much like EBD’s. I take the Luger out of my overnight bag and put it in the pocket of the raincoat.
The motel door is old-fashioned enough that I have to lock it with the key when I go outside. Fortunately, there’s a roof overhang here, so I don’t get wet while I’m doing it. I’ve left the lights on in the room, and the glow against the window curtains gives it a warm and homey look. I’ll be glad to get back here.
There are only two other vehicles parked along the front of the motel, both facing in toward the rooms where their owners sleep. One is a pickup with Pennsylvania plates; I’m guessing he’s a blue-collar guy, a carpenter or something like that, looking for construction work. I don’t know why I think that; I guess it’s just comforting to make up a story about the people around you. Invent a tribe.
The other vehicle is a big van that’s been converted to a small camper. The license plate is Florida, and I’m guessing this is a retired couple. No more shocks to the system for them; winter in Florida, drive north when Florida weather turns muggy and miserable. Not bad.
But not for me, not yet, not even if I could afford it. Which I cannot. God knows if I’ll ever be able to afford that kind of retirement life.
I drive north, back toward Lichgate. There’s no traffic at all, and very few lights to be seen. The rain is steady and pretty heavy, once you’re out driving in it. It slows me down, but it’s still only five minutes to twelve when I get to the traffic light at Nether Street. It turns red just before I get there, of course.
The gas station on my left is closed, but the diner ahead to my right is open. And crossing the street in front of me, on the far side of the intersection, shoulders hunched against the rain, inadequately dressed in his windbreaker and cloth cap, is EBD!
Damn! Damn it to hell, he’s leaving early!
I’m
on time, dammit!
It was going to be so easy. I would switch off my headlights as I drove into the parking lot. I would wait near the entrance, I would see him come out into the vestibule, I would drive forward, and as he came down the brick steps I would reach the Luger out the window and shoot him. And that’s it.
But now he’s walking, he’s well away from the diner, he’s already across the intersection and walking down Nether Street away from me, hands in windbreaker pockets, walking briskly because of the rain, moving along on the right side of the street past the parked cars, three blocks to walk to his house on the left.
And this damn light is still red in my face. It’s going to change now; I can see the amber light come on, facing Nether Street. There’s still no traffic anywhere, nobody to be seen, nobody at all out in this rain.
I switch off my headlights. Now I’m as black as the night, and when the green light switches on in front of me I turn left.
He’s moving briskly. This is going to be a difficult shot, out to the right from the left side of the car, me at the steering wheel, past parked cars, at a man in the dark, walking in the rain. It would be horrible to miss, to alert him, to have him running, to have him escape and at once get on the phone to the local police. (EBD would remember the phone, wouldn’t get rattled like Ricks, I can tell that much for sure about him.)
Up ahead, with only the briefest glance over his shoulder, EBD comes out from between parked cars and walks at an angle, crossing the street. And now I know what I must do.
I hit the accelerator hard. The Voyager leaps forward. EBD is a dark mass against the dark masses of the night, everything vaguely glittery from the rain, everything except his wet windbreaker and wet cloth cap. The Voyager leaps at him like a fox after a mole.
He senses me. He looks over his shoulder. It’s too dark to see his face, but I can imagine his expression, and then he jumps, trying to launch himself all the way over to the left curb, and the Voyager smashes into him. But he was
The motel door is old-fashioned enough that I have to lock it with the key when I go outside. Fortunately, there’s a roof overhang here, so I don’t get wet while I’m doing it. I’ve left the lights on in the room, and the glow against the window curtains gives it a warm and homey look. I’ll be glad to get back here.
There are only two other vehicles parked along the front of the motel, both facing in toward the rooms where their owners sleep. One is a pickup with Pennsylvania plates; I’m guessing he’s a blue-collar guy, a carpenter or something like that, looking for construction work. I don’t know why I think that; I guess it’s just comforting to make up a story about the people around you. Invent a tribe.
The other vehicle is a big van that’s been converted to a small camper. The license plate is Florida, and I’m guessing this is a retired couple. No more shocks to the system for them; winter in Florida, drive north when Florida weather turns muggy and miserable. Not bad.
But not for me, not yet, not even if I could afford it. Which I cannot. God knows if I’ll ever be able to afford that kind of retirement life.
I drive north, back toward Lichgate. There’s no traffic at all, and very few lights to be seen. The rain is steady and pretty heavy, once you’re out driving in it. It slows me down, but it’s still only five minutes to twelve when I get to the traffic light at Nether Street. It turns red just before I get there, of course.
The gas station on my left is closed, but the diner ahead to my right is open. And crossing the street in front of me, on the far side of the intersection, shoulders hunched against the rain, inadequately dressed in his windbreaker and cloth cap, is EBD!
Damn! Damn it to hell, he’s leaving early!
I’m
on time, dammit!
It was going to be so easy. I would switch off my headlights as I drove into the parking lot. I would wait near the entrance, I would see him come out into the vestibule, I would drive forward, and as he came down the brick steps I would reach the Luger out the window and shoot him. And that’s it.
But now he’s walking, he’s well away from the diner, he’s already across the intersection and walking down Nether Street away from me, hands in windbreaker pockets, walking briskly because of the rain, moving along on the right side of the street past the parked cars, three blocks to walk to his house on the left.
And this damn light is still red in my face. It’s going to change now; I can see the amber light come on, facing Nether Street. There’s still no traffic anywhere, nobody to be seen, nobody at all out in this rain.
I switch off my headlights. Now I’m as black as the night, and when the green light switches on in front of me I turn left.
He’s moving briskly. This is going to be a difficult shot, out to the right from the left side of the car, me at the steering wheel, past parked cars, at a man in the dark, walking in the rain. It would be horrible to miss, to alert him, to have him running, to have him escape and at once get on the phone to the local police. (EBD would remember the phone, wouldn’t get rattled like Ricks, I can tell that much for sure about him.)
Up ahead, with only the briefest glance over his shoulder, EBD comes out from between parked cars and walks at an angle, crossing the street. And now I know what I must do.
I hit the accelerator hard. The Voyager leaps forward. EBD is a dark mass against the dark masses of the night, everything vaguely glittery from the rain, everything except his wet windbreaker and wet cloth cap. The Voyager leaps at him like a fox after a mole.
He senses me. He looks over his shoulder. It’s too dark to see his face, but I can imagine his expression, and then he jumps, trying to launch himself all the way over to the left curb, and the Voyager smashes into him. But he was
Similar Books
