had led him to be influenced by the wrong side. Rad knew Kane; they would talk, and Kane would listen, and they’d work everything out.
Maybe. Rad tightened his grip on the gun in his pocket, and turned a corner. Ahead, on the opposite side of the street, the neon sign of a tavern glowed, a rainbow halo thrown around it as the ice crystals hanging in the air reflected the light.
Rad needed a drink, and some time to think, and a chance to lose his tail.
Smiling beneath his scarf, he skipped up to the door, and went inside.
The tavern was the same as any that Rad had ever been in. Though, if he thought about it, the only establishment he’d ever been in was Jerry’s, near his office, despite the fact that there was no Prohibition anymore and the sale and consumption of alcohol no longer attracted the death penalty. But Rad liked Jerry’s and wasn’t interested in trying anywhere else. Jerry was also rather accommodating when it came to the matter of his tab.
The place was empty, save a barman in a blue shirt, his back to the room. Rad checked his watch, which showed it was eleven in the evening. Maybe the night was young in Harlem. If the daytime was dangerous, then maybe it was at night when it all came to life, like Harlem was operating on an opposing timetable to the rest of the Empire State. Maybe, thought Rad, he’d been a little early, which would explain the person following him and the lack of patrons in the tavern.
Rad slunk to the bar, took off his hat, and unwrapped his scarf as he perched on a stool. Rad waited a moment while the barman did a fine job of ignoring the only customer in the joint, then he tapped his fingers on the bar.
The barman turned to face him, wiping a glass with a towel. He was a young man, his features sharp, his eyes narrow and his hair so greasy it made Rad’s own shaved scalp crawl. He looked like he was chewing something, but whether it was gum or a bad attitude, Rad wasn’t sure.
“You open?” Rad said. It wasn’t the best icebreaker, but he was nervous, more nervous than he realized. He’d been followed through what had felt like a completely empty, alien world. He didn’t like it, and now he had a surly barman to contend with.
“Yeah, we’re open,” said the barman. Rad tried a smile and the barman returned the expression, although it didn’t look that friendly. He was still chewing something, and when he smiled the wet sound was loud and clear. The man’s teeth were filthy, and as the saliva squeaked around them Rad saw that it was dark, nearly black. “What can I get for ya?”
Rad frowned, wondering how hygienic this establishment was. He decided to go for something safe.
“Coffee. Lots of sugar.”
The barman’s smile widened and his nod this time was different, the nod of a man appreciating a fine choice. He even said the same as he straightened up and vanished through a door behind the bar.
Rad reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet and his hand found the metal rod. He pulled it out and peered at it in the low light.
“Hey, where did you get that?”
The barman had returned, steaming cup of coffee in one hand. He was frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide, locked on the object in Rad’s hand.
Rad held the thing up by one end but before he could say anything, the barman dumped the coffee on the bar, spilling nearly half of it, and reached across to push Rad’s hand away. Rad snatched the rod close to his chest.
“Hey!”
“Put that damn thing away, Jesus,” said the barman. He kept his hands out, his eyes scanning the empty bar behind his single customer. He was breathing heavily and quickly.
“You know what it is?” asked Rad.
The barman leaned across the bar, his face an inch away from Rad’s. Rad grimaced; the barman’s breath was hot and smelled of acetone. As he leaned back, Rad saw the barman’s eyes were bloodshot. The man was either sick or high on something.
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” said the barman. “It belongs to him, to one of his machines.”
“Who?”
The barman was very still, his eyes on Rad’s. Rad raised an eyebrow and the barman nodded.