Nightworld

Jack sat behind the counter of the Isher Sports Shop—one of the few places left on the Upper West Side that spelled shop with one P—and watched the people passing by on the other side of the window. Amsterdam Avenue was sunny and only slightly less crowded than usual for a Saturday afternoon.

Like nothing's changed.

But everything had changed. They just didn't realize it yet. Jack had an urge to run out there and start grabbing people by the collar and shout in their faces that last night wasn't an isolated incident or bizarre aberration. It was going to happen again. And worse. Tonight.

Abe Grossman, the owner, bustled in from the rear of the store carrying two cups of coffee. He handed one to Jack and perched himself on the stool behind the cash register. Jack sipped and winced.

"Jeez, Abe. When did you make this?"

"This morning. Why?"

"It's not like wine, you know. It doesn't get better with age."

"I should waste it? With a microwave in the back, I should throw out perfectly good coffee because Mr. Repairman Jack suddenly has a delicate palate?"

The stool creaked as he adjusted the two-hundred-plus pounds he packed into a fifty-five-year-old, five-eight frame. He had receding gray hair and wore his usual black pleated-front pants, white shirt, and black tie. A bit of egg yolk from breakfast yellowed the breast pocket of his shirt; a red spot that looked like strawberry jelly clung to his tie; he had just finished sprinkling his entire shirt front with bits of finely chopped onion from the fresh bialies Jack had brought.

"Nu? he said when he was settled on his perch. "What have I been saying for so many years to the accompaniment of your derisive laughter? And now it's finally happening. The Collapse Of Civilization. It's all going to fall apart, right before our eyes, just as I've been saying."

Jack had expected this. He'd known that when he told Abe what Glaeken had said, he'd be in for an I-told-you-so lecture. But he had to let Abe know. He'd been Jack's friend, confidant, and arms supplier for most of his time in New York City. In fact it was Abe who had started calling him Repairman Jack.

"No offense, Abe, but you've been predicting an economic holocaust. You know, bank failures, runaway inflation, and so on. Remember?"

"And in Texas it almost happened back in—"

"This is different."

Abe stared at him over the rim of his coffee cup. "This Glaeken person's not a meshuggener, then? You really think this is going to happen?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "I really do."

Abe was silent a moment, then, "For some reason, I believe it too. Maybe because I've been preparing for this eventuality most of my adult life. Maybe because I'd feel like such a schlemiel if I'd been preparing for such a thing for so long and it never happened. But you know what, Jack? Now that the time has come, it's not such a vindication. Happy I'm not."

"You still have that hideaway?"

"Of course."

Abe, the world's dourest pessimist, had been preparing for The Collapse Of Civilization since the mid-seventies. Years ago he'd told Jack about his refuge in rural Pennsylvania, an overgrown farm with an underground bunker and deep stocks of water, weapons, and freeze-dried food. He'd said Jack was welcome there when the Big Crash came. He'd even told Jack where it was—something he'd never revealed to anyone else, even his own daughter.

"Go there, Abe. Get out of the city and hole yourself up there. Today, if possible."

"Today? Today I can't go. Tomorrow maybe."

"Not 'maybe,' Abe. If not today, then tomorrow for sure. For sure."

"You're really worried, aren't you. How bad we talking about, Jack?"

"Bad like you've never dreamed." Jack stopped and grinned. "Jeez, Abe. I'm around you half an hour and I start sounding like you."

"That's because you're part chameleon. But how bad is bad like I never dreamed? I dream pretty bad."

"Whatever you've dreamed, trust me: this'll be worse."

Scenes from the bloody carnage around the Sheep Meadow hole flashed before his eyes. And now there were more holes. Even if the predators from the holes remained limited to the two species he'd seen last night, the city would devolve into a nightmare. But Glaeken was saying that the things from the holes would get progressively bigger and more vicious each night.

Jack's mind shied away from envisioning the holocaust.

"But I'd like to ask a favor."

"Don't even ask," Abe said. "You show up here first thing tomorrow morning with Gia and that darling little girl of hers and we'll all head for the hills together."

"Thanks, Abe," feeling a burst of warmth for this dumpy gunrunner. "That means a lot. But I won't be coming along."

"I should go and you should stay?"

"There's a chance I can do something about the situation."

"Ah. The necklaces you mentioned. I remember the one you had. With the pre-Vedic inscriptions."

"Right. I need to get copies made. I was thinking about Walt Duran. What do you think?"

"Walt's as good as you could ask. Ashtarker in the world of engraving. And he could use the work."

"Really? What happened?"

"Desktop publishing is what happened. Putting honest counterfeiters out of business."

Jack had heard about that. High-definition scanners and color laser printers were doing in minutes what used to take old-time counterfeiters months of grueling, painstaking labor at a cost of ruined eyesight and a chronic stiff neck.

Walt was a stand-up guy, a hard worker. If he'd put his talents to work in the jewelry industry, he'd probably have made more money in the long run and wouldn't have had to do that stretch in the joint. But even so, Jack was glad to hear he'd fallen on hard times. That meant he could be goosed into high gear by the lure of a bonus for early delivery.

Because Walt was as slow as he was good.

"Okay," Abe said. "What's the plan?"

Jack choked down the rest of his coffee and stood up.

"Here's my advice. Gas up that van of yours and garage it for the night. Pack up your stuff this afternoon and get back here before nightfall. Spend the night in your basement here. No matter what you hear upstairs, don't come up to have a look. Stay down there. I'll have Gia and Vicky here right after sunrise. Sound okay?"

Abe frowned. "Sounds like you think things will be going downhill fast."

"Downhill?" Jack said as he headed for the door. "I think they're going to run off a cliff."