2 cobra 22

 I wonder if Our Lord ever feels dispirited that He came to save us, and we are busy trying to destroy ourselves? 

Chapter 22 New York, New York, so bad I went there Twice.

 

 

Poor Pulk was confused, but bless the child, she did as she was told.

It took a bit of lock-picking but we got through the hidden door, down a passageway, and...

“A subway station?” said Pulk, startled.[1]

“It was a private line for special guests,” I said. “I came upon its existence years ago, and I went exploring, and filed it away for future reference. This is the future reference. This way.”  I led her through the service tunnel to just beyond the platform at Grand Central station.

“I have a season ticket and I got you one as well,” I said. I gave it to her.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Central Park,” I said. “I arranged with my contact to give us a lift out, at six o’clock. We’re running close to it.”

“I’m sorry I needed a rest,” said Pulk.

“You’re hors de combat, or in other words, wounded in action,” I said. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll be there on time.

I pulled her into a run as this loudly humming silver behemoth hurtled down from the sky. The door opened, we leaped in, and sprawled as Jim was off again.

“He’oow,” said the big Sealpoint Siamese cat.

“Ah, meet Oscar,” I said. “He’s uplifted, so yes, he was saying ‘hello.’”

“Hello, Oscar,” said Pulk, putting out a hand. Oscar put his paw to her palm, his version of shaking hands.

“I ask Oscar how loathsome my passengers are,” said Jim. “If he talks to you, I can relax, you’re not likely to try to hijack me.”

“We wouldn’t!” said Pulk, shocked.

“Listen, kid, I call this bird the ‘Condor.’ She’s big and she feeds on carrion. Most of my passengers, I’d happily throw out of the airlock. But I take the cred from whoever can pay; she’s like most ladies, expensive to upkeep.”

“Jim’s a bit cynical,” I said.

“And you ain’t, killer?” said Jim.

“Oh, I overcame some of it when I got married,” I said.

“Now that’s an expense which is too much to pay for any woman,” said Jim. “Becoming soft. Ain’t no woman in the world worth it.”

“You don’t know my Neon Flower,” I said.

“Huh, you retiring then?”

“Apart from the odd pro bono work, yes,” I said. “I’m going to be a school teacher.”

Jim laughed so much I feared for our safety; but we hit space, and I was busy coping with Pulk, who had never been weightless, and was not enjoying her first experience.

It wasn’t for long, however, and we hurtled back down to the Arena.

Pulk looked around as I led her to where I’d left my car, horrified.

“Do... can people really live here?” she asked.

“Can and do; and in many cases, have no other choice,” I said. “That’s why I’m working to develop it. But for the good of the residents, not to make money. I actually own this land,” I added. It had been part of my negotiations with Tarquin; and I had bought the entire of The Rubble. It meant there wouldn’t be any quibbles over whatever I did here.

 

oOoOo

 

Willow took one look at Pulk, and hugged her.

“Oh, Carnation! Did he?” she asked.

“Does everyone know?” sighed Pulk.

“Some of us who have seen how the wicked world wags can make a guess,” said Willow, grimly. “I didn’t say anything at the time, in the hopes he was just an overly harsh disciplinarian.”

“I think he forced my mother to her death,” said Pulk, in a hard little voice.

She spilled the whole to Willow, who cuddled the weeping bundle she turned into.

“I’ll be going back to New York in a more regular fashion,” I said. “You’d better discuss a new name; Carnation isn’t very usual.”

“My mother’s name was Ruth,” said Pulk. “I always thought it was classy and timeless, though Pop said it was real Puritan.”

“Ruth, then,” said Willow. “Now then, are you going to go back to do a final year at Junior High to get yourself back on your feet, and go in as the schoolmaster’s sister? You can’t really go into a boys’ dormitory.”

“I... yes, I was happy there, once Mr. Tiber sorted me out,” said Pulk... Ruth. If she was my kid sister, I needed to think of her as Ruth. Ruth Tiber.

Willow would arrange all the documents, birth certificate upwards. I had parents to hang on the e-meritus degree which she had sorted, so Macauley and Lucilla [née Miles ] Tiber would go on Ruth’s birth certificate too. Of course, Keith Barrymore, the literature teacher, might figure it out from her essay style, but I thought him the only one capable. And he was amenable to a little straight talking. Now Ruth needed to meet Hana, and they could at least share experiences and have some peer group self-help.

Puss had already helped herself to Ruth’s lap and was making her presence felt with her purrs.

Stroking cats was always a most excellent therapy.

And Willow would give her a morning after pill, just in case.

 

oOoOo

 

I had to make sure no trail ended back in Seattle, so I did not take a plane out of SeaTac. I took the El to Portland instead, flew local to Denver, changing personae at each change, and went from the Mile-High city by plane to JFK Airport as Michael Gamboll, minor treasury agent, who had an appointment with whichever level lickspittle to the secretary Ashton J. Pulk happened to be.

I got to kick my heels when I arrived, of course, to impress on me how important Ashton J. Pulk was.

I despise people like that.

But then, I despised him already for what he done to his wife and little girl.

When I was ushered in at last, and waited for the secretary to depart, I sat down without waiting for an invitation.

“Now, what’s all this that couldn’t wait?” he demanded. “I’m a busy man, and I have my own problems.”

It was national news that Carnation Pulk had been abducted by someone whose rather blurred picture showed him talking amicably with the girl.

I smiled, put my briefcase on the desk, and opened it, standing as I did so.

“Carnation says ‘hello,’ I said. Then I shot him.

