named Sirko (they always have S-names, those slithery sneaky pricks), and a homeless squid-faced half-and-half who calls himself “The Bishop of New York City.” He hits the few mystical bazaars and visits a few bars. Asks a lot of questions.
Everybody says the same thing. Death’s Head is a myth.
Eventually, evening settles on the city. Night closes like an iron door.
Mookie has a few more options. None of them he much likes.
He could go see Smiley. Chinatown Snakeface, sells information. Under Organization protection because, well, he pays for it. And he’s good to have around. But that doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. No Naga is. Some Snakefaces are assassins in that they’ll kill your body, but Smiley, he’s a character assassin – he’d sell your social security number and your mother’s anal virginity for a half-a-secret.
So, for now: no Smiley.
Which means it’s time to go under. Into the Great Below. The Deep Downstairs.
It’s time to descend.
Mookie runs crews of Mole Men. Or, to be politically correct, Mole People, since a good half of them are women.
Now, in the city of New York, you have Mole People, and then you have Mookie’s Mole People. The city has a whole contingent of homeless lunatics who live under the city – a lot of them live in a ramshackle shantytown under the Freedom Tunnel. They put up little plywood houses and burn barrels and live with the rats and the dogs. Some of them know about the Underworld – what goes on deeper beneath their rag-swaddled feet – but a lot of them don’t. Mookie’s Mole People know. It’s their job to know.
The work of the Mole Men is straightforward: they live down in the dark, away from the light. They track gobbo movements. They keep their ears to the walls. And most importantly, they find and dig veins of Blue. In payment: they get a little money and a free supply of the Peacock Powder. (Which in turn helps them find more Blue.)
They’re all addicts.
Some are insane.
Mookie doesn’t like dealing with them, but it’s his job. A soldier doesn’t usually run a crew, but Werth sure as hell doesn’t want this part of the life. He doesn’t come down here. And it’s not like he and Werth are a part of the usual hierarchy, anyway.
So, Werth delegates. To Mookie.
Once Below, Mookie canvasses the Moles. Many as he can find. He finds the Hell’s Kitchen crew first: they’re a good bunch. Solid. Stable. Dependable. Four-Top leads that crew: big black shambling dude, was once one a waiter at several of the hottest, trendiest restaurants in the city. Then he got hit by a cab. Knocked his brain funny. Funny enough where he can’t wait tables but not so funny he can’t run a gang of Moles.
Sometimes, Mookie brings him charcuterie – a little salami, a little lardo.
He finds Four-Top and his crew working on the Hell’s Kitchen vein, chipping hunks of Cerulean out of black stone under the swimmy light of a couple camping lanterns. He sees Mookie, he comes up, gives a fist-bump–
“Hey, hey, whatchoo got, Mookie the Meat Man?”
Mookie knows what he wants. Mookie shrugs, shakes his head. “I don’t got any meat for you, Four-Top. Next time. I promise.”
Four-Top makes a pained face, holds his fists to his rag-swaddled chest and drops to his knees. “You’re killing me, Mook! You’re killing me.”
Mookie tells him that he knows. Then tells him what he’s looking for.
“Death’s Head’s just a dream,” Four-Top says. “People get lost down here lookin’ for that shit. It don’t exist.”
Behind him, the Moles continue working at the vein, pulling chunks out of the wall and dropping it into a rusty Red Ryder wagon, ka-gung. A couple of them stare at Mookie from under ratty bangs or dark scarves. He knows two of them: Benny Scafidi’s got a winky eye and a poochy belly like he’s eight months pregnant. Next to him is the Mole who calls herself “Jenny Greenteeth”. Curiously, her teeth aren’t green but rather, the color and consistency of melted nubs of black licorice. They want to see if he’s going to treat them with a little taste of the Blazes. Mookie just gives them a get back to work look and they quick pretend like they never saw him in the first place.
“Tell you what I did see,” Four-Top says, eye twitching. He leans in, so the others don’t hear: “I saw this thing, yo. It came with a pack of goblins, right? Looked like the cloak