The Never War (13 page)

It's not that he looked like the tough gangster we were expecting or anything. It was more the way the other guys reacted to him. They all backed off like they were afraid to be in his way.

To be honest, Farrow didn't look all that intimidating. He was a short guy. I'm guessing no more than five feet. No joke. He looked more like a gangster doll, than a gangster. Of course, I wasn't about to tell him that. He had on a suit that was probably nice at one time, but now looked kind of shabby. The material was faded and the elbows were worn through.

That pretty much described all of Winn Farrow's gang. Even though they wore suits, they all looked ragged. Where Max Rose's gang was all spiffed out with expensive, handmade clothes, Farrow's gang looked like they'd been wearing these same outfits for a long time. I guess that's the difference between being a successful uptown gangster and a hungry
downtown crook. This was definitely the B team of gangsters.

Farrow entered, followed by two more of his gang. When Farrow walked, he took quick, short strides. He had to. His legs were so short that if he wanted to cover any ground quickly, he had to walk really fast. It was kind of funny looking, like a cartoon. But I wasn't laughing. Oh no. That would have been suicidal.

The men with the shotguns backed off as Farrow moved past them. He stopped in front of us and stood with his legs apart, firmly planted. For a second I thought he was going to put his fists on his hips and shout, “Hi yo, I'm Peter Pan!” Though he may have looked like an elf, his eyes had an insane gleam. I didn't doubt that he was capable of all sorts of mayhem. He was no Peter Pan. After looking us over, he spat on the ground, barely missing my foot.

“So you're the two brats who have been givin' me headaches,” he snarled. “I should plug you right here.”

“Max Rose wouldn't like that,” I said, trying to pull that bluff again.

It was the wrong move. Saying “Max Rose” in front of this guy was like waving a red cape in front of a bull. His eyes lost focus, then rolled back slightly into his head. It was totally creepy. His gang didn't like it any more than I did. They all took a step back, as if expecting him to blow up or something.

A moment later his eyes snapped back into focus. But in my opinion he had just gone another notch higher on the crazy meter.

“You think I care what that rat thinks?” he snarled. “Max Rose is garbage!” He turned to his men. As if on cue, they all chimed in with: “Yeah! Garbage! Rat! Yeah!” Farrow held up his hand and his men instantly shut up. I think they had done
this before. It looked rehearsed. Farrow then turned to us and got in close.

“You say he's got a message for me?”

I glanced to Spader, which wasn't hard seeing as we were only about six inches apart. He nodded, giving me encouragement. I had to choose my words carefully. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and set this evil munchkin off. Trouble was, how could I possibly deliver the message I had to deliver without sending him off the deep end?

This plan was now officially stupid. But we were in it now so we had to keep going.

“Yes,” I said calmly. “He wants you to know that he's not mad you tried to bump him off. He's willing to forget it ever happened.”

“Well,” Farrow said with a smile. “Ain't that gentlemanly of him.”

So far so good. “But,” I added.

“But?” Farrow echoed.

“Yes, there's a but. He'd like you to back off. That's it. He's just asking, very politely, I might add, if you would kindly back off.” I hoped I hadn't softened it so much that I sounded like an idiot.

“Oh? Is that all?” asked Farrow. “And what, may I ask, will happen if I
don't
back off?”

We had come to the hard part.

“Well,” I went on, clearing my throat. “He said, and I quote, that if you don't mind your own business, he'll come down here and put a hurt on you like you've never seen before.”

I winced. That was it. That was the threat. All that was left now was to see how Farrow would react.

At first he didn't. He just kept looking at me like he was
trying to understand what I had said. Then, after a few seconds, Winn Farrow started to laugh. I swear, he burst out laughing. All of his men started to laugh with him, but that didn't mean anything. They only did what Farrow did.

“He's going to come down here and put a hurt on me?” he laughed out. “Who is he kidding? That rat has already hurt me worse than if he put a bullet in my skull.” His laughter was slowing down. It was being replaced by anger. “He's the reason I'm in this dump in the first place! We were partners. We ran this town. But he got too full of himself and turned on me. Now he's up there in his castle eating steak and drinking champagne while I'm down here scrambling for crumbs. He's gonna put the hurt on me? He can't hurt me any more if he tried.”

