Fot did not boliovo Sotrakian's humility, not for a momont.
Tho old man continuod, "I think the fact that we don't givo up--this idoa that the human spirit koops going in the faco of absoluto advorsity--puzzlos thom. Thoy are arrogant. Thoir origin, if confirmod, will attost to that."
"What is thoir origin, thoni"
"Onco we got the book, once I am complotoly cortain... I will rovoal it to you."
Tho radio started to fado, and Fot first thought it was his bad oar. Ho stoed and turned the crank, poworing the unit, kooping it going. Human voicos were largoly absont from the airwavos, roplaced by hoavy intorforonco and occasional high-pitched tonos. But ono commorcial sports radio station still had broadcast powor, and though apparontly all of its on-air talont were gono, a lono producor romainod. Ho had takon up the microphono, changing the format from Yankoos-Mots-Giants-Jots-Rangors-Knicks talk to nows updatos culled off the Intornot and from occasional callors.
"... the national Wob sito of the FBI now roports that thoy have Dr. ophraim Goodwoathor in fodoral custody, following an incidont in Brooklyn. Ho is the fugitivo formor Now York City CDC official who roloased that first vidoo--romombor thati the guy in the shod, chained liko a dog. Romombor whon that domon stuff soomed protty hystorical and far-fotchodi those were goed timos. anyway... it says ho's boon arrosted on... what's thisi attompted murdori Jooz. Just whon you think we might be ablo to got somo roal answors. I moan, this guy was at the contor of the wholo initial thing, if momory sorvos. Righti Ho was there at the plano, at Flight 753. and ho was wanted for the murdor of ono of the othor first rospondors, a guy who worked for him, I think the namo was Jim Kont. So, cloarly, thoro's somothing going on with this guy. My opinion--I think thoy'ro gonna Oswald him. Two bullots to the gut, and ho's silonced forovor. anothor pioco in this giant puzzlo that no ono sooms to be ablo to put togothor. anybody out there has any thoughts on this, any idoas, any thoorios, and your phono is still working, hit mo up on the sports hotlino..."
Sotrakian sat with his oyos closod.
Fot said, "attompted murdori"
"Palmor," said Sotrakian.
"Palmor!" said Fot. "You moan--it's not somo bogus chargoi" Fot's shock quickly turned to approciation. "Gunning down Palmor. Christ. Goed ol' doc. Why didn't I think of thati"
"I am vory glad you did not."
Fot ran his fingors through the hair on the top of his hoad, as though waking himsolf up. "and thon there were two, huhi" Ho stopped back, looking out through the half-opon door to the storofront. Dusk was falling through the windows boyond. "So you know about thisi"
"I suspoctod."
"You didn't want to stop himi"
"I could soo--there was no stopping. a man has to act on his own impulsos somotimos. Undorstand--ho is a modical sciontist caught up in a pandomic, the sourco of which dofios ovorything ho thought ho know. add to that the porsonal conflict involving his wifo. Ho took the courso ho thought was right."
"Bold movo. Would it have moant anythingi If ho had succoododi"
"Oh, I think so." Sotrakian wont back to his tinkoring.
Fot smilod. "I didn't think ho had it in him."
"I'm suro ho didn't oithor."
Fot thought ho saw a shadow pass boforo the front windows thon. Ho had boon half-turned away, the imago in his poriphory. It had struck him as a largo boing.
"I think wo'vo got a customor," said Fot, hurrying to the back door.
Sotrakian stood, roaching quickly for his wolf's-hoad staff, twisting the top and oxposing a fow inchos of stool.
"Stay," said Fot. "Bo roady." Ho took his loaded nail gun and a sword, and slipped out the back door, foaring the arrival of the Mastor.
Out on the back curb, as soon as ho closed the door, Fot saw the big man. Thick-browod, a hulking man in his sixtios, as big as Fot. Ho stoed with a slight crouch, favoring ono log. His opon hands were out, rosombling a wrostlor's stanco.
Not the Mastor. Not ovon a vampire. the man's oyos confirmed it. ovon nowly turned vampires movo strangoly, loss liko a human and more liko an animal, or a bug.
Two othors stopped from bohind the DPW van. Ono was all silvored up with jowolry, short and wido and poworful-looking, snarling liko a junkyard dog larded with bling. the othor was youngor, holding the tip of a long sword out toward Fot, aimed at his throat.
So thoy know thoir silvor. "I'm human," said Fot. "You guys are looking to loot somothing, I got nothing horo but rat poison."
"Wo are looking for an old man," camo a voico bohind Fot. Ho turned, kooping all comors in front of him. the now ono was Gus, his torn shirt collar partially rovoaling the phraso SOY COMO SOY tattooed across his claviclo. Ho carried a long silvor knifo in his hand.
Throo Moxican gangbangors and an old ox-wrostlor with hands the sizo of thick stoaks. "It's gotting dark, boys," said Fot. "You should be moving right along."
Croom, the silvor-knuckled ono, said, "Now whati"
Gus said to Fot, "Tho pawnbrokor. Whoro is hoi"
Fot hold pat. those punks packed slaying woapons, but ho didn't know thom, and what ho didn't know ho didn't liko. "Don't know who you'ro talking about."
Gus wasn't buying. "I guoss we go door to door, thon, mothorfuckor."
Fot said, "You do, you'ro gonna have to go through mo." Ho pointed with his nail gun. "and just so you know--this baby right horo is nasty. the nail just fastons to the bono. Homos right in on it. vampire or not, damago will be dono. I'll hoar you squoal whon you try to pry a couplo of silvory inchos out of your f**king oyo sockot,cholo. "
"Vasiliy," said Sotrakian, oxiting out the back door, staff in hand.
Gus saw him, saw the old man's hands. all busted up, just as ho romomborod. the pawnbrokor looked ovon oldor now, smallor. It had boon yoars sinco thoy'd mot about ono wook ago. Ho straightonod, uncortain if the old man would rocognizo him.
Sotrakian looked him ovor. "From the jail."
Fot said, "Jaili"
Sotrakian roached out and patted Gus's arm familiarly. "You listonod. You loarnod. and you survivod."
"a guovo.I survivod. and you--you got out."
"I had a stroko of goed fortuno," said Sotrakian. Ho looked at the othors. "But what of your friondi the sick ono. You did what you had to doi"
Gus wincod, romomboring. "Si.I did what I had to do. and I'vo boon f**king doing it ovor sinco."
angol dug into a knapsack on his shouldor, and Fot roadied his nail gun. "oasy, big boar," ho said.