Make Room! Make Room! (30 page)

“They’re not happy downtown about your shooting the
Chink kid,” Grassioli said, pawing through the reports and files that littered his desk.

“What do you mean—”

“Just that, Christ, just like I don’t have enough trouble with this squad, I got to get mixed up in politics too. Centre Street thinks you been wasting too much time on this case, we’ve had two dozen unsolved murders in the precinct since you started on this one.”

“But—” Andy was dumfounded, “you told me the commissioner himself ordered me onto the case full time. You told me I had to—”

“It doesn’t matter what I told you,” Grassioli snarled. “The commissioner’s not available on the phone, not to me he’s not. He doesn’t give a damn about the O’Brien killer and no one’s interested in any word I got about that Jersey hood Cuore. And what’s more, the assistant commissioner is on to me over the Billy Chung shooting. They left me holding the bag.”

“Sounds more like I’m the one with the bag.”

“Don’t get snotty with me, Rusch.” The lieutenant stood and kicked the chair away and turned his back on Andy, looking out of the window and drumming his fingers on the frame. “The assistant commissioner is George Chu and he thinks you got a vendetta against the Chinks or something, tracking the kid all this time, then shooting him down instead of bringing him in.”

“You told him I was acting on orders, didn’t you, lieutenant?” Andy asked softly. “You told him the shooting was accidental, it’s all in my report.”

“I didn’t tell him anything.” Grassioli turned to face Andy. “The people who pushed me onto this case aren’t talking. There’s nothing I can tell Chu. He’s nuts on this race thing anyway. If I try to tell him what really happened I’m not only going to make trouble for myself, for the precinct—for everybody.” He dropped into his chair and rubbed at the twitching corner of his eye. “I’m telling you straight, Andy. I’m going to pass the buck to you, let you take the blame. I’m going to put you back into uniform for six months until this thing cools down. You’ll stay in grade, you won’t lose any pay.”

“I wasn’t expecting any award for cracking this case,” Andy said angrily, “or for bringing in the killer—but I didn’t expect this. I can ask for a departmental trial.”

“You can, you can do that.” The lieutenant hesitated a long
time, he was obviously ill at ease. “But I’m asking you not to. If not for me, for the good of the precinct. I know it’s a raw deal, passing the buck, but you’ll come out of it okay. I’ll have you back on the squad as soon as I can. And it’s not like you’ll be doing anything different, anyway. We might as well all be walking a beat for the little detective work we do.” He kicked viciously at the desk. “What do you say?”

“The whole thing stinks.”

“I know it stinks!” the lieutenant shouted. “But what the hell else can I do? You think it’ll stink less if you stand trial? You won’t stand a chance. You’ll be off the force and out of a job and I’ll probably be with you. You’re a good cop, Andy, and there aren’t many of them left. The department needs you more than you need them. Stick it out. What do you say?”

There was a long silence, and the lieutenant turned back to look out of the window.

“All right,” Andy finally said. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, lieutenant.” He went out of the office without being dismissed; he didn’t want the lieutenant to thank him for this.

“Half an hour more and we’ll be in a new century,” Steve Kulozik said, stamping his feet on the icy pavement. “I heard some joker on TV yesterday trying to explain why the new century doesn’t start until next year, but he must be a chunkhead. Midnight, year two thousand, new century. That makes sense. Look at that.” He pointed up at the projection TV screen on the old Times Building. The headlines, in letters ten feet high, chased each other across the screen.

“Scores,” Steve grunted. “I bet they don’t even keep score any more, they don’t want to know how many die.”

Andy glanced up at the screen, then back at the milling crowd in Times Square. He was getting used to wearing the blue
uniform again, though he still felt uneasy when he was around any other men from the detective squad. “What are you doing here?” he asked Steve.

“Same as you, on loan to this precinct. They’re still screaming for reserves, they think there’s going to be a riot.”

“They’re wrong, it’s too cold and there’s not that many people.”

“That’s not the worry, it’s the nut cults, they’re saying it’s the millennium, Judgment Day or Doomsday or whatever the hell you call it. There’s bunches of them all over town. They’re going to be damn unhappy when the world doesn’t come to an end at midnight, the way they think it will.”

“We’ll be a lot unhappier if it does.”

The giant, silent words raced over their heads.

The crowd surged slowly back and forth, craning their necks up at the screen. Some horns were blowing and the roar of voices was penetrated by a ringing cowbell and the occasional whir of rattles. They cheered when the time appeared on the screen.

“End of the year, and the end of my service,” Steve said.

“What are you talking about?” Andy asked.

“I’ve quit. I promised Grassy to stay until the first of January, and not to talk it around until I was ready to go. I’ve signed on with the state troopers. I’m going to be a guard on one of the prison farms. Kulozik eats again—I can hardly wait.”

“Steve, you’re kidding. You’ve been ten, twelve years on the force. You’ve got seniority, you’re a second-grade detective….”

“Do I look like any kind of detective to you?” He tapped his riotstick lightly against the blue and white helmet he was wearing. “Face it, this city is through. What they need here is animal trainers, not policemen. I got a good job coming, me and the wife are going to eat well—and I’m going to get away from this city once and for all. I was born and raised here, and I have news
for you—I’m not going to miss it. They need police with experience upstate. They’d take you on in a minute. Why don’t you come with me?”

“No,” Andy said.

“Why you answering so fast? Think about it. What’s this city ever give you but trouble? You break a tough case and get the killer and look at your medal—back on a beat.”