He then walked right up to me and stuck his nose in my face. I could smell his sour breath. The guy had been drinking. I guarantee it wasn't expensive whiskey with a shot of Three Stooges fizzy water.

“But I'll let you in on a little secret,” he seethed. “I'm gonna get him back where it hurts the most.” He turned away from me and made a motion to one of his goons standing at the door.

Spader and I exchanged looks again. What did
that
mean?

The goon walked up to Farrow and handed him something. Farrow then spun back to us with a big smile. He held what looked like a rocket on a stick. No kidding, a rocket. It was red and about a foot long. One end had a pointed nose, the other had fins. Sticking out from between the fins was a wire that had to be a fuse.

Farrow waved the rocket thing under our noses. “I ain't gonna hit him,” he said playfully. “I ain't gonna hit any of them saps who work for him neither. You know what I'm
going to do? I'm gonna put the mighty Max Rose out of business with this little beauty.”

“What is it?” Spader asked.

Farrow pretended to play with the rocket, making it fly up and down like a kid with a toy airplane.

“Oh, just a little toy I got from some friends over in Chinatown. I think this one'll do just fine, but I'm not sure yet. I'd like you boys to help me decide.”

“Decide what?” I asked. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“It's very simple,” he answered, sounding as if he were talking to a child. “We're going to play a little game. It's called, How many sparklies will it take to light up old Maxie Rose? One? Two? Or maybe even three? That's what we're going to see.”

I was beginning to think Winn Farrow was a nutburger.

He turned to his goons and made a motion. Quickly the guy who had tied us up came forward with another length of rope. He tied one end around our wrists and threw the other up and around a meat hook over our heads. This was bad. We were going to be strung up like sides of beef.

“I've got a better idea,” I said, trying to think fast. “Why don't we go back to Max and tell him he's the one who's got to back off. Yeah, that's it! I'll tell him you've got a nasty trick up your sleeve and if he doesn't let you back in the gang, you'll use it.”

“Yeah,” added Spader. “You could be living up in the penthouse yourself!”

Farrow looked at us with dead eyes. All the creepy, happy game stuff was over. “All I want,” he seethed, “is to see that scum suffer like I did. I want him to crawl down here and beg me to take
him
in. That's what I want. That's what I'm gonna get.”

With a nod, the thug yanked on the rope. First our arms were pulled over our heads, then we were hoisted up into the air with our feet dangling several feet over the floor. Farrow walked over to us and held out the rocket.

“Now, let's see how many of these I'm going to need, okay?” He then turned and hurried out on those short little legs. It wasn't funny anymore.

“What are you going to do?” I yelled with a shaky voice.

“If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise!” he called back over his shoulder.

Yeah, nutburger. He left through the door, followed by the two guards and the goons with the shotguns. Spader and I were left alone, hanging from the meat hook.

“Now what?” Spader asked.

“We gotta get loose,” I said while struggling to get my hands free.

We went to work on the ropes, but it was painful. Our weight made the rough rope dig into our wrists.

Spader glanced toward the door and said, “Hey, what are they doing out there?”

I turned to look and I think my heart stopped. I now understood what kind of game Farrow was planning. The group of gangsters were gathered together about halfway back, in the large slaughterhouse room where we first had entered. The black stick that was attached to Farrow's rocket was now nailed into a wooden crate. The crate was on its side and the rocket was aimed through the door…

At us.

“What is that thing?” Spader asked.

I didn't tell him. He was going to find out soon enough.

“Work faster!” I ordered. “We gotta get outta here!” I worked on the ropes, but had to glance back to the other
room. Farrow took a cigar from his jacket and plugged it into his mouth. He pulled out a match and struck it against the crate. He then took his sweet time about lighting his cigar.

This was torture. I looked at the ropes to see we were working them loose, but it was going to be too late.

Farrow finished lighting his cigar, then touched the still flaming match to the fuse on the back of the red rocket. Instantly the fuse sparked to life like a Fourth of July sparkler. In seconds the rocket would ignite.

“Pendragon? What is that?” Spader demanded to know. “What's going to happen?” Fear had crept into his voice.

