SEVEN
PISCES
“You won’t have any trouble getting into the aquarium now,” Dick Katz said. “You can let us go.”
He and Ben Alcantarilla sat tied together in the back of the Alcantarilla Cleaning Experts truck. Valdes crouched beside them, holding the cell phone for the curator to speak into. A single overhead bulb illuminated the truck’s cargo area. The giant lurked on the edge of the light, a nightmare emerged from under the bed.
Valdes snapped the cell phone closed. “We may need help with other things.”
“Don’t you animal rights people have some fur coats to throw paint on? We at the Zoological Society give our animals the finest care! There’s no need to set them free!”
The giant snorted. “Animals? That’s not why—”
“Coeus.” Valdes shot him a warning look. “Animal Freedom Fighters believes any imprisonment of animals is wrong. As one of the animal oppressors, you have to help us liberate them.”
“And then you’ll kill us!”
“The police lied to make you more afraid, more easily manipulated according to their whims.” Valdes showed him a gentle smile. “I’m no murderer. In fact, I’m…a judge.”
“A judge? Please, Your Honor,” Alcantarilla pleaded. “Don’t hurt me. I just clean the aquarium. Sometimes I even sneak food to the penguins when no one’s looking.” His eyes darted to Coeus, whose bowed head scraped the truck’s ceiling. “I love animals,” he sobbed. “Really, I do. Don’t kill me. Please.”
“Do what I tell you,” Valdes said, “and I won’t.” He slid open the little door between the truck’s back and its cab. “Let’s head out, Lude. To the back gate.” He handed the security pass card he’d taken from Katz’s pocket through the slot. “This will raise the security gate in the parking lot.”
“Yes, sir, Mister Valdes, sir!” The chubby girl handled the card like the sole valentine she’d gotten in third grade. “I’ll get us there right away.” She tugged the “Alcantarilla Cleaning Experts” baseball cap over her greasy blonde hair and seized the steering wheel in a death grip. “You can count on me!”
***
Donovan crossed the little wooden bridge above the pond outside the Alien Stingers building and stepped inside. The lighting in here was as low as it had been at the Sea Cliffs; enough illumination to see but not enough to startle the fish. Alien Stingers was all about jellyfish, anemones and corals, set in a hall with an unworldly, almost psychedelic feel. Bright, fluorescent backdrops highlighted towers of water while translucent creatures drifted among glistening silver bubbles. The floor, walls and ceiling of the room were black, intensifying the colors and making Donovan feel like he ought to smoke a joint before going any further.
Not while I’m working. But there’s always tomorrow.
The colony of sea wasps, white against a bright red backdrop, was in its own tank, as though its deadliness required solitary confinement. The tank itself was a column of water that extended from floor to ceiling, with black rocks at the base and tendrils of green plant grasping skyward. He stared for a moment before reading the small, adjacent placard. The sea wasp, also known as a box jellyfish or boxfish, species chironex fleckeri, has a poison that attacks nerves, skin and the heart, causing excruciating pain before finally killing. Any attempt to remove the stinging tentacles makes them stickier and drives the poison deeper. He remembered the scorpions that had killed Mark Denschler and frowned.
Nasty, brutal stuff.
Here in the muffled, psychedelic room, he allowed himself free rein to think.
You wanted to help, here you are. He thought about Father Carroll’s words, and about plans he might never understand. Now what?
***
“Watch your mirror,” Valdes instructed Lude. “Let me know when the gate opens.”
She grunted, all her concentration focused on backing the truck up to the gate. The pink tip of her tongue wormed free.
“Now once we go, drive around to the front and wait there,” Valdes directed her. “Also, at the risk of sounding like a comic-book bank robber, keep the engine running. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Gotcha! I’ll be ready to go!”
Her enthusiasm kept Valdes’s smile alive for another second before he turned to Coeus. “You know what to do when the gate opens,” he said.
“I’m not stupid,” the giant growled.
Valdes hauled Katz to his feet. “You’re coming with us.”
“It’s opening!” Lude called. “The gate’s opening!”
This is it.
Valdes savored the moment before nodding to Coeus. The giant slammed both of the back doors open. Valdes caught a glimpse of a sharply-dressed man standing outside. Coeus stormed from the truck, snatched the man by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground. The man shouted in surprise. Coeus slammed him to the cement and stomped a boot down. The man managed to roll away, rising to his knees as he drew a gun. Coeus growled and lashed a backhand out, sending the man and the gun flying in different directions. The gun hit the ground, bounced once and fired. The bullet ricocheted off a metal pole that supported a huge picnic area tent.
“Donovan!” the man yelled, staggering upright.
“Coeus, shut him up.” Valdes climbed down from the truck, pushing Katz ahead of him. “We have work to do.”
Coeus leapt forward, snatched the man’s lapels and flung him like a pillow. The man flew into the picnic area, slid over a table, and crashed to the ground in a motionless heap.
***
The more he wandered, the more heightened Donovan’s sense of unreality became.
Staking out a satanic murderer in the New York Aquarium? Yes, Father, reality is an extremely flexible concept.
