It was just a trick.
Gus’s reverie was interrupted by footfalls in the tunnels. He went to the door and saw artificial light coming around the corner.
Fet came first, Goodweather behind him. Gus had seen Fet a month or two before, but the doctor he had not seen in quite some time. Goodweather looked the worst he’d ever seen him.
They had never seen Gus’s mother before, never even knew he had her here. Fet saw her first, moving to the bars. Gus’s mother’s helmet tracked him. Gus explained the situation to them—how he had it all under control, how she was not a threat to him, his homies, or the mission.
“Holy Christ,” said the big exterminator. “Since when?”
“Long time now,” answered Gus. “I just don’t like to talk about it.”
Fet moved laterally, watching her helmet follow him. “She can’t see though?”
“No.”
“The helmet works? Blocking out the Master?”
Gus nodded. “I think so. Plus, she doesn’t even know where she is… it’s a triangulation thing. They need sight and sound and something inside the brain to home in on you. I keep one fully blocked all the time—her ears. Faceplate blocks her sight. It’s her vampire brain and her sense of smell spotting you now.”
“What are you feeding her?” asked Fet.
Gus shrugged. The answer was obvious.
Goodweather spoke up then. “Why? Why do you keep her?”
Gus looked at him. “I guess that’s still none of your fucking business, doctor…”
“She’s gone. That thing in there—that’s not your mother.”
“You really think I don’t know that?”
Goodweather said, “There’s no reason to keep her otherwise. You need to release her. Now.”
“I don’t need to do anything. This is my decision. My
“Not anymore she isn’t. My son, if I find that he has been turned, I will release him. I will cut him down myself, without a moment’s hesitation.”
“Well, this ain’t your son. Or any of your business.”
Gus couldn’t see Goodweather’s eyes clearly in the dim room. Last time they had met, Gus could tell that he had been hyped on speed. The good doctor was self-medicating then, and he thought now, too.
Gus turned away from him, back to Fet, cutting Goodweather out of the conversation. “How was your vacation,
“Ah. Funny. Very relaxing. No, it was a wild goose chase, but with an interesting ending. How’s the street battle?”
“I’m taking it to them as best I can. Keeping the pressure up. Program Anarchy, you know? Agent Sabotage, reporting for duty, every damn night. Burned down four vamp lairs last week. Blew up a building the week before. Never knew what hit ’em. Guerilla warfare and dirty fucking tricks. Fight the power,
“We need it. Any time something explodes in the city, or a thick plume of smoke or dust rises up into the rain, it has to register with people that there are still some in the city who are fighting back. And it’s another thing for the vampires to have to explain away.” Fet motioned to Goodweather. “Eph brought down an entire hospital building a day ago. Detonated oxygen tanks.”
Gus turned to him. “What were you looking for in the hospital?” he asked, letting the doc know that he knew his dirty little secret. Fet was a fighter, a killer like Gus. Goodweather was something more complicated, and simplicity was what they needed now. Gus didn’t trust him. Turning back to Fet, he said, “You remember El Angel de Plata?”
“Of course,” said Fet. “The old wrestler.”
“The Silver Angel.” Gus kissed his thumb and saluted the wrestler’s memory with a fist. “So—call me the Silver Ninja. Got moves that would make your head spin so hard, all your hair would fall out. Two other homeboys with me, we’re on a tear like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Silver Ninja. I like it.”
“Vampire assassin. I’m legendary. And I ain’t gonna rest until I got all their heads on spikes running the length of Broadway.”
“They’re still hanging corpses from street signs. They would love to have yours.”
“And yours. They think they’re badass, but I’m ten times as dangerous as any bloodsucker.
Fet smiled and shook Gus’s hand. “I wish we had a dozen more like you.”
Gus waved that off. “You get a dozen of me, we’d end up killing off each other.”
Gus led them back out of the tunnels to the basement of Buell Hall, where Fet and Goodweather had left the Coleman cooler. He then led them back underground to Low Memorial Library, then up through its administrative offices to the roof. A cool, dark afternoon-night with no rain, only an ominously black cloud of fog rolling in off the Hudson.
Fet popped open the top of the cooler, revealing two magnificent headless tunas sloshing around in what was left of the ice from the ship’s hold.
“Hungry?” asked Fet.
