, with all the signs of weeping cleansed away, but I can see where tears have melted her mascara. Every muscle in her body looks taut.

  Neither Julie nor Praeger seems aware of me. Being in the office is like being in a dream. The office is real, the people are real, but I am not. And so, I watch.

  Slowly, magnificently, Praeger swivels in his seat, turning to face Julie. Praeger sits in a huge office chair, upholstered in alligator hide, with a high back that rises behind him like a dragon's folded wings, He stares down at Julie through his glasses, his face as plump as a baby's. "Ah, Ms, Rochon. I hear we had a ... frightening experience."

  Julie just smiles a polite, little smile. [ can see her quiver.

  it is so fortunate that we were not harmed." Praeger speaks with a European accent that lends his voice a piquant air of arrogance "In the future we will be more careful. .. no?"

  "Oh—yes, sir" julie nods and looks up at Praeger, batting her curled eyelashes as if looking at a lover. If there was ever a trace of defiance or independence in Julie, it is gone now, scrubbed away without a trace.

  "Hmm—very good." Praeger chuckles, moving his Adam's apple but not his lips. "And so, Ms. Rochon, do we need a bit of time to be getting over the shock? A brief vacation?"

  Julie shakes her head. "No, sir. I'm ready for work."

  "Ah . ." Praeger's voice boomed. Then it's back to work, back to work. You're industrious, Ms. Rochon I like that. What do you think about a promotion, Ms. Rochon?"

  Julie gasps. Her mouth forms a little O. I guess I'd be shocked too. if Praeger sent someone to shoot me and then offered me a promotion.

  "Yes, yes. For some time I consider you for this job—ideal. You step up, become Export Consultant for joint ventures in the Amazon Basin Of course, we increase your salary, what, maybe ten, fifteen percent"

  "ill do my best, sir—I really will." Julie beams, and

  i

  her voice chokes a little Relief transfigures her face. Her ecstasy looks positively sexual.

  "Of course, this is a highly sensitive project." Praeger folds his hands and stares Julie in the eyes. "If you accept, you will be placed under our Executive

  Security Program We will have people keeping an eye on you, to make sure no more scary things have to happen. Do you understand?"

  "I understand." Julie takes a deep breath and lets it out. Tears sparkle in her eyes "(really am grateful sir, I know I've made some very, very foolish choices. But you've been so wonderful. .."

  Praeger shrugs and turns up his palms, an expres­sion of good humor on his roly-poly face. "Ah, yes, but that is what I am here for, no?"

  Julie laughs Then she turns her head to the side and gazes at Praeger out of the corner of her eye, with a fond, admiring smile.

  I see now that Praeger is a genius. He hasn't merely intimidated Julie. He's crushed her, broken her down to nothing, and then built her up again, Julie is more than a loyal DNA employee now. She's a worshiper To Julie, Praeger has become a combination of lover, father, and god.

  It is possible that when Praeger gave the order for me to waste Julie, he never meant for me to succeed. This is exactly what he had planned. Praeger got what he wanted. Julie got what she wanted as well. As for me, well, I had to play my part to make Julie believe that the threat to her life was real, to make her fee! properly shocked and terrified and desperate. I gave substance to the ritual, like a goat with his guts pulled out on a heathen altar. I was a sacrifice. In fact. Praeger was probably ready to get rid of me anyway—I knew too much, and had been doing dirty work too long. I did what I was told, and I got the shaft. Its that simple.

  After a few moments, Julie looks up at Praeger as if he's her best and closest friend. The man who shot at me..."

  "Yes. What about him?" Praeger was talking faster. and after years of working for him, I could tell he was losing interest in the conversation.

  "I saw his face/' Julie continued breathlessly, "I know him ... his names Steve Myers . . he works in this building."

  "Oh—yes." Praeger threw up his hands. "We forget about Mr. Myers now. Steve Myers is gone, We never see him again So don't worry—get to work," Praeger laughs again, curls his mouth into a U-shaped smile, and then turns away in his chair.

  My teeth grate together, i want to make Praeger— and Julie—remember who I was. I'm standing right in front of them, but they don't see me. Julie walks right through me as she heads for the door I fee! her body heat, but she doesn't even flinch, much less look at me.

  I chase after Julie to the exit. I want to ask her the same quest
ion she asked me. Is she satisfied? Will she stay satisfied? Ten years from now, when she ends up the way I did, will she think working for Mr. Praeger is worth it?

  I call her name "|u-lie . .." My voice rings in the cav­ernous office but Julie does not turn and the door clos­es in my face. I reach out to open it, but although I can feel the cool brass knob, and the tacky spots where Julie gripped it with moist fingers, I cannot make the door open. My fingers do not even wiggle the knob.

  Then I hear a hollow command, "Come through the door,"

  I step right into the door, and the polished wood doesn't stop me from going through Even the metal knob seems no more substantial than shadow to me.

  Outside, I see three figures, looming in the broad cor­ridor of the thirtieth floor. Julie walks away, paying no more attention to them than she does to us. An elderly secretary with her hair up in a gray bun ignores us all as well However, we appear quite real to each other.

  As the three approach, I can see them more clearly They all wear suits and ties. The one on the left looks young. He's a little twit, with round glasses and a shock of blond hair that stands straight up. When his eyes meet mine, he grins. "You're ours, Larva."

  The guy on the right has a smug, pudgy face. He puts me in mind of a well-fed worm. Worm nods a mocking greeting. "Smile . . . you're among friends."

  However, neither Twit nor Worm comes too close to me. The one in the center walks right up and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. He is older than the other two, with heavy square spectacles and a strand of hair that artfully covers his balding scalp. "We've been fol­lowing your progress for some time, Mr Myers."

  "Yeah." I curl my lip and look up at him. Suddenly I recognize the man. His name was Halperin Halperin worked for DNA Inc. about five years ago, before his heart attack .. his fatal heart attack.

  "You are eligible to enter the society of the dead. My friends and I have made it possible for you to exist in that society, Mr. Myers." Halperin appraises me, his lower lip extended in a glum expression, "We are doing you a favor by bringing you to full spiritual consciousness. In return for this, you entail certain obligations to us. I trust you understand the significance of such obligations."