– Terry’s new fish are into something he doesn’t know about. How unlike him. What is it?

– They have a new high.

– A new high?

I lick my lips.

– They’re shooting the Vyrus. Someone found a way to, I don’t know, preserve it outside a body, and the new fish are shooting it.

– Oh.

He closes his eyes.

– That again.

I blink.

– Excuse me?

He opens his eyes.

– Nevermind, Simon.

– Did you say, again?

He takes his hands from behind his head, draws his knees up and rests his forearms on them.

– There is nothing new under the sun, Simon. It’s all as it has always been. There is only one change, and the world is still waiting for it. The world is an egg, waiting to be born, waiting for Enclave to usher it across. Until then, it’s all the same old shit.

I lean forward.

– Sure, sure, you’ll transmute yourself into ectoplasm and lead your crusade and we’ll all be turned into pixie dust and join the cosmos. But you said, again.

– Did I? Funny. Well, as I also said before, senility at last.

– Daniel.

– Simon. Enough. I’m tired. You said you wanted a name.

– I do.

– The Enclave who brought you up, did you recognize him?

– Man, you all look the same to me. All just a bunch of cadavers waiting to happen. You’re the only one I can tell apart. And that’s just because you look more dead than the rest.

He laughs, lips peeling up over gray gums, mouth open wide, barking laughter.

– More dead. You know better, Simon. I’m more alive than you, more alive than anyone else with the Vyrus. Certainly more alive than the sleepwalkers out there on the streets with no idea of the universe’s true nature.

I shift, unfolding my legs.

– A name?

He nods.

– A name. Yes. The Enclave who brought you up, he used to be with the Hood. He’ll give you a name.

– Good enough.

I push myself up off the floor.

– Simon.

– Yeah?

– I will want something in return.

So much for a clean getaway.

– What’s that?

– We talked the last time you were here.

– Uh-huh.

– I told you something.

– You told me you thought you were failing.

He looks at the floor, running his fingers over a nail head that sticks up from the floorboards.

– That’s true, I am. But I told you something else.

Fuck.

– I don’t remember.

– Don’t be like that, girls.

– What?

He looks up.

– Did I?

He taps his forehead.

– What did I say?

– Nothing.

He watches me out of those holes in his face.

– Senility. Strange. Well.

He stands.

– You should go.

– What about?

– Hm?

– You said you’d want something for the name.

– Yes. Yes. Come see me, Simon. Come see me more often.

– Daniel, I’ll try, but. I’m pretty busy most of the time.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. The heat radiates through my jacket.

– Come see me, Simon. It’s what I want.

Like I said, it’ll cost more than blood or money.

– OK. I’ll come.

– Good. Good. Now go downstairs and get your name.

I start for the stairs.

– Names. Simon, that reminds me.

– Uh-huh?

– You had a perfectly good one: Simon. It suits you. It says something about you. Why did you change it?

– Lots of infecteds change their names.

– I know. But why did you?

– I don’t know. Terry said a new name was a good idea.

– And why the name you chose?

– Shit. I was seventeen. I was just turned into a Vampyre. Joe Pitt. I thought it sounded cool.

He laughs again.

– You’re right. It does. It does. Well. Careful in the Hood. And come see me when you get back. Joe.

– Yeah.

The Enclave who showed me in is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, sitting on the last step.

– Daniel said you know the Hood turf, said you’d have a name of someone I could talk to up there.

– He means Percy.

– OK. Where do I find him?

He leads me to a work area under the loft. Some benches with tools for doing basic repairs on the warehouse, a sink, a stove with a huge boiling pot on top. He finds a pencil and paper and writes down an address on 150th, near Jackie Robinson Park. I look at the scrap of paper.

– What do I tell him?

– Nothing. I’ll let him know you’re coming.

– How you gonna do that?

He gestures to the warehouse.

– We don’t have much, but I do know how to use a pay phone.

I slip the paper into my pocket.

– Any tips on how I can get up there?

He stands on tiptoe to look into the pot, then reaches for a giant wooden spoon and gives the contents a stir.

– You could do what the Duke suggested.

– The Duke?

– Ellington.

– Yeah, what was his idea?

He smiles.

– Take the A train.

– Been saving that one up for a rainy day?

He shrugs.

I look at his skin, trying to find some evidence that he was ever anything but pasty white, ever a guy that could have been with the Hood. Can’t find it.

I point at the pot.

– By the way, what’s cooking?

– Bones.

– No kidding? Thought you guys already ate.

– One of us failed last week. We’ll crack his bones and eat the marrow tonight. You could stay.

– I’ll pass.

I leave him there, stirring his pot. At the warehouse door, I pause. I turn around and look back up at the loft. Daniel is at the top of the stairs, watching me.

I remember what else he told me, what he told me last time, after he told me that he’s failing. He told me someone would have to replace him.

Well, fuck that, that’s none of my fucking business whatsoever.

I haul the door open and walk out into the night, leaving the smell of steaming bones behind.

The A train. As if I couldn’t have figured that for myself. As if I haven’t been trying like hell to avoid it.

I come out of the Enclave warehouse onto Little West 12th and think about the A train. All this territory around here is no-man’s-land. This is the turf no one wants because it’s too close to the Enclave. I can grab the A at 14th, but that will put me right on the Coalition’s southern border. They’ll have spotters. Better I go to 4th Street and catch it there. Stay in no-man’s-land, where no one is watching. Once I’m on the A, I’ll have more than enough opportunities to get caught out.

The Coalition doesn’t like anyone riding the rails under their turf. The major stops, Grand Central, Penn Station, Times Square, Columbus Circle, you come walking out of one of those stations and you’re nailed. They got spotters living in apartments, watching over the exits. Slobs that never go out. They just sit there at the window all night, snapping pictures through telephoto lenses, changing videotapes in their cameras and flipping through face-books to see if they recognize anyone. Rent is paid by the Coalition, along with an allowance to cover takeout from the local diner. Once a week an enforcer comes in, picks up the video and the film and the logbook, and drops off a fresh pint. The smaller stops, they got guys there, too. May only be every other stop, but you don’t know which ones. Just like you don’t know which train one of their enforcers will be cruising, looking for interlopers. If I get on at West 4th and ride express to 145th, I don’t have to worry about those spotters aboveground. But from 14th to 110th, anywhere in there I could end up with an enforcer on the train. How do I know all this? Because the Coalition wants everybody to know. It’s their way of saying, Stay off the grass. Trespassers will be prosecuted. And if they let you know about the spotters and the patrols, that means they’re only the tip of the iceberg.

The A train. Thanks for the help.