“What do we do now?” Jake asked Eddie.
“I’m gonna try something,” Eddie said. “I saw it in a movie once.” He stood in front of the closed door, then tipped Jake a wink. “Here I go. If I don’t do anything but bump my head, feel free to call me an asshole.”
Before Jake could ask him what he was talking about, Eddie walked into the door. Jake saw his eyes close and his mouth tighten in a grimace. It was the expression of a man who expects to take a hard knock.
Only there was no hard knock. Eddie simply passed through the door. For one moment his moccasin-clad foot was sticking out, and then it went through, too. There was a low rasping sound, like a hand being passed over rough wood.
Jake bent down and picked Oy up. “Close your eyes,” he said.
“Eyes,” the bumbler agreed, but continued to look at Jake with that expression of calm adoration. Jake closed his own eyes, squinting them shut When he opened them again, Oy was mimicking him. Without wasting any time, Jake walked into the door with the employees only sign on it. There was a moment of darkness and the smell of wood. Deep in his head, he heard a couple of those disturbing chimes again. Then he was through.
TEN
It was a storage area much bigger than Jake had expected— almost as big as a warehouse and stacked high with books in every direction. He guessed that some of those stacks, held in place by pairs of upright beams that provided shoring rather than shelving, had to be fourteen or sixteen feet high. Narrow, crooked aisles ran between them. In a couple he saw rolling platforms that made him think of the portable boarding ramps you saw in smaller airports. The smell of old books was the same back here as in front, but ever so much stronger, almost overwhelming. Above them hung a scattering of shaded lamps that provided yellowish, uneven illumination. The shadows of Tower, Balazar, and Balazar’s friends leaped grotesquely on the wall to their left. Tower turned that way, leading his visitors to a corner that really was an office: there was a desk with a typewriter and a Rolodex on it, three old filing cabinets, and a wall covered with various pieces of paperwork. There was a calendar with some nineteenth-century guy on the May sheet Jake didn’t recognize…
and then he did. Robert Browning. Jake had quoted him in his Final Essay.
Tower sat down in the chair behind his desk, and immediately seemed sorry he’d done that. Jake could sympathize. The way the other three crowded around him couldn’t have been very pleasant. Their shadows jumped up the wall behind the desk like the shadows of gargoyles.
Balazar reached into his suitcoat and brought out a folded sheet of paper. He opened it and put it down on Tower’s desk. “Recognize this?”
Eddie moved forward. Jake grabbed at him. “Don’t go close! They’ll sense you!”
“I don’t care,” Eddie said. “I need to see that paper.”
Jake followed, not knowing what else to do. Oy stirred in his arms and whined. Jake shushed him curtly, and Oy blinked. “Sorry, buddy,” Jake said, “but you have to keep quiet.”
Was the 1977 version of him in the vacant lot yet? Once inside it, that earlier Jake had slipped somehow and knocked himself unconscious. Had that happened yet? No sense wondering. Eddie was right. Jake didn’t like it, but he knew it was true: they were supposed to be here, not there, and they were supposed to see the paper Balazar was now showing Calvin Tower.
ELEVEN
Eddie got the first couple of lines before Jack Andolini said, “Boss, I don’t like this. Something feels hinky.”
Balazar nodded. “I agree. Is someone back here with us, Mr. Toren?” He still sounded calm and courteous, but his eyes were everywhere, assessing this large room’s potential for concealment.
“No,” Tower said. “Well, there’s Sergio; he’s the shop cat. I imagine he’s back here somew—”
“This ain’t no shop,” Biondi said, “it’s a hole you pour money into. One of those chi-chi designers’d have trouble making enough to cover the overhead on a joint this big, and a bookstore? Man, who are you kidding?”
Himself, that’s who, Eddie thought. He’s been kidding himself.
As if this thought had summoned them, those terrible chimes began again. The hoods gathered in Tower’s storeroom office didn’t hear them, but Jake and Oy did; Eddie could read it on their distressed faces. And suddenly this room, already dim, began to grow dimmer still.
