Patrick sat in the driver seat of Zero's van, idly watching the little office building. He'd parked across the street in a church parking lot - Our Lady of Something-or-other - and left the engine idling to run the heater, but he was keeping his window open to let out the pungent odor that seemed to be ingrained into the van's metal frame. The driver seat felt like little more than a sheet of newspaper spread over a collection of rusty springs.
But the sharp jabs against his butt were inconsequential compared to the discomfort of sharing the van with the shadowy form seated behind him. Here was a perfect opportunity to probe Zero, maybe get a line on what made this bird tick, but Patrick found himself tongue-tied.
What do you say to a masked man?
Had to give it a shot: "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
Zero's deep voice echoed from the dark recess at the rear of the van. "Depends."
"Why do you call yourself 'Zero'?"
"That is my name."
Ooookay. Try another tack. "How about them Mets?" That was usually a foolproof conversation opener, especially out here on the Island, even in the off-season. "What do you think of that last round of trades?"
"I don't follow sports."
Okay, strike that. Maybe if we concentrate more on the moment...
"You have any idea what this van was used for before you got it?"
"It was a delivery truck run by a Korean Christian group in Yonkers."
"Smells like they spilled a gallon of roast puppy stew on the way to the annual church potluck dinner."
Patrick heard a soft chuckle. "I can think of worse things to spill."
Hey, he laughs!
"You mean, be grateful for small favors, right?"
"Small and large. I'm grateful the Reverend Eckert has finally been able to purchase space on a satellite."
"That means he'll be beaming his anti-SimGen sermons direct."
"Right. No more worries about SimGen influencing the syndicate that distributes his show to local stations. Not only can he beam his shows to the syndicate, but he's now got direct access to anyone with a satellite dish."
"Nice. A big jump in audience."
"I'm grateful too," Zero said, "for how well you and Romy are working together."
"So far, so good. She's a piece of work."
"That she is. One very intense young woman. Tell me, Patrick, do you hope for a closer relationship between the two of you?"
Patrick blinked in surprise. Odd question. "Do you mean working or personal?"
"Personal."
"Is there something I don't know?" he said, turning to look at Zero. He wished he'd take off that mask. "Is there something going on between you and Romy? Because if there is - "
Zero gave a dismissive wave. "Nothing, I assure you. I am...unavailable."
That was a relief.
"Well, okay, but all I can say is, whether or not we go the next step is up to her. If you're worried about a romance between us interfering with our job performance, rest easy. The lady has thus far found the strength of character to resist my charms."
"Which I'm sure are considerable."
"As me grandma used to say," he said in a pretty fair Irish accent, "from yer lips to Gawd's ear."
"Speaking of God, I've been looking at this church. Are you Catholic?"
"With a name like Patrick Michael Sullivan, could I be anything else?"
"Practicing?"
"No. Pretty much the fallen-away variety. Haven't seen the inside of a church for some time."
"But you do believe in God."
"Yeah, sure." Where was this going?
"Did you know that some sims believe in God, even pray to Him?"
"No. I didn't." For some reason the idea made him uncomfortable. "Any particular faith?"
"They tend toward Catholicism. They like all the statues, although they find the crucifix disturbing. They're most comfortable with the Virgin Mary. Pick through any sim barrack and you'll usually find a few statues of her."
"I can see that. A mother figure is comforting."
"Sims pray to God, Patrick. But does God hear them?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do sims have souls?"
"This is heavy stuff."
"Most enlightened believers accept evolution. Genetics makes it impossible for an intelligent person to deny a common ancestor between chimps and humans. Some theologians posit a 'transcendental intervention' along the evolutionary tree, the moment when God imbued an early human with a soul. So I ask you, Patrick: When human genes were spliced into chimps to make sims, did a soul come along with them?"
"To tell the truth," Patrick said, "I've never given it an instant's thought until you just mentioned it."
Who had time to ponder such imponderables? Zero, obviously. And it seemed important to him.
