CHAPTER FIFTY THREE


The subway looked bleak, vacant, and the walls echoed.


They reflected what I felt inside.


I was bleak, vacant, and everything just echoed.


Marcus had placed the book where I'd never been and for what reason? I
couldn't answer that. I didn't know if I believed that or not. I didn't know if
Marcus wanted another chance for my capture, if he wanted me to see the
children, or if he just wanted to play with my mind.


It was probably all three, plus the hidden reason that had escaped Jace and
myself.


Marcus was the charming serpent. He could slither everywhere and anywhere. I
had no doubt that he'd have men at Glory's Basket.


Jace had said that drug lieutenants met there. I also didn't doubt that my
people would loiter the streets and alleys surrounding the sanctified
structure.


I sat on a bench and waited until my train rolled to a stop. For now, there
were two others that shared my emptied modernized cave.


They were far enough away so that I didn't hear the restless tap of the
nervous businessman, but I heard the haunting melodies strummed from the last
occupant.


I'd met his gaze when I first descended the stairs from above.


He held a polished guitar between two gloved hands with the fingers ripped
and frayed from the seams. He wore a patched army jacket and a red bandana over
his head and ears.


His eyes immediately shifted to the side and his thumbs strummed their first
notes.


The sound was pleasant, but his clear voice sent the shivers down my back. He
sang about freedom, about love, and how the two are each other's ying and yang.
You can only be free when you love, but you can never love when you are
free.


Sadly, I understood and I dropped a hundred of Kale's money in the open hat
beside his bent knee.


When he looked up, he saw my back as I had already turned to sit on my bench.
I waited and listened the short while until the next train's warmth zoomed
against my face. I smelled the heated odor that only a subway can produce. It's
like none other. It's not unpleasant, but it's not desired.


The screech sounded first in the distance. Then I saw the reflected light
turn the darkened tunnel and the warmth blasted me as the train paused for my
entrance.


As I walked inside and sat, I glanced through the window and met the guitar
man's gaze.


He tipped his head back in a salute and I smiled in return.


I lifted my hand and tapped my finger twice.


The man nodded again and smiled a toothless grin back.


I wanted him to buy a second pair of gloves. One to carry the guitar and his
ripped fingerless gloves to play the guitar.


Who knows, he might buy the extra pair after all. He had earned more than his
daily revenue, but I hoped that he'd continue singing throughout the night. He
should make sure that one hundred was tucked safely out of sight and just as the
train picked up speed, I saw his hand tuck inside his back and knew he'd done
just that.


I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, and ignored the brightly colored
advertisements that was above my head and encircled the entire car's
interior.


I was ready to find the last piece of the puzzle, but for some reason—I knew
it wouldn't end there. It wouldn't be that easy. Marcus had another reason for
laying out the cookie crumbles.


I didn't think it was because he wanted to be done with this all. I didn't
think Jace was right. I think that was Jace's understanding because that's what
he wanted or…Jace had a correct suspicion, but wasn't sharing.


What a shock.


Jace not sharing. That's a startling revelation.


No. There was more, much more to the game and each of the pawns. I just
didn't have all the information to start putting the puzzle together. Jace did,
but all I focused on was getting the last book.


And getting Munsinger's wedding invitation.


Oscar talked so much about the soulful forests and trees. When I'd been among
those woods, as they towered above me, watched me—I'd felt their soulfulness but
I didn't think it stopped there.


Every street corner, back alley, every hutch, they all carried their own
memories. As did Munsinger's wedding invitation for me. It was a memory of
someone who was supposed to live their skinny dream-filled life to old age, a
can to whack the nurses, and their published book of poetry beside his bed.


He was supposed to have gotten married. He'd told me about it with a twinkle
in his eyes. He was supposed to have gotten fat from his married years and he
was supposed to have his own children—they'd be Gray's half-siblings.


It didn't matter that Munsinger hadn't been Gray's blood father. He'd been
his spiritual father.


