F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (49 page)

           
Rob watched Gates enter Central
Park's southeast corner.. He couldn't believe Gates wanted to spend any real
time in there. Too risky. He could run into a bunch of wilding kids and be left
as hamburger along the side of the path. He guessed from Gates' soft look that
he wasn't in great shape, which placed another mark against a long trot through
the Park.

           
A
diversion, I'll bet.

           
Rob moved to his left along Central
Park South until he was half way between Fifth and Sixth. He pressed himself
back into the darkened, canopied doorway of Mickey Mantle's and waited.

           
Sure enough, ten minutes later Gates
emerged from the park at the head of Sixth Avenue and crossed back to the
downtown side of Central Park South. He disappeared as he hurried down Sixth.

           
Rob cut through the alley near
Mickey Mantle's, emerging on 58th Street, then he ran full tilt up to Sixth and
turned downtown. He spotted Gates immediately on the far side of the avenue. Rob
hugged the store fronts, keeping to the shadows. His big worry now was Gates
grabbing a cab and leaving Rob in the dust.

           
Rob watched Gates cross 57th, saw
him pause, look around, then duck down the steps of the subway entrance on the
far corner.

           
Rob stayed in the shadows by his own
subway entrance, catercornered from Gates'.

           
Good
for you, Doc. Never would have thought of you taking the subway.

           
Rob allowed himself to relax a
little. He had practically grown up on the subway. He knew it inside and out.

           
Gates had just entered Rob's realm.

           
You buy a token and wait near the
foot of the steps, watching for Detective Harris to appear. Suddenly there are
footsteps descending but it is a tall lanky black man wearing what looks like a
soft leather fez. His eyes challenge you as he passes. You look away. When you
hear the rumble of an approaching train on the level below, you dash down the
stairs to the platforms. You don't care where the train is going because you're
only going to take it one stop. The wind gushes from the downtown side.
Excellent! You run for it. The doors open at your approach, as if they've been
expecting you. You find a car near the middle and step inside. But you don't sit
down. Instead, you peer up and down the platform. You're taking no chances this
time. There is no sign of Detective Harris. You watch until the doors close,
sealing you in.

           
You smile as the train lurches
forward. You've done the unexpected. Normally a man of your stature would not
stoop to riding the subway. But you thrive on doing the unexpected.

           
The first stop is almost immediate.
Forty-ninth Street. That's too close to where you got on. You decide to take
the train one more stop.

           
See? Sometimes you even surprise
yourself—you've changed your own plans in mid-play.

           
Let Harris try to catch you now.

           
Rob crouched near the top of the
stairway furthest uptown on the platform. He'd come underground via the other
entrance. Apparently the doctor was unaware of the multiple stairways to and
from street level at each stop.

           
Rob watched as Gates scanned the
platform. He waited until the doors were closed and the train was in motion,
then he made his move. He ran down the steps, darted across the platform, and
grabbed one of the safety chains that swung across the space between the last
and next-to-last cars. He slipped between the chains and stepped onto the
platform between the cars.

           
He paused there a moment to catch
his breath and get himself together. That move had been a lot easier when he
was fifteen.

           
He slid the door open and entered
the next-to-last car. Leaning forward against the train's momentum, he made his
way toward Gates' car, somewhere near the middle. He found the doctor hanging
on a strap and staring out the windows at the darkness of the tunnel.

           
He walked by and gave him a sharp
elbow in the ribs.

           
"Sorry."

           
Gates turned, a glare in his eyes.
But the anger abruptly turned to shock.

           
Rob gave him a polite smile, as if
he were just another passenger.

           
"Wish they'd learn to drive
these things a little smoother," he said, then continued forward to the
next car.

           
He hid his grin from Gates. That
expression on the psychiatrist's face was worth the risk of jumping on a moving
subway. Any day.

           
In the second car from the front,
Rob found a heavy black woman in a nurse's uniform standing by the door,
obviously waiting for the next stop. That would be Forty-second Street. She had
a face like James Earl Jones with a Roseanne Barr style body. Perfect.

