The tunnel would have led him very close to his next victim – if not for some inconsiderate laborers who’d bricked off the doorway in the past twenty four hours, some construction work Billy hadn’t planned on.

A pain …

He surveyed the murky passageway, illuminated by light filtering in from runoff gratings and ill matched manhole covers. From cracks in some of the nearby buildings too. How to get around the wall, without having to climb to the surface? The Underground Man should stay, well, underground.

Walking another fifty yards, Billy noted a ladder of U shaped iron bars set into the brick wall. The rungs led, ten feet up, to a smaller passage that looked like it would bypass the obstruction. He shucked the backpack and walked to the ladder. He climbed up and peered inside. Yes, it seemed to lead to another, larger tunnel that would take him where he wanted to go.

He returned to the floor to collect his backpack and continue his journey.

Which was when the man came out of nowhere.

The shadowy form charged him, enwrapped Billy in a bear’s grip and pressed him against the tunnel wall.

Lord, Billy prayed. Save me, Lord …

His hands shook, heart pounded at the shock.

The man looked him up and down. He was about Billy’s size and age but very strong. Surprisingly strong. He stank, that complex aroma of unwashed human skin and hair and street oils. Jeans, two Housing Works shirts, white and pale blue. A tattered plaid sport coat, originally nice quality, stolen or plucked out of a Dumpster in this fancy neighborhood. The man sported wild hair but was clean shaven, curiously. His dark eyes were beady and narrow and feral. Billy thought immediately of Doctor Moreau.

Bear man …

‘My block. Here, it’s my block. You’re in my block. Why are you in my block?’ His predator’s eyes dancing around.

Billy tried to pull away but stopped fast when Bear man flicked open a straight razor expertly and touched the gleaming edge to Billy’s throat.

‘Careful there. Please.’ Billy was whispering these words. Maybe others too. He wasn’t sure.

‘My block,’ Bear man was repeating, apparently not the least inclined to be careful. The razor scraped, scraped on the one day growth of beard on his throat. It sounded like a car transmission to Billy.

‘You,’ the man growled.

Thinking of his parents again, his aunt and uncle, other relatives.

Lovely Girl, of course.

He was going to die, and like this? Wasteful, tragic.

The massive vice grip tightened. ‘Are you the one? I’ll bet you are. Who else would you be, of course? Of course.’

What was the response supposed to be to that?

Not to move, for one thing. Billy sensed that if he did, he’d feel a tickling pain beneath his jaw and, after the stroke, giddiness, as blood sprayed and sprayed. And then he’d feel nothing at all.

Billy said, ‘Look, I’m with the city. I work for the city.’ He nodded at his coveralls. ‘I’m not here to hassle you. I’m just doing my job.’

‘You’re not a reporter?’

‘With the city,’ he repeated, tapping the coveralls – very carefully and with a cautious finger. Then he gambled. ‘I hate reporters.’

This seemed to be reassuring to Bear man, though he didn’t relax much. The razor was still held firmly in one massive, filthy paw. The other continued to press Billy painfully into the wall of the tunnel.

‘Julian?’ Bear man asked.

‘What?’

‘Julian?’

As if the name was a code and Billy was supposed to respond with the counter password. If he got it wrong he’d be decapitated. His palms sweated. He rolled the dice. ‘No, I’m not Julian.’

‘No, no, no. Do you know  Julian Savitch?’ Irritated that Billy wasn’t catching on.

‘No.’

Bear man said skeptically, ‘No, no? He wrote that book.’

‘Well, I don’t know him. Really.’

A close examination of Billy’s face. ‘It was about me. Not just me. All of us. I have a copy. I got a copy that was signed. Somebody from the city–’ He poked the logo on the coveralls. ‘Somebody  from the city brought him down here. Brought him into our block. Here. My  block. Did you do that?’

‘I didn’t … No, I don’t even know–’

‘The law says I can cut you if I feel I’m in danger and the jury believes I really felt I was in danger. Not that I was  actually in danger. But if I felt  I was in danger. See the difference? That’s all I need. And you’re dead, buddy.’

The sentences ran into each other, clattering, like cars on a fast braking freight train.

Billy asked calmly, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Nathan.’

‘Please, Nathan.’ Then he shut up as the razor scraped his throat once more.

Rasp, rasp …

‘You live down here?’ he asked Bear man.

‘Julian said bad things about us. He called us that name.’

‘Name?’

‘That we don’t like ! Are you the one who sent him down here? Somebody from the city did. When I find him I’m going to kill him. He called us that name.’

‘What name?’ Billy was thinking this was a logical question to ask and he wouldn’t incur the wrath of Bear man by at least raising the issue, an apparently sensitive one.

The answer, spat out, was ‘“Mole People”. In his book. About us who live down here. Thousands of us. We’re homeless most of us. We live in the tunnels and subways. He called us Mole People. We don’t like that.’

‘Who would?’ Billy asked. ‘No, I didn’t lead anybody down here. And I don’t know a Julian.’

The razor gleamed, even in the dim light, lovingly kept. It was Bear man’s treasure, and Billy understood the clean shave, not very common among the homeless, he guessed.

‘We don’t like that, being called that, moles,’ Bear man repeated, as if he’d forgotten he’d just said it. ‘I’m a person like you and me.’

Well, that sentence hardly worked. But Billy nodded in agreement, thinking he was close to vomiting. ‘Sure you are. Well, I don’t know Julian, Nathan. I’m just here checking on the tunnels. For safety, you know.’

Bear man stared. ‘Sure you say that but why should I believe you why why why?’ Words running together in a growl.

‘You don’t have to believe me. But it’s true.’

Billy thought he was actually about to die. He thought of the people he’d loved.

ELA

LIAM

He said a prayer.

Bear  not Mole man gripped Billy harder. The razor stayed in place. ‘You know, some of us don’t choose  to live here. We don’t want  to live here. Don’t you think that? We’d rather have a home in Westchester. Some of us would rather fuck a wife every Thursday night and take her to see the in laws on nice spring days. But things don’t always work out as planned now, do they?’

‘No, they don’t, Nathan. They sure don’t.’ And Billy, desperate to forge some connection between them, came seconds away from telling Bear man about the tragedies of his parents and Lovely Girl. But, no. You didn’t need a Modification Commandment to remind you not to do stupid things. ‘I’m not helping authors write about you. I’m here to make sure the tunnels don’t collapse and there are no water or gas leaks.’ He pointed up to an array of pipes running along the tunnel’s ceiling.

‘What’s that?’ Nathan was tugging up Billy’s sleeve. He was staring at the centipede with a child like fascination.

‘A tattoo.’

‘Well, now. That’s pretty nice. Pretty good.’ The razor drooped. But didn’t fold away. God, Nathan’s hand was huge.

‘It’s my hobby.’

‘You did that? You did that on yourself?’

‘I did, yeah. It’s not that hard. You like it?’

Nathan admitted, ‘I guess I do.’

‘I could give you a tattoo, Nathan. If I do that would you move that razor away from my throat?’

‘What kind of tattoo?’

‘Anything you like.’

‘I’m not going up top.’ He said this as if Billy had suggested strolling through a nuclear reactor core that was melting down.