The Death Instinct

An officer called out to Littlemore from the doorway, asking for instructions. Younger and Littlemore turned around to face him. As a result, Luc was looking toward the street, where his sister and Betty were climbing into the police car. What he saw, no one else saw: two female forms, lit up in the glare of the squad car's headlamps. One had red hair fluttering in the midnight breeze; the other wore a kerchief. The first slowly approached the car; her feet were below the beam of light, creating the impression that she was floating. The second remained standing in the headlights; she had a scarf coiled around her neck, which she began to unwrap.

The first woman reached for the handle of Colette's door. Betty saw her, cried out, then looked in front of the car and pointed. Colette, startled by the alarm in Betty's voice, tried to lock her door, but was too late. The catch gave way; the door cracked open. At the same moment, the woman in the headlights finished unwinding her scarf and exposed what lay beneath.

Betty screamed in terror.

Littlemore called out; he and Younger ran down the steps. The red-haired women saw them coming, turned, and disappeared into the darkness. Littlemore gave chase. So did the officer who had asked Littlemore for instructions, and so did a half-dozen other officers, who came rushing from various directions at the sound of Betty's scream. They fanned out, went up and down the block, banged on doors, shined flashlights into parked cars, but found no trace of either woman.

When Littlemore returned to the squad car, Betty's hands were still covering her mouth. 'You saw it?' Betty asked Colette.

'Saw what?' said Colette.

Betty looked stricken, aghast. 'She was a monster, Jimmy.'

'Easy,' said Littlemore.

'It was – growing.'

'What was?' asked Littlemore.

'I don't know,' said Betty. 'It was alive. Like a head, like a baby's head.'

'She was carrying a baby?'

'She wasn't carrying anything!' exclaimed Betty. 'It was attached to her. Like a baby's head, but growing out of her neck.'

A silence followed.

'Let's get out of here,' said Littlemore, helping Betty into the car. He threw the keys to Younger. 'You drive, Doc.'

At two that morning, Younger and Littlemore were drinking bourbon at the detective's kitchen table, a half-empty bottle between them. Everyone else in the apartment was fast asleep.

Littlemore appeared to be counting in his head. 'When you shipped out,' he asked, 'how many kids did Betty and I have?'

Younger didn't reply.

'Whatever it was, it's three more now,' added Littlemore. 'That would make seventy-two.'

'Okay, I'm going to sum up what we've got. We got a tooth, (we got a bomb, we got a kidnapping, and we got two women outside my squad car, one of them with a spare head growing out of her neck. You're wondering how it's all connected, right?'

'Maybe.'

'Well, don't think of it like that. Never assume connections. Take things one at a time. So let me sum up what we got again, one thing at a time: a bunch of crazy stuff that doesn't make any kind of sense.' Littlemore cocked his head. 'You knew that bomb was about to go off. How'd you know that?'

Younger shook his head.

Littlemore swirled the whiskey in his glass. 'A baby can't grow out of a woman's neck, can it?'

Younger shook his head again.

'You don't say much anymore, do you?' asked Littlemore. Younger considered shaking his head, but decided against it. 'So let me get this straight,' replied Littlemore. 'You haven't asked for your professor job back. You're not doing your scientist thing. You haven't started doctoring again. What are you doing?'

'Tempting fate.'

'Not much of a job.'

'I just got back.'

'Yeah, but the war ended two years ago. Where have you been?' Several minutes went by. The men drank. 'Nobody I knows so willing to die,' said Littlemore. 'What's that?'

'This morning you said it didn't make sense that men are so willing to die.'

Younger knew Littlemore was trying to draw him out; that was all right with him. 'You should have seen France in 1918,' said Younger. He got up and lit a cigarette with one of the Littlemores' long stove matches. 'The Brits, the French – they were sick of it by then. Just wanted to survive. Couldn't believe their eyes when the Americans came. Like we'd lived our whole lives starved of the chance to die.'

'I would've been there,' said Littlemore. 'If not for Betty and the kids.'

'It's not just war either,' said Younger. 'Give people a taste of terror, and they lap it up. Why are there roller coasters on Coney Island?'

'Not so people can die,' answered Littlemore.

'So they can feel the terror of death. Rich men, with comfortable lives, kill themselves climbing mountains. Flying aircraft for sport. Do you know what happens when newspapers report that someone died on a Coney Island roller coaster? More people come out to ride the next day.'

'Well, I don't ride coasters.' Littlemore refilled their glasses. 'Why would somebody bomb a street corner? It doesn't figure.'

'Because you're thinking like a policeman. Looking for a motive.'

'Sure am,' said Littlemore.

'What if they just wanted to kill people?'

'Why?'

'Whom do you assassinate,' replied Younger, 'if you hate a whole country? In the old days, it would have been the king. Attack the King of England, you attack England itself. But a president? A presidents just a politician who will be gone in a few years anyway. With a democracy, you have to take assassination out of the palace. You have to assassinate the people.'

Littlemore thought about that. 'Why would they hate us?'

'The whole world hates us.'

'Nobody hates us. Everybody loves America.'

'Germany hates us because we beat them. England and France hate us because we saved them. Russia hates us because we're capitalist. The rest of the world hates us because we're imperialist.'

'That's not a motive,' said Littlemore. 'Say, you never asked me why I needed Colette today.'

'Why did you?'

'There's this guy, Fischer, okay? Couple a days ago, he sends a warning to a banker pal of his telling him to stay out of Wall Street after the fifteenth. Fischer works at some French outfit a few blocks from Wall. So I went there. Took Colette to translate. Now get this: the French got a letter from Fischer yesterday too, warning them to get everybody out because something was going to happen on Wall Street.'

Younger whistled: 'Who is he?'

'Question is where is he. Seems he went AWOL from the French about a month ago. Looks like he's in Canada somewhere. We'll find him: I told the press. A million people will be looking for this guy in a few hours. Know what's funny? Fischer's French boss tore his letter up and threw it away. We had to pull the pieces out of a wastepaper basket. Nobody took this guy seriously.' Littlemore corked the whiskey bottle, laid it on one side, and spun it on the table. 'They're trying to cut us out.'

'The French?'

'The Feds. They're trying to take over the investigation. Big Bill Flynn's here already. Palmer's coming up too.'

A. Mitchell Palmer was the Attorney General of the United States, William J. Flynn the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

'The whole Bureau's coming up to New York,' Littlemore went on, looking like he had a bad taste in his mouth. 'Plus Treasury guys, Secret Service guys – dozens of them. The investigation is "in the hands of the federal government": that's what Big Bill told the boys last night. Flynn. Tell you what – he's no Teddy Roosevelt. Big Bill used to be chief of detectives here a couple years back. Nobody liked him. You know, when I was a kid, all I wanted was to become a federal agent. My dad and I used to talk about how it would be. Still do. I'd work my way up in the Department, then go to DC and work for Roosevelt. Guess it's a good thing I didn't make it. With Palmer and Flynn running the show down there, and the Congress passing Prohibition, I don't know what they're doing in Washington anymore.'