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His slug slammed into the wall behind me. Shooting from the floor, I snapped two quick shots into Hauser's belly where his vest had pulled up showing an inch of white shirt. He grunted in a way I could feel and doubled forward. Stiff with panic, O'Brien's hand was tearing at the gun in his shoulder holster. I clamped my other hand around my gun wrist to steady it for the long pull -- this gun has the hammer Bled off round so you can only use it double action -- and shot him in the middle of his red forehead about two inches below the silver hairline. His hair had been grey the last time I saw him. That was about 15 years ago. My first arrest. His eyes went out. He fell off the chair onto his face. My hands were already reaching for what I needed, sweeping my notebooks into a brief- case with my works, junk, and a box of shells. I stuck the gun into my belt, and stepped out into the corridor putting on my coat. I could hear the desk clerk and the bell boy pound- ing up the stairs. I took the self-service elevator down, walked through the empty lobby into the street. It was a beautiful Indian Summer day. I knew I didn't have much chance, but any chance is better than none, better than being a subject for experiments with ST (6) or whatever the initials are. I had to stock up on junk fast. Along with airports, R.R. stations and bus terminals, they would cover all junk areas and connections. I took a taxi to Washington Square, got out and walked along 4th Street till I spotted Nick on a corner. You can always find the pusher. Your need conjures him up like a ghost. "Listen, Nick," I said, "I'm leaving town. I want to pick up a piece of H. Can you make it right now?" We were walking along 4th Street. Nick's voice seemed to drift into my consciousness from no particu- lar place. An eerie, disembodied voice. "Yes, I think I can make it. I'll have to make a run uptown." "We can take a cab." "O.K., but I can't take you in to the guy, you under- stand." "I understand. Let's go." We were in the cab heading North. Nick was talking in his Bat, dead voice. "Some funny stuff we're getting lately. It's not weak exactly.... I don't know.... It's different. Maybe they're putting some synthetic shit in it.... Dollies or something...." "What!!!? Already?" "Huh?... But this I'm taking you to now is O.K. In fact it's about the best deal around that I know of. . Stop here." "Please make it fast," I said. "It should be a matter of ten minutes unless he's out of stuff8 and has to make a run. |