We’re going back, Eddie thought. Jesus, we’re going back! But not before—
He bent forward between Andolini and Balazar, aware that both men were looking around with wide, wary eyes, not caring. What he cared about was the paper. Someone had hired Balazar first to get it signed (probably) and then to shove it under Tower/Toren’s nose when the time was right (certainly). In most cases, Il Roche would have been content to send a couple of his hard boys—what he called his “gentlemen”—on an errand like that. This job, however, was important enough to warrant his personal attention. Eddie wanted to know why.
MEMORANDUM OF AGREEMENT
This document constitutes a Pact of Agreement between Mr. Calvin Tower, a New York State resident, owning real property which is principally a vacant lot, identified as Lot # 298 and Block # 19, located …
Those chimes wriggled through his head again, making him shiver. This time they were louder. The shadows drew thicker, leaping up the storage room’s walls. The darkness Eddie had sensed out on the street was breaking through. They might be swept away, and that would be bad. They might be drowned in it, and that would be worse, of course it would, being drowned in darkness would surely be an awful way to go.
And suppose there were things in that darkness? Hungry things like the doorkeeper?
There are. That was Henry’s voice. For the first time in almost two months. Eddie could imagine Henry standing just behind him and grinning a sallow junkie’s grin: all bloodshot eyes and yellow, uncared-for teeth.
You know there are. But when you hear the chimes, you got to go, bro, as I think you know.
“Eddie!” Jake cried. “It’s coming back! Do you hear it?”
“Grab my belt,” Eddie said. His eyes raced back and forth over the paper in Tower’s pudgy hands. Balazar, Andolini, and Big Nose were still looking around. Biondi had actually drawn his gun.
“Your—?”
“Maybe we won’t be separated,” Eddie said. The chimes were louder than ever, and he groaned. The words of the agreement blurred in front of him. Eddie squinted his eyes, bringing the print back together:
… identified as Lot #298 and Block #19, located in Manhattan, New York City, on 46th Street and 2nd Avenue, and Sombra Corporation, a corporation doing business within the State of New York.
On this day of July 15,1976, Sombra is paying a non-returnable sum of $100,000.00 to Calvin Tower, receipt of which is acknowledged in regard to this property. In consideration thereof, Calvin Tower agrees not to …
July 15th, 1976. Not quite a year ago.
Eddie felt the darkness sweeping down on them, and tried to cram the rest of it through his eyes and into his brain: enough, maybe, to make sense of what was going on here. If he could do that, it would be at least a step toward figuring out what all this meant to them.
If the chimes don’t drive me crazy. If the things in the darkness don’t eat us on the way back.
“Eddie!” Jake. And terrified, by the sound. Eddie ignored him.
… Calvin Tower agrees not to sell or lease or otherwise encumber the property during a one-year period commencing on the date hereof and ending on July 15, 1977. It is understood that the Sombra Corporation shall have first right of purchase on the above mentioned property, as defined below.
During this period, Calvin Tower will fully preserve and protect Sombra Corporation’s stated interest in the above-mentioned Property and will permit no liens or other encumbrances…
There was more, but now the chimes were hideous, head-bursting. For just one moment Eddie understood—
hell, could almost see—how thin this world had become. All of the worlds, probably. As thin and worn as his own jeans. He caught one final phrase from the agreement:… if these conditions are met, will have the right to sell or otherwise dispose of the property to Sombra or any other party. Then the words were gone, everything was gone, spinning into a black whirlpool. Jake held onto Eddie’s belt with one hand and Oy with the other. Oy was barking wildly now, and Eddie had another confused image of Dorothy being swirled away to the Land of Oz.
There were things in the darkness: looming shapes behind weird phosphorescent eyes, the sort of things you saw in movies about exploring the deepest cracks of the ocean floor. Except in those movies, the explorers were always inside a steel diving-bell, while he and Jake—