[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
walk whistling, thinking, "Be casual, man. Be casual."
3
And, Simultaneously at Gotham Bus Terminal, Bowery Division
The bus puked diesel fumes as Batman, carrying a large paper bag, led Mandy out of the terminal with
her baby against her shoulder. The little girl had awakened only once, and only for a short time, thanks
to Mandy breast-feeding her.
The few people in the terminal, mostly bums and winos using the seats for a safer, slightly more
comfortable place to sleep the night away, watched the big man in the bat suit and cloak with a mixture
of disinterest and disbelief.
One bum, dressed in a heavy overcoat as if it were the dead of winter, watched them go out the door
and onto the curb. He leaned over to the bum sleeping in the chair next to him, said, as if the guy could
hear, "It Halloween or what?"
The bum who had spoken listened a moment for an answer. When none was forthcoming, he closed
his eyes and leaned back and dozed immediately, his mouth open. A fly circled his mouth and landed
on his bottom lip, crawled inside, over some stained teeth, then crawled out as if stunned, and flew off.
Outside, Batman gave Mandy a bus ticket. "I could set up an air flight."
"No," Mandy said. "I want time to think. This is great. Really."
"I hope you get your life back."
"I'll try. . . . Thanks for everything . . . the talk. The food, diapers . . ." She smiled, laughed softly.
"What?" Batman said.
"I was just thinking, you taking me into that all-night convenience store, buying the diapers and stuff.
You, Batman, carrying Kerrie while I picked stuff out . . . People looking at you the way they did."
He smiled, reached out a gloved hand, and gently touched the sleeping baby on Mandy's shoulder.
"Take care."
"Let's roll." It was the bus driver. He stood on the curb next to the bus, the door open at his back. He
began calling out destinations. Mandy's was among them.
"This is it, then," Mandy said, and she turned to tell Batman good-bye.
He was gone. It was as if he had dissolved into the night. The diapers and the food were by her feet
in the bag. She squatted carefully, so as not to disturb the baby, scooped up the bag with her free arm,
looked about again.
Still no sign of him. She watched the alleyway where he had parked his car.
An instant later, the Batmobile, black and sleek with tinted glass, pulled out of the alley next to the
terminal and rolled onto the street and hummed away. Mandy said softly to its taillights, "Thanks."
She got on the bus.
Rolling through the Bowery like a low-flying missile, the Batmobile cruised. Down back streets and
front streets, past shabby buildings and the stink of backed-up sewers and overturned rat- and rock-
infested garbage; past dogs and cats so thin their ribs showed through their sides like venetian blinds;
past old women with faces the color of soot, pushing shopping carts stuffed with other people's discards,
talking to themselves; past stumbling old men with vomit-stained shirts; past tenements where the
jobless lived on government checks and husbands punched out wives for entertainment; past hookers
standing in shadows dark as their hopes.
Rolling over into Manchester, a working-class neighborhood with gang-ruled subdivisions---gangs by
the names of the Ravens, the Turks, the Desperados, the Raging Bulls, and the Brownshirts, gangs so
mean and organized they made the Leather Boys look like Boy Scouts.
On past the Van Dyke Gallery, the Gotham Racetrack, and the Manchester Viaduct. Moving on into
Coventry Gardens.
Then, high up and stuck to the night, the signal: a bat confined in amber light, shining strong and
bright, all the way from deep midtown.
. . . turning west now, toward the source of the light.
4
Manowack Reservation, 4:00 A.M.
The Thunderbird zoomed past the Barrett Cadillac billboard and around the curve. It turned off the
main stretch and onto a red dirt road that twisted up to the used car lot and the Pyramid of Cars.
It entered the parking lot full throttle, made savage turns and spins in the center of the lot, accelerated
and whirled amid rusted cars and around the dozer used for pushing them into line, about the car crusher
and finally the pyramid itself, tempting fate as it did, coming perilously close to the cliff's drop-off on
the pyramid's far side, so close the Barrett billboard seemed a target the Thunderbird might dive for.
Round and round, then behind the dozer again and finally the car crusher. Only this time, the
Thunderbird did not reappear. A naked man staggered out from behind the crusher. He fell on his
hands and knees and vomited. The vomit pooled on the ground and caught the moonlight and glowed
as if filled with highly polished metal flakes. . . .
A few minutes later, the naked man climbed atop the Pyramid of Cars. At its pinnacle he had fastened
an old bucket seat on a swivel. The seat's leather was ripped and gone black as rotted pecans; the swivel [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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walk whistling, thinking, "Be casual, man. Be casual."
