Michael was quiet for a moment, and then his expression softened. He clasped my shoulder and said, "God is always merciful."
"What you did for him was actually quite generous," Sanya said philosophically. "Relatively speaking. He might be hurt, but he is, after all, alive. He'll have a nice, long while to reconsider his choices."
"Uh- huh," I said. "I'm a giver. Did it for his own good."
Sanya nodded gravely. "Good intentions."
Michael nodded. "Who are we to judge you?" His eyes flashed, and he asked Sanya, "Did you see the snake's face, right when Harry turned with the bat?"
Sanya smiled and started whistling as we walked through the parking lot.
We piled into the truck. "Drop me off at my place," I said. "I need to pick up a couple things. Make some phone calls."
"The duel?" Michael asked. "Harry, are you sure you don't want me to-"
"Leave it to me," I said. "You've already got something on your plate. I can handle things. I'll meet you at the airport afterward and help you find Shiro."
"If you live," Sanya said.
"Yes. Thank you, Comrade Obvious."
The Russian grinned. "Was that a quarter you gave Cassius?"
"Yeah."
"For the phone?"
"Yeah."
Michael noted, "Phone calls cost more than that now."
I slouched back and allowed myself a small smile. "Yeah. I know."
Sanya and Michael burst out laughing. Michael pounded on the steering wheel.
I didn't join them, but I enjoyed their laughter while I could. The February sun was already sinking fast toward the horizon.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Back at my apartment, I called Murphy on her personal cell phone. I used simple sentences and told her everything.
"Dear God," Murphy said. Can I summarize or what? "They can infect the city with this curse thing?"
"Looks like," I said.
"How can I help?"
"We've got to keep them from getting it into the air. They won't be on public transportation. Find out if any chartered planes are taking off between seven and eight-thirty. Helicopters too."
"Hang on," Murphy said. I heard computer keys clicking, Murphy saying something to someone, a police radio. A moment later she said, voice tense, "There's trouble."
"Yeah?"
"There are a pair of detectives heading out to arrest you. Looks like Homicide wants you for questioning. There's no warrant listed."
"Crap." I took a deep breath. "Rudolph?"
"Brownnosing rat," Murphy muttered. "Harry, they're almost to your place. You've only got a few minutes."
"Can you decoy them? Get some manpower to the airport?"
"I don't know," Murphy said. "I'm supposed to be a mile from this case. And it isn't as though I can announce that terrorists are about to use a biological weapon on the city."
"Use Rudolph," I said. "Tell him off the record that I said the Shroud is leaving town on a chartered flight from the airport. Let him take the heat for it if they don't find anything."
Murphy let out a harsh little laugh. "There are times when you can be a clever man, Harry. It takes me by surprise."
"Why, thank you."
"What else can I do?"
I told her.
"You're kidding."
"No. We may need the manpower, and SI is out of this one."
"Just when I had hope for your intelligence, too."
"You'll do it?"
"Yeah. Can't promise anything, but I'll do it. Get moving. They're less than five minutes away."
"Gone. Thank you, Murph."
I hung up the phone, opened my closet, and dug into a couple of old cardboard boxes I kept at the back until I found my old canvas duster. It was battered and torn in a couple of places, but it was clean. It didn't have the same reassuring weight as the leather duster, but it did more to hide my gun than my jacket. And it made me look cool. Well, maybe cooler, anyway.
I grabbed my things, locked up my place behind me, and got into Martin's rental car. Martin wasn't in it. Susan sat behind the wheel. "Hurry," I said. She nodded and pulled out.
A few minutes later, no one had pulled us over. "I take it Martin isn't helping."
Susan shook her head. "No. He said he had other duties that took precedence. He said that I did, too."
"What did you say?"
"That he was a narrow-minded, hidebound, anachronistic, egotistical bastard."
"No wonder he likes you."
Susan smiled a little and said, "The Fellowship is his life. He serves a cause."
"What is it to you?" I asked.
Susan remained silent for a long time as we drove across town. "How did it go?"
"We caught the impostor. He told us where the bad guys would be later tonight."
"What did you do with him?"
I told her.
She looked at me for a while and then said, "Are you all right?"
"Fine."
"You don't look fine."
"It's done."
"But are you all right?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm glad you didn't see it."
Susan asked, "Oh? Why?"
"You're a girl. Beating up bad guys is a boy thing."
"Chauvinist pig," Susan said.
"Yeah. I get it from Murphy. She's a bad influence."
We hit the first traffic sign directing us toward the stadium, and Susan asked, "Do you really think you can win?"
"Yeah. Hell, Ortega is only the third or fourth most disturbing thing I've tangled with today."
"But even if you do win, what does it change?"
"Me getting killed now. That way, I get to be killed later tonight instead."
Susan laughed. There was nothing happy in it. "You don't deserve a life like this."
I squinted my eyes and made my voice gravelly. "Deserve's got nothin'-"
"So help me God, if you quote Clint Eastwood at me, I'm wrapping this car around a telephone pole."
"Do you feel lucky, punk?" I smiled and turned my left hand palm up.
I felt her hand settle lightly on mine a moment later, and she said, "A girl's got to draw the line somewhere."
We rode the rest of the way to the stadium in silence, holding hands.
I hadn't ever been to Wrigley when it was empty. That wasn't really the point of a stadium. You went there to be among about a bajillion people and see something happen. This time, with acres and acres of unoccupied asphalt, the stadium at its center looked huge and somehow more skeletal than when it was filled with vehicles and cheering thousands. The wind sighed through the stadium, gusting, whistling, and moaning. Twilight had fallen, and the unlit street lamps cast spidery shadows over the lots. Darkness gaped in the arches and doorways of the stadium, empty as the eyes of a skull.