And they went and there he was. Asleep! The second-mated pair prepared for the attack, moving into position across the street. They were just about to move when the man raised his head and looked at them. The pack froze and smelled it all at the same time: sweat from the hand that held the gun.
It was a hard decision, instantly made by Mother —we leave; we do not risk moving so far against the gun, we get him another time.
Now the pack ran, rushing through the streets to the ruined building where they would spend the day. Each heart beat with the same agonizing knowledge: they live, they live, they live. And they know about us. Even as the sun rises they must be telling others, spreading the fear that the old legends speak about, the fear that would make life among men hard and dangerous for future generations.
The second-mated pair was especially anguished: in the spring they would litter, and they did not want to bring forth children if man knew of the hunter.
Not that they feared anything from single individuals, or even groups. But endless numbers of men could overwhelm them or at least force them into furtive, tormented lives unworthy of free beings. As they moved warily through the deserted streets one thought consumed them alclass="underline" kill the dangerous ones, kill them fast. And it was this that they talked about when they reached their sanctuary, a long, intense conversation that left them all shuddering with a furious urge for blood, all except Father, who said, we have won. Soon he will give himself to us as men did of old, for the death wish is coming upon him.
Wilson opened his eyes. The light coming in the window was yellow-gray. A steady tapping against the windowpane indicated that it was snowing again.
“Who the hell are you?”
A man was standing over him, a fat man in gray slacks and a white shirt. He was bald, his face pinched with the long habit of unsatisfied greed.
“I’m a cop. Wilson’s the name.”
“Oh Christ almighty—why’d you let this damn bum in here, Eddie? Throw the fucker out, he’ll get weevils in the Goddamn bread.”
“He got a gold shield, man. I’m not gonna say no to a gold shield.”
“You can buy a Goddamn gold shield on Forty-second Street. Get the jerk out.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I was just leaving. Thanks, Eddie, from the NYPD.”
Wilson left to a snort of scornful laughter from the white guy, a disgusted stare from the black. Sleeping over in storerooms was pretty unorthodox behavior for a cop. What the hell, he didn’t give a damn.
It was still pretty damn lonely on the street. Lonely and snowy too. This was practically a blizzard, must be five or six inches by now. He started to walk back by Becky’s building, then stopped himself. It hit him like a haymaker—they had come when they did because they knew he would be there. They were hunters, for Chrissake, they knew damn well where he’d be. Oh, they were beautiful! They had him figured from way back. It was probably exactly what one of them would have done—protect the one he loved.
What the hell, the bitch was beautiful. Fair cop too—but so beautiful. Becky had creamy skin, Irish coloring. Wilson was partial to that kind of coloring. And she had those soft, yet piercing eyes. He thought of looking into those eyes. “Becky, I love you,” he would say, and she would open her mouth slightly, inviting the first long kiss…
But not now. Now it was cold and he was hungry. He trudged toward the Lexington Avenue subway to ride down to headquarters. His watch said six-thirty. The Merit Bar was open by now, and they served up a fair breakfast. Then he felt the M-11. You didn’t go into Police Headquarters with a loaded M-11, you just did not do that. He’d have to stop by his rooming house first and exchange it for his regulation piece.
The subway wasn’t much warmer than the street, but at least it was well-lighted and there were a few people around. Not many at this hour, but enough to keep the things away from him. They were after him and Becky because they had been seen—certainly they wouldn’t attack except when their targets were alone. But you can be alone enough for just a few seconds. That he had to remember.
He got off and returned to his rooming house, entering this time by the front door. At the top of the stairs he carefully removed the putty he had left in the fire escape lock and returned to his room. He dropped off the overcoat containing the M-11 and put on the one containing the .38. That was all. The way he kept his place locked, he wasn’t worried that a burglar would rip off the pistol, or anything else in his apartment for that matter.
He double-locked his door, tested it, and left the building as quickly and quietly as he had come. And as he did it he laughed at himself. There was no need to be so quiet, it was just that it was second nature to him now. Unless he was acting the part of an unconcerned civilian he was always wary, always stealthy. He walked the short distance from his place to headquarters the same way, like a thief or someone tracking a thief.
He went through the quiet, brightly lit corridors of Police Headquarters until he got to the little office occupied by him and Neff. When he opened the door, his eyes widened with surprise.
There sat Evans.
“Hiya, Doc. Do I owe you money?”
Evans wasn’t interested in bantering with Wilson. “We got another one,” he said simply.
“What’s the story?”
Evans looked at him. “Call Neff. Tell her to meet us at the scene.”
“Anything new?” Wilson asked as he dialed the phone.
“Plenty.”
“Why didn’t you call Neff yourself?”
“You’re the senior man on the case. I tried you first. When you didn’t answer I came over. I figured you were on your way in.”
“Emergency, Doctor. You could have called Neff when you didn’t find me.”
“I have no emergencies. My line of business only concerns emergencies after they’re over.”
Somewhere out there the phone was ringing. Dick was subvocalizing a few choice curses each time the bell burst the silence. Ring and curse, ring and curse. “It could be for you,” Becky said.
“Nah. I’m burned, remember. It ain’t for me.”
“Then it’s for me.”
“So answer the fucker. One of us has gotta do it.”
She picked up the receiver. Wilson didn’t waste hellos. “Oh, Christ. OK, see you there.” She hung up. “Gotta go. Homicide in the park.”
“Since when are you assigned uptown?”
“Evans called us in. He says it looks like our friends got hungry again.”
“The big bad wolves.” He raised himself up on his elbow. “What about our picture-taking expedition, will it be on?”
“I hope. I’ll call you.”
“OK, honey.”
She was dressing as quickly as possible, but the gentleness in his voice made her stop. They looked at one another. The delirious, unexpected intensity of the night before was written in Dick’s face. She saw clearly: he was grateful. It touched her, made her think that maybe there was still something left after all.
“I—” The words seemed to die in her throat. They were so unfamiliar, so long unsaid.
Dick had come to her wordlessly, in the dark, just as she was falling asleep. He had embraced her, his body hot and trembling, and had awakened in her a painful rush of feeling. Maybe she did care—so much that she just couldn’t face it. Maybe that was the true source of the wall that was being built between them. And realizing that she had responded to his intensity with passion of her own and had enjoyed the violent insistence of his body, finally crying out with the pleasure.
“What, Becky?”
“I don’t know. Just wanted to say good-bye.” But not I love you, not that again, not yet. And she felt like a heel for holding back, a selfish heel.
“Don’t make it sound so final.” He chuckled. “The worst I’ll get is early retirement. If the shooflies are real good they might give you a five-day. Don’t let it bug you, darling. And by the way, there’s something else I want to say to you before you go.” He rolled over on his back, throwing off the covers, exposing his naked body and erect penis with delightful lack of modesty. “You still remain one of the great American lays, darling.”