It was easy enough to see. It was a small construction on the roof, about the size of two phone booths back to back, with a black metal door on this side. It was near the front of the building, but well out in the visible middle area. The lookout moved around in his circuit too fast for Parker to be able to get to that door, open it, and get down out of sight before the guy had come around and seen him.
Parker looked up over the top of the low wall, and the guy was just going around and around on his circuit. He’d seen Parker once, and now, like a tourist hitting a jackpot on the Las Vegas nickel slots, he was going to stay there until he either found Parker again or ran out of nickels.
What an easy shot he’d be. If Parker were to move about halfway along this wall, to the closest point to the lookout, they’d be maybe twelve feet apart. Four yards. The simplest easiest shot in the world, for a man with a gun.
Except that a gunshot now would make this rooftop damn crowded. But what the hell, if he was going to wish for a gun he might as well wish for a silencer, too. Even a potato, that makes a good silencer.
There was maybe a way. It was chancy, but everything was going to be chancy until he got himself out of here. And if it didn’t work he’d just have to move very fast and hope for the best. Because one way or another he had to get down, and that staircase over there was his only way. He’d flown up to the grid, but he wasn’t likely to fly back down again. The rear wall of the theater was brick, and if he was in better physical shape he could probably climb down it, but right now he wouldn’t trust his fingers and toes.
But he was going to have to trust his arm. His arm and his eye. Not for strength, though, for accuracy.
It was the only possibility, so it had to be tried, and that was the end of it. Parker began to move, crawling along next to the wall, getting to the point where he’d be closest to that guy in midair over there. Snow was melting beneath him, the wetness seeping through the two pairs of summer pants he was wearing, seeping through his gloves. He moved faster, wanting to get this part done and over with before the cold and the wet made him even less reliable to himself than he already was.
He got to the right point, and looked over the top of the wall to be sure, and there he was, right over there, out and up from here. It was like lying on the floor in a fairly small room and looking at somebody on a upper bunk on the opposite wall. He seemed almost close enough to touch. Just about twelve feet.
Parker took off his right glove. He flexed his arm, but the movement he’d done since first starting into motion again had worked most of the new stiffness out of his shoulders and the arm now felt pretty good. His fingertips were cold, and he breathed on them, flexed his fingers, breathed on them some more. Finally he reached down and behind him and took out one of his two knives from his hip pocket. He held the point between thumb and forefinger, and looked over the wall again.
This time he was counting, doing a slow count, and from the time the guy over there had reached the point on the circuit where he was angled too much away to readily notice anything over here till he’d had his back turned completely and was back around again to where this spot was once more within his range of vision was about a count often. Maybe ten seconds, probably a little longer because his count had been very slow. So he had ten seconds to stand up, set himself, aim, and let fly.
Watching the guy over there, running the count again, double-checking himself, he began to think of other possibilities. He was safe where he’d been, or so it seemed. They hadn’t been able to find him. What if he just stayed there, just sat it out until they finally gave up and went away?
That was a nice thought, and he was tempted. It was an easy way to handle it. But it wouldn’t work. In the first place, that old man Lozini wasn’t going to give up very soon. He’d be capable of staying in this park for days, for a week or more, and how long could Parker cling to that grid of pipes up there, without food or sleep? If he fell asleep he would probably also fall out of the grid. And in the second place, if Lozini became convinced he was nowhere else in the park, he’d have the theater searched again, he might bring in more lights, it might occur to him to look under the roof. It might even occur to him to set the place on fire, burn it down and see what came out. Parker would put nothing past Lozini, an old man bent on revenge.
So he couldn’t wait it out, he had to keep in motion. Already he was in much worse shape physically than he’d been when he came in here. The longer he stayed, the worse shape he’d be in, and sooner or later he’d no longer be able to handle the situation properly, he’d start making stupid mistakes, bumbling physically, thinking sloppily, and then they could just walk over and step on him and be done with it.
He watched the guy over there, moving around and around, and he knew which circuit he was going to move on, and braced himself, and when the instant came he got his knees under himself, and came up, one hand on the top of the wall. He stood, in profile to his target, left arm up in front for balance, knife held back behind his right ear. He knew the spot in the air he was going to throw the knife at, he knew how long it would take that guy’s head to reach that spot, he knew how much ahead of time he should throw.
He had a couple of seconds to spare. He stood cocked on the theater roof, waiting, all his attention concentrated on that moving head over there, four yards away. The second came, he threw, and at the end of the motion, dropped flat again behind the wall.
There was no shout, no yell, no scream, no sound at all. Nothing happened.
Parker raised his head, he looked across the way.
Nobody there.
He came up on his knees again, and there was still no one in sight. It was as though the pot was empty over there.
He’d hit him, and the guy had dropped inside. Had he hit him full on, just under the ear, just behind the jaw, the spot he was aiming for, or had it been a glancing blow, was the guy just knocked out for a while? Maybe only for a few seconds.
Parker looked away to his right, and far away across the park was the other airborne sentinel, watching the ground. Too far away to have noticed anything happening over here. Too far away to use the other knife on, but also too far away to be a menace right now.
He pulled his right glove back on, got to his feet, brushed the snow off his jacket and trousers. Then he trotted across the roof and pulled the black metal door open and went down the stairs.
Three
LOOKING DOWN at the stage from the rear of the balcony, Parker saw the body still lying there under the canvas and pipes. The other one, the wounded one, had been carried away early on in the search. If nothing else, Parker was keeping them all occupied.
Behind the balcony was a small projectionist’s booth, containing two large old movie projectors looking like robots built by ants. There was also a closet full of cleaning supplies, and a pair of rest rooms, and in a carton in a corner a pile of True Detective magazines.
The staircase down from the balcony was wide and carpeted. Downstairs there was an office, and in a small colorful carton on top of a filing cabinet in the office a dozen candy bars: chocolate with peanuts. Parker ate two of the candy bars and stuffed the rest into his jacket pockets.
There was a window in the office opening out onto the front of the theater, but the Venetian blinds were closed. Parker stood against the wall beside the window, moved the blinds slightly, and looked out through a narrow slit at an angle over toward the entrance. He watched, and after a minute a guy walked into sight, ambling along in a slow and bored manner. He stopped, he looked around, he turned and walked slowly back the way he’d come.