He stepped up to the window and gave the cute young girl in the chocolate spattered white uniform his order.
Marie managed to bring her knee straight up between the man's legs and catch him squarely in the groin. He went tumbling backward, his arms flailing out, the knife skittering across the ancient linoleum floor.
Her first impulse was to leap for the door, get it open, and run out to the sidewalk.
Sobbing, she started running around the counter. Running as best she could, anyway, with her crippled foot. Behind her, she heard a noise. She wasn't sure what it was but she wasn't going to stop to find out either.
She had just put her hand out to the safety lock when he clamped his arm on her shoulder and spun her around.
"You shouldn't have done that, bitch."
This time he slapped her so hard she was lifted half a foot off the floor and slammed into the counter, the back of her head cracking against the telephone.
He came at her again, raking the fingers of one hand into her tender sex, and grabbing her neck with the other hand.
He jerked her to him and started kissing her.
His tongue was hot and wet and foul in her mouth. She could hear him groaning with pleasure and feel his penis rubbing against her vagina.
She bit his tongue so hard she could taste blood. This time it wasn't hers, it was his.
He was in such pain that he picked her up like a lawn chair and hurled her into a wire display rack of paperbacks.
She felt the wire biting into her naked back as her weight brought the whole display down. She saw a blur of colourful paperback covers flying past her eyes as the books flew in various directions.
"You fucking cunt," he said.
She could see the blood she'd drawn. His whole mouth was ugly with soaking red blood.
He bent down and grabbed the knife by the hilt.
Chest heaving, wiping off the blood with the back of his hand, he came over to stand above her.
She tried to scramble backward but there was no place to go. She was flush up against the head of a lane. It was at least two feet wide and six feet tall.
He stood over her, his genitals still exposed, blood oozing from his mouth, the knife held ready in his right hand.
"I wasn't going to kill you, cunt. At least not right away. But now I've changed my mind."
He reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair and snapped her to her feet.
"Mrs. Kathleen Fane?"
"Yes."
"Mrs. Fane. This is Chris Holland from Channel 3 News."
"Oh. Yes."
"I'm trying to reach a Marie Fane."
"Marie. Why she's my daughter."
"Do you know where I can reach her?"
"I-suppose. But can you tell me why you need to talk to her?"
"There really isn't time now, Mrs. Fane. You'll just have to trust me."
"Well, she works in a bookstore."
"Do you know the name of it?"
"The Alice B. Toklas Bookstore. It's over in the university district."
"And she's there now?"
"She should be."
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Fane."
"But-"
Knowing she was scaring the hell out of the woman, Chris hung up. She didn't always like the things she had to do as a reporter.
She looked through the phone book, found the Alice B. Toklas Bookstore, and dialled.
The phone rang ten times.
"Shit," Chris said. This time she didn't say pardon my French.
"What's wrong?"
"No answer at the bookstore where Marie is supposed to be working tonight." She hung up and started dialling again immediately.
"Who're you calling?" Emily Lindstrom asked.
"O'Sullivan. He's got a car phone and he should be able to-"
And then there he was.
"Walter?"
"Just the person I want to talk to, Holland. Do you know he has a pet rat that rides around on his shoulder?"
"Things are more serious than that. Do you know where the Alice B. Toklas Bookstore is?"
"Sure. Over by the university. It's where I get my copy of the New York Review of Books every week."
"I need to meet you there as soon as possible. All right?"
"This is all pretty crazy shit, Holland. I hope you know that by now."
"Maybe not as crazy as you think, Walter," she said, and hung up.
This time, Marie managed to duck the slap the man aimed right at her mouth.
He had pushed her flat back against the chest-high counter again, and Marie tried to think of some way to reach the gun Brewster had left under the cash register for her.
The man waved the knife closer, closer to her chest.
He lunged.
Marie jumped sideways two steps.
The knife went deep into the varnished wood of the counter. The man made a grunting sound, almost as if he'd been wounded.
Marie moved backward now. She knew she could never reach the door and get it open before he grabbed her again so she tried to position herself for jumping behind the counter. If she could work her way leftward, she knew she could dive beneath the cash register and get the.38.
The man jerked the knife out of the wood and turned to face her again.
"You think you're going to make it out of this all right. But you're not. Take my word for it. You're not."
Marie said nothing, just kept moving so he couldn't easily grab her, and kept glancing at the opening on the side of the counter. Two steps led to the counter platform and the cash register.
By now, the man had pulled his clothes on again. Except for his crooked tie, he looked pretty much as he had when he'd first come in here.
He kept circling, circling, muttering angrily to himself.
The knife kept snicking at the air, snicking.
Then Marie heard the knock.
At first-her mind spinning with fears of her own death and with what seemed to be her doomed attempt to reach the gun-she wasn't even sure if it was knocking.
Maybe it was just some extraneous sound from the sidewalk or street.
"Marie!"
Several knocks fell against the door now.
She clearly recognised Richie's voice.
Her gaze began flitting to the door. If she could let Richie in…
But she made a mistake by watching the door too long.
She gave the man just enough time to jump across the four feet separating them and grab her around the neck.
In moments she felt his sweaty face breathing hot foul breath against the side of her face, the blade of the butcher knife held tight against her throat.
"You're going to walk over to that door and let him in," he said. "Do you understand?"
She nodded.
"You're not going to scream. You're not going to kick me. You're not going to do anything except let him in and then stand back. You got it?"
Again, she nodded.
He shoved her with his hips, keeping the edge of the blade exactly against her carotid artery. One slice and-
She felt so many things as he pushed her toward the door- terror, confusion, panic. She even felt guilty. If only she'd cried out, warned Richie away.
Now she'd drag him into this and God only knew what-
"Open it," the man whispered harshly in her ear.
This time when he shoved her, she felt his swollen erection against her buttock.
My God, even in the midst of all this, he was still sexually aroused.
The thought of this stunned and sickened her.
She reached out and tripped the hold that would undo the lock.
The lock opened like a shot.
The door crept open half an inch or so.
Diesel fumes and the chilling night air rushed through the tiny crack.
"Marie?"
She could hear the fear and indecision in Richie's voice, hear the questions he had to be asking himself: Should he come in? Should he run for help? By now, he had to know that something was wrong in here, terribly wrong.