بخش 03 - فصل 19

19

Eleven o’clock. It’s eighty degrees in the city, and the radio says the mercury’s apt to touch ninety before subsiding. Got to be global warming, people tell each other.

Morris cruises past the Birch Street Rec twice, and is happy (though not really surprised) to see it’s as deserted as ever, just an empty brick box baking under the sun. No police; no security cars. Even the crow has departed for cooler environs. He circles the block, noting that there’s now a trim little Ford Focus parked in the driveway of his old house. Mr or Mrs Saubers has knocked off early. Hell, maybe both of them. It’s nothing to Morris. He heads back to the Rec and this time turns in, going around to the rear of the building and parking in what he’s now begun to think of as his spot.

He’s confident that he’s unobserved, but it’s still a good idea to do this quickly. He carries his bags to the window he’s forced up and drops them to the basement floor, where they land with a flat clap and twin puffs of dust. He takes a quick look around, then slides feet first through the window on his stomach.

A wave of dizziness runs through his head as he takes his first deep breath of the cool, musty air. He staggers a little, and puts his arms out for balance. It’s the heat, he thinks. You’ve been too busy to realize it, but you’re dripping with sweat. Also, you ate no breakfast.

Both true, but the main thing is simpler and self-evident: he’s not as young as he used to be, and it’s been years since the physical exertions of the dyehouse. He’s got to pace himself. Over by the furnace are a couple of good-sized cartons with KITCHEN SUPPLIES printed on the sides. Morris sits down on one of these until his heartbeat slows and the dizziness passes. Then he unzips the tote with Andy’s little automatic inside, tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back, and blouses his shirt over it. He takes a hundred dollars of Andy’s money, just in case he runs into any unforeseen expenses, and leaves the rest for later. He’ll be back here this evening, may even spend the night. It sort of depends on the kid who stole his notebooks, and what measures Morris needs to employ in order to get them back.

Whatever it takes, cocksucker, he thinks. Whatever it takes.

Right now it’s time to move on. As a younger man, he could have pulled himself out of that basement window easily, but not now. He drags over one of the KITCHEN SUPPLIES cartons – it’s surprisingly heavy, probably some old busted appliance inside – and uses it as a step. Five minutes later, he’s headed for Andrew Halliday Rare Editions, where he will park his old pal’s car in his old pal’s space and then spend the rest of the day soaking up the air-conditioning and waiting for the young notebook thief to arrive.

James Hawkins indeed, he thinks.