It was a standard sort of pistol, with a silencer, and I left it on the desk.  It had his fingerprints on it, because I had managed to lift them from the report book the poor child had kept with her. I would strip of those second skin gloves and dispose of them.

I shut the briefcase and walked out, nodding to the secretary.

“He appears to be dead tired,” I said, and left the building.

A smooth sanction. The simple ones are usually the best.

I took the subway, found a toilet in which to change my face, burned my gloves, and donned another pair; and have good luck finding me with those. They had Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s fingerprints on them.

As I was wearing Abraham Lincoln’s face now, but with green hair electrostatically lifted in a mohawk [the most modern feature of follicolour^TM] I felt all-American, in the cowboy jacket I had changed into. My suit trousers were denim when turned inside out, and my shirt had a similar technology to follicolour^TM which Dr. Elizabeth Barnard had invented for me, and went from office-boy blue and white pinstripe to green and magenta background with a grinning skull.

People avoided me for some reason. Can’t imagine why.

I made another stop, went to a sleek blond haircut, a plain dark blue shirt, and carried my cowboy jacket slung over my shoulder.

And I took the train to Seattle because there’s less security. So, even with the Maglev technology on part of the line, it takes 24 hours; I had some sleep to catch up with, and I took a sleeper. I did let Willow know that all was good.

“One night in Tokyo,” she said.

It was our security check.

“One night worth all my love,” I replied.

“Can I play with madness?” she asked.

“Give me Ed ‘til I’m dead,” I said.

She heaved a sigh of relief.

“Take care,” she said.

“I will,” I assured her.

I changed face once more, got off at Spokane, and took a small local flight into SeaTak.  And it may be unduly cautious, but an importantish man in the wheels of government whose daughter disappears and is then killed might have people actually taking notice.

 

Ruth cried, and laughed, and hugged me.

“And he’s dead? Truly?” she demanded.

“People I sanction stay dead,” I told her.

“And you said it was from me?”

“I did.”

“I wonder what the last thing was to go through his head after you said that,” she said, viciously.

“A .38 slug of titanium,” I said, with more accuracy than poesy. “I wasn’t sure if he had any headware or subdermal armour, so I decided to make sure with armour piercing.”

“He did have headware,” said Ruth, “And I think it was armoured.”

“I should have asked you,” I said. “You were a little distraught. Though at least you managed to talk about it.”

“Why should I not? Since Mommy died you’re the only grownup I ever trusted,” she said, simply.

I suppose it was partly because she did not have a relationship of any sort, to speak of, with her father, that she felt no need to protect him out of false loyalty; and partly that it was the first time, and done on the spur of the moment by a man who craved more sex than he was getting, and had been tempted into a crime of passion too loathsome to really come under crimes of passion, even for the French, who tend to ignore Republic of Europe law where ‘l’amour’ is concerned. Normally a pervert will groom his – or occasionally, her – little victim to accept that they must be acquiescent, and that it was their little secret. When Ashton Pulk belatedly told his daughter it was their little secret he was several steps of grooming too late. Because though he was technically a paedophile, he was looking on her as a woman who was available and under his control, like his poor wife. I suspect if she had had a proper autopsy, old scars of thrashing would have been found on her, too.

“You’re going to have to decide whether to turn up so you can claim your inheritance, or stay hidden,” I said.

She frowned.

“Do you have any contacts that could do it on my behalf?” she asked.

“I’ll phone Tarquin,” I said.

 

oOoOo

 

“I am shocked,” said Tarquin, when I helped Ruth to stumble through her story. “I need a written deposition, Miss Pulk, and I can explain that you have been taken to a safe house, having complained to a social worker you happened to meet at school. Rick, did you take any photographs?”

“I did,” I said. “I’m sorry, Ruth, I didn’t tell you, but I thought you would be glad of it if you needed to sue, and did not want him sanctioned.”

“Mr. Tiber thinks of everything,” said Ruth. “I... I would rather they were not used....”

“Having copies in my possession means I can put on pressure,” said Tarquin. “No connection between you and his untimely death?”

“Not unless his office is bugged and heard me say ‘Carnation says hello,’” I said.

He sighed.

“I will have to check.”

“If so, thrown the fictitious social worker to the wolves, acting independently,” I said.

“Would you like me to teach you how to strip and clean an Ingram?” said Tarquin, with heavy irony.

I laughed.

“Sorry, of course you were well ahead of me,” I said.

We left that in Tarquin’s capable hands.

 

oOoOo

 

Naturally we had follicolour^TM installed for Ruth, and she became dark-haired to go to school as Miss Tiber.

The head was not pleased when I rang him and asked to include her.

“Why didn’t you enrol her before?” he barked.

“Keep your hair on, Gunny,” I said. “Because before, she hadn’t been sexually assaulted in what should have been a safe place by someone she should have been able to trust; and so she wants to change schools.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “I apologise; I’ll sort out all the paperwork.”

“I’ll be glad to have an older friend for my Goddaughter, Miss Smith, as well,” I said.

“I was amazed that an old stick like Tarquin had a daughter stashed away,” said Griffiths.

“I don’t intend to gossip about how he acquired a daughter,” I said, firmly.

So, that was that, we had everything sorted out, and I was expecting a nice, restful time, merely dealing with a few misfits, a nice easy term for Ruth and Hana to find themselves and make friends, and no blood pressure worries for Willow.

It shows that one should never assume anything, and that some of us are the sort of people who are found by trouble no matter how hard we try.

It was meant to be a nice, quiet term.

 

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[1] Yes, there really is an abandoned station for exalted visitors beneath the Waldorf-Astoria.