Oh, it will be good to have Kara Wade's hand sink that blade into his gut and twist it!
But that will have to wait. What to do now? If you return to Chelsea he might well be sitting in his car outside your front door, waiting for you. Laughing at you.
You come up to the cold, crisp air. The neon sleaze of Times Square assaults you. You ignore it. Your mind is on, more important matters. What to do next?
An idea strikes you. Why return home at all? Spend the night at a hotel. A wonderful idea.
You look around. But you certainly won't stay here in the Times Square area. The Grand Hyatt is just a few blocks east. And the Helmsley Palace is further uptown. You were at the Helmsley as Kara a few nights ago.
Now you'll have to be there as yourself. Oh, well, it's a comfortable place.
No sooner do you raise your hand to flag a taxi than one pulls into the curb. You reach for the door but it opens by itself. A familiar, grinning face appears out of the rear interior.
"Need a ride, Doc? I'm heading your way."
The shock is like a stab in the throat. This is not to be borne! How can this buffoon know your every move? It's not possible! Not natural!
You lurch away, into the street to find another cab, one for yourself, to take you away from this city hireling who trails after you like a tin can tied to your tail. Rage is a living thing inside you. You'll kill him with your bare hands if you ever get the chance!
Suddenly there's the blare of a horn, unbearably loud, screeching tires. You spin. Lights, so bright, so close—
▼
"Oh, shit, man! Oh, shit!" Rob's cabbie was saying as he leaped from his taxi.
Rob was ahead of him, running around the back of the cab to where Gates lay sprawled face down on the pavement.
The driver of the van that struck Gates was running around in circles, grabbing anyone who might have been a witness, pleading with anyone who would listen.
"You saw him run out in front of me didn't you? I had no chance to stop! The light was green! He jumped right in front of me! It's not my fault!"
Rob wanted to shut him up.
"It's all right. I'm a police officer. It wasn't your fault. Now back off while—"
Gates groaned and got to his knees. He looked around in a daze. Finally his eyes focused on Rob. There was a wild look in them.
Rob took a cautious step forward.
"Just stay where you are, Gates. We'll get an ambulance."
Gates lurched to his feet and reached for Rob, staggering toward him. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead.
"El merit!"
"Easy, Gates. You're hurt. Why don't you sit on the curb here.
As Rob put out a hand to steady the injured man, Gates leaped at him.
"Nen tibet! Kedeshen, nen tibet!"
He grappled with Rob, slinging one arm around him and pulling at his jacket with the other. There was a crazed look in his eyes. Rob tried to push him away without knocking him down again.
"Hey, be cool, Doc. You're going to—"
And then Rob felt Gates' probing hand latch onto his holster.
He's going for my gun!
Rob shoved Gates violently away but felt the revolver pull free, saw Gates click off the safety. Rob grappled for it. Gates was in his face. He looked demented. He was breathing like a set of leaky air brakes. Flecks of saliva salted his lips as he wheezed in a faint, frantic, high-pitched voice, saying the same thing over and over.
"Nen tibet! Nen tibet!"
Gates had wormed one of his fingers through the trigger guard but Rob had jammed his thumb behind the trigger. Gates twisted the pistol viciously, pointing the barrel straight up, but Rob held on. He knew he was a dead man if the gun got away from him.
Suddenly Gates stiffened and shuddered. His eyes widened and he suddenly tried to pull his hands free of the revolver. The move took Rob by surprise. His thumb slipped from behind the trigger, leaving it free to move.
The retort was deafening. Rob winced away from the muzzle flash, felt the burn and sting of the ignited powder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gates jerk upward, saw the top of his head explode in a fountain of red. And then the revolver was all his again and Gates was staggering backward with outflung arms. He managed two steps, during which his eyes were wide, shocked, losing their light. For an instant, his mouth twitched. He said something that sounded like "Kissinum," then he toppled flat onto his back like a fallen tree.
Rob stared at him, feeling numb, feeling sick. All around him voices were saying how crazy the guy was, first running out in front of a car and then attacking a cop and trying to steal his gun. Rob barely heard them. He was staring at Gates' supine form. From this angle he could see the small round hole under Gates' chin where the bullet had entered. It wasn't even bleeding. He stared at that hole until the first blue and white unit arrived.
February 25
11:30 A.M.
"HOW YOU HOLDING UP, ROB?"
It was a measure of Lieutenant Mooney's sincere concern that he called him by his first name. Rob was surprised that he knew it. Mooney perched on the edge of his green desk in his gray office; Rob sat in the chair before it.
"I'm doing all right."
"You did a full shift yesterday. You could have taken today off."
"I don't need an extra day off."
Why was everybody treating him like he was going to fall apart?
"I remember the first time I shot somebody—"
"That's just it, lieu. I didn't pull the trigger. It was his finger in there. Not mine. And if he didn't take the bullet, it might just as easily have been me. Or someone on the curb."
Rob realized he had raised his voice and was getting steamed. He leaned back in the chair and shut up.
"Hey," Mooney said. "Easy. Just asking."
"Sorry, lieu. It's just that the whole thing never should have happened."
That was the part that bothered Rob the most. He was furious with himself for letting someone like Gates get his hands on his revolver. It was the kind of thing that should only happen to a rookie. Not to a guy with his experience. If Rob had been more on the ball he wouldn't have to see blood and bone and brains erupting from the top of Gates' head like a mini Mount St. Helens every time he closed his eyes.
"But it did happen. He fooled you. You thought he was hurt, you let down your guard, and he pulled a fast one on you. Don't let it get you down"
"It's not. But it means I'll probably never know the connection between Gates and Bannion and the Wade women. Three of them are dead and the fourth only came to town a couple of weeks ago, so she knows nothing."
"I'm glad you brought that up. I've been going over these files and here's my scenario: Gates either hypnotized Kelly Wade or got her hooked on schnozz, then pimped her out to do tricks with some wealthy contacts or friends. Bannion got too rough with her and threw her out the window. Gates got pissed at losing such a valuable asset and killed Bannion. Gates tries to elude police surveillance, attacks an officer in front of witnesses, and is fatally shot during the struggle. Three cases closed—bim, bam, boom." He handed the folders to Rob with a satisfied grin. "I like the way you work, Harris."
"Hey, lieu, that doesn't fit the facts at all. Gates was loaded. He didn't need to rent out his patients."