Rather than scaring him, the adrenaline rush had him ready, eager, to see what came next. He shook his head and smiled to himself.
Stay cool. Coming across like a hyperactive five-year-old won’t just screw your reputation, but Joann’s too. And if you ever want Fullam to ask for help again…
He stood still, eyes closed, breathing deeply, allowing his mind to calm. The nerves and anxiety quieted, but in the place where he should have been relaxed he still felt restless. He consciously loosened his muscles, but they tightened as soon as he opened his eyes. It was a sensation he’d experienced before, one whose meaning he’d never quite grasped. In this context he understood and, for an instant, the clarity of it startled him.
I’m restless because I’m in the wrong place.
He left Alien Stingers by the southern door. A picnic area sat adjacent to the building, filled with one-piece table/benches, shaded by an enormous tent. Next to it, the back gate stood open and deserted. The air was still and thick. Donovan peered around the corner. No one was there, no vehicle stood in the narrow alley leading to it. A faint waft of diesel floated within. His heart began to beat faster.
If they came and went, Fullam wouldn’t have left the gate open. If they came and are still here, where’s the truck?
He turned from the gate and scanned the area. No one was in sight, no shadows moved, but something lay on the concrete: Fullam’s gun.
Oh no.
A groan and movement in his peripheral vision made Donovan jump. He whipped the taser from his back pocket. About thirty feet away he saw a figure struggling to stand.
“Sergeant?”
“Don’t—worry about me, goddammit!” The arm Fullam used to brace himself to stand folded. He collapsed, banging against the table before he hit the ground. “Mister X! Him and the giant have got Katz!” He flung an arm outward. “Stop them!”
Donovan clutched the taser’s black pistol grip, eyes raking the area as he pulled out his radio. “Joann! Call 9-1-1! They’re here, and they’ve got Katz!”
“What?” Panic in her voice was a cattle prod in his stomach. “Who? I see the truck in front on one monitor, but—”
“Frank’s hurt! They have Katz!”
His urgency cut through to her, and he heard her prosecutor voice when she spoke. “I’m on it! 9-1-1! Be careful!”
“What’s happening?” Father Carroll’s voice chimed in. “I don’t see anything! Donovan, where are you?”
“Father, there’s nobody there? You don’t see them?”
He heard the priest scuffling around the exhibit. “No, nothing! I don’t see them!”
Dread swelled his lungs as he fought to breathe. That means— “Go help Fullam! He’s in the picnic area next to Alien Stingers!”
“What about you?”
“They’re not at the octopus or jellyfish!” He started to run. “They’ve got to be at the Shark Tank!”
***
Coeus carried Katz slung over one shoulder like a side of beef, using both hands to keep the curator’s struggles under control. Valdes let the giant precede him up the stairs inside the building, then closed and locked the door.
“Keep him quiet until I set everything up,” he instructed.
***
The Shark Tank itself is enclosed within a larger building whose front is lined with oversized picture windows. A wooden tunnel encloses these windows, darkening the space to allow better viewing of the sharks, rays and sea turtles within. On the walls inside this tunnel are a series of large illustrations describing how sharks are “our friends.” Donovan ran across the plaza, past the photo booth, followed the outside of the tunnel to one end and slammed into the fence on the far side of the building. He searched for the “Authorized Personnel Only” door but he was on the wrong end of the tunnel.
Damn!
To his left the tunnel beckoned, pitch dark and mysterious. He stuffed the radio into his pocket, shifted the taser to his right hand and put his left hand on the tunnel wall. He’d just started in when lights flickered from inside the building and illuminated the tank. He went to the window, his face illuminated a ghostly greenish-white. Startled stingrays skimmed the tank floor, kicking up clouds of silt. Sea turtles and the sawfish darted about.
The sharks circled.
Eight swam in the tank: a small but aggressive female lemon shark, a lazy sandbar shark, and the largest ones, six sand tigers. Five were females, all from eight to ten feet, with a nine-foot male to court them. Long-healed gashes and scars in the sandpaper hides evidenced his efforts. Tails propelled the sharks along their preprogrammed ovular tracks, eyes never moving, jaws never entirely closing. He pressed his face to the glass and searched for the surface beyond the water, where Katz might be. He could only make out shapes. Something glinted and slashed down. Fluid spurted over the tank, and viscous red drops trailed to the sandy floor.
Blood in the water.
The sharks broke their circle. Donovan saw a struggle on the platform. A huge shadow—the giant, Donovan realized—threw something that hit the water with a cannonball splash: Katz. His feet had been cut off.
A cold wind blew through the tunnel. Donovan’s muscles hardened. Every nerve ending screamed about the presence, the evil, now in the air. It was everything he’d studied in books and never believed could be real. Suddenly he wanted to be back in midtown pouring drinks, doing anything but standing in front of the shark tank seeing this. He beat a fist on the glass.
“No!”
