Joe Pitt 3 - Half the Blood of Brooklyn (23 page)

--Well, now that we've exchanged secret passwords to assure each other of our real
identities, we can converse freely.

He gets out of the car and the driver's door opens and his giant squeezes out.

I light one of the Marlboros Christian gave me and blow smoke in his direction.

--Fuck you.

He flexes the muscles in his nostrils.

Predo points down Slip toward Front.

--Shall we?

--You gonna take my arm?

He rakes his fingers across his forehead, brushing aside the sweep of his bangs.

--It's a busy evening, Pitt. One that promises no end of complications. Most, I have
already gleaned, having to do with you. Well, that comes as no shock. But I am pressed.
You offered information. Very well. I am intrigued. We can proceed, or Deveroix here can
thrash you for bringing me out under false pretenses, and I will depart.

I look at the giant.

I look back at Predo.

--Yeah, sure, let's talk. I've been beat on enough.

He raises an eyebrow.

--Well, you were bound to reach your limit sooner or later.

So we walk.

And I spill.

I give him the whole thing.

The Docks. The Freaks. The Chosen and the lost Tribe of Gibeah. Shooting Lydia. Daniel in
the sun. My death sentence. Sela and her machine gun. Stabbing Terry.

I give him everything but Amanda and her plans.

And Evie. I don't give him Evie.

And when I'm done he looks up at the underside of the bridge.

--A compelling tale. One I can't help but feel has gaps. Sizable gaps.

He looks at me.

--Still, value given.

He nods and I follow him back to the car where he waves at Deveroix, who touches a button
on his key chain and the trunk eases open, and Predo reaches inside and takes out a small
leather case and flicks the clasps and shows me the contents.

--As agreed.

Several tight bundles of cash. Several pints of blood. And a loaded .38 Detective Special.
All of it nestled in smoking dry ice.

--Value paid for value given, yes, Pitt?

I take the case.

--Yeah.

He closes the trunk lid and waves Deveroix down and the giant crams himself back into the
car.

I take the revolver and tuck it in my belt and put the case in one of the saddlebags.

Predo comes over.

--And now?

--None of your fucking business.

He pinches his lower lip.

--But it could be.

I wait.

He cocks his head at the limo.

--Deveroix. I think you were right about him. And his ambitions.

--And?

--He'll have to be replaced.

I get on the bike.

--I just quit a job.

--I know. It amused me to ask more than anything. And to imagine the look on Bird's face if
you had been smart enough to accept.

He turns and walks toward his long black car.

--But you're not smart enough, Pitt. And that's almost a pity.

--Predo.

He stops with the door open.

--Yes?

--Just wondering, when I came to see you and you let it slip that you knew exactly how many
pints the Candy Man had in stock, was that on purpose? To test how smart I am?

He's perfectly still, nothing moves, not an eyelash.

I move my mouth.

--Or was that a mistake? 'Cause you'd rather no one know you were supplying him?

He blinks.

I don't.

--Where do you get all that blood, man? Where do you guys get all that fucking blood?

He touches the knot of his tie.

--Don't overreach, Pitt.

He slides into the car.

--Good night.

The door closes and the engine starts and the lights come on.

I rumble the bike up alongside the driver's window and knock on it.

The giant tightens his lips and rolls it down.

I shake my head.--
Deveroix?
You made that up, right? Come on, you can tell me. I mean, Joe's not
my
real name.

He squints.

--You're on the outside now, pissant.

He makes two fists and places them end to end and twists them apart like he's ripping
something in half.

--Watch your back.

--Yeah, yeah.

I pull the revolver and empty it in the giant's face.

I look at the shadow in the backseat.

--That was a freebie.

I toss the gun in the limo and ride up Slip to Pearl and north.

A guy like that, it doesn't pay to have him around when you're out in the cold. Besides,
not like I didn't tell him I was gonna do it.

A couple miles away I park the bike and unscrew the cap from the gas tank and slip the
hose inside and suck on the other end until the gas flows. I fill the empty beer bottle
and raise the end of the hose and the rest of the gas runs back into the tank. I toss the
hose aside and screw the cap into place and walk over to a dumpster and find a rag and
stuff one end into the neck of the bottle.

Back on the bike, I ride around the corner and stop in the middle of the block and
straddle it. I look up and measure the distance as I remember it and light the rag and
heave the Molotov in a high arc up over the Enclave warehouse, and above the sound of the
Commando, I hear shattering glass.

Fire.

It will do little.

But I want him to know.

That I'm alive. That's it's not over.

And that I'll be coming back for her.

Thirty minutes later I'm crossing the Broadway Bridge at the northern tip of Manhattan .
Onto original turf. Unhallowed ground. Home.

The Island is done with me. Closed its doors and cast me out.

That's just fine. I wasn't born there. Only made.

And soon enough the city will be burning.

And I'll be going into the flames.

To get my girl.

Dreaming of fire and love and an enemy's blood, I ride into the Bronx.