It would've been more than enough for everyone all around.


Even Steve would've been understanding.


Munsinger had loved Gray before he was born and he'd read poetry to Cherry's
tummy, hours on end, with a loving hand splayed protectively over Gray's
womb.


Maybe Viiwa had felt him, because as I closed my eyes, I could've sworn that
I felt Munsinger gently pat my knee.


It was almost like he was beside me, just riding the train until our next
stop.


It was almost as if he had words of wisdom to share, but the mere fact that
he was a spirit was the only reason I couldn't hear them.


So maybe I should listen harder. Maybe that was all it took. Maybe if I
looked harder—I'd see his reflection, I'd see a smatter of smoke and mirrors in
the distance and there'd be he.


Or maybe, just maybe, I could trust what I felt and maybe Munsinger really
had placed his hand to my knee, for reassurance and further strength.


In that moment, that subway train was more soulful than any forest of any
mountain.


I felt something. I just didn't know what it was, if it was something inside
of me—yearning to reach out and rip free from my stronghold cell.


It didn't matter.


The train slowed and pinged my arrival. I stood, looked into the reflected
window, and saw the same businessman on his phone.


He glanced at me, but failed to see that I caught his second perusal when I
was supposedly looking ahead to the windows.


There's more than one vantage point in the subways.


He failed to realize that fact and because of it, I saw how he murmured
something in his phone, nod once, and then hang-up—after he took another look in
my direction.


He wasn't some random businessman. I was sure of that now and I only wondered
if he worked for Marcus or Jace.


He stayed back so I speculated that he worked for Marcus.


He had called ahead to announce my impending arrival. I was about to walk
into the trap laid in waiting.


If he'd been one of Jace's silent agents, he would've been ordered to detain
me…or Jace wanted me to be the decoy.


Both could've worked that way.


Marcus might've been the beckoning mesmerizing serpent and Jace might've been
the watchful hunter, waiting to see what trap was sprung when the bait fell into
place.


Either way: I was going in, but they'd both be disappointed.


I wasn't going in how they thought I'd go in. Or—I wouldn't approach the trap
how they might've assumed.


Jace had his people. They might've been working undercover across the street
or just watching the drug lieutenants.


Marcus had his own men, no doubt some of those drug lieutenants worked for
him.


And I had my people. They were there. They were always there. And they always
saw what everyone thought no one had seen.


Those were my people.


I'd just given a hundred dollars to one of them.


The train stopped and the doors slid open. I felt the warmth blast my skin as
I stepped onto the walkway to circle around and climb the stairs. I felt the
street's sounds even before my foot cleared the first step.


Cars honked. People yelled. A siren called. And the an army of footsteps
announced their presence and then…as I climbed higher…I became one of them and
immediately merged with the crowd to duck into the nearest store.


The businessman sprinted to the street and stopped to look for me.


He never looked behind, where I stood behind the store's window, with the
clothing just in front of me.


His head jerked forward, his eyes narrowed, and he shouldered his way in a
direction that I hadn't gone.


"Momma, you have to get the newest vintage pumps. They're ice, momma!"


I looked over and saw someone who wasn't my people. She was a teenager with
pink hair that was spiked in the front of her head. Her 'momma' wore a pale
golden sweater and a tired look in her eyes.


It was an odd dynamic, but weren't we all?


I turned and approached the front clerk. She started with a warm smile, but
turned to alarm when I asked, "Do you have a back exit? My ex is out there and
he's…not nice…if you know what I mean."


She nodded and said quickly, "Of course. Of course. I've had a few of those
myself. Not fun, I can tell you that."


With a protective hand to my shoulders, she gestured towards the back
hallway, past the employee's break room and the inventory storage to open the
door.


A back alley stood prominent and I murmured, "Thank you."


"Good luck. I can call the cops. My boss would freak if they came to the
store, but I can call anonymously and have them be on the look-out." She
offered. Her nametag said her name was Melinda.


