been?
“You tell me.”
Canvas ignored him, instead pulling up a chair, sitting down, and lighting a cigar. “When my man got taken out so easy,” that should have told me. He laughed. “And I got audiologist bills from what one of your toys did to my listener.” He shook his head. “That’s a new one on me.” He shook his head. “You know, between you and the bitch, the insurance copayments on this thing are going to break me.”
“Pity.”
Canvas looked up sharply. “Not from you, old son. Never from you.”
Xenos wet his lips. Canvas noticed, then gave him a drink of cold water from a pitcher nearby.
“Still chasing rainbows?”
Xenos exhaled deeply. “Ain’t no rainbows anymore, he whispered.”
The sitting man seemed shocked to the core. A wounded look that seemed to say that the blue sky had just been discovered as truly plaid.
“I don’t believe it,” he said quietly. “Not you. Not ever.” Canvas stood and began pacing. “You’re a constant of the universe, Jerry. Like the moon’s orbit or flowers in spring.” He chuckled. “You and me, old son. Sides of a coin.”
He came so close that he brushed Xenos’s chest—almost intimately—as he looked up into the burned-outeyes. “The White Knight on the side of the demons. The Black Knight on the side of the angels.” He reached up, tenderly wiping sweat out of the hanging man’s eyes. “We defined each other. We
were
each other.”
“Ancient history.”
Canvas gave him another drink. “Not history. We’re the last two, you know. For at least our generation.” Canvas’s voice became veiled and choked with emotion. “Not history.
Legend.”
Somehow, Xenos managed a weak laugh. “I retired from the legend business.”
The standing man regarded the hanging man closely for some minutes, then turned away—physically and emotionally. “I honestly
thought
you’d retired, Jerry. I’d heard you’d told them all to shove it where the sun don’t shine and disappeared. Somewhere in the Med, I’d heard.”
“I did.”
Canvas shook his head as he turned back to face him. All emotion banished from his face. “You don’t look retired to me.” He moved to more closely examine the wounds to Xenos’s exposed back and chest. “Looks like a through and through shoulder and a nick on the old collarbone. Must hurt like a nasty bugger.” He shook his head as he studied the blackening wounds. “My people treating you all right?”
Xenos nodded. “More or less.”
“More,” I should think. “He looked into the hanging man’s” eyes. “The
less
comes later.”
“Pleasantries over, Colin?” Xenos asked in a conversational tone.
“Afraid so, Jerry. Afraid so. You’re about to become an object lesson for the Honorable Ms. Alvarez.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to tell me what she told you. What you know and who you’re working for.”
Xenos grimaced in expression and pain. “I don’t think so.”
Canvas took a deep, somehow sad breath. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t suppose you would.” He started out of the room.
“Colin?”
“Yeah?”
“My father…”
“He’s fine. We all know about you and him.”
Xenos seemed to relax. “Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Five minutes later Canvas returned with two brutes and Valerie. Then the beatings began.
The knock on the door almost catapulted Avidol off the couch. But he hesitated, waiting to be sure Sarah and Bradley were in the other room by the fire escape, before opening it. A short old man chewing an unlit cigar stood outside, an insincere smile on his face.
“Reb Goldman?”
“Yes?”
The man held out his hand. “Herb Stone. I’m a friend of your son.”
“I don’t know you, the old scholar said carefully.”
“No? I’m not surprised, really. You haven’t exactly spoken to Jerry a lot lately, have you?”
Avidol continued to ignore the outstretched hand and the undangerous face beyond it. “Where is my
“You tell me.”
Canvas ignored him, instead pulling up a chair, sitting down, and lighting a cigar. “When my man got taken out so easy,” that should have told me. He laughed. “And I got audiologist bills from what one of your toys did to my listener.” He shook his head. “That’s a new one on me.” He shook his head. “You know, between you and the bitch, the insurance copayments on this thing are going to break me.”
“Pity.”
Canvas looked up sharply. “Not from you, old son. Never from you.”
Xenos wet his lips. Canvas noticed, then gave him a drink of cold water from a pitcher nearby.
“Still chasing rainbows?”
Xenos exhaled deeply. “Ain’t no rainbows anymore, he whispered.”
The sitting man seemed shocked to the core. A wounded look that seemed to say that the blue sky had just been discovered as truly plaid.
“I don’t believe it,” he said quietly. “Not you. Not ever.” Canvas stood and began pacing. “You’re a constant of the universe, Jerry. Like the moon’s orbit or flowers in spring.” He chuckled. “You and me, old son. Sides of a coin.”
He came so close that he brushed Xenos’s chest—almost intimately—as he looked up into the burned-outeyes. “The White Knight on the side of the demons. The Black Knight on the side of the angels.” He reached up, tenderly wiping sweat out of the hanging man’s eyes. “We defined each other. We
were
each other.”
“Ancient history.”
Canvas gave him another drink. “Not history. We’re the last two, you know. For at least our generation.” Canvas’s voice became veiled and choked with emotion. “Not history.
Legend.”
Somehow, Xenos managed a weak laugh. “I retired from the legend business.”
The standing man regarded the hanging man closely for some minutes, then turned away—physically and emotionally. “I honestly
thought
you’d retired, Jerry. I’d heard you’d told them all to shove it where the sun don’t shine and disappeared. Somewhere in the Med, I’d heard.”
“I did.”
Canvas shook his head as he turned back to face him. All emotion banished from his face. “You don’t look retired to me.” He moved to more closely examine the wounds to Xenos’s exposed back and chest. “Looks like a through and through shoulder and a nick on the old collarbone. Must hurt like a nasty bugger.” He shook his head as he studied the blackening wounds. “My people treating you all right?”
Xenos nodded. “More or less.”
“More,” I should think. “He looked into the hanging man’s” eyes. “The
less
comes later.”
“Pleasantries over, Colin?” Xenos asked in a conversational tone.
“Afraid so, Jerry. Afraid so. You’re about to become an object lesson for the Honorable Ms. Alvarez.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to tell me what she told you. What you know and who you’re working for.”
Xenos grimaced in expression and pain. “I don’t think so.”
Canvas took a deep, somehow sad breath. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t suppose you would.” He started out of the room.
“Colin?”
“Yeah?”
“My father…”
“He’s fine. We all know about you and him.”
Xenos seemed to relax. “Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Five minutes later Canvas returned with two brutes and Valerie. Then the beatings began.
The knock on the door almost catapulted Avidol off the couch. But he hesitated, waiting to be sure Sarah and Bradley were in the other room by the fire escape, before opening it. A short old man chewing an unlit cigar stood outside, an insincere smile on his face.
“Reb Goldman?”
“Yes?”
The man held out his hand. “Herb Stone. I’m a friend of your son.”
“I don’t know you, the old scholar said carefully.”
“No? I’m not surprised, really. You haven’t exactly spoken to Jerry a lot lately, have you?”
Avidol continued to ignore the outstretched hand and the undangerous face beyond it. “Where is my
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