“Keep working on the ropes,” I said.

A few seconds later…

Ignition.

“Cover your eyes!” I shouted.

Spader turned his head to the wall, but I had to watch. The rocket shot from its makeshift launch pad, flew across the slaughterhouse and sailed right through the center of the open door into the room where we were hanging. Bull's-eye. I turned away at the last instant, ready to get hit.

But the rocket missed us. Instead it blasted into the pile of wooden crates. A few more feet to the right and we would have been torched. We were spared, but not for long. This wasn't your ordinary firework. This was meant to do damage. It must have been loaded with some kind of flammable stuff because it exploded and sent a wave of fire over the crates. In seconds the pile was engulfed with flames.

Spader and I stared at the growing fire with fear and awe. It was growing impossibly fast. I could already feel the heat.

“There's my answer!” shouted Farrow over the roaring flames.

Spader and I turned to see he was standing in the doorway.

“One of those babies is all I'm going to need,” he said while puffing on his cigar like a proud papa. “Now, boys,” he said, “let's see how fast this dump burns to the ground. Thanks for playing!”

With a laugh, he spun around and strolled out of the room. The door was slammed behind him and I could hear the sound of a heavy lock being thrown. A quick glance at the fire told me that this room would soon be an inferno. All Spader and I could do was dangle there helplessly. Winn Farrow had proven to be as crazy and evil as predicted. Max Rose was going to get his answer. Farrow was not going to back off. The proof would be our deaths.

That's when I heard a voice.

Given that the heat from the fire was already roasting us, I didn't think it was possible, but when I heard that voice, I got a cold chill.

“Hello, Pendragon,” the voice said calmly. “Enjoying your visit to First Earth?”

Spader and I both shot a look to where the voice was coming from, to see a man standing on the catwalk over our heads. It was one of the gangsters who had followed Winn Farrow into the room earlier. At least he
looked
like a gangster. His voice told me otherwise. This was a guy from another place and time who finally decided to reveal himself.

“You certainly took your time finding me,” he said with a cocky smile. “I was beginning to think you had lost interest.”

Saint Dane had dropped by to watch us cook.

T
he fire spread quickly. It had already engulfed the stack of wooden crates and was creeping across the floor toward us, leaving black, burned wood in its path.

“And hello to you too, Spader,” Saint Dane said. “Having second thoughts about teaming up with young Pendragon?”

I looked at Spader and saw the hatred in his eyes. “Forget him,” I said softly. “We've got to get loose.”

Spader nodded. But while we continued to work on the ropes, Saint Dane worked on us.

“Such a simple territory you come from, Pendragon,” he said. “The people are so easy to influence. It's pathetic, really. It's all about money here. Getting it, keeping it, using it for power. Their greed will prove to be their own downfall.”

The fire had reached the wall and was starting to climb.

“Winn Farrow and his disgusting little band of ruffians have quite the spectacular plan to bring down Max Rose,” Saint Dane said. “Farrow's a feisty little toad, but I admire him. I couldn't have devised a more interesting scenario myself.”

I couldn't take it anymore and shouted, “What is it? What are they going to do?”

Saint Dane laughed. “You should have paid more attention in history class, Pendragon. All the clues are there for you. Perhaps you're finding life a bit more difficult without the aid of your dear, departed uncle.”

I didn't take the bait. Saint Dane was trying to mess with our minds and I wasn't going to let him. The fire was now climbing the wall near us. I guess I don't have to point this out, but I was scared.

“I'll leave you boys now,” Saint Dane said. “I need to help prepare for the big day tomorrow. Too bad you're going to miss it. It's going to be a sizzling-good time.”

Saint Dane started for the door, then stopped and looked down to us one last time. “Oh, one more thing,” he said. “As I'm sure you guessed, I brought those two gunmen down to the flume and had them fire their crude weapons back to Cloral. I meant it as a warning to you. I had no idea Press would be foolish enough to be standing there. Such a shame. But from the looks of things, you'll be joining him soon. Give him my best, won't you?”

With that, Saint Dane turned and left through the door on the catwalk.

My suspicions had been confirmed. Saint Dane had used those gangsters to kill Uncle Press. It crushed me to think about it. But I had to fight my emotions and stay focused, or we were going to die.