There'd be enough illegal presence within moments, I didn't think the police
would make anything go smoothly.


"That'd be great." I smiled in relief. "He's tall, lean. Black hair that's
slicked back behind his ears. Green eyes. He's handsome, but…"


"Slippery." Melinda drawled, knowingly. "I know the type." She patted my
shoulder and said, "Don't worry. I'll make the call right now. Good luck."


Luck wasn't on my side. It was all skill now.


I had some, enough to let me live and prosper. I'd use that now.


I covered the alley and stopped at the corner. Across from me, with six lanes
of traffic between me was Glory's Basket.


I was surprised for a moment as I stared at the majestic structure. The myths
always depicted the structure as a museum, but as I took in the arched steeple
and glossy oak doors that encompassed the height of two flights, I saw that the
building had once been a church.


The steeple arched high into the sky, higher than my squinted eyes could see
the end. The sun peaked around it and blinded all who dared to imagine the
building's limits.


Two pillars stood on both sides of the giant-sized doors. And above the
doors, perfectly placed in the middle between the pillars was a statue of a
woman. Or it seemed like a woman at first glance. As my eyes lingered, I saw
that she was robed, but behind her was the slightest tip of a wing.


She was beautiful and I knew that she stood for Beauty. She had long flowing
hair, hidden within the robe, and her colorless eyes looked out at everyone. She
watched me, but I knew that she watched the crowd that had gathered underneath
her.


Her eyes were all-seeing.


She was an angel, but only those that looked enough and wanted to see it, saw
the wing.


If they didn't want to think otherwise, she was just a beautiful woman, but I
knew she stood for more.


Beauty was the symbol for morality and that's what Glory's Basket had become.
It was a sanctuary for the immoral, as it had been with her ancestors.


And then I saw the circling vehicles and a small group that met at the corner
before her.


I saw the quick exchange of hands and the hidden perusal between each and
everyone one—those were the drug handlers. And they preyed onto their flock.


Marcus had his men around. And possibly Jace. I didn't know.


I just knew there was another army that laid hidden to my eyes, but they were
there.


"Hey."


I turned and saw that Melinda had approached from behind. A cigarette was
held between two pink-frosted fingernails. She took a drag and blew it out, "Are
you still looking for him?"


"Yeah."


"I called. The cops are on the look-out." And then she noticed that I had
been staring at Glory's Basket.


"Ah. You think about hiding in there?" Melinda murmured. "It's a good place
to hide, but you gotta know that there aren't no exits except the front doors.
And they got metal detectors inside so you can't take anything to defend against
him."


"So he could follow me in…" I murmured.


"And take you down with his fists. He doesn't need a weapon, honey."


"Yeah." I moved past the beauty that served as a distraction and now studied
the layout.


There were always exits and entrances. Most just didn't need to look for
them.


And then I noticed her cigarette and knew how I'd get inside.


"The place is a joke." Melinda harrumphed. "It's this grand museum, right?
It's also the prime spot to get your stash. Everyone knows it. See those guys
over there?" They were the same handlers that I'd already pinpointed. "They just
stand out there and the users go to them. I mean, I can't really complain. I got
my own dealer, but…they could find a better place. Not in front of a
church."


"I thought it was a museum?"


She shrugged, "Folk still go there to pray. They go there for more than that
too and look who they have to get through? They could, at least, stand across
the street or something."


I heard the disgust and wondered it's cause.


Melinda answered my unspoken request when she said, softly, "That place—it
stands for what's not logical, you know?" She pointed her cigarette to the
statue, "And that girl? She ain't a girl. She's an angel. She avenges all the
wrong that walk underneath her. Or—that's my grandmother always told me. We used
to go in there and my grandmother would light a candle in the doorway. There's
some room in there, from the old church. I guess the museum owners thought it
added the heritage or some crap like that. I just hate the fucking sharks,
that's all."


I studied her as she studied the angel.


I heard the disgust, the little girl's yearning, and the fondness in her
eyes.


