Fullam bounced around the doorway looking for a way through, but the sizzling of the wet, electrified metal stopped him. Father Carroll sat dazed by a pool of Dick Katz’s blood. Donovan eyed the ropes over the tank. Several led directly to the skylight, including the closest. His last thought before moving was,
that can’t be more than six feet away
.
Fullam saw him at the last second. “What are you—?”
Donovan took a running start and launched himself over the water. He caught a line with his whole body.
“Are you fucking
nuts?!
”
Donovan didn’t hear. His momentum spun him as sweat greased his hands and he slipped a foot. Below, the feeding sharks turned the water to chum. He clutched the line tighter and stopped dropping. Light years away he heard shouts. They were nothing; his existence had narrowed to the rope, the white walls, and his strength. He looked down. Out of the water came a ten foot sand tiger, Katz’s torso in her jaws. The curator was dead—
He
has
to be!
—but the sight froze Donovan’s heart. The shark jackknifed back into the tank. A mushroom of water and vapor marked the spot. Somebody screamed, maybe it was him, but he shut his ears to it. The skylight was so close…
He flopped onto the rooftop, trembling and winded. An unintelligible grunt came above him. Donovan scrambled to one side. A gigantic boot slammed down where his head had been. Before he could move the boot skipped across the gravel and kicked him hard in the ribs. Donovan gasped and fought the stars from his vision. He kept moving, knowing to stop was death. He pulled himself around the corner of the window. Coeus loomed on the other side, light from below casting satanic shadows across his face. Donovan saw the dark-haired man climb down over the edge of the building. The giant barred pursuit, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Coeus!” The killer’s voice drifted up from the ground. “Forget him! Go!”
Donovan crawled to his feet, keeping the opening between them. Coeus feinted and stepped back. Donovan blinked. In that instant he lost sight of the giant. It was as though Coeus had merged with the night.
***
Lock the door behind you and keep the taser handy.
Donovan’s words echoed in Joann’s mind as she searched the screens fruitlessly for several minutes. A flash here, a glimmer there taunted her until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She picked up the taser, wondering if this was how the guards had felt when all hell broke loose at the Dinkins Shelter
.
Down the short hall was the door leading to the aquarium entrance, to the lobby where the ticket booth sat bracketed by glass doors. She swallowed and gently turned the knob. Scarlet “exit” signs reflected off the glass of the lobby’s reef exhibit. Outside, the white running lights of the Coney Island Cyclone strobed. Within the reef tank, fish darted among colorful, jagged coral. The kaleidoscope effect made her pause, adjusting her eyes before she got dizzy. She looked down and, horrified, saw her shadow extend across the floor—the light from the short hall framed her perfectly in the doorway.
“Target…” She spun to yank the door closed. It was on a hydraulic arm, and after an eternity she felt the latch click. She leaned against it, panting like she’d run a wind sprint. “Jesus, be careful!”
“Sound advice.”
The voice startled her. A dark-haired man in a black suit stood a few feet away. In one hand he held a gym bag, in the other a hand axe whose edge glistened wetly. “Good evening, my dear.” It was the voice she’d heard described by so many participants in the Dinkins Shelter riot, as soothing as chamomile tea and honey.
Charming Man!
The words spurred her to action. Joann drove the taser at him in an uppercut but the man was obviously expecting something. He dropped the bag and the axe and clamped his hands on her wrists. Surprised, Joann barely managed to stop him from breaking her arm. He pulled her to him, his face a pleasant mask covering something more sinister than murder.
“Sweet dreams.”
He wrenched her arm about and jabbed the taser into her stomach. Voltage shot through her nervous system. Joann’s muscles stuttered and trembled, and she collapsed to the carpet. Her eyes twitched, unable to focus on anything but the bloody axe inches from her face…
Nothingness swallowed her.
***
A slim steel pipe propped open one of the skylight windows. Donovan grabbed it for a weapon and scanned the rooftop. Empty. He ran to the edge of the roof. The darkness below was absolute, as empty as the ocean at night.