Spader was another matter. I saw a look in his eyes that actually frightened me. Saint Dane's words had touched the dark, raw nerve that he tried so hard to protect. He was ready to explode with anger and hatred.

“Don't go there, Spader,” I cautioned. “That's what he wants. Stay focused.”

My warning did no good. Spader blew. He frantically
pulled on the rope with a fury like I couldn't believe. He thrashed our hands back and forth so violently I had to lean away or he would have smacked me in the face. When I leaned back, I saw that the fire had crept across the wall over our heads and had reached the rope. The rope was on fire! Spader let out a final ghastly shout of anger and jerked the rope with such ferocity that it broke! The two of us tumbled to the floor and fell together in a heap.

As much as I hated to see Spader lose control, I liked that Saint Dane's needling had backfired. Spader's anger had helped set us free, with a little help from a burning rope. But we weren't safe yet.

“Spader!” I shouted, and yanked his hands to force him to look at me. “You gotta focus or we're gonna die.”

“He's a demon, Pendragon. We've got to stop him.”

“We will, but first we gotta get outta here.” I tried to keep my voice level to calm him down. “Stay with me, all right?”

Slowly, I saw the ferocity leave his eyes. He was back in control. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he said, and refocused his attention on saving our skins.

We were off the hook but still tied at the wrists. Spader stretched one way, I pulled the other, and a few seconds later I was able to yank one of my hands free. After that it was easy to untie the rest.

We were loose, but trapped in the middle of an inferno. The flames now covered the walls and licked at the ceiling. If the fire didn't get us, a collapsed ceiling would. I glanced around, desperate to find a way out. It looked hopeless. There was nothing but fire raging all around us.

That's when I saw something strange.

Smoke swirled near the center of the room like a small tornado. The dark funnel moved up toward the ceiling, then
shifted direction toward its destination—the door off the catwalk. My eyes followed the smoke and I realized that Saint Dane must not have closed the door all the way, because the twisting cloud of smoke was being sucked outside.

“There!” I shouted. “He left the door open!”

Without waiting for Spader, I ran for the metal stairs that led up to the catwalk. Spader was right after me. The fire had been raging for several minutes now. The heat was unbearable and the metal stairs were burning hot. I felt incredible heat through the soles of my shoes and had to force myself not to use the handrail. That would have fried my hands for sure. Because heat rises, with each step the temperature grew more intense. The smoke was getting bad too. It was tough to breathe. We had to move right through the swirling smoke that was being sucked out the door.

Finally we got up to the catwalk, and I ran for the door. I prayed I was right about it being open and kicked it. The door flew open. Yes! I turned to see Spader was right there with me. We ducked through the door and all I could hope was that it would lead outside.

It didn't. We found ourselves in a long, narrow corridor. Choking smoke filled the narrow, dark space and made it impossible to know which way to go.

“Right or left?” I yelled.

“My eyes are burning, mate. Doesn't matter. Just move!”

I took a chance and turned right and immediately saw good news and bad news. Good news was that in spite of the dark smoke, there was something to guide us forward. The wooden floorboards were so old that there were spaces between them. Through those spaces I could see fire below. It lit up the floor and kept us from running into the walls. But that was bad news too. If there was fire below an old wood
floor, it meant the floor was going to burn. All the more reason to get out of there fast. I grabbed Spader's hand and ran. I could only hope that we'd get to the end of the corridor and out before the whole floor caught fire.

We didn't make it. After running about ten steps, I heard a loud
crack!
It was the only warning we had that the floor was collapsing beneath us. A second later we both crashed through in a shower of sparks, smoke, and burning wood. The next few seconds were a blur. I'll try to describe it as best as I can, but it happened so fast, I'm not sure I remember it all.

When we fell through the floor, I lost my grip on Spader's hand. Fire was everywhere. I remember thinking that I was falling into the center of an inferno and that I was gonna roast. But the fire had been burning below for some time and the next floor down was already weak. When I landed, those boards gave way too, and I crashed through again. It was a miracle I didn't break any bones.

