So Bill Bart was giving me a play! What kind of crazy guess-work was
he foisting on his public, I wondered, and came to the desk room.
I looked in at the door. On one side, a sergeant was talking to an
elderly worried-looking couple and never turned his head. On the other,
a gray-haired lieutenant sitting at the raised desk dropped his glasses
as I came in. They fell on the floor and smashed.
"Mother of God!" he muttered and gave me a cursory glance. "Good night,
Doctor," he said. "Not that there's anything good about it." He was
fumbling in the desk as I walked out of the door.
* * * * *
On the other side of the street, in the shadows, was a man who crossed
over as I came down the steps. It was McGill.
"I had a hunch this might happen," he said, taking my arm. "The car's
up ahead. Vinelli came here as quick as he could, but he slipped coming
along the street and broke his ankle."
"Judas!" I said. "I _am_ sorry! I feel responsible. Where are we going?"
He didn't answer me at first; he just kept hurrying me along. One of
those New York siroccos was pretending to cool the city, and at the
corner I saw his old coupe with the parking lights on. A saloon next to
us was closing up and a few late customers came out onto the sidewalk.
One customer, on seeing me, stopped and turned to the others.
"That's the guy I was telling you about! That's Graham!"
I saw then that it was our telephone repairman from the afternoon. He
looked reasonably sober, but his friends did not.
"Oh, yeah?" one of these said, eying me belligerently. "I thought we
just heard Bill Bart broadcast the cops had him."
"Right," said another of them. "He's escaped! I'll hold him and you go
on in and phone 'em."
"Nah, the joint's closed. Police station's right around the corner.
I'll go tell 'em. Hold onto him now!"
The repairman and three of his pals began to advance warily and the
other one ran down Charles Street, but at that moment we heard excited
yapping and a small dog chasing a cat came tearing up the street. The
cat had a fish head in its mouth and, ignoring us, ran through the
middle of the group, dropping the fish head. The dog followed almost
instantly, only he ran between the repairman's legs, upsetting him.
In falling, the repairman tripped his neighbor, who fell on him, and
another one fell on top of them. The remaining one stepped on the fish
head.
"Black cat!" he cried as he joined the others on the sidewalk. "Crossed
my path!"
We got into McGill's car and he pulled away fast. As I looked back, the
four men were flailing around, but they saw the direction we took. I
also thought I saw the street lamp behind us go out.
"That was a lucky break!" I said. "I mean the cat and dog."
"Don't give it a thought," McGill said, driving fast but carefully up
Hudson Street. "You're being watched over and protected. We're going up
to my office and have a conference and we're going to drive like hell.
I have an idea this thing may not be able to do much more than hang
onto you. Maybe we can even shake it."
"Hang onto me?"
"Yes, you're the nucleus."
* * * * *
We were at the top of the ramp to the Westside Highway and he abruptly
put on more speed: no traffic was in sight.
"But what is it?" I asked a little wildly. "How's it doing it? Why pick
on me?"
"I don't know, but I'd say it picked you as the nucleus because you had
just been the subject of various flukes--the taxi and subway and so
on--so you represented a sample of what it's made of--flukes. I have a
hunch you'll continue to be protected."
"Did you happen to catch Bill Bart's broadcast?"
"Yes, I did. On the car radio coming over. Not good. He said--"
In the rear-view mirror, I saw a police car overhauling us. We were
doing a good sixty-five. "Here come the cops," I interrupted, but
before McGill could answer, there was a faint pop and the police car
wobbled and slowed to a stop, and was quickly out of sight.
"Blowout," I said.
"See what I mean?" McGill answered, and turned on two wheels into the
125th Street exit. Then he added, "Molly's waiting for us in my office."