Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead (5 page)

--Well, Tom, that may be. But to me, the real question here, and I think Lydia may agree
with me, is what were you doing there? I was under the belief that we had agreed.

--Fuck your agreement. You agreed, I didn't agree to shit. This creep is hip-deep in the
Coalition. He's their ratfink spy down here and now they have him, they intentionally have
him causing trouble on our territory. He's a saboteur, he's a fucking saboteur and we
should execute him right now.

Terry pushes his slipping glasses back up his nose.

--Well I, for one, certainly think that would be more than extreme. Even, for the sake of
argument, even if it came to the point where we
might
execute him, I think our first step should be to question him.

--Fucking fine, let's interrogate him then. Let's wake his ass up and teach him a lesson
about the revolution.

He picks up a short length of pipe from the card table. Lydia is looking right at me.
She's staring me in the eyes just as she has been since right after I opened them. She
smiles and turns to the boys.

--He's awake.

They both turn to look at me sprawled on the cot. Tom takes a quick step in my direction,
the piece of pipe still in his hand.

--OK, fucker.

Terry reaches out and lays a hand on Tom's shoulder.

--Easy, Tom, just mellow out a little, guy.

Tom stops and squeezes his eyes shut. He turns to Terry as if he'd like to wrap the pipe
around his head instead of mine.

__How many times do I have to tell you? How many, man? Don't tell me to mellow out. You be
as mellow as you want, but don't tell me what to do. Terry smiles.

--Sure, Tom, no prob. I'm not trying to disrespect you. I just want us all to calm down a
little here and find some things out before we think about resorting to violence. There
are always options, man, we just need to explore them.

I sit up.

--Yeah, Tom, let's explore some options.

He turns back to me.

--You just shut up, Pitt. You want to stay alive, you just shut up until someone tells you
to speak. You got practice shutting up, taking all those orders from the Coalition. I look
at Terry.

--Hey, Terry, what are you doing letting this kid run around loose, anyway? People could
get hurt.

I look at Tom again.

--He could get hurt.

Tom makes a move at me, but Terry and Lydia pull him back. I sit on the cot being bored.
Some people's buttons are so easy to punch it's barely worth the effort. Terry and Lydia
get Tom into a chair. Lydia stays next to him while Terry walks over and drops down on the
cot, a big smile on his face.

--Tom's a hothead, Joe, we all know that, it only takes the slightest provocation to set
him off. But we're adults here, so what say we put aside the immature mind games and
name-calling and just have a little communication, air things out?

--How 'bout you buzz off and show me to the door so I can go about my business.

Terry shakes his head sadly.

--In a perfect world, that's what I'd like to do. After all, it was never my plan that you
get dragged here, but here you are, and I have to say that as hostile as Tom is toward
you, he does raise some valid points. So I think, and this is just me talking, but I think
there is a real need here for some open and honest communication.

I start to get up.

--So sit here and communicate, Terry Me, I got places to be, so I'll just be on my way.

Terry puts an oh so gentle hand on my forearm.

--Sorry, Joe, but there really are some questions I need to have answered.

He tilts his head in the direction of the stairs and Hurley steps out of the shadows. How
the fuck I missed Hurley is a tribute to my lack of awareness. The guy is a giant. Really.
Six eight and over three-fifty. And on top of that he just happens to be one of us. So
what you got here is your basic gargantuan Irish Vampyre. Oh, and he's retarded. I
shouldn't say that. What I mean is he's dumb as a sack of hammers. Whether he's actually
retarded, I don't know.

I sit back down.

--Sure thing, Terry. You got questions. Shoot.

Terry smiles and nods.

--See, man, that's the way it should be, just two guys sitting and talking. People, people
talking about their problems with each other, finding solutions. If everybody could do
this, if we could get the world together like this, we could change everything, man. Like,
for instance, my problem is this thing last night, this whole hassle over at the, well it
used to be a community center, man, but pretty soon it's gonna be another yuppie co-op.
But anyway, this thing over at the old center, this hassle with the kids and the zombies.