The next thing I knew, I was underwater. The slaughterhouse had been built on a pier jutting out over the Hudson River. In a matter of seconds I went from fearing I was going to burn to death, to fearing I was going to drown. Somewhere in my fall I slammed my head pretty hard and couldn't focus. I remember flaming chunks of stuff falling into the water all around me. There was a maze of pilings that must've held up the pier. Every way I turned I seemed to either hit one, or knock into burning debris from the firestorm above. I gulped water. I couldn't breathe. I was exhausted and losing consciousness fast. My head kept going underwater and I was losing the strength to keep pushing myself back up.

Then things got
really
bad. I heard a loud, screeching sound from above. That could only mean one thing. The building was breaking up. The pier was going to collapse on our
heads. I had just about given up any hope of getting out of there alive, when I felt a strong grip on my arm.

“Hold your breath!” Spader ordered.

I barely had time to gulp in some air before Spader pulled me under. I totally gave myself over to him and relaxed. While holding on to me with one hand, he swam with a strength that I couldn't believe. No, who am I kidding? Sure I could believe it. Spader was part dolphin. If he wasn't hurt, a swim like this was a piece of cake. I really hoped he wasn't hurt, for both our sakes.

I didn't know how long I could hold my breath, but I knew we were safer under the water than on the surface because I heard the sounds of the building above us collapsing. We had to keep moving and get out from under the structure if we had any hope of surviving. I don't know how long we were below the water. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds because I don't think I could have lasted more than that.

When we finally broke the surface, the first thing I remember seeing was the sun. The next thing I saw was Spader's smiling face as he tread water next to me, looking as relaxed as if he were floating in a kiddie pool.

“Took a little knock there, did you, mate?”

I touched my forehead and felt the lump that was already forming. “I'm a little out of it,” I admitted.

“No worries,” he said. “On your back, I'll tow you in.”

I didn't argue. This was no time to be macho. I gladly let Spader pull me to shore. It only took a minute until we made it to a small, wooden dock. Spader dragged me up onto the platform like a wet doll. We made it. We were alive.

The two of us lay there, trying to get our wind back. After breathing in disgusting smoke for the last ten minutes, the air
actually tasted sweet. I closed my eyes and focused on clearing my lungs. I was in pretty rough shape. Besides the slam on the head, I had cuts and burns all over my body. My clothes had protected me some, but they were now less like clothes and more like rags.

Spader spoke first. “It's a horror, mate; it truly is.”

I opened my eyes and saw that he was staring at the burning slaughterhouse. The place was nothing more than a giant, twisted, flaming wreck. Black smoke billowed up and drifted out over the Hudson. I wondered why the fire department hadn't shown up yet. My guess was they were afraid to come down to this neck of the woods.

“Farrow said this was a test,” Spader said through gasping breaths. “If this was just the test, what are they planning to do for real?”

That was the big question. What was their target? Saint Dane said we had all the clues, but I couldn't put them together.

I saw that Spader was in just as bad shape as I was. His clothes were shredded and burned, and his arms were covered with scratches. “You okay?” I asked.

“I will be just as soon as we finish off Saint Dane,” he said angrily.

“You trust me, don't you, Spader?” I asked.

“Of course, mate,” he said quickly.

“Then, please, remember that the next time you get all bent out of shape and want to go after Saint Dane,” I said. “He's gotta be stopped, but we have to be smart about it.”

“Right,” Spader said in response. “Smart. Let's be smart now and get out of here.”

I felt like he was blowing me off, but now was not the time to argue. We were still stuck in the badlands. As beaten up as we were, we had to move.

The river was about six feet below street level. At the end of the dock was a wooden ladder. I climbed up first and carefully poked my head up and over to see what was going on.

My heart sank.

We were about fifty yards upriver from the wrecked slaughterhouse. Between me and the burning building was nothing but a big empty lot…and a group of gangsters. They were all standing there: Winn Farrow, his tattered thugs, the big-armed muscle boys, and of course, Saint Dane. They all stood with their backs to me, no more than thirty yards away, watching their handiwork. If we tried to make a run for it, they'd see us for sure.

But worse than that, parked only a few yards to our right were the gangster's cars. When they went for those cars, they'd find us. We were trapped with no place to hide. In a few seconds we'd be right back where we started.