Part 17 (1/2)
”These killings, easy enough to say they're all about color, but we both know that's not what's going on.”
”We do, huh?”
”You know d.a.m.n well I'm telling the truth. The UBG hasn't got anybody who can walk through walls, and neither does the Brotherhood. It's not lobos, either. There's a hunter loose in this joint, and he's working the place like a wolf turned loose in a corral of sheep. A concrete corral, with chained-up sheep.”
”You know who he is?”
”I don't even know what he is ... but he's not one of us.”
”He's not white?”
”He's not human. Not anymore, anyway. He's a trophy-taker, and his tribe is keeping score. Under their system, you kill a killer, you get credit for all his kills.”
”I'd say you was crazy,” Nyati replied, ”except I saw some of the bodies myself. What the h.e.l.l they want with spines and skulls anyway?”
”I don't know. It's their mark, the one they always leave behind. Like fang-and-claw marks you see in the jungle. A signature kill.”
”How you figure on stopping something like that? Specially in here, with no guns?”
”Guns wouldn't do it. If there's a way, it's gotta be slice, not shoot. But maybe there is a way. I say 'maybe' because the odds don't look good. But to even give us that much of a chance, you gotta work with me.”
”I only work with my own kind.”
”Look, I'm not doing the 'some of my best friends are black' number, and there's no time for that cred c.r.a.p anyway. If Butch hadn't gotten word to you, why would you be up on this roof right now?
”All you need to know-I guess I should say believe-is that, in this war, I am your own kind. Long as that ... thing's around here, the human race is the only race that counts.
”It's always some kind of 'us against them,' right? Black against white, outlaws against citizens. But there's one thing I learned a long time ago-no warrior is stronger than War. Until whatever that thing is goes down, we're all the same color, just different shades.”
”So what are those people-”
”That's just it. They're not 'people' at all. So when I say it's us against them, that's just what I mean.”
Cross pulled a pack of cigarettes from his s.h.i.+rt pocket. Without offering a smoke to Nyati, he fired it up, cupping the end with both hands.
”You know why I'm here,” he said. ”And I know you got that word from people you trust. So do whatever you have to do, talk it over with whoever you need to. Make a decision, and get word to me.”
”How?”
”Friday, at noon mess, I'm gonna step into No Man's Land. Alone. If you're with me, you step into it, too. Make sure your men stand down. I'll do the same. And then I'll tell you how we can pull it off. Maybe pull it off. I'll tell you face to face, right there.”
Nyati looked at Cross. ”You ain't short on b.a.l.l.s, I'll give you that.”
Cross slowly turned around and walked away, not looking back. The three black men were deep in conversation as Cross slipped over the rooftop and lowered himself back into his cell.
As he pulled the bars back into their original position and coated the broken spots with a black substance that gave off a faint hissing sound, a long, thin shadow shape-s.h.i.+fted on the roof.
The words ”No Man's Land” vibrated. Then, from inside one of the bars Cross had just sealed: ”Stay....”
Two corners of torn playing cards trembled in the light breeze: the ace of hearts, and the jack of clubs.
”I THINK you're crazy,” Tiger told Cross on Wednesday.
”You saying it won't work?”
”I'm saying we don't know. Nothing like what you're talking about has ever been tried.”
”Just because Wanda can't find it in her computers? I've been thinking about everything you told me. Doing time is good for that, thinking about the past. Roman gladiators that don't know how to farm ... Maybe we're dealing with some kind of ... presence. That's the best way I can put it. All these kills, all over the world, for so many years-it can't be some mob doing that.”
”Because?”
”Because no gang survives that long without takeover attempts. Maybe there's a palace coup, like there was in Liberia. Maybe it's a street shooting, like outside Stark's Steakhouse in New York. Maybe it's spreading the word that someone's in custody ... and cooperating. A million different ways. And n.o.body's ever tried any of them? Ever?
”And even if any gang could survive for centuries-h.e.l.l, it would have to be a lot longer than that-what's in it for them now, all of a sudden?” Cross continued to answer Tiger's one-word question. ”There's never been a ransom demand, never been a warn-off note; they never try to occupy territory. There's no money. There's only this ... slaughter they do. And even that, it just doesn't feel like revenge.”
”So what does it feel like?”
Cross held Tiger's dark-amber eyes, speaking very softly. ”It feels like pain. It feels like when someone gets killed-I don't mean die of old age, or in combat-I mean ...”
His voice stopped. He breathed slowly through his nose, trying to self-center, knowing he wouldn't get another chance.
”Okay, this may sound crazy to you, but it's all I've got. I'm not sure, but ... maybe when someone gets killed for someone else's fun, maybe their pain doesn't die with them.”
”That's nice poetry. What are we supposed to do with it?”
”Look, I don't think it matters where they come from. All we know is that there's certain work they do. And whatever that is, it always ends up in enough spine-ripped hanging corpses to make its own forest.”
”So you couldn't get close to-?”
”It's not something I'd want to get close to. But I know something that might take one of them down, keep him nice and quiet until you can come and get him. And I got the perfect d.a.m.n place to do it. Right here. Now, all you have to do is listen,” he whispered.
Tiger remained silent for several minutes. Her only response was ”Cross ...”
”Can you get it for me? Yes or no?”
”Sure. It's no big deal. We got real small ones now.”
”I need three of them.”
”Three?! What could you possibly-?”
”Don't worry about it. Just remember: three of them, fast as you can, okay?”
”Okay,” Tiger agreed, her eyes sorrowful.
”What're you so sad about?” Cross asked her. ”No matter if I'm right or wrong, you'll be outside the blast zone.”
”Are all men stupid?” Tiger said. Her face softened for a brief second, then hardened into a warrior's mask.
She turned to leave, then felt Cross's hand on her shoulder.