CHAPTER 43

THE NEXT NIGHT, it’s my turn. Different nightspot. Way different.

“Where are we going?” asks Lamont.

“You’ll know when we get there,” I tell him.

It’s midnight. We’re walking north in midtown. We take a long detour to avoid the Presidential Residence, then wind past Columbus Circle and cross over into the wilderness. Lamont perks up.

“This is Central Park!” he says.

“Used to be,” I say. “Watch your step.”

We start making our way up an abandoned roadway. The pavement is cracked. Curbstones gone. Plants sprouting in potholes. And most of the trees are missing their lower branches. Taken for firewood.

I haven’t been back here in years. Not since things got really bad. But up ahead there’s this big rock I remember that’s great for climbing. It’s craggy and rough with plenty of good footholds. Rat Rock, they used to call it. And not for the shape. The rats are still here, but if you make enough noise, they just scatter.

I stamp my feet a couple times when I get to the base, then I start making my way up. “C’mon!” I call to Lamont. He follows me. Pretty agile for a guy his age. Even in dress shoes. From the top of the rock, the park looks like a jungle. Everything is thick and overgrown. In the distance, we can make out the turret of an old castle.

“Why don’t I see any police?” asks Lamont.

“They don’t even bother to patrol here at night,” I say. “Whatever happens, happens. Murder, rape, suicide. They just come in and pick up the bodies in the morning.”

We climb down off the rock and keep heading deeper into the park, farther north. Toward the place I need Lamont to see.

Lamont and I haven’t talked much about Margo tonight. I know she’s always on his mind, but I didn’t bring him here to stir up memories. I brought him here to show him reality.

“Almost there,” I say.

Up ahead we can already see the glow.

We work our way through one last stand of trees, and there it is. A city within the city. Tents and shacks as far as we can see. And barrel fires—thousands of them. We can hear babies crying and people shouting in about a hundred different languages. On old maps they call it the Great Lawn. Not so great now. Now it’s basically one big refugee camp.

“Good God!” says Lamont. “It’s like a shantytown from the thirties! Who are these people? Where did they come from?”

“From everywhere,” I say. “This is where you end up when you don’t have anyplace left to go.”

We work our way around the camp and end up on the west side, keeping close to the inside of the park border. Suddenly, right ahead of us, we see a bunch of people, maybe eight or nine, sneaking outside the railing. Probably looking for food or a missing kid. It happens all the time.

A large black van is waiting by the curb, with a squad of police behind it. The TinGrins avoid the park, but they’re always hiding around the edges, watching for stragglers to pick up. The police have a nightly quota and this is an easy way to fill it. Before the refugees can run for cover, the police surround them.

I pull Lamont down behind a hedge. The police grab the prisoners and shove them into the van, one by one. Mostly men. A couple of women. I can feel Lamont straining.

“I can’t watch this!” he says.

“Let’s go,” I say. I try to pull him backward into the park.

“No!” he says. “Not this time.” He’s dead serious.

Before I can stop him, he creeps forward and picks up a couple broken hunks of cement.

“Lamont! Don’t be crazy!” I whisper. I duck back down.

I see Lamont move up past the van. He winds up and heaves a rock at the escort vehicle parked in front. The rock doesn’t even make a mark in the armor, but it makes a loud bang.

The TinGrins spin around toward the sound. Now Lamont is in the middle of the street. He heaves another rock. This one ricochets off the rear window. The TinGrins spin around again. They’re all in crouch positions, looking for a sniper. Now Lamont is on the entry step of the van. He leans in. What the hell is he doing?

Suddenly, I see the prisoners slip out the door of the van. They make a run for it—across the street and back into the park. There’s no way the TinGrins will follow. They’ll just grab Lamont.

But they don’t. They totally ignore him. They sling their rifles back over their shoulders and go back to leaning against their vehicles.

Lamont walks back to where I’m hiding. He seems wrung out, but really proud of himself. “How about that?” he says. “A little justice at last!”

I pull him down low. I grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“How could you be that stupid? How did you not get shot?”

Lamont looks puzzled.

“How could they shoot me?” he asked. “They couldn’t see me.”

“What do you mean, they couldn’t see you?”

“I was invisible,” he says. “I’m the Shadow, remember?”

“I know that now,” I say. “But I could see you the whole time.”

This brings Lamont up short. He wasn’t expecting it. And I’m not sure he really believes it.

“You saw me?” he asks. “Even when I was invisible?”

“Yes! Every second! No question. You were never invisible. Not to me.”

Lamont sits back on the grass. He blows out a long breath.

“Impossible!” he says. “There is no way that could happen.”

“Sorry, Mr. Shadow. It just did.”

This definitely adds a new wrinkle to our relationship.