"No offense, Abe, but you've been predicting an economic holocaust. You know, bank failures, runaway inflation, and so on. Remember?"
"And in Texas it almost happened back in—"
"This is different."
Abe stared at him over the rim of his coffee cup. "This Glaeken person's not a meshuggener, then? You really think this is going to happen?"
"Yeah," Jack said. "I really do."
Abe was silent a moment, then, "For some reason, I believe it too. Maybe because I've been preparing for this eventuality most of my adult life. Maybe because I'd feel like such a schlemiel if I'd been preparing for such a thing for so long and it never happened. But you know what, Jack? Now that the time has come, it's not such a vindication. Happy I'm not."
"You still have that hideaway?"
"Of course."
Abe, the world's dourest pessimist, had been preparing for The Collapse Of Civilization since the mid-seventies. Years ago he'd told Jack about his refuge in rural Pennsylvania, an overgrown farm with an underground bunker and deep stocks of water, weapons, and freeze-dried food. He'd said Jack was welcome there when the Big Crash came. He'd even told Jack where it was—something he'd never revealed to anyone else, even his own daughter.
"Go there, Abe. Get out of the city and hole yourself up there. Today, if possible."
"Today? Today I can't go. Tomorrow maybe."
"Not 'maybe,' Abe. If not today, then tomorrow for sure. For sure."
"You're really worried, aren't you. How bad we talking about, Jack?"
"Bad like you've never dreamed." Jack stopped and grinned. "Jeez, Abe. I'm around you half an hour and I start sounding like you."
"That's because you're part chameleon. But how bad is bad like I never dreamed? I dream pretty bad."
"Whatever you've dreamed, trust me: this'll be worse."
Scenes from the bloody carnage around the Sheep Meadow hole flashed before his eyes. And now there were more holes. Even if the predators from the holes remained limited to the two species he'd seen last night, the city would devolve into a nightmare. But Glaeken was saying that the things from the holes would get progressively bigger and more vicious each night.
Jack's mind shied away from envisioning the holocaust.
"But I'd like to ask a favor."
"Don't even ask," Abe said. "You show up here first thing tomorrow morning with Gia and that darling little girl of hers and we'll all head for the hills together."
"Thanks, Abe," feeling a burst of warmth for this dumpy gunrunner. "That means a lot. But I won't be coming along."
"I should go and you should stay?"
"There's a chance I can do something about the situation."
"Ah. The necklaces you mentioned. I remember the one you had. With the pre-Vedic inscriptions."
"Right. I need to get copies made. I was thinking about Walt Duran. What do you think?"
"Walt's as good as you could ask. Ashtarker in the world of engraving. And he could use the work."
"Really? What happened?"
"Desktop publishing is what happened. Putting honest counterfeiters out of business."
Jack had heard about that. High-definition scanners and color laser printers were doing in minutes what used to take old-time counterfeiters months of grueling, painstaking labor at a cost of ruined eyesight and a chronic stiff neck.
Walt was a stand-up guy, a hard worker. If he'd put his talents to work in the jewelry industry, he'd probably have made more money in the long run and wouldn't have had to do that stretch in the joint. But even so, Jack was glad to hear he'd fallen on hard times. That meant he could be goosed into high gear by the lure of a bonus for early delivery.
Because Walt was as slow as he was good.
"Okay," Abe said. "What's the plan?"
Jack choked down the rest of his coffee and stood up.
"Here's my advice. Gas up that van of yours and garage it for the night. Pack up your stuff this afternoon and get back here before nightfall. Spend the night in your basement here. No matter what you hear upstairs, don't come up to have a look. Stay down there. I'll have Gia and Vicky here right after sunrise. Sound okay?"
Abe frowned. "Sounds like you think things will be going downhill fast."
"Downhill?" Jack said as he headed for the door. "I think they're going to run off a cliff."
Okay, Jack thought as he drove his black-on-white Corvair convertible toward the East Side. Walt's on the job. Now all I've got to do is convince Gia that she's got to leave town.
Walt had been glad for the work. Ecstatic, actually. He'd been reduced to living in a tiny tenement studio in Hell's Kitchen. Jack had shown him the drawings, told him he wanted two copies on a one-to-one scale, and given him a down payment so he could go out and get the raw materials. Delivery time was a problem, though. Walt had said no way could he get it done by Monday morning. But when Jack promised a ten-thousand-dollar bonus, Walt reconsidered. Maybe he could have them by then.
Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised along. Getting those necklaces out of Walt by Monday morning would be a breeze compared to getting Gia into Abe's van tomorrow. And he didn't have all that much time to persuade her. The afternoon was already on the wane. But if Glaeken was right about tonight being worse that last night, maybe he wouldn't have to convince her. He could let the things from the hole do it.
He swung up toward the Park to see how the clean-up was going. Jack was amazed at the transformation. The barricades were still up to keep cars off Central Park South, but the corpses were gone, the wrecked vehicles had been cleared, the pavements were washed clean. Car were restricted, but not pedestrians. A lot of people were about on the sidewalks and the fringe of the Park, the curious of all ages, come to see the notorious Sheep Meadow hole and check out the stories of bloody carnage they'd heard on the news.
Jack checked his watch. He had a little time to spare so he double-parked and jogged toward the Sheep Meadow to get another look at the hole.
The crowd was thick there. Everyone seemed to be watching something going on down by the hole. Over their heads he could see cranes dipping up and down. He wove through the press until he got to a decent-sized tree. He shimmied up the trunk to where he could see the Sheep Meadow.
The southern half of the hole was covered with some sort of steel mesh. Work crews were in the process of screening over the rest of the opening. Jack watched for a moment, then slid back to the ground.
"How's it going?" someone said.
Jack turned and saw a well-dressed young couple standing nearby with a baby carriage. The guy was smiling warily.
"Better than half done," Jack said.
The woman sighed and squeezed her husband's biceps with both hands and looked at Jack with uneasy doe eyes.
"Do you think those things will come back?"
"You can count on it," Jack said.
"Will the net work?"
Jack shrugged. "Maybe. But this isn't the only hole."
"I know," the guy said, nodding. "But this is the one that counts for us." He put an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'm sure we'll be all right," he told her.
Jack looked down at the baby in the stroller. Eighteen months at the most, all in pink, sandy-haired, grinning up at him.
"You got a cellar where you live?" Jack said, staring into those two innocent blue eyes. "Someplace with no windows?"
"Uh, yes we do. There's a storage area down by the boiler room where—"
"Move in there before sunset. Bring everything you'll need until morning. Don't go upstairs until sunrise."
He tore his eyes away from the child and hurried off.