my strength and shove us both forward, delivering a few swats with my cane as he struggles to keep balance. He growls at me, lunges, and I realize I’m fighting for my life. I turn and run, upsetting everything off the shelves as I go. It slows him a little, but those damn legs are so long it’s not much good.
Moishe died. I saw it happen. Sarco put my blade through his head. But here he is. And he’s not a ghost. He’s definitely come back, something like me, but those eyes, those eyes are empty. He’s emoting. Rage courses through him as he charges toward me, but there’s no life to him. He’s an empty puppet.
The giant’s full weight thunders against me, and we crash to the floor. I thrash my arms and legs, making myself as difficult as possible to keep ahold of. He’s flustered, reaching out stupidly to keep me still but missing. I manage to turn over onto my back and immediately take a solid fist across the mouth. Feels like a cinder block just found me from a few stories up, and for a second I think I might pass out. I hold on, though, if nothing else because my life depends on it, and thrust my hips up, knocking him just off balance enough for me to squirm away.
Hello, my son. Sarco’s hideous whisper echoes back to me. He’s a resurrectionist. He did it to Moishe. He did it to me. He did it to Sasha. I know it’s true as soon as it occurs to me. Sarco murdered me and brought me back. Partially. No wonder he has stored-up memories of me before I died. He was there. He was there when I died.
I make a dash for the door, but I know it’s pointless. It’s locked, and there’s no way I’ll be able to get it open before he gets to me. Endgame has come much faster than I expected. I’m reaching for my blade when the shot rings out. It’s ear-shattering, and the sheer shock of it throws me to the ground. I hear a monstrous clattering from behind me, whirl myself around, blade out, and see Moishe crash backward against the salsa and applesauce shelf, shattering half the bottles as he slides down to the ground. A continent of blood opens across his shirt.
The old Yemeni’s face is tight and furious. He lowers the gun, one of those no-fucking-joke Dirty Harry hand cannons, looks me dead in the eye, and says: “Get out of my store. Now.”
I start to say something, but what’s the point? The police will be here any second, asking all kinds of unseemly questions. I’m halfway down the block, my brand-new cuts and bruises burning in the fresh night air, when a huge figure bursts out of the store amid shattering glass. I flatten myself against a wall. Another gunshot shatters the night. Moishe stumbles into the street, dodges a passing car, and then lurches toward the sidewalk. I can’t tell what those wide, darting eyes take in, but I’m guessing he’s spotted me. I throw myself into a crowd of folks moving quickly along the avenue.
Everything hurts. The night closes in on me. Too many people around. Witnesses, gossipers, hungry ghosts. I need to get somewhere safe, assess my damage, and start over. There’s a new element in the equation.
I make it to a wide swarming intersection at a southern corner of Prospect Park. Tons of people fill the street; their laughter dances into the sky amid the thrum of bass-boosted speakers blasting a relentless Caribbean beat. Did Sasha set me up? Is the whole thing a trap? I glance back and see the tattered dead giant standing in the middle of Ocean Avenue; cars peel to either side of him, honking and cursing. And then I notice all the cars have flags hanging off them.
J’ouvert. Carnival. That’s what all these folks are doing out here. The West Indian Day Parade is about to erupt in a three-day festival through Crown Heights. That’s what the city’s been bracing itself for. He will try again, Mama Esther said. He’ll wait till the city thrashes amid the collective energy of a hundred revelers, and then he’ll unleash his vapid designs again, Carlos. You’ll see. The Council wasn’t kidding when they said an attack was imminent. The corpse that once was Moishe hasn’t moved. Maybe I wore him out. More likely, he has some other business to attend