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“Might not? More like probably ain’t. The back wall didn’t hold up, did it? That doesn’t bode well for the roof. ”
“Hang close. I don’t want to pull you out of a hole. ”
“Like Huey pulled you—”
“Can it. ”
“Sorry. You’re right. I don’t want to fall in a hole. ”
Rector found the roof’s edge with his eyes only inches before his feet would’ve found it the hard way. “Stop!” he said—a little too loud, but Zeke obeyed. “Here. The edge is right here. Let’s put our stuff down and set up before things get crazy. ”
With relief and exhaustion, they dropped the heavy packs that contained the big gaslights and all their accoutrements. Only once had they been shown how the lights were assembled, but it wasn’t as complicated as it sounded. While they worked by one small bubble of candlelight, they eavesdropped on the tower from behind a row of long-dead shrubs.
“All of them? At once?”
Rector said, “That’s Otis, I think. ”
“It must be something with the gas, or something. Messing with the wires. ”
Zeke asked, “Who’s that?” and Rector answered, “I don’t know. ”
“That’s one goddamn hell of a coincidence!”
The clattering of descending footsteps echoed like the banging of gongs, and Otis Caplan’s lantern lit up the small windows as he passed each one. When he reached the bottom floor he kicked the gate open and stomped out into the yard, shouting for various lieutenants and henchmen. Some followed him down the tower, down the stairs—and some charged up from Millionaire’s Row, coming up the wide streets with their lanterns held high and a great deal of complaining.
“What are you all doing back here?” he demanded.
“Sabotage!”
“What?”
“Someone sabotaged our sabotage! All of it! There’s fighting down at the Station right now—they opened fire on us! They came right for us!”
“They were waiting for us! They knew we was coming!”
Zeke whispered to Rector, “You all ready to go?”
“Yep. How about you?”
“All I gotta do is flip the switch. ”
“Me, too. ” Then Rector asked, “How do we know when to turn ’em on?”
“Huey said we’d know. ”
Down in the open space, at the circle in front of the tower where all the streets met, Otis Caplan was furious. His light swung back and forth in his hand, as though he’d love for someone to come close enough to beat with it. He stalked toward the men, some of whom were bleeding and ragged, and a few of whom were wheezing like maybe their masks weren’t working quite right.
“Where’s everybody else?” he demanded.
“Still there. Or dead!”
“That’s horseshit, and I won’t hear it!”
“But, sir!”
“It’s horseshit! Those damn Station monkeys and that yellow-headed, slant-eyed son of a bitch—”
Whatever else he had to say about Yaozu, he didn’t get to finish it.
