“I follow.”
“So day after day he runs his little print. Don’t need no repairs. Don’t need nothing extra. Just runs that machine. And then one day he got the idea, hey, why not make the press faster? Stronger? Sort of beat-up thing, beat-up and old, why not spruce it up, make it better? So he think on it and think on it. Never realize he don’t know shit about a printing press. And then one day he shuts it down, gets under there, start fooling about with its insides, and then, snap.” Sookie held up one hand and drew a finger across the knuckles. “The damn thing cuts off all his fucking fingers. Like butter. Like they was butter. See?”
Hayes nodded.
“What I’m saying is… don’t fuck with what works. Don’t do nothing extra, nothing special. Don’t try and fix shit. Even if it seems broke. Just do what you do. Just do what you do every day. And forget about everything else. Hear?”
“I do,” said Hayes. “But I still want to hear about the unions.”
Sookie shook his head. “There’s no angle for the unions for you. Nothing to play.”
“I’m not here to play. Come on now. What’s the word you have on them and the Tazz-man, Sooks?”
Sookie frowned and sighed, as though ruing the foolishness of the young. He regarded Hayes for a moment longer, then said, “Rumor has it that Tazz went underground.”
“I know that.”
“No, when I say underground, I mean really underground,” he said. He pointed down. “Down there. In the catacombs, or whatever the hell they are. You know they’re there. I hear that’s where he run.”
Hayes sat up. “Why the hell would he go there? That’s where the killer is.”
“Can’t say. But I hear he’s looking for something. Trying to figure something out. What, again, can’t say.”
“But what have you heard, old Sooks?”
Sookie turned away and sat back. His chest and shoulders sank in and his belly rose up and suddenly he was just another old man, trying to think of what was upsetting him so. He pawed at his newspaper and said, “Hm. You hear this thing in the paper about fields?”
“What? Fields?”
“Yeah. These fields them scientists are discovering.”
“No. No I have not,” said Hayes, growing irritated.
“They say they’re finding these fields, like magnetic fields, but different. They’re holding everything together. All together, even at the smallest level,” he said, and held up his thumb and forefinger to show how small. “They make everything whole. Ain’t that something? And now they’re saying they can break those fields. That they can break stuff up. And do a lot of crazy shit with what come out. Think that’s true?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think it is. And you and I know that McNaughton ain’t going to let no one talk about stuff unless they’ve already figured out how to do it. And done it themselves a couple times over.” He set the paper down and gazed out over the crowd. “I think this city’s like that.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. People come here, looking for something. Money. Future. Whatever. And instead it just breaks them up. Makes them forget what makes them them. I know. I’ve seen it rise and I’ll probably be around to see it fall, if it ever does. They lose that little field inside of them. And they give up what they got to the city. To bad men like me.” He grinned and sat up straight. Then he poked Hayes in the arm again. “You lost your field, little boy. You’re falling apart. You’re forgetting what makes you so mean and dirty, see?”
Hayes did not smile this time.
Sookie looked at him sidelong. “I’ve heard that McNaughton’s got all kinds of machines down there, underground. In the catacombs. Maybe Tazz wants to see for himself. And maybe get one of his own. Think that’s possible?”
Hayes sat back. “I think maybe,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” said Sookie. “If a man could learn how to control those things down there, whatever they are, maybe he’d be able to control the city. Maybe. Neat idea, eh?”
“Yes,” said Hayes, troubled. “Very fascinating.”
Sookie sniffed. “So. What you got for me, Princeling? What’s there that you can trade?”
Hayes shook himself and returned to the game at hand. “Merton’s buying up wharf property,” he said smoothly. “Thinking about importing, maybe.”
Sookie waved a hand. “Don’t give me garbage. Give me something good. You know I want something good.”
“John Flax died the other night,” said Hayes. “In Savron. The guards were in on it and they buried him in the basement.”
“Chicken feed. Complete chicken feed. If you want to show your face here again I suggest you pony up, son.”
“All right,” said Hayes. “You know that senator’s kid? The illegitimate one?”
“Ronald, I think his name is,” said Sookie. “Fathered on a Chinese whore not much older than a mayfly.”
“Yeah, maybe. Well, rumor has it… rumor has it he’s no longer… whole.”
“Whole?”
“Yeah,” said Hayes, and glanced down at his crotch and back up at Sookie. “Whole.”
Sookie’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. Mishandled one of Moira’s girls. Things got ugly. Leastways, that’s the rumor.”
“You get that from Moira?”
He shook his head. “She’d never tell.”
“No. I guess she wouldn’t.” Sookie nodded. “Huh. I’ve been looking to get ahold of that senator for some time now.”
“Well, there’s your foot in. Hope it does you well, Sooks.” Hayes stood to leave.
“That’s all?” said Sookie, surprised. “You don’t want me to tell someone about how you want to see Tazz?”
“Oh, no. I know Sookie’s mouth isn’t big enough to help,” said Hayes.
Sookie smiled crookedly. “That’s so.”
Hayes turned to leave when the old man’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “You be careful, Princeling,” he said. “You got a disease in you. A new one, for you. I seen it before in others. I see it in your face. You’re pulling out all the stops because you don’t plan on coming back from where you’re going. If it’s the girl that’s doing this, then fuck her and forget her, I say.”
“And if it’s more than her?”
Sookie frowned. “Then you better be damn sure about where you’re going. You hear?”
“I hear,” said Hayes. Then he bade Sookie goodbye and walked through the tables to the stairs and the rest of his chores.
Six hours and 191 dollars later Hayes washed up on the sidewalk before a grimy little all-night diner in Lynn. He had crossed the city in one night, touching those in the know and giving them the message. He was exhausted and reeling from drink and drugs, but he felt he had accomplished something. He had at last made headway.
The smile faded from his face. He had torn free of the madness and the high now drained from his body. Loneliness welled up in him, diamond-sharp and silent. He felt lost among the small, winding night streets, populated only by strangers and stragglers who were dark and silent as they passed on the other side of the road.
Hayes staggered through the front doors of the diner and dragged himself up to the bar. The place was empty save for a few. A cop on his beat and a cabbie who was nursing a watery glass of orange juice. A thickset woman who sat in the corner before an empty plate and sometimes cried noiselessly to the notice of no one. A bent woman with dishwater-blond hair pushing a broom between the tables though there seemed to be no dust. Lonely survivors, left behind by the day before.
Hayes sat with his head in his hands and tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that wished he would die, this terrible thing, this wretched empty vessel that was unable to enjoy even the dalliance of sin. He felt ill. In that moment he did not really know what he had done that night or why he had done it. If his life followed any direction right now, he guessed, it was due to nothing more than sheer momentum.
The waitress came and took his order. Minutes passed and she came back with a plate of steak and eggs. To his weary mouth they tasted only of cigarettes and retch. The policeman left and a woman came in and sat next to Hayes and ordered eggs. She opened up a newspaper and read in silence. After a while Hayes dozed over his plate.