Movement at his eye level snapped his head up. Running across the top the Sea Cliffs building, silhouetted against the Coney Island nimbus, was Coeus. Donovan scrambled to follow, taking a long running start before jumping across the gap between the Shark Tank building and the Sea Cliffs. He didn’t quite make it. His stomach crashed into the edge of the Cliffs building, and he almost lost his weapon scrambling to gain a foothold. He swung a knee over and pulled himself up in time to see Coeus climb over the aquarium fence and drop to the Boardwalk below. Clutching the pipe, Donovan bolted after him. He climbed the fence, dropped to the Boardwalk—
Coeus towered above him. Donovan dove as the giant snatched at his head. He came to his feet swinging the pipe at Coeus’s knees. The giant howled, staggering but remaining upright. Donovan pivoted in for another swing. Coeus seized him by the scruff of the neck. Donovan tried to curl his body. The monstrous fist pounded him, lifting him off the ground. He gagged but refused to throw up all over the giant’s shoes. Coeus stepped back and dropped him. Donovan lurched upright and jabbed two quick lefts into the giant’s nose. They were good, solid punches that made the giant reel. He snatched the steel pipe and swiped it viciously. Coeus stumbled to his knees. Donovan stepped up for a home-run swing at the enormous, misshapen head. The giant caught Donovan’s arm, grabbed his belt and hoisted him up. Donovan twisted and writhed in his grip. Coeus growled and started to bend Donovan’s body backwards. Just then, finally, sirens began to wail along Surf Avenue. The giant hesitated. With a frustrated snort he hurled Donovan across the Boardwalk. Donovan belly-flopped on the beach and rolled against an overflowing garbage can. Grains of sand skid-burned into his skin. By the time he’d untangled himself, Coeus had pounded almost to the West 8
th
Street subway station.
He grabbed the pipe and followed.
The giant crossed above Surf Avenue. Below, oblivious, units from the 60
th
Precinct, ambulances, even a pair of fire trucks raced through the streets and blasted through the security gate barring the aquarium parking lot. Sirens screamed above the music and laughter of Coney Island. Flashing lights tinted everything as red as the water of the shark tank. Donovan held the pipe and sprinted up the walkway.
The token clerk sat in her crime-proof booth, eyes shocked wide. “The giant!” Donovan shouted. “Which way?”
A train screeched along the tracks above their heads, slowing to a stop. The clerk’s mouth worked but no sound came out. She brought one arm up and pointed.
“Go down and get some of those cops up here! Now!”
He vaulted the turnstile. Breath hissed from his throat as he pounded up the stairs. He stuck his head out and scanned the bottom one for the giant. No sign. He ran to the top and braced himself in the entranceway. The waiting train had cheerful yellow and orange seats, and all of its lights worked. Red bulbs were next to every door, lit to show the doors were still open. Donovan began to run down the platform, scanning—
A black-sleeved I-beam shot out from one door, swiping at his head. Donovan jerked out of the way and stumbled to the ground. Coeus lunged from the train. The doors slid shut, and the train moved forward. Its interior lights highlighted the massive silhouette. Donovan swallowed. He scrambled to his feet and backed to an open section on the platform, where he could fully swing the pipe.
Where the hell are the cops?
The giant sprang forward. Donovan smacked the steel across his cheek. Coeus snarled and swung crazily. Donovan danced back. He risked a glance behind him—he was running out of platform, and the only escape was across of both sets of tracks and two electrified third rails. He leapt down onto the tracks, quickly spun and clubbed the giant’s tree-trunk ankles. His wrists flinched at the shock of hitting bone.
A few hundred yards away, on the opposite tracks, came a Manhattan-bound train.
The giant crouched low, grabbing for him. Donovan ducked and swung again, this time striking elbow.
“Ow! You hit my funny bone!” His words, spoken in the rasping growl, shocked Donovan. He stared, puzzled, at this childish reaction. The moment passed, and fresh rage coursed through the giant. “I’m gonna kill you!”
He jumped down. The train drew nearer. Donovan made sure to keep its lights at his back. The giant faltered; even in his psychotic state he resisted the bright light. Donovan picked his way over the humming third rails. The train rumbled closer, air-horn blaring. Donovan blocked out the sonic blast and waved the pipe, taunting. The giant took the bait and came for him. Donovan saw the train lights reflecting nearer in the frighteningly pale face. He swung the pipe at the giant’s ribs. The giant snatched it. They played a brief tug-of-war before Donovan relinquished his grip. He plunged at the monstrous midsection and hammered body blows with both fists. The giant kneed Donovan in the chest. Donovan tottered backwards.
