Rob watched as Gates scanned the platform. He waited until the doors were closed and the train was in motion, then he made his move. He ran down the steps, darted across the platform, and grabbed one of the safety chains that swung across the space between the last and next-to-last cars. He slipped between the chains and stepped onto the platform between the cars.
He paused there a moment to catch his breath and get himself together. That move had been a lot easier when he was fifteen.
He slid the door open and entered the next-to-last car. Leaning forward against the train's momentum, he made his way toward Gates' car, somewhere near the middle. He found the doctor hanging on a strap and staring out the windows at the darkness of the tunnel.
He walked by and gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs.
"Sorry."
Gates turned, a glare in his eyes. But the anger abruptly turned to shock.
Rob gave him a polite smile, as if he were just another passenger.
"Wish they'd learn to drive these things a little smoother," he said, then continued forward to the next car.
He hid his grin from Gates. That expression on the psychiatrist's face was worth the risk of jumping on a moving subway. Any day.
In the second car from the front, Rob found a heavy black woman in a nurse's uniform standing by the door, obviously waiting for the next stop. That would be Forty-second Street. She had a face like James Earl Jones with a Roseanne Barr style body. Perfect.
When the train stopped at Forty-second, Rob exited the car in a half crouch on the nurse's downtown side, then slipped behind the nearest pillar and waited. He was sure Gates would not want to stay on the subway any longer. Well, pretty sure. This was pure gamble now. Rob stayed behind the pillar, not moving a muscle as the train slid its doors closed and began to roll toward Thirty-fourth Street. He peered into the passing cars. If he saw Gates, the chase was over. The psychiatrist would have won tonight. Rob would have to start again tomorrow night.
But he didn't see Gates. He must have got off.
But still Rob didn't move. When the train was gone, he heard what he had expected: a single pair of footsteps hurrying up the stairs.
▼
You watch every passenger who gets off the train, then you wait until the doors are all closed. And still you wait until the train has been swallowed by the subway tunnel. You are alone on the platform. The detective did not get off the train.
You turn and hurry up toward the street, planning what to do next. This has been a very unsettling experience. Detective Harris was exceedingly lucky tonight and very cocksure about it. He knocked you in the ribs on the subway car, then pretended you were a stranger. An insult. An assault. Even though the chase isn't over yet, he has succeeded in humiliating you. He'll be bragging about this to his policemen cronies tomorrow, calling you a fool.
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.