******
Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower
The anteroom was even more crowded after they piled out of Barnett’s office when the meeting ended. Barnett stayed behind to continue his prayer vigil.
Digger Downs had been chatting up Sally Lou and Mushroom Daddy was watching the kid Secret Service agent, Alejandro something or other, who was ostensibly on guard duty, make Sally Lou’s pens and pencils wriggle around on her desk as if they were snakes.
“Very cool, man,” Daddy said. “Animation. That’s a power I could dig. Kind of like Mickey in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Ever watch that movie stoned, man? The dancing mushrooms are just hilarious.”
Sascha was gone. Barnett had intercommed Sally Lou to get Jerry a reservation on the next available flight to New York. Sascha had gone ahead to the airport to make sure there weren’t any screw-ups. Downs looked intently at Jerry and Fortunato as they exited Barnett’s office, dropping his try at charming Sally Lou. “Something’s going on,” he said. “I can tell.”
Fortunato grimaced. “I suppose I owe you the whole story. The boy’s down in our suite, still sleeping. Come along, and I’ll tell you.”
They left the office together, and Sally Lou turned to the phone bank.
“What’s up, man?” Mushroom Daddy asked Jerry, breaking off his conversation with the Secret Service kid, who looked somewhat relieved.
“Heading back to New York,” Jerry said. “I’ve got to pick up something at the Jokertown Clinic.”
He figured there was no sense in spreading the real story around. Mushroom Daddy nodded.
“Might as well go with you, man,” Daddy said. He looked very sad. “I was planning on driving my van back, but it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen. It’s gone, man. I only had three hundred thousand miles on it.”
Jerry felt sympathetic. To a point. “Shit happens, man,” he said.
Mushroom Daddy nodded philosophically. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Sally Lou looked up from the phone she’d just answered, blank-eyed.
“Uh,” she said, “Uh—”
“What is it, man?” Daddy asked.
“Armed men are attacking the Bower,” she said in an oddly-calm voice, as if stunned by the news. “They’re trying to reach the penthouse.”
“Shit,” Jerry said. “The Allumbrados! Get Barnett on the horn.” She nodded rapidly.
“Tell him what’s happening,” Jerry said. “Tell him to freeze the elevator banks. With any luck we can catch a bunch of those assholes between floors if they’re dumb enough to try to come on up on the lifts. Call Fortunato’s suite. Call Ray. Try to find Angel. Let them know what the Hell is happening. We’ll go downstairs and check things out.”
“I’m coming with you,” Alejandro said.
“Your duty’s with Barnett—” Jerry began.
“My duty is to stop anyone coming after him. He’s safe here with the other agents guarding the corridor, at least for awhile. Besides, you’ll need me downstairs.”
“All right,” Jerry said. “No sense wasting time arguing over who belongs where. Come on.”
They went to the north stairwell at a run, stopping only briefly to tell the agents on duty in the corridor what was happening, and headed downstairs. They went down half a dozen flights, before Alejandro, leading the way, suddenly pulled up short.
“What’s the matter?” Jerry asked. “You okay?”
Alejandro nodded silently, and drew an automatic from his shoulder holster. “I am,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid that I can’t say the same for you two.”
“Hey, man,” Mushroom Daddy said, “that’s so not-cool.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Alejandro said, “but blood must sometimes be spilled in the service of the Lord.”
“What are you talking about?” Jerry asked. “You’re a Secret Service agent!”
Alejandro nodded. “I am. I am also a perfecti in the service of Our Lord, a somewhat higher master whom I am even more tightly bound to serve.”
Shit, Jerry thought. What—
Mushroom Daddy moved. He swiveled on one foot, lashing out with the other, catching the turncoat secret service agent on his gun hand. The agent lost his grip on the automatic, and it went clattering down the stairs. Alejandro went after it like a cat after a fleeing mouse.
“Run!” Daddy said, and for once the hippie made sense.
He and Jerry turned and fled back up the staircase. Jerry hit the steel fire door just as a bullet ricocheted off it near his head, reverberations from the gunshot pounding his eardrums like tiny hammers. He and Mushroom Daddy pushed through the door, then closed it behind them, leaning against it and breathing deeply.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Jerry panted.
“Bruce Lee movies, man,” Mushroom Daddy said. “He’s the king.”
“Well, thanks,” Jerry said.
“No problemo, man,” Daddy said. “Even a pacifist has to kick ass sometimes.” He paused to take a deep breath. “What do we do now?”
Jerry shook his head. It was clear that the plan to go back to the city to get a dose of the Trump has no longer feasible. There was nothing much they could do, now, that seemed remotely helpful.