Katz struggled to escape, kicking feebly. His movement swirled the blood around, casting the scent wider. The lemon shark plunged through the widening cloud of red. Two of the sand tigers dove in, one driving her snout into his stomach before twisting to bite his ribs. The other seized a leg and dragged him under. Donovan had a complete, hellish view of the frenzy. The rest of the sand tigers attacked, eyes rolling backwards as they bit. Teeth shredded cloth and flesh, turning the water murky with gory debris. Incredibly the curator still lived, thrashing his way towards the side. One of the ten-foot sand tigers sped up behind him and slammed him into the glass in front of Donovan. Donovan jumped but he didn’t—he couldn’t—tear his gaze away. Katz’s face contorted, pleading for help, and his eyes rolled back in a ghastly parody of the attacking fish. Another shark came, and another. They seized his remaining limbs in their jaws and pulled. The last bubbles burst from the curator’s lungs as they tore him to pieces.
“Donovan!”
Father Carroll half-carried, half-dragged Fullam along the tunnel. The sergeant’s hair and clothing were mussed but he clutched his Glock with determination. The priest stared at the scene in the tank and groaned.
“They got him.” Donovan pushed off the window. The cruelty he’d seen ignited an anger he’d never experienced, one that burned away his fear. “But they’re still inside.”
He led them to the tunnel’s other end, where a wooden fence with a door prevented them from going further. Donovan couldn’t get the vision of Katz’s hell out of his head, and he let it feed his anger. He took a step back and threw his weight against the wooden slats. They splintered and slammed inwards. The “Authorized Personnel Only” door was five feet beyond it, leading into the tank’s building. This door, however, was heavier, and it took the combined effort of Donovan and Father Carroll to break it down. Fullam took the lead, limping up the flight of stairs they found. Donovan noticed his arm hung oddly from his shoulder but he managed to keep his gun ready.
The stairs led up to a platform that ringed about sixty percent of the tank. A narrow walkway bordered the rest. Fish-stink overpowered them, permeating the white walls and staining the rubber-matted floor. Buckets of food were stacked neatly along the platform rear, in a glass-fronted refrigerator next to steel shelves of SCUBA, cleaning and maintenance equipment. Above the water, ropes and pulleys led to a skylight that, presumably, allowed new sharks to be lowered directly into the tank. The skylight stood partway open in deference to the night’s warmth. Near the edge of the platform, in the middle of a fresh pool of blood, red wax shimmered while it cooled to solid. At the platform’s far end, a door stood open, revealing more stairs that led to the roof.
Fullam let out a yell of warning. Donovan dove forward, skidding through a puddle of splashed water as the giant swung an arm the size of a construction crane. He ducked and hammered punches into the giant’s side and exposed kidney. It was like hitting a cinder block, and about as effective at moving one. The giant swept his arm back. His elbow caught Donovan on the side of the head and spun him around. Blackness swirled at the edge of his vision. Behind him he heard Father Carroll suck back his fright. Blue sparks arced and the giant bellowed. He grabbed the priest’s arm and swung him around so hard Father Carroll’s feet left the ground and sailed above the tank’s churning surface. The taser went flying across the platform as the giant let go, sending Father Carroll crashing into an equipment rack.
“Nice try, priest,” the giant sneered
“Coeus!” A new voice came from the doorway, commanding the giant. “Let’s go!”
Donovan shook his head clear in time to see Coeus stomp towards the far door; the lights seemed to get brighter as he got further away. Fullam got to his knees and tried to aim with his awkward arm. The giant stopped, seized a rack that must have weighed over six hundred pounds, and lifted it above his head. Equipment, valves and flippers bounced everywhere. Donovan dove at Fullam and knocked him flat as the steel rack flew above them. With a deafening screech of metal against concrete it clattered down the stairs they’d just come up.
Father Carroll scrambled to his feet and lunged at the giant. Coeus laughed, an odd, staccato sound, and seized the priest’s shirtfront. Father Carroll beat at the enormous hands ineffectively. The giant marched towards the edge of the tank, eyes wide with anticipation. The priest tottered back, hands waving wildly. One foot slipped off the platform—
Donovan crab-scuttled across the slick floor, through blood and fish guts and the cooling wax, and slammed an uppercut between Coeus’ legs. The giant howled and staggered back. Father Carroll wrestled free from his grip but staggered above the blood-frothed water. Coeus retreated with a grunt. Father Carroll yelled as he lost his balance.
“Father!”
Donovan grabbed him by the belt buckle. Father Carroll grabbed his wrist. His momentum almost carried them both into the tank before Donovan heaved backwards, dragging them onto the platform.
“Come on!” Fullam barked, already back on his feet.
Coeus saw him coming and shot his arms out, hauling two more racks down across the doorway. Fullam pulled up short and reached to pull one aside.
“Don’t touch it!” Donovan shouted.
From around the corner of the doorway, the killer’s hand pressed Father Carroll’s taser against the steel. Fullam saw and jerked his hand back. The killer jammed the taser, still on, between the doorframe and one of the racks.
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 8th Street subway station.
He grabbed the pipe and followed.
The giant crossed above Surf Avenue. Below, oblivious, units from the 60th 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…