3
And, Simultaneously at Gotham Bus Terminal, Bowery Division
The bus puked diesel fumes as Batman, carrying a large paper bag, led Mandy out of the terminal with
her baby against her shoulder. The little girl had awakened only once, and only for a short time, thanks
to Mandy breast-feeding her.
The few people in the terminal, mostly bums and winos using the seats for a safer, slightly more
comfortable place to sleep the night away, watched the big man in the bat suit and cloak with a mixture
of disinterest and disbelief.
One bum, dressed in a heavy overcoat as if it were the dead of winter, watched them go out the door
and onto the curb. He leaned over to the bum sleeping in the chair next to him, said, as if the guy could
hear, "It Halloween or what?"
The bum who had spoken listened a moment for an answer. When none was forthcoming, he closed
his eyes and leaned back and dozed immediately, his mouth open. A fly circled his mouth and landed
on his bottom lip, crawled inside, over some stained teeth, then crawled out as if stunned, and flew off.
Outside, Batman gave Mandy a bus ticket. "I could set up an air flight."
"No," Mandy said. "I want time to think. This is great. Really."
"I hope you get your life back."
"I'll try. . . . Thanks for everything . . . the talk. The food, diapers . . ." She smiled, laughed softly.
"What?" Batman said.
"I was just thinking, you taking me into that all-night convenience store, buying the diapers and stuff.
You, Batman, carrying Kerrie while I picked stuff out . . . People looking at you the way they did."
He smiled, reached out a gloved hand, and gently touched the sleeping baby on Mandy's shoulder.
"Take care."
"Let's roll." It was the bus driver. He stood on the curb next to the bus, the door open at his back. He
began calling out destinations. Mandy's was among them.
"This is it, then," Mandy said, and she turned to tell Batman good-bye.
He was gone. It was as if he had dissolved into the night. The diapers and the food were by her feet
in the bag. She squatted carefully, so as not to disturb the baby, scooped up the bag with her free arm,
looked about again.
Still no sign of him. She watched the alleyway where he had parked his car.
An instant later, the Batmobile, black and sleek with tinted glass, pulled out of the alley next to the
terminal and rolled onto the street and hummed away. Mandy said softly to its taillights, "Thanks."
She got on the bus.
Rolling through the Bowery like a low-flying missile, the Batmobile cruised. Down back streets and
front streets, past shabby buildings and the stink of backed-up sewers and overturned rat- and rock-
infested garbage; past dogs and cats so thin their ribs showed through their sides like venetian blinds;
past old women with faces the color of soot, pushing shopping carts stuffed with other people's discards,
talking to themselves; past stumbling old men with vomit-stained shirts; past tenements where the
jobless lived on government checks and husbands punched out wives for entertainment; past hookers
standing in shadows dark as their hopes.
Rolling over into Manchester, a working-class neighborhood with gang-ruled subdivisions---gangs by
the names of the Ravens, the Turks, the Desperados, the Raging Bulls, and the Brownshirts, gangs so
mean and organized they made the Leather Boys look like Boy Scouts.
On past the Van Dyke Gallery, the Gotham Racetrack, and the Manchester Viaduct. Moving on into
Coventry Gardens.
Then, high up and stuck to the night, the signal: a bat confined in amber light, shining strong and
bright, all the way from deep midtown.
. . . turning west now, toward the source of the light.
4
Manowack Reservation, 4:00 A.M.
The Thunderbird zoomed past the Barrett Cadillac billboard and around the curve. It turned off the
main stretch and onto a red dirt road that twisted up to the used car lot and the Pyramid of Cars.
It entered the parking lot full throttle, made savage turns and spins in the center of the lot, accelerated
and whirled amid rusted cars and around the dozer used for pushing them into line, about the car crusher
and finally the pyramid itself, tempting fate as it did, coming perilously close to the cliff's drop-off on
the pyramid's far side, so close the Barrett billboard seemed a target the Thunderbird might dive for.
Round and round, then behind the dozer again and finally the car crusher. Only this time, the
Thunderbird did not reappear. A naked man staggered out from behind the crusher. He fell on his
hands and knees and vomited. The vomit pooled on the ground and caught the moonlight and glowed
as if filled with highly polished metal flakes. . . .
A few minutes later, the naked man climbed atop the Pyramid of Cars. At its pinnacle he had fastened
an old bucket seat on a swivel. The seat's leather was ripped and gone black as rotted pecans; the swivel [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]