December 23
Susannah Toren doesn't make it into Manhattan for every board meeting; not even for every major vote by the shareholders of the Tet Corporation. But a little bird--named Nancy Deepneau--told her to be there this weekend.
You can run on for a long time.
It's chilly but not freezing, with a persistent and miserable spattering rain that batters the screen of the black Takuro Nimbus SL. Her driver--Mason, who has a concealed carry permit in New York and Maine both, and once drove her and a lady in blue around this island--wedges the big car into a spot gracefully, and Erin and Jacob are at the door beside her, unfolding the midnight blue chair and the over-sized golf umbrella. They were ten minutes ahead, and their Spirit is parked on up the block already.
Run on for a long time.
It's good to have money; better to have loyalty.
Run on for a long time.
She's pretty sure that these four people--including Catania, her assistant, who pushes the chair through the wide doors of 2 Hammerskjold Plaza--would take a bullet (or fire one) for her. Not that it's going to come to that--the war's over, mainly.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down.
Seems like some people might've forgot that.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down.
She leaves Catania in the hallway with a curt (but kind) word, and powers herself through the doors, still-powerful shoulders flexing under her grey suit with the pinned under legs.
Go tell that long tongue liar
They weren't expecting her, she can see that; except for mousy little Nancy Deepneau, who looks up from her agenda with too-studied shock. The really surprised ones are doing their best to act calm and together and oh-so-happy to see the boss lady show up unexpectedly.
Go and tell that midnight rider
The ebony amazon at the head of the table, her namesake, grins a white, white smile at Susannah Toren. Marian (Odetta) Carver says: "You honor us with your presence."
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter.
Their dark eyes match, moment after moment, but Moses Carver's daughter is not her equal, and the other woman breaks first. "Gunslinger."
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
That part's all right. Lady gets to thinking a company's hers to run, folks show up out of legend and dust and lay claim, she's gonna need put in place a time or two.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
What she doesn't like: the rest of the table, the sons and daughters of nobody in particular, don't like that word. It makes them uncomfortable. They don't like hearing that word in Marian Carver's mouth, pronounced so deferentially, and they don't like having one at their table.
Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news
"Don't let me hold you up," she says coolly, unfolding the reading glasses she needs these days. (Her long distance vision has not failed her, nor her aim, but words swim and make her headache without the red half-frames.)
My head's been wet with the midnight dew
"We were discussing an allotment for this year's business plan," Marian says. "Allotment Nineteen-A. Shall I start again?"
I've been down on bended knee talkin' to the man from Galilee
"I'm up to date," she says, crisp and cool as the weather out the window, with hints of the brutal winter waiting in the wings. "Le's vote."
He called my name and my heart stood still
She can see that don't like that either--don't like to hear that ghetto dip in her voice. And well they shouldn't, but they don't know why it's a warning. The votes are six for, four against, but she's one of the five, and the thing about gunslingers is--with a gunslinger, six against five is no odds at all. "This ain't happenin," she says, not bothering to hide the contempt nor the drawl of the drawers.
When he said, "John go do My will!"
"We've used these tactics before," Marian says, poised, "against our enemies."
Go tell that long tongue liar
"Your enemies?" she says, drawing the line for them all to see. "No. 'Gainst the enemies of all. And they dead, sugar. They dust in the wind. This kind of thing is over."
Go and tell that midnight rider
"With all due respect--" someone starts, and is silenced.
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
"I don't want to hear all due respect," she says. "I want to hear what gives you the right."
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
The silence is loud, and the fool must fill it. "Well... we're the good guys," he says, a white boy with an easy smile she hates on sight. "Right?"
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
"Things change and the world moves on," she says, and she did not just see him roll his eyes, did she? "We're only as good as the last thing we did. These folk aren't our enemies. They're our competitors. This ain't happenin."
You can run on for a long time
"We won the vote," he complains.
Run on for a long time
"But you lost the showdown. Don't cry over it." She whips the chair away from the table, and leaves them to the rest.
Run on for a long time
Mason's halfway through a sandwich when she slips back into the car. "Home again?" he says swallowing.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
"Ayuh," she says, smiling at the joke of the dialect; one more thing into the crazy mix. It's been a long drive for that short scene, and the road back is still before them, but then, it's always that way; a long trying wait and five minutes of blood and thunder. She likes cars; Eddie likes planes. And the money's for spending, after all.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
The Nimbus heads out across the highways, and the Spirit follows.
***
Go tell that long tongue liar
It's New Hampshire and the weather's worse when Mason notices the car behind them; it was there in the city, he's pretty sure, disappeared somewhere in Westchester, reappeared (he thought) in Vermont for a moment, and now on this empty stretch of road it's there clear as day, the same damn car. He's on the phone to the Spirit instantly; the car is boxed between them, and they get pretty good recon that way.
Go and tell that midnight rider
"Four of them, Jacob says," he tells her. "Rhode Island plates."
