THAT NIGHT, LAMONT took a walk by himself, heading south on Eleventh Avenue.
Walking had always been a way for Lamont to clear his mind. But now his brain was turning nonstop. Maddy had spent the day filling his head with all the evil he’d missed while he was sleeping. Not just Hitler. Stalin. Mao. Pol Pot. Milosevic. Hussein. Bin Laden. Al-Assad. And all the rest. It was hard to keep them all straight—along with their assorted crimes against humanity. The world had truly gone mad!
And now on top of everything else, the city seemed to be sinking under his feet. To the west, what used to be Twelfth Avenue was now underwater. And even on Eleventh, he had to step around deep puddles and small streams that appeared out of nowhere. Lamont heard a low rumble, strong enough to make the sidewalk shake. For a second, he thought the pavement was about to collapse.
Suddenly, a huge armored patrol vehicle turned the corner behind him. Lamont angled his head just enough to see the outriders leaning off the side platforms, rifles ready. A searchlight on the roof swept the street in a steady back-and-forth pattern. Lamont’s heart began to pound. In another few seconds, he’d be caught in the glare. Without his panda mask.
The truck was even closer now, just yards away. The searchlight swept back in his direction. At the last possible instant, Lamont closed his eyes and concentrated. He waited for the rush. The truck rumbled past him. The guards looked along his side of the street and saw…nobody at all.
Lamont leaned back against a wall. He saw the searchlight rake the vacant storefront just past him. He exhaled slowly, exhausted and totally visible again. No question about it. His superpower was totally out of shape. Maybe it was permanent, or maybe he was just out of practice.
As the patrol turned the corner ahead, Lamont stayed close to the shuttered shops. A half-block ahead, he saw a man and a woman heading for a belowground staircase. The woman was slender, with blond hair. Lamont felt his pulse quicken. Could it be? He headed for the staircase. When he got closer, he saw a dim light from below. At the bottom of the stairwell was a thick metal door. He hurried down the steps.
“Hold it!” A heavyset woman emerged from the dark corner of the stairwell. She was pointing a gun five inches from Lamont’s face.
“Turn around,” she ordered.
“I don’t have any money,” said Lamont, holding his arms out. “I’m totally broke.”
“You and me both, honey,” said the woman. She passed her hands over him in an amateurish body search, then slapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re fine. Go ahead in if you want.” She nodded toward the door and stuffed the gun back into her waistband. “But things don’t really get hopping until after two.”
Lamont reached for the door handle and pulled it open. The air from inside hit him in a thick wave, filled with smoke and the scents of beer and sweat. The small room was packed, mostly with young people. Lamont craned his head over the crowd, looking for the couple he had followed. There! At the bar. At least he thought so.
The woman turned toward him. Petite. Pretty. Blond. But not Margo. Maybe she wasn’t the one he saw. He tried to push his way toward the back of the room, but it was no use. Too packed.
Lamont had been in plenty of speakeasies, but this was something else. Cables from a generator near the door led to a small stage, where a man with a thick body and broad smile was pacing. A fringe of long, wiry hair surrounded his bald spot, which reflected the beam of the spotlight whenever he turned his head.
He moved with the authority of a preacher and spoke in a deep, raspy voice. Lamont only caught every other word—but from what he’d heard from Maddy, just about everything this guy said could get him arrested. Because it sounded like he was making fun of the authorities. His punchy phrases were answered with hearty laughs and cheers from the audience.
In a miserable, unhappy city, this was the last thing Lamont expected.
A comedian.
“In or out!” said a voice from behind. A new group of patrons was pressing through the door behind him. Lamont stepped aside to let them pass. He made one last scan around the room, but he was getting faint from lack of air. Slowly, he edged his way back out into the stairwell.
“What is this?” he asked the greeter with the gun. “What’s going on in there?”
“Comedy club,” she said. “Totally illegal. But that’s what makes it fun.”
“Does this happen every night?” Lamont asked.
“Until they lock us all up,” she replied. “Or kill us.”
Lamont headed up the stairs. “I’ll come back soon,” he said. “I’ll bring a friend.”
He suspected that Maddy could use a little comic relief.