“Shut up, Steve,” he said, without animosity. “I’m not sure why I’m staying—but I am. I don’t think it’s going to be that great upstate. For your sake, I hope it is. But … my joy is here. I picked it up, knowing what I was getting into. I just don’t feel like putting it down yet.”

“Your choice.” Steve shrugged, the movement almost lost in the depths of his thick topcoat and many wrappings. “See you around.”

Andy raised his club in a quick good-by as his friend pushed his way into the press of people and disappeared.

As the words slipped from the screen and were replaced by a giant clockface the crowd cheered and shouted; more horns sounded. Steve worked his way through the mass of people that filled the Square and pressed against the boarded-up windows on all sides. The light from the TV screen washed their blank faces and gaping mouths with flickering green illumination, as though they were sunk deep in the sea.

Above them, the second hand ticked off the last seconds of the last minute of the year. Of the end of the century.

“End of the world!” a man shrieked, loud enough to be heard above the crowd, his spittle flying against the side of Andy’s face. “End of the world!” Andy reached out and jabbed him with the end of his stick and the man gaped and grabbed at his stomach. He had been poked just hard enough to take his mind off the end of the world for a while and make him think about his own guts. Some people who had seen what had happened pointed and laughed, the sound of their laughter lost in the overwhelming roar, then they vanished from sight along with the man as the crowd surged forward.

The scratchy, static-filled roar of amplified church bells burst from the loudspeakers mounted on the buildings around Times
Square, sending pealing waves of sound across the crowd below. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” the thousands of massed voices shouted, “HAPPY NEW CENTURY!” Horns, bells and noise-makers joined in the din, drowning out the words, merging them into the speechless roar.

Above them the second hand had finished a complete circle, the new century was already one minute old, and the clock faded away and was replaced by the magnified head of the President. He was making a speech, but not one word of it could be heard from the scratchy loudspeakers, above the unending noise of the crowd. Uncaring, the great pink face worked on, shaping unheard sentences, raising an admonitory finger to emphasize an unintelligible point.

Very faintly, Andy could hear the shrill of a police whistle from the direction of Forty-second Street. He worked his way toward the sound, forcing through the mass of people with his shoulders and club. The volume of noise was dying down and he was aware of laughs and jeers, someone was being pushed about, lost in a tight knot of figures. Another policeman, still blowing on the whistle he held tight-clamped in his teeth, was working into the jam from the side, wielding his club heavily. Andy swung his own and the crowd melted away before him. A tall man was on the pavement, shielding his head with his arms from the many feet about him.

On the screen the President’s face flicked out of existence with an almost-heard burst of music, and the flying, silent letters once more took its place.

The man on the ground was bone-skinny, dressed in tied-on ends of rags and cast-off clothing. Andy helped him to his feet and the transparent blue eyes stared right through him.

“ ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes,’ ” Peter said, the shining skin stretched tight over the fleshless bones of his face as he hoarsely bellowed the words. “ ‘And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And He that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.’”

“Not this time,” Andy said, holding on to the man so he would not fall. “You can go home now.”

“Home?” Peter blinked dazedly as the words penetrated. “There is no home, there is no world, for it is the millennium and
we shall all be judged. The thousand years are ended and Christ shall return to reign gloriously on Earth.”

“Maybe you have the wrong century,” Andy said, holding the man by the elbow and guiding him out of the crowd. “It’s after midnight, the new century has begun and nothing has changed.”

“Nothing changed?” Peter shouted. “It is Armageddon, it must be.” Terrified, he pulled his arm from Andy’s grip and started away, then turned back when he had only gone a pace.

“It must end,” he called in a tortured voice. “Can this world go on for another thousand years, like this? LIKE THIS?” Then people came between them and he was gone.

Like this? Andy thought as he pushed tiredly through the dispersing crowd. He shook his head to clear it and straightened up; he still had his job to do.

Now, with their enthusiasm gone, the people were feeling the cold and the crowd was rapidly breaking up. Wide gaps appeared in their ranks as they moved away, heads bent into the icy wind from the sea. Around the corner on Forty-fourth Street, Hotel Astor guards had cleared a space so the pedicabs could come in from Eighth Avenue and line up in the taxi rank at the side entrance. Bright lights on the marquee lit up the scene clearly and Andy passed by the corner as the first guests came out. Fur coats and evening dresses, black tuxedo trousers below dark coats with astrakhan collars. Must be a big party going on in there. More bodyguards and guests emerged and waited on the widewalk. There was the quick sound of women laughing and many shouts of “Happy New Year!”

Andy moved to head off a knot of people from the Square who were starting down Forty-fourth Street, and when he turned back he saw that Shirl had come out and stood, waiting for a cab, talking to someone.

He didn’t notice who was with her, or what she was wearing or anything else, just her face and the way her hair spun out when she turned her head. She was laughing, talking quickly to the people she was with. Then she climbed into a cab, pulled the storm cover closed and was gone.

A fine cold snow was falling, driven sideways by the wind and swirling across the cracked pavements of Times Square. Very few people remained, and they were leaving, hurrying away. There was nothing for Andy to stay for, his duty was done, he
could begin the long walk back downtown. He spun his club on its lanyard and started toward Seventh Avenue. The glaring screen of the gigantic TV cast its unnoticed light on his coat, putting a spark into each melted drop of snow, until he passed the building and vanished into the sudden darkness.

The screen hurled its running letters across the empty square.