           
When the train stopped at
Forty-second, Rob exited the car in a half crouch on the nurse's downtown side,
then slipped behind the nearest pillar and waited. He was sure Gates would not
want to stay on the subway any longer. Well, pretty sure. This was pure gamble
now. Rob stayed behind the pillar, not moving a muscle as the train slid its
doors closed and began to roll toward Thirty-fourth Street. He peered into the
passing cars. If he saw Gates, the chase was over. The psychiatrist would have
won tonight. Rob would have to start again tomorrow night.

           
But he didn't see Gates. He must
have got off.

           
But still Rob didn't move. When the
train was gone, he heard what he had expected: a single pair of footsteps
hurrying up the stairs.

           
You watch every passenger who gets
off the train, then you wait until the doors are all closed. And still you wait
until the train has been swallowed by the subway tunnel. You are alone on the
platform. The detective did not get off the train.

           
You turn and hurry up toward the
street, planning what to do next. This has been a very unsettling experience.
Detective Harris was exceedingly lucky tonight and very cocksure about it. He
knocked you in the ribs on the subway car, then pretended you were a stranger.
An insult. An assault. Even though the chase isn't over yet, he has succeeded
in humiliating you. He'll be bragging about this to his policemen cronies
tomorrow, calling you a fool.

           
Oh, it will be good to have Kara
Wade's hand sink that blade into his gut and twist it!

           
But that will have to wait. What to
do now? If you return to Chelsea he might well be sitting in his car outside
your front door, waiting for you. Laughing at you.

           
You come up to the cold, crisp air.
The neon sleaze of Times Square assaults you. You ignore it. Your mind is on,
more important matters. What to do next?

           
An idea strikes you. Why return home
at all? Spend the night at a hotel. A wonderful idea.

           
You look around. But you certainly
won't stay here in the Times Square area. The Grand Hyatt is just a few blocks
east. And the Helmsley Palace is further uptown. You were at the Helmsley as
Kara a few nights ago.

           
Now you'll have to be there as
yourself. Oh, well, it's a comfortable place.

           
No sooner do you raise your hand to
flag a taxi than one pulls into the curb. You reach for the door but it opens
by itself. A familiar, grinning face appears out of the rear interior.

           
"Need a ride, Doc? I'm heading
your way."

           
The shock is like a stab in the
throat. This is not to be borne! How can this buffoon know your every move?
It's not possible! Not natural!

           
You lurch away, into the street to
find another cab, one for yourself, to take you away from this city hireling
who trails after you like a tin can tied to your tail. Rage is a living thing
inside you. You'll kill him with your bare hands if you ever get the chance!

           
Suddenly there's the blare of a
horn, unbearably loud, screeching tires. You spin. Lights, so bright, so close—

           
"Oh, shit, man! Oh,
shit
!" Rob's cabbie was saying as
he leaped from his taxi.

           
Rob was ahead of him, running around
the back of the cab to where Gates lay sprawled face down on the pavement.

           
The driver of the van that struck
Gates was running around in circles, grabbing anyone who might have been a
witness, pleading with anyone who would listen.

           
"You saw him run out in front
of me didn't you? I had no chance to stop! The light was green! He jumped right
in front of me! It's not my fault!"

           
Rob wanted to shut him up.

           
"It's all right. I'm a police
officer. It wasn't your fault. Now back off while—"

           
Gates groaned and got to his knees.
He looked around in a daze. Finally his eyes focused on Rob. There was a wild
look in them.

           
Rob took a cautious step forward.

           
"Just stay where you are,
Gates. We'll get an ambulance."

           
Gates lurched to his feet and
reached for Rob, staggering toward him. He was bleeding from a cut on his
forehead.

           
"El
merit!"

           
"Easy, Gates. You're hurt. Why
don't you sit on the curb here.

           
As Rob put out a hand to steady the
injured man, Gates leaped at him.

           
"Nen
tibet! Kedeshen, nen tibet!"

           
He grappled with Rob, slinging one
arm around him and pulling at his jacket with the other. There was a crazed look
in his eyes. Rob tried to push him away without knocking him down again.

           
"Hey, be cool, Doc. You're
going to—"

           
And then Rob felt Gates' probing
hand latch onto his holster.