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
"They followed us through the highways?" She means the highways in hiding, portals between common earths, not the US 6 that in this mirror of the wheel takes you from Manhattan to Bangor.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
"Ayuh." Catania's on her Larch PDA, looking things up on the Internet. "There's a garage up ahead. Do we want to go to ground?" She's--mainly--an assistant, but Susannah Toren doesn't hire anybody without a sense of tactics. She nods.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
"If they're nobody, they'll go by. Otherwise..." She shrugs. "Tell Jacob to pass 'em."
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
There's a footlocker under Catania's seat, and she unlocks it; what's inside gleams with oily evil, and Susannah feels a lot better with one in each hand.
***
Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand
The garage is either closed or the owners just don't give a damn enough to come open up on a day cold enough to freeze the tits off a statue. They park aligned with the dark garage, ready, each in their own way. Catania's the least ready with a gun; Mason's overconfident, Jacob's adequate and knows it, and Erin's good and knows it.
Workin' in the dark against your fellow man
And then the red car with the foxtail antenna and the Rhode Island plates slides on by without slowing, and they all exhale.
But as sure as God made black and white
Catania smiles. "You're getting paranoid, Boss La--" And then her blood and brains are splashed across Susannah's suit.
What's done in the dark will be brought to the light
***
You can run on for a long time
The windows of the garage explode with bullets, and then the doors are simply run down as the vans inside lurch forward; one stops and burst open, full of gunmen, and the other rumbles on torn-up rims to make a shooting gallery around them.
Run on for a long time
She's firing through the shot-out back window, and Mason's getting out of the car, to take aim; the circling van swerves to catch him broadside, plastered between the two vehicles. The slam throws off her aim, and the last man in the rear vehicle's life is spared as she goes ass over teakettle. The driver of the front van breaks his nose on the steering wheel, though, and she takes the time to put a bullet through it before rolling out of her car.
Run on for a long time
There's a pistol in each hand, and Catania's in her skirtwaist, and six of them piling out of the front car with shotguns and submachine guns. There's firelight coming from the Spirit, and she sees Erin cut down, staggering from the blaze and firing two handed.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
She fires calmly, a million miles away from the bullets in her body and the graze along her temple and the bits of human matter on her skin, and she cuts them all down.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Then there's the scream of brakes; the red car is back, and it brought friends. She does the only thing she can; she crawls away from the highway and towards cover, the dark garage building, and she kills as many of them as she can as she goes. She shoots through the glass of the door and drags herself over the fragments, through the door.
You can run on for a long time.
It's chilly but not freezing, with a persistent and miserable spattering rain that batters the screen of the black Takuro Nimbus SL. Her driver--Mason, who has a concealed carry permit in New York and Maine both, and once drove her and a lady in blue around this island--wedges the big car into a spot gracefully, and Erin and Jacob are at the door beside her, unfolding the midnight blue chair and the over-sized golf umbrella. They were ten minutes ahead, and their Spirit is parked on up the block already.
Run on for a long time.
It's good to have money; better to have loyalty.
Run on for a long time.
She's pretty sure that these four people--including Catania, her assistant, who pushes the chair through the wide doors of 2 Hammerskjold Plaza--would take a bullet (or fire one) for her. Not that it's going to come to that--the war's over, mainly.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down.
Seems like some people might've forgot that.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down.
She leaves Catania in the hallway with a curt (but kind) word, and powers herself through the doors, still-powerful shoulders flexing under her grey suit with the pinned under legs.
Go tell that long tongue liar
They weren't expecting her, she can see that; except for mousy little Nancy Deepneau, who looks up from her agenda with too-studied shock. The really surprised ones are doing their best to act calm and together and oh-so-happy to see the boss lady show up unexpectedly.
Go and tell that midnight rider
The ebony amazon at the head of the table, her namesake, grins a white, white smile at Susannah Toren. Marian (Odetta) Carver says: "You honor us with your presence."
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter.
Their dark eyes match, moment after moment, but Moses Carver's daughter is not her equal, and the other woman breaks first. "Gunslinger."
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
That part's all right. Lady gets to thinking a company's hers to run, folks show up out of legend and dust and lay claim, she's gonna need put in place a time or two.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
What she doesn't like: the rest of the table, the sons and daughters of nobody in particular, don't like that word. It makes them uncomfortable. They don't like hearing that word in Marian Carver's mouth, pronounced so deferentially, and they don't like having one at their table.
Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news
"Don't let me hold you up," she says coolly, unfolding the reading glasses she needs these days. (Her long distance vision has not failed her, nor her aim, but words swim and make her headache without the red half-frames.)
My head's been wet with the midnight dew
"We were discussing an allotment for this year's business plan," Marian says. "Allotment Nineteen-A. Shall I start again?"
