Nightjack Read Online Free PDF Page A

help, you might drive us into a river.”
    “I’m not going to drive us into—”
    “Off a bridge. Our father who art insatiable. We could pile up on the parkway and kill entire families on vacation, don’t you realize that? Is that what you want? Children mutilated, infants—”
    “Hey,” Hayden said, “Mister Jolly, how about if you shut the hell up for now, huh?”
    Pace looked in the rearview again and saw the vague outline of Pia’s face in the wavering drift and swell of silver. She turned her head as she changed lanes and he saw a slight tinge of pink that might be her cheek. He reached out and touched it. Her skin was downy and cool. No one said anything, not even Pia.
    She made good time easing through the city, tires screeching on occasion. She knew how to drive in bad weather and in city traffic, boxed in by taxis and delivery trucks. The rain tapered off.
    It took another forty-five minutes to ease down to the lower east side, an area of Alphabet City that hadn’t been hit by neighborhood revitalization efforts yet. She parked in front of the kind of block they’d be doing a Broadway musical about in a few years. The quick-witted, loveable pimp and the brazen, courageous methadone addict. The ventriloquist priest who sang about tax exemption and junk bonds with his look-alike puppet.
    Dr. Brandt grabbed him by the wrist. “Will?”
    “Yeah. I’m all right.”
    “You look pale.”
    “My head is sort of spinning.”
    “Take your medication.”
    “No!” Hayden shouted. “We need him back.”
    “Not like that. Not when he gets bad.”
    “That’s exactly what we need. You know that. It’s why you’re here.”
    “I’ve made a mistake,” she said.
    “Maybe so, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.” Hayden opened the Chevy door. “Let’s go.”
    The building stood flanked by shooting galleries, meth and heroin addicts leaning against brick walls and bumping into lampposts. Two blocks west were museums, art galleries, and apartments going for the mid-seven figures, but right here was squatters’ row.
    Walking slowly with determination, Dr. Brandt appeared set in her ways now, as if she’d thrown in with the losing team but wanted to see it through to the end. Pia led them up the front steps of a brownstone with most of its windows boarded.
    Dr. Brandt asked, “So is this where you’ve been staying the last four months?”
    “Most of the time,” Pia said. “Here or other places like it.” A note of pride chimed in her voice. This life had hardened her for a specific purpose. Pace wondered what it might be, and what role he was supposed to play toward fulfilling it.
    He stepped up against Dr. Brandt and felt the brush of her breasts, and something in his chest ignited once more. He wondered, Am I in love?
    Pia unlocked the front door and Pace saw the hint of pink once more. He couldn’t help himself and had to touch it again. Pia remained silent and Dr. Brandt let out a slightly mournful sigh.
    Here he was, stuck between two women—one utterly, perfectly beautiful, and the other without a face.
    Sometimes the symbols and metaphors of your life grew so large and wide that you couldn’t avoid them no matter how nutty you were.
    Pia hit the lights and the hideous sound of scurrying erupted all around them. Pace couldn’t tell if they were rats or roaches, but his stomach tightened. A cereal box on the kitchen table toppled over. Dr. Brandt let out a gasp and took a small step backward directly into Pace’s arms. He held her for a moment and she didn’t fight, didn’t respond. He let her go.
    The furnishings had been appropriated from gutters and alleys. A legless couch propped up on bricks, a scarred kitchen table, and hundreds of water-stained books which Faust must’ve ferreted out of trash bins. A gorgeous leather chair with a tear directly in the center of its back, as if the guy sitting there had been run through with a cutlass.
    On the table were Hayden’s pads