Night Walk by Bob Shaw Page B

regardless of the cost.

At his present rate of progress his money would be more than adequate.

The ferry turned out to be a primitive but fast ground effect machine,

capable of crossing the mile-wide Strait in a couple of minutes. Tallon

found the short trip exhilarating. The characteristic yawing ride of the

hovercraft, the roar of the turbines, white spray flying on each side,

the jostling of the other travelers in the stand-up passenger saloon --

all combined to produce a cheerful vacation mood. The vessel waltzed up

its ramp and into the dock. Tallon strolled through the group of people

waiting to embark, and began looking for a good restaurant. There was

a diner attached to the rail terminal complex, but it looked slightly

squalid, and he had no doubt it would charge high prices for indifferent

food.

He walked up sloping streets toward the center of city still enjoying

the sense of freedom. Sweetwell was a bustling city with a suggestion

of provincial France in its sophisticated little stores and sidewalk

cafes. He would have enjoyed eating in the sunlight, but decided not to

throw away all caution -- his picture was bound to have been included in

the newscasts and there was always the chance that somebody might look

too closely at him and start wondering. Accordingly he picked a quiet

restaurant, with a Gothic sign identifying it as The Persian Cat.

The only other customers were two pairs of middle-aged women sipping coffee

and smoking, with shopping bags on the floor at their feet. Tallon flicked

the eyeset, got behind the eyes of one of the women, and saw himself walk

in and sit down at a vacant table. The tables were of real wood and were

covered with what seemed to be genuine linen. Two large gray cats padded

about among the chair legs. Tallon, who was not a cat enthusiast, shifted

uneasily and wished one of the other customers would look at a menu.

The food, when he finally got it, was quite good. The steak had been

processed so well that Tallon could not detect the taste of fish at

all, and he guessed it would cost him plenty. He ate quickly, suddenly

impatient to be back on the train, gulped the coffee, and reached for

his money.

His wallet was gone.

Tallon searched his other pockets mechanically, knowing all the while

that his wallet had been stolen, probably during the jostling ride across

the Strait. The ferry was an obvious hunting ground for pickpockets,

and Tallon swore at his own carelessness. The situation was serious,

for he was now in trouble with the restaurant and could not buy a train

ticket later.

Toying with the dregs of his coffee, Tallon decided that if he was going

to start stealing money The Persian Cat was as good a place as any to do

it. It seemed to have only one afternoon waitress, who spent long periods

out in the kitchen, leaving the cash desk near the door unattended. It was

a foolishly trusting thing to do, he thought; almost as foolish as not

holding on to your wallet in a crowd.

Two of the middle-aged shoppers were still in the restaurant. Waiting

for them to leave, Tallon motioned to one of the gray cats and lured it

over to him. He lifted the heavy animal onto his lap, trying to tickle

it behind the ears, and adjusted the eyeset to put him behind its great

yellow eyes.

Tallon feared the other two customers were going to stay until somebody

else came in and ruined his chance, but they finally gathered up the

shopping and rang for their check. To Tallon's surprise it was not the

waitress who had served him who emerged from the screen at the rear;

it was instead a tall brunette of about thirty, wearing black-rimmed

glasses and an expensively tailored business suit. He decided she was

either the manager or the owner.

One her way back from the cash desk the brunette stopped at his table.

He raised the almost empty coffee cup to his lips.

"Can I get you anything more?"

Tallon shook his head. "Nothing, thanks. I'm enjoying your