Evans listened to the story.
Rilker said he had suspected something like that.
Ferguson was willing to attend the meeting as long as absolutely everything was off the record. Becky considered offering him the loan of a false beard and dark glasses but let it go.
“Three hits,” Wilson said, “they can’t resist you.”
“Now, now, don’t get jealous. All that’s left is for you to get an appointment with Underwood.”
Despite his lack of skill with people, there was no way that Wilson could avoid being the one to call Underwood. He was senior man on the team, and their mere connection with the Chief of Detectives was a major disruption of the chain of command. Officially Neff and Wilson weren’t assigned at the moment to any particular division. The Chief was keeping them in cold storage until he was sure the DiFalco case held no further surprises. Obviously he wasn’t completely convinced that his quick closing of the case had been wise. With Neff and Wilson apparently still assigned to it he could keep them from uncovering embarrassing new evidence and also cover himself if that happened some other way, because he could always say that the department had kept a special team active on the case the whole time. He didn’t want the case reopened, but if it was he was prepared.
For him it was a very economical solution to a problem. For Neff and Wilson it was agony—they didn’t know where they stood and neither did anybody else. This meant that they could get nothing done. The resources of Manhattan South were not theirs to use—except for a dingy office. And the Brooklyn Division considered them off its roster. So they had only each other, and whatever help they could get outside the department.
It wasn’t going to be enough, that had become very clear.
Underwood was polite, when Wilson finally got through. He set a meeting for three o’clock and didn’t even ask what it was about And why should he—he knew that there could be only two topics of conversation. Either they wanted to reopen the DiFalco case or they wanted to be reassigned. And he had one simple answer for both questions. It was no.
“We’ve got a couple of hours, we might as well go up to Chinatown for lunch.”
Wilson glanced out the window. “Looks like plenty of people in the streets. I guess we can go.”
They took a cab. Despite the crowds it seemed the safest thing to do. Pell Street, the center of Chinatown, was cheerfully crowded. They left the cab, Becky feeling a little more at ease, Wilson nervously studying the fire escapes and alleyways. Becky chose a restaurant that was neither familiar from her courting days with Dick nor one of the dingy chop suey parlors Wilson would have selected. He liked to eat lunch for under two dollars. And when he was treating he would go even cheaper unless his victim was very alert.
Becky was very alert. During lunch they spoke little because he was pouting at the cost. Or at least that was what she assumed until he finally did speak. “I wonder what it’ll feel like.”
“What in the world makes you say something like that!”
“Nothing. Just thinking is all.” She saw that he was ashen. In his left hand he held his napkin pressed against the middle of his chest as if he was stopping a wound. “I can’t get that damn claw out of my mind.” Now his lips drew back across his teeth, sweat popped out on his cheeks and forehead. “I just keep thinking of it snagging my shirt, grabbing at me. God knows you couldn’t do a thing once something like that was in you.”
“Now wait a minute. Just listen to me. You’re getting scared. I don’t blame you, George, but you can’t afford it. You cannot afford to get scared! We can’t let that happen to us. They’ll move right in if it does. I’ve got a feeling the only thing that’s kept them from doing it before is the fact that we haven’t been scared.”
He smiled his familiar sickly smile.
“Don’t do that, I expect you to take me seriously. Listen to me—without you I haven’t got any hope at all.” Her own words surprised her. How deeply did she mean that? As deep as her very life came the instant answer. “We’ll get through this.”
“How?”
It was an innocent enough question, but under the circumstances it exposed a weakness she wished wasn’t there.
“However the hell we can. Now shut up and let me finish my lunch in peace.”
They ate mechanically. To Becky the food tasted like metal. She wanted desperately to turn around, to see whether the doorway behind her led to the kitchen or to the basement. For Wilson’s sake, though, she did not. There was no sense compounding his fear with her own.
“Maybe that claw is what we need. When the Chief sees it maybe he’ll figure things more our way.”
“I didn’t even remember to ask Ferguson to bring the damn thing.”
“But he will. He’s very proud of that claw.”
“I don’t blame him. He can carry it instead of a shiv.”
Wilson chuckled and sipped the last of his tea, his fears seemingly forgotten. But the napkin was still clasped convulsively against his chest.
As soon as they got back to headquarters they went to Underwood’s office. It was actually a suite of offices, and in the outer office was the kind of policewoman Becky most disliked, the typist in uniform. “You’re Becky Neff,” the woman said as soon as the two of them came in; “the Chief of Detectives said you’d be coming up. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Lieutenant,” Becky muttered. “This is my partner, Detective Wilson.” Wilson stood uncertainly staring past them. There was nothing on the wall he was staring at except a hunting scene. “Wilson—you’re being introduced.”
“Oh! Yeah, hiya. You got any cigarettes?”
“I don’t smoke, the Chief doesn’t like it.”
“Yeah. What’s he doing? We’re supposed to see him at three.”
“It’s only two forty-five. He’s still in his other meeting.”
“Still at lunch, you mean. Why don’t you let me sleep on that couch he’s got in his office. I gotta sleep off about three pounds of chicken chow mein.”
The lieutenant glanced at Becky, but continued without a pause: “No, he’s really in there. He’s got some people from the Museum of Natural History and Doctor Evans—”
They went in.
“Sorry we’re late,” Wilson growled. “We got slowed down by your house genius.”
“Well, you’re not late. Still fifteen minutes to go. But since these men were all here, I thought we’d get started. Everybody knows everybody?”
“We know them,” Wilson said. “Anybody in here smoke?”
“I don’t have any ashtrays,” Underwood said firmly. Wilson pulled up a chair, crossed his legs, and sighed.
There was a silence. The silence got longer. Becky looked from face to face. Rigid, expressionless, Evans a little embarrassed. She felt herself slump into the chair. This silence could only mean that they didn’t believe. These men thought of the two detectives as being a little off their rockers. Two famous detectives driven a little crazy. Worse things have happened, more unlikely things.
“Apparently you gentlemen don’t know what it is to be hunted,” Wilson said. Becky was amazed— when he was up against the wall he revealed hidden resources. “And since you don’t know, you can’t imagine the state me and Neff are in. We are being hunted, you know. Sure. By things that have claws like this.” With a swift motion he picked it up. “Can you imagine how it would feel to get one of these in the chest? Rip your heart right out. Hell, you might look at the sunset out there and think it’s beautiful. And it was for us too, until last night. Now we don’t look at a sunset that way anymore. We look at it the way deer and moose do—with fear. How do you think that feels, eh? Any of you know?”
“Detective Wilson, you’re overwrought—”
“Shut up, Underwood. I’m maybe making my last speech and I want to be heard.” He waved the claw as he spoke, and measured his words with uncharacteristic care. “We are being hunted down by whatever has these claws. They exist, don’t forget that! They have for thousands of years. We have seen them, gentlemen, and they are very ugly. They are also very fast, and very smart. People used to call them werewolves. Now they don’t call them anything because they’ve gotten so damn good at covering their tracks that there are no legends left. But they’re here. They damn well are here.”