"Think about it," Zero said. "Sims praying to a God who won't listen because they have no souls. Imagine believing in a God who doesn't believe in you. Tragic, don't you think?"
"Absolutely. But I wonder - "
The wail of a siren cut him off. He watched as an ambulance screamed into the parking lot across the street.
"You think that's for Romy?"
"I imagine so." Zero's voice now was close behind him. "I told her to give it her best performance."
They watched a pair of EMTs, a wiry male and a rather hefty woman, hurry inside. A few moments later they reemerged, pulled a stretcher from their rig, and hauled it inside.
"Wow," Patrick muttered. "She must be bucking for an Oscar."
He kept his tone light but felt a twinge of anxiety at the way those EMTs were hustling. A long ten minutes later they exited, wheeling the stretcher between them. But it wasn't empty this trip. Patrick could make out a slim figure in the blanket. Had to be Romy. He noticed that her head was swathed in gauze...with a crimson stain seeping through.
"Shit!" he cried, fear stabbing him as he reached for the door handle. "She's bleeding!"
"Wait!" he heard Zero say, but he was already out and moving toward the street.
No way he could sit in a van and watch Romy be wheeled into an ambulance by strangers when she was hurt and bleeding. Her gaze flicked his way as he dashed into the parking lot. When he saw her hand snake out from under the blanket and surreptitiously wave him off, he slowed his approach. And when she gave him a quick thumbs-up sign, he veered off and headed for the office building. He waited inside until the ambulance wailed off, then crossed back to the van.
"She seems okay," he said as he climbed back into the driver seat.
"Wonderful," replied the voice from the dim rear.
"But what the hell happened in there?" He threw the shift into forward and took off after the receding ambulance. "She was supposed to stand clear and fake being hurt. How the hell did she cut her head open?"
"I should have foreseen this," Zero said. "This is so Romy."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you understand? She had to make it real. She had to send a message to Manassas and SimGen and whoever else is involved that she's ready to bleed for her beliefs."
"Sheesh," Patrick muttered.
"Isn't she wonderful."
It wasn't a question. In that moment Patrick realized that the mysterious Zero, although "unavailable," was as smitten with Romy Cadman as he was.
"What is it about her?" Patrick said. The ambulance was still in sight, though blocks ahead. Tailing it was easy in the light traffic. "I mean, you're obviously taken by her, and I confess I'm drawn to her - "
"Drawn?"
"Like a moth to a searchlight. And then that guy Portero - "
"The SimGen security chief?"
"He's got it bad for her. Might as well have written it on his forehead in DayGlo orange. What is it about Romy Cadman?"
"Simple: her purity."
Patrick didn't have to ask. He knew Zero wasn't talking about virginity. He was talking about heart, about purpose.
"I hear you. But Portero didn't strike me as the kind who'd go for that."
"Some men approach purity like Romy's simply to protect it from harm; and some wish to draw closer in the hope that it will rub off on them or somehow cleanse them; and others want to possess it merely to defile it and extinguish it because it reminds them of what they have become, as opposed to what they could have been."
Patrick glanced Zero's way in the rearview. He'd obviously given a lot of thought to this.
"Well, I guess we know where Portero fits in that scheme."
"I think we do."
"But how about you?"
A long pause, then Zero said, "If my circumstances were different, I'd be content merely to warm myself in her glow. And if I couldn't do that I'd settle for curling up outside her door every night to keep her safe from trespassers."
Patrick swallowed, unexpectedly moved.
"You know, Zero," he said, his voice a tad hoarse, "I've got to admit I've had my doubts about you. Major, heavy-duty doubts. But now..."
"Now?"
Patrick didn't know quite what to say. Any man who could pinpoint Romy as Zero had, and who could not only feel about her the way he'd described, but come out and say it...
"You're all right."
Lame, but the best Patrick could do at the moment. At least it was sincere. Romy would appreciate that.