Mookie swallows a hard knot that feels like a baseball in his throat. He shoves Haversham out of the way, grabs the dial, fast-forwards in fifteen-minute increments. The door never opens again. Nora never comes back out.

“Persephone,” the Boss says. He doesn’t know her as Nora. Nobody here but Werth knows that she’s Mookie’s daughter. If they were to ever find out…

But Werth, he does know, and he stares icicles right through Mookie.

“I thought the girl was pushed out,” Werth says, his voice barely containing the fact he’s talking more to Mookie than to Haversham or Zoladski. “I thought she was done in this city. And yet, here she is.”

“This must be her last play,” the Boss says. “Last-ditch effort. And it’s a fucking doozy. I’m dying. And my only heir is…” His voice cracks. He looks away. “I need some air.” Haversham tries to hand him the oxygen mask but the Boss waves it away, says, “Leave the tank. I need some real air. You two. Come on. Let’s go outside.”

Outside, the Boss lights a cigarette. Takes a deep inhale. Coughs like he swallowed fiberglass insulation. But then the coughs abate.

“Haven’t smoked in fifteen fucking years,” the Boss says. “And tonight I had a nic-fit like you wouldn’t believe.” He looks up, scowls at Mookie and Werth. “What? Not like it’s going to give me more cancer, Christ.”

People pass by. A few stares reserved for this motley crew – giant dude, cancer man, crippled old goat. The Boss spits a nit of nicotine out of his mouth.

“You two are gonna handle this,” he says.

“We need everybody on this–” Werth starts to say, but Mookie interrupts:

“We can handle it.”

“This is about our Southern business,” the Boss says. That’s what he calls their dealings with the Deep Downstairs. Southern business. “She’s been coming at us from that end all year. And the shit that she did to Casimir’s body…” He coughs into a handkerchief which comes away flecked with red. “That’s ritual. You wanna just kill a guy, you shoot him in the head. This means something. Find her. Figure it out.”

“You got it,” Werth says.

“Done,” Mookie says, his blood gone to slush.

9

The Five Occulted Pigments: Cerulean, as discussed. Then: Vermilion, or the Red Rage; Viridian, the Green Grave; Ochre, the Golden Gate; and Caput Mortuum, the Violet Void – or simply, “The Dead Head”. Most claim that these are a myth, but I do not believe it so. I have heard the gobbos in their gutter-tongue – yes, I’ve learned some of their words and sounds and crass gesticulations – speak of the other Pigments in reverent tones. We will not find the other four here in the Shallows, I suspect. But rather, they must exist in the Fathomless Tangle – or below that, in the Ravenous Expanse.

– from the Journals of John Atticus Oakes, Cartographer of the Great Below

Outside the front door, Mookie starts to speak. But Werth pulls him away from the door and strides away. It’s a half-a-block up before Werth finally stops, steps into an alcove between two brownstones, and wheels on Mookie.