I said softly, "When did she die?"


Startled, Melinda glanced at me. "Tuesday."


Today was Saturday.


"I'm sorry."


She shrugged, but hung her head. "She loved that place, over there. It…it
stands for something and they're just ruining it."


"She's an avenging angel." I noted.


"They don't walk underneath her. They wouldn't dare." Melinda cleared her
throat. "She'd strike them dead if they did. Only the righteous can go
underneath her."


"Or the ones with righteous intent." I mused.


"Yeah…something like that…"


"I bet everytime you walk underneath that angel, your grandmother's waiting
for you."


Melinda laughed softly and murmured, "The place is a museum now, but you can
still feel the old place in there. It's just…history…like I'm walking in the old
days. It's weird, but…my friends would laugh at me for being so fucking
sentimental now, but it's true. You just go in there and you feel it. It's
another world."


Another world—a better world.


Her sentiment wasn't lost.


She believed in the hope for what Glory's Basket had always stood for me. An
actual miracle for something better.


Her cigarette was drawing to the end.


I looked around and saw a bookstore across the street from behind Glory's
Basket.


"Is there a way that I could get to that store without crossing the street?"
And in plain view of anyone on the look-out.


Melinda frowned, measured me, and then said, "Yeah. There's an underground
tunnel that connects all these buildings."


"Really?"


"Oh yeah. It's nice and clean. All the business owners went together to
section it off from the homeless, you know. They're always done there. It's
where they live, but in the thirties, they built up a wall and separated all the
tunnels. One for the business owners and the other section for all the homeless,
anyone who's hiding out."


"Why in the thirties?"


"Prohibition. They used the tunnels to smuggle alcohol. Can you believe it?"
Melinda smiled and finished her cigarette. "My grandmother was a history buff,
but when I got hired here, I found out that it was all true."


"Can I use the tunnel?"


"Sure. Just say that you're an employee. You'll want to past six stairs and
turn left at the corner, and then climb up the first stairs on your right. You
should come up in the bookstore then. And don't worry about Rufus. He's the
guard over there. Just tell him that Lindy sent you. He loves me."


"Thanks."


"The girls have to stick together. It's the only way we can survive in this
wilderness, you know."


She used that phrase a lot. 'You know.' It was used for a connection, to draw
in the listener, and further solidify a bond between the sender and
receiver.


It was such a simple phrase and yet it had such a complex meaning.


Melinda stood for that statement. She was a simple store clerk, but she held
such complex history and knowledge within her and through her. She allowed me
windows into the spirituality of Glory's Basket, to the history of New York City
and it's prohibition era, and also a connection between rebellious owners,
sisters, and someone else who believed in the purity of Glory's Basket.


"Thank you." I said sincerely.


Melinda shrugged again and showed me a door. It opened to the basement. As we
stepped down the narrow stairs, another set of stairs broke off and led into
darker terrain. That's where Melinda led me.


It was touch and go from there. Melinda stopped below me. I heard her hands
rubbing against the floor and knew she was searching for the tunnel
entrance.


A swish of air sounded and the hatch had been opened.


"Here you go." Melinda flipped on a light.


It was a tiny room with a aged piece of wood that sealed off the tunnel from
our room.


"You go down and turn to your left." She reached behind her. I saw a small
cupboard was placed there and there were three small flashlights placed on the
counter. She grabbed one and gave it to me. "Use this, but the tunnel should be
empty. You'll hear movement, though, but don't worry. It's on the other side of
the wall down there. Those are the Tunnel People."


The homeless.


"Okay." I nodded.


"Good luck. Remember—Rufus."


"Rufus." I nodded and started to climb down. The tunnels were warm,
surprisingly, and the air was suffocating. Not surprising.


As my feet found the bottom, I couldn't see Melinda above me, but I heard the
hatchel close and then her footsteps faded in the distance as she climbed
farther upwards, back to her store.


I stood in the dark, underneath the city that never slept, and I grasped my
blade tight.