I've been down on bended knee talkin' to the man from Galilee
"I'm up to date," she says, crisp and cool as the weather out the window, with hints of the brutal winter waiting in the wings. "Le's vote."
He called my name and my heart stood still
She can see that don't like that either--don't like to hear that ghetto dip in her voice. And well they shouldn't, but they don't know why it's a warning. The votes are six for, four against, but she's one of the five, and the thing about gunslingers is--with a gunslinger, six against five is no odds at all. "This ain't happenin," she says, not bothering to hide the contempt nor the drawl of the drawers.
When he said, "John go do My will!"
"We've used these tactics before," Marian says, poised, "against our enemies."
Go tell that long tongue liar
"Your enemies?" she says, drawing the line for them all to see. "No. 'Gainst the enemies of all. And they dead, sugar. They dust in the wind. This kind of thing is over."
Go and tell that midnight rider
"With all due respect--" someone starts, and is silenced.
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
"I don't want to hear all due respect," she says. "I want to hear what gives you the right."
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
The silence is loud, and the fool must fill it. "Well... we're the good guys," he says, a white boy with an easy smile she hates on sight. "Right?"
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
"Things change and the world moves on," she says, and she did not just see him roll his eyes, did she? "We're only as good as the last thing we did. These folk aren't our enemies. They're our competitors. This ain't happenin."
You can run on for a long time
"We won the vote," he complains.
Run on for a long time
"But you lost the showdown. Don't cry over it." She whips the chair away from the table, and leaves them to the rest.
Run on for a long time
Mason's halfway through a sandwich when she slips back into the car. "Home again?" he says swallowing.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
"Ayuh," she says, smiling at the joke of the dialect; one more thing into the crazy mix. It's been a long drive for that short scene, and the road back is still before them, but then, it's always that way; a long trying wait and five minutes of blood and thunder. She likes cars; Eddie likes planes. And the money's for spending, after all.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
The Nimbus heads out across the highways, and the Spirit follows.
***
Go tell that long tongue liar
It's New Hampshire and the weather's worse when Mason notices the car behind them; it was there in the city, he's pretty sure, disappeared somewhere in Westchester, reappeared (he thought) in Vermont for a moment, and now on this empty stretch of road it's there clear as day, the same damn car. He's on the phone to the Spirit instantly; the car is boxed between them, and they get pretty good recon that way.
Go and tell that midnight rider
"Four of them, Jacob says," he tells her. "Rhode Island plates."
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
"They followed us through the highways?" She means the highways in hiding, portals between common earths, not the US 6 that in this mirror of the wheel takes you from Manhattan to Bangor.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
"Ayuh." Catania's on her Larch PDA, looking things up on the Internet. "There's a garage up ahead. Do we want to go to ground?" She's--mainly--an assistant, but Susannah Toren doesn't hire anybody without a sense of tactics. She nods.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
"If they're nobody, they'll go by. Otherwise..." She shrugs. "Tell Jacob to pass 'em."
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
There's a footlocker under Catania's seat, and she unlocks it; what's inside gleams with oily evil, and Susannah feels a lot better with one in each hand.
***
Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand
The garage is either closed or the owners just don't give a damn enough to come open up on a day cold enough to freeze the tits off a statue. They park aligned with the dark garage, ready, each in their own way. Catania's the least ready with a gun; Mason's overconfident, Jacob's adequate and knows it, and Erin's good and knows it.
Workin' in the dark against your fellow man
And then the red car with the foxtail antenna and the Rhode Island plates slides on by without slowing, and they all exhale.
But as sure as God made black and white
Catania smiles. "You're getting paranoid, Boss La--" And then her blood and brains are splashed across Susannah's suit.
What's done in the dark will be brought to the light
***
You can run on for a long time
The windows of the garage explode with bullets, and then the doors are simply run down as the vans inside lurch forward; one stops and burst open, full of gunmen, and the other rumbles on torn-up rims to make a shooting gallery around them.
Run on for a long time
She's firing through the shot-out back window, and Mason's getting out of the car, to take aim; the circling van swerves to catch him broadside, plastered between the two vehicles. The slam throws off her aim, and the last man in the rear vehicle's life is spared as she goes ass over teakettle. The driver of the front van breaks his nose on the steering wheel, though, and she takes the time to put a bullet through it before rolling out of her car.
Run on for a long time
There's a pistol in each hand, and Catania's in her skirtwaist, and six of them piling out of the front car with shotguns and submachine guns. There's firelight coming from the Spirit, and she sees Erin cut down, staggering from the blaze and firing two handed.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
She fires calmly, a million miles away from the bullets in her body and the graze along her temple and the bits of human matter on her skin, and she cuts them all down.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Then there's the scream of brakes; the red car is back, and it brought friends. She does the only thing she can; she crawls away from the highway and towards cover, the dark garage building, and she kills as many of them as she can as she goes. She shoots through the glass of the door and drags herself over the fragments, through the door.