"It's not going to be easy," said C.C. Bagabond looked at her concernedly. "What have we got, ten days?"
Cordelia nodded. "Barely."
"I'm gonna need every minute."
"You've got it. I'm going to give you someone as a liaison with me who will get you whatever you want, whenever you need it. Somebody I trust, and so do you."
"Who's that?" said Bagabond with evident suspicion. The muscles of her gaunt face tightened. Her brown eyes narrowed. Cordelia took a deep breath. "Uncle Jack," she said. The expression on Bagabond's face was not pleasant. "Why?" she said. C.C. glanced aside at her. "Why not me?"
"You can help C.C. as much as you want," said Cordelia hastily. "But I need Uncle Jack to be involved with all this. He's competent and he's levelheaded and he's trustworthy. I'm in over my head," she said candidly. "I need all the help I can scrounge."
"Jack know about this?" said Bagabond.
Cordelia hesitated. "Well, I been waitin' to tell 'im." She realized the Cajun was starting to creep through more as she got flustered. She took a mental grip on herself. " I been leavin' messages on his phone machine. He hasn't been answering."
Bagabond leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. A minute went by. It seemed a long time. The Greek waiter came by to take their orders. C.C. told him to come back shortly.
When she opened her eyes again, Bagabond shook her head as though clearing it. " I don't know when the boy's going to answer your calls."
"What do you mean?" Cordelia felt a listing feeling as though her plans were papers sliding off a carefully leveled table.
"It's all broken up," said Bagabond. "Jack's a ways offprobably about New York Bay, I'd judge. He's getting his rocks off duking it out with the kind of critters you don't see in the Castle Clinton Aquarium. As much raw meat as he's getting,"-she smiled humorlessly-"I couldn't say whether he's going to get home for dinner anytime soon."
"Quelle damnation," Cordelia muttered. "In any case," she said to C.C., "call me at the office tomorrow morning and I'll have something lined out. Either Uncle Jack or someone else."
"Make it someone else," said Bagabond.
Cordelia smiled placatingly. The waiter returned and she ordered the fruit cup.
– and marked C.C. down on the roster of benefit performers in bold, black letters.
"Doggonit," Cordelia said aloud to herself, "I'm good." Then she hesitated and glanced back at the copy of the Village Voice lying on the desk. A small events notice in microscopic type was circled in red.
She scrawled one additional name on the board.
Friday
Merde.
No two ways about it. That's what he felt like as he dragged into his home in the early morning. There was nothing welcome about entering the shambles of his living room. Jack stumbled through the debris. Ahead of him he saw the shattered door to his bedroom. His hand still hurt. But now, so did his teeth. His head, his hands-it seemed to him that every bone in his body ached.
"Enter,"he swore as he saw the blinking red light of his answering machine. He almost managed to ignore the singleeyed demon; then he bent and slapped the playback switch.
Three of the messages were from his supervisor. Jack knew he'd better call back later in the morning, or he'd have no job to return to. He liked living down here, and he enjoyed the privilege of gainful employment down in the darkness.
The other eight messages were from Cordelia. They were not very informative, but neither did they sound like emergencies. Cordelia kept saying it was important for Jack to get back to her, but the tone didn't indicate mortal peril.
Jack rewound the message tape and turned off the machine, then went into the kitchen. He surveyed the refrigerator and didn't bother opening it. He knew what was inside. More, he simply wasn't hungry. He had some idea of what he had devoured over the past day and night and didn't want to think about it. Blind, albino gar. You wouldn't find that on the menu at any Cajun restaurant in New York.
He went into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed. There was no question of undressing. Jack only moved sufficiently to wind the antique quilt around himself. He was out.
The phone by the bed awoke him at eight A.M. precisely. He knew this because the red LED numerals on the clock burned themselves into his retinas when he finally opened his eyes and reached over to stop the shrilling that was scraping his inner ear into shreds.
"Mmmppk. Yeah?"
"Uncle Jack?"
"Yeah-uh, Cordie?" He came a good deal more awake. "It's me, Uncle Jack. I'm sorry if I woke you. I've been tryin' to get you for better den a day."
He yawned and adjusted the receiver so the pillow would hold it snug. "'S okay, Cordie. I got to call the boss and tell him I'm down with something and been too sick to phone the last couple days."
Cordelia sounded alarmed. "You really sick?"
Jack yawned again. Remembered what he could have said. "Pink of health. Just went off on a bender, that's all."
"Bagabond said-"
"Bagabond?"
"Yes." Cordelia seemed to be picking her words carefully. " I asked her to look for you. She said you were out in the bay, uh, killing things."
"That about describes it," said Jack. "Something wrong?"
He waited a few seconds before answering. Took a breath. "Stress, Cordie. That's all. I needed to unwind."
She didn't sound wholly convinced but finally said, "Whatever you say, Uncle Jack. Say, listen, do you mind if I come by tonight after work and bring along a friend?"
"Who?" Jack said guardedly.
"C. C."
Jack thought about her, remembered visiting her in Tachyon's clinic. He owned everything she'd ever recorded, albums and tapes both, shelved out in the next room. "I guess so," he said. "It'll give me an excuse to clean up the house."
"No need," said Cordelia.
He laughed. "Oh, yeah, dere is a need."
"Five-thirty okay?"
"Should be. By the way," he said, "what's this all about?" She was candid. "I need your help, Uncle Jack." She filled him in on how things were proceeding with logistics for the benefit. "I'm snowed," she said. "I cannot do everything."
"I don' know much about putting on this kind of event."
"You know rock 'n' roll," she said. "Better, you can handle just about anything that happens."
Almost anything, he thought. Tachyon's face floated in front of him. Michael's. "Flatterer," he said.
"Verite. "
A few moments went by. "One thing I got to ask," said Jack. "We haven't been talkin' much…"
"I know," she said. "I know. For now I'm just not thinking much 'bout it."
"No resolution, then?"
"Not yet."
"Thanks for bein' honest."
More seconds went by. It seemed as though Cordelia wanted to say something, but finally all she said was, "Okay, thanks then, Uncle Jack. I'll be by with C.C. at half past five. `Bye."
Jack listened to the silence until the circuit disconnected. Then he turned over and dialed his supervisor at the Transit Department. He wouldn't have to concentrate to sound convincingly sick.
When he opened the door to Cordelia and C.C. late in the afternoon, Jack realized that cleaning up his living room probably had been the easier part of the day. Cordelia's eyes seemed to squint as she looked at him, as though she were actually seeing two images and trying to choose the one she would perceive.
"Uncle Jack," she said. There was a stiff instant as she appeared to debate whether to give him a hug.
The woman standing beside her defused the moment. "Jack!" said C.C. "It's good to see you again." She stepped past Cordelia into the living room, giving Jack a firm hug and a warm kiss on the lips. "You know something?" she said. "Even though I didn't know what was going on for a long time, it really meant a lot, your coming to visit me in the clinic. Anything ever happens to you, you know I'll be there every visiting period, okay?" She grinned.