But pretty fucking bad. I've known the People's Guardian couldn't go on forever. But I thought I could slip away from the city and remain anonymous. Get on with my life. Now they have my name.
I'm wheeling two suitcases, a backpack holding my most important worldly possessions. Some of my miniatures. The diary. Some photos. Clothes (my size, hard to find). My hammer, my wonderful Japanese razor saw. A few other things.
Lucky, lucky.
Just a half hour ago. Was back home, Chelsea, thinking of my next visit to a Shopper, planning to scald, when I got, imagine this, a call.
"Vernon, listen." The crackly-voiced kid from Crafts 4 Everyone.
"What's wrong?" I asked him. Because something was wrong.
"Listen. The police were just here."
"Police?"
"Asking about things you bought. They found some notes with your name on them. I didn't say anything."
The kid was lying. There was no reason there'd be any notes with my name on them. He sold me out.
"They didn't find your last name. But."
But, yeah.
"Thanks." I hung up and began to pack. Had to leave fast. The kid at the crafts store would die and painfully. He was a Shopper, after all. I'd thought he was a friend. But there's no time to worry about that now.
I finished packing, rigged some surprises for Red and the Shoppers who'd be there soon enough.
Now, head down, slumping to hide the sack-of-bones height, I'm heading downtown with two big suitcases like a tourist from Finland who's just arrived at the Port Authority and needs a hostel room. Appropriately I find such a place now, well, a cheap hotel, not hostel, and I step inside. Inquire about rates and, when the desk clerk steps away, I go to the bell captain and check my bags, telling him my flight's not till this evening. He cares about the five dollars more than the explanation, and I leave again, carrying only my backpack.
In twenty minutes I'm at my destination, an apartment not dissimilar to mine, which makes me sad. My womb in Chelsea, my fish, my Toy Room. All gone. Everything ruined. My whole life... Red did it, of course. I shiver with fury. At least anybody slipping into the Toy Room will get a lovely surprise. I hope Red's the first one in.
Now I stare up at the dirty white facade for a moment, then look around. No one to notice me. I hit the intercom button.
The superintendent was in his basement unit, taking care of his own plumbing for a change, a toilet issue, when he heard a thud upstairs.
And then a scrabbling sound.
Sal wasn't sure what a scrabble actually sounded like--a big crab from a horror film maybe, somebody on all fours scurrying away from a spider. Who knew? But that was the word that came to mind. He returned to fixing the chain to the ball cock and got it snapped into place. Just as he did, there was another thud, more of a crash of things falling, and then voices. Loud.
He rose, wiped his hands and walked to the open back window. The voices, from the apartment directly above his, were more or less distinct.
"I don't... I don't... You did that, you did what you're telling me, Vernon?"
"I had to. Please. We have to go now."
"Are you... Vernon! Listen to what you're saying!"
Alicia Morgan, the occupant of 1D, was crying. She was one of the better tenants. Quiet, paid on time. Timid. Something fragile about her. Was this her boyfriend? Sal had never seen her with anybody. What was the fight about? he wondered. She didn't seem like the sort who would fight with anyone.
Fragile...
The man--"Vernon" apparently--said in a shaky voice, "I shared things with you! Private things! I've never done that with anybody."
"Not this! You didn't tell me you'd done this, you hurt people!"
"Does it matter?" The man's voice wasn't much lower than hers. It sounded weird. But he could hear the anger in it. "It's for a good cause."
"Vernon, Jesus... Of course, it matters. How can you--?"