The conductor stomped his emergency brake. Sparks showered.
Coeus was mindless of everything but Donovan’s death. The pipe was a toothpick in his ham-fist. “You can’t beat me! I’m bigger and stronger!”
Donovan felt the ground shake. “But I’m smarter.”
Squealing train wheels drowned the giant’s response. He swept the pipe at Donovan’s head. Donovan feinted and leapt back to the empty tracks. The pipe struck the third rail. The giant screamed as the electricity shot up his nervous system. Every sinew crackled, bending even his might. Roast pork smoked the air. His feet shuffled and his hair began to smolder. Donovan covered his head with his arms. The train rattled and groaned. Its headlights blinked as the power level fluctuated but the momentum was not to be denied. The giant just managed to release the pipe as the front of the train smashed into him.
Or did it?
As Donovan watched, incredulously, the train picked up speed. In a few moments it had disappeared into the night, leaving only the faintest echo of the staccato laugh:
Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha…
EIGHT
FALLOUT
A
fter the aquarium, working the bar at Polaris was a surreal experience.
Donovan stayed on autopilot throughout the next night. Mindlessly he poured cocktails while navigating memories of the horror he’d seen, the anger it had inspired at the perpetrator, and the semi-guilty thrill of his actions in response to both. What he’d seen, what he’d done, stirred something within him that made both school and bartending unbearably boring and unutterably reassuring.
Reality is flexible.
He wasn’t closing that night, so it was a pleasant surprise to see Joann enter as his shift was ending.
“I have had a bad day and I wish to get drunk,” she said. “Would you care to join me?”
Images of Katz being torn apart on the other side of the shark tank glass filled his mind’s eye. “Absolutely.”
***
The night was warm with a breeze chasing humidity from the narrow streets of Greenwich Village. Donovan parked on Seventh Avenue South, and they went into Sushi Samba. The bright tropical colors of the rooftop bar, the greens and oranges and reds, lightened the room but not the mood. They grabbed the last two seats at the end of the bar and settled in with a round of cocktails; Chopin martini, up, for her, a concoction with strawberry vodka called a
nina fresa
for him. He sipped it.
Good thing I’m secure enough in my masculinity to order paper umbrella drinks
. “I’m assuming the mayor’s press conference went the way you expected this afternoon?”
“Did you get to see any of it?”
“We had the news on at the bar at one point, but no sound.”
“It was quite a show.” She took a long swallow. “As expected, he singled out Raphael by name as one of the main causes why the Dinkins case was going nowhere. His poll numbers have been slipping, and Raphael is a probable opponent next election. Raphael had no choice but to pull me this afternoon and give it to Jesse.”
“He gave no credence to what happened at the aquarium?”
“Privately, yes. When we talked, I got the impression he would have been willing to give me more slack. But publicly…” She raised her glass. “Here’s to the mayor being the recipient of a nice, long taser shock.”
“Ow.” He rested a hand on her leg. “I’m sorry, Jo.”
“The thing is,” she said, putting her hand on his and holding it in place, “I’m
sure
that was Charming Man who tasered me. He sort of looked like the partial picture we have of him, but it’s more than that. His voice, the way he approached me, his manner—I know it was him. I
know
it.”
“That’s a pretty big ‘sort of’.”
She nodded and sipped more vodka.
“But if it’s true, it means Charming Man and Mister X
are
the same person, and the Dinkins Shelter case
is
part of the zodiac murders case.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do anything about it now.”
“You can’t do a little investigating on your own? I’ll help you. I’ve done pretty well with Sergeant Fullam so far.”
She regarded him with a worldly smile. “It doesn’t work like that. I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to follow orders. Raphael will find another high profile case for me, I’m sure. And speaking of Frank Fullam…” She dug into her purse and produced a folded envelope. “I had to go see him earlier. He gave me this to give to you.”
“What is it?”
“Consulting fee. After everything last night, he figured you had it coming.”
Donovan opened the envelope and saw it was a folded sheaf of papers with a check paper-clipped to it. The amount was not huge, but it was a nice, unexpected bonus.