Tom jumps out of his chair.

--That's what I'm talking about, that right there. We rejected that term, man. We voted.
They're not
zombies.
That belittles their status as victims, man. They're infected, not in control of
themselves, and creeps like this stooge are still going around slaughtering them.

Terry bobs his head.

--Well, you have a point there, Tom, the term
zombie
does put the onus for their actions on them and implies blame. So what was the term?

--VOZ. Victim of Zombification.

Lydia finally pipes in.

--I'm still opposed to the use of the word
victim.
It suggests weakness, helplessness.

Terry holds up his hand.

--I think you may be right there, Lydia. But for now, as regards the conversation I'm
having here with Joe, could we agree that VOZ is a valid term?

Tom and Lydia look at one another and nod.

--Good, good. See, Joe, people solving problems. So anyway, this hassle with the NYU
students and the VOZs. Something like that happening right in our backyard is cause for
concern. We can't really afford that kind of noise when we're trying so hard to integrate
into the community, you know? So what can you tell me, you know anything about all this?

I sigh with regret and shake my head.

--Sorry, Terry, wish I could help you, but I really don't know anything.

Tom is back on his feet.

--Bullshit! Bullshit! He was there, man. He was poking around when I got there with Hurley
to take a look. So what were you doing there, stooge? What were you doing there?

--He has a point, Joe, what were you doing there tonight?

--Same as you guys, taking a look. I live down here too, and I've done as much as anyone to
keep this neighborhood a quiet place; more than my fair share. Do I do some favors for the
Coalition? You know I do. Just like I do favors for the Society when you ask me. This
thing last night, that kind of mess is bad for all of us. So yeah, after the cops cleared
out I went over there to take a look.

--And what did you find?

--Well I don't know, Terry, I didn't really find anything. Which is not to say I wouldn't
have found something if this joker hadn't popped up and had Hurley clock me. Far as I know
it's like the cops said and that kid Singh did it.

--Really? Does that sound reasonable to you? I mean, knowing what we know about the world
and the way it works? I mean, being an open-minded kind of guy, does that sound like a
reasonable story?

I look him in the eye.

--Terry, I got no reason to lie. Far as I know the kid did it. But could this be, and this
is what I think you're asking, could this be a Coalition deal? A setup? Well you know as
well as I do it could be. Hell, it could be a Coalition op all the way down the line from
the zombies.

--VOZs, please.

--Right, from the VOZs right down to the frame on the kid. But as far as I know . . .

--It's just like the cops say.

--Far as I know.

Terry looks down at the floor and nods his head.

--Well, Joe, that's fair enough. I respected you and asked you a straightforward question,
and I can only hope that you've respected me and given me an honest answer.

--You know how I feel about you, Terry.

A slight smile visits his mouth and he looks at me from the corner of his eye.

--Yeah, I guess I do at that.

He gets up off the cot and gestures toward the door.

--Well that's it, you can take off.

I get up and brush off the seat of my pants as I head for the door.

--You mind if I get my guns back before I go?

--Hurley has them. He'll walk you out and give them to you on the street.

--Thanks.

Tom is glaring at me.

--That's it? We're letting him go after that lame bullshit?

--We're letting him go because it is not our nature to hold people against their will, Tom.

--But he knows something. Look at him, he's gloating. He knows something and he's making
fun of us right now.

I glance at Tom as I walk past him.

--What's eating you, Tom? Still can't find a vegan substitute for blood?

He lunges at me and Lydia throws an arm bar on him. She locks him up tight and looks at
me, tsk-tsking her head back and forth.

--Tacky, Joe.

--Yeah, well.

I'm halfway up the stairs, Hurley behind me, when Terry calls after.

--By the way, what happened to your face?

--Rolled out of bed this morning and pulled open the curtain. Don't know what it is, I just
keep thinking I'm still alive or something.

--Be careful about that, Joe. Thinking like that, it gets us dead.

--So I hear.

Then I'm through the basement door, into the hallway, and out onto the street, Hurley
right behind me. We're on Avenue D between 5th and 6th. Hurley starts walking north toward
6th and I follow him.

--So how 'bout my guns, Hurley?

--Terry says I gotta walk ya a ways first.

--OK.

We turn west onto 6th.

--Sorry 'bout clobber'n ya from behind an all.

--Yeah, sure.

We're about halfway down the block when he stops and turns to me.

--Sorry, Joe.

--So you said, Hurley.

--Naw, I mean sorry bout dis.

--Sorry about what?

--Terry says I got ta rough ya up some.

I blink.

--When the hell did he say that? I didn't hear him say that.

--He told me when ya was still out.

--What the hell for?

--He said it was fer ben a smart mout.

--What the hell? I was out cold, I hadn't even had a chance to smart off.

--Yeah, but he said ya would. He said yer always a smart mout.

--This ain't right.

--Like I said, sorry, Joe, but I got ta do it. It's my job.

--Calling it your job don't make it right, Hurley.

--Whatever.

And he goes to work on me. He's pretty good about it, stays away from my face, and only
cracks a couple ribs. When he's done I'm slumped down on the sidewalk with my back against
a building. He tosses the guns on my lap and heads back to Society headquarters.

--Keep yer nose clean, Joe.

--Yeah, thanks for the advice.

I could go back, take my guns, kick down the door and blast away. With any luck I'd take
out two of them. With a lot of luck I might get them all. But what would be the point?
Their people would come after me. And Terry and me really do go back a ways. Hell, there
was a time I almost bought all that Society line of crap. Terry's dream of uniting all the
Vampyre and taking us public to live like
normal
people; maybe get the resources of the world to help find a cure for the Vyrus. Yeah, I
believed all that. For awhile. Then I figured what I was around for, the kind of jobs
Terry handed me, and was gonna keep handing me. So I got out.

It takes over half an hour for me to hobble home clutching my ribs. By the time I crawl
into bed it's almost four in the morning and I'm not even thinking about looking for that
carrier anymore.

The phone rings about an hour after I fall into a painful sleep.

--
This is Joe Pitt. Leave a message.

--Hey, Joe, it's me. If you're in bed don't pick up.

Evie's voice. I pick up the phone.

--Hey.

--You asleep?

--Thinking about it.

--You're asleep, aren't you?

--Just barely. What's up?

--Nothing, I just got off work.

--You OK?

--Yeah, a little lonely.

--You want to come over, watch a movie?

There's a brief silence.

--No. You should sleep. You don't sleep enough.

--I'll sleep when I'm dead. Come over.

--No, I just wanted to hear your voice. I'll be OK now. You get some sleep.

--Yeah, sleep.

--You around tomorrow night?

I think about the carrier still out there and the deadline that I've already blown.

--Think I'm gonna be tied up.

--Maybe you can drop by the bar and say hi.

--I'll do that.

--OK. Sleep tight.

--You too.

She hangs up and so do I.

I met Evie about two years back. She tends bar at a place over on 9th and C. I was there
looking for a deadbeat who owed a guy some money. She was behind the bar of this
honky-tonk in the middle of Alphabet City. Curly red hair, freckles, twenty-two, wearing
an Elvis T-shirt and a pair of Daisy Dukes.

I come in and ask her if she knows the deadbeat. She gives me a fish eye while she digs a
couple of Lone Stars out of the cooler and bangs them down in front of a lesbian couple
necking at the bar. They snap out of it long enough to pay up, then go back to their
alternative lifestyle.

--Who's looking for him?

I peer over my right shoulder, then over my left, and back at her.

--I guess that must be me.

--What you want him for?

--He's a deadbeat and I'm gonna collect on some debts he owes.

She looks me over.

--Uh-huh. You ever seen this guy you're looking for?

--Nope.

She smiles a little to herself.

--Well, you just sit quiet and have a drink and listen to the music. If this guy comes in,
maybe I'll let you know. What're you having?

I lean over the bar to look down in the ice bin at the piles of Lone Star bottles, and
nothing else. --Guess I'll have a Lone Star.