loudly, but no one seemed to be around to answer. He had the feeling Young's directory listing was a sham, and Young lived about as much at his 'home' as Nohar worked at his 'office.' He carefully walked across the porch to peer into what he
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assumed was a living room window. The furnishings consisted of a mattress and a card table.
So much for the straightforward approach.
Nohar undid his tie and wrapped it around his right hand. He cocked back and was about to smash in the window, when he identified the smell.
The tinny smell had been getting worse ever since he had first noticed it. Nohar had assumed it was because he was approaching the source, which was true. However, he had been on the porch a few minutes and the smell kept increasing. What had been a minor annoyance on the sidewalk was now making his eyes water.
The smell was strong enough now for him to identify it. He remembered where he had smelled it before. It had been a long time since he'd watched the demolition of the abandoned gas stations at the corner of Mayfield and Coventry, since he had watched them dig up the rusted storage tanks, since he had smelled gasoline.
Instinct made him back away from the window and try to identify where the smell was coming from. His tie slipped from his claws and fell to the porch. The smell was strongest to the left of the porch. It came from behind the house, up the weed-shot driveway.
The garage-Carefully, he descended the steps and rounded the porch. He walked up the driveway toward the two-car garage and the smell permeated everything. His eyes watered. His sinuses hurt. The smell was making him dizzy.
The doors on the garage were closed, but he could hear activity within—splashing, a metal can banging, someone breathing heavily. He slowed his approach and was within five meters of the garage when the noise stopped. Nohar wished he was carrying a gun.
The door shot up and chunked into place. Fumes
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washed over Nohar and nearly made him pass out. Philip Young faced him, framed by the garage door. Nohar knew, from the statistics he had read, Young was only in his mid-thirties. The articles had portrayed him as a Wunderkind who had engineered the financing of Binder's first congressional upset.
The man that was looking at Nohar wasn't a young genius. He was an emaciated wild man. Young was stripped to the waist, and drenched with sweat and gasoline. Behind him were stacks of wet cardboard boxes, file folders, papers, suitcases. Some still dripped amber fluid. Young's red-shot eyes darted to Nohar and his right hand shook a black snub-nosed thirty-eight at the raoreau. 'You're not going to do me like you did Derry.' Nohar hoped his voice sounded calm. 'You don't want to fire that gun.'
The gun shook as Young's head darted left and right. 'You're with them, aren't you? You're all with them.*' Young was freaked, and he was going to blow himself, the garage, and Nohar all over the East Side. 'Calm down. I'm trying to find out who killed Derry.' ' 'Liar!'' Nohar's mouth dried up when he heard the hammer cock. 'You're all with them. I watched one of you kill him.'
Young was off his nut, but at least Nohar realized what he must be talking about. 'A moreau could have killed Derry and I never would have heard about it. Why don't you put down the gun and we can talk.'
Young looked back at the boxes he'd been dousing. 'You understand, I can't let anyone find out.' Nohar was lost again. 'Sure, I understand.' 'Derry didn't know he was helping them—what they were. When he found out, he was going to stop. You realize that.'
Young was still looking into the garage, Nohar took the opportunity to lake a few steps toward him. 'Of course, no one could hold that against him.'
Young whipped around, waving the gun. 'That's FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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just it! They'll blame Derry. People would say he was working for them—'''' Young rambled, paying little attention to Nohar. Nohar worked his way a little closer. He could see into the garage better now. His eyes watered and it was hard to read, but he could see some of the boxes of paper were filled with printouts. They looked like payroll records. One suitcase was filled with ramcards.
Young suddenly became aware of him again. 'Stop right there.'
Young's finger tightened and Nohar froze. 'Why did 'they' kill Derry?'
The gun was pointed straight at Nohar as Young spoke. 'He found out about them. He went over the finance records and figured it out,'
'You're the finance chairman. Why didn't you figure it out first?'
Mistake. Young started shaking and yelling something inarticulate. Nohar turned and dived at the ground.
Young fired.
Young screamed.
Nohar was looking away from the garage when the gun went off. He heard the crack of the revolver, immediately followed by a whoosh that made his eardrums pop. The bullet felt like a hammer blow in his left shoulder. The explosion followed, a burning hand that slammed him into the ground. The acrid smoke made his nose burn. The odor of his own burning fur made him gag.
Young was still screaming.
The explosion gave way to the crackling fire and the rustle of raining debris. Nohar rolled on to his back to put out his burning fur. When he did so, he wrenched his shoulder, sending a dagger of pain straight through his neck.
He blacked out.
# * *
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The absolute worst smell Nohar could imagine was the smell of hospital disinfectant. As soon as he had gained a slight awareness of his surroundings, that chemical odor awakened him the rest of the way. Before he had even opened his eyes, he could feel his
stomach tightening. 'Someone, open a window!' It came out in barely a whisper.
Someone was there and Nohar could hear the window whoosh open. The stale city air let him breathe again. Nohar opened his eyes.
It was what he'd been afraid of. He was in a hospital. It was in the cheap adjustable bed, the awful disinfectant smell, the thin sheets, and the linoleum tile. It was in the odor of blood and shit the chemicals tried to hide. It was in the plastic curtains that pretended to give some privacy to the naked moreys lined up, in their beds, like cattle in a slaughterhouse. Nohar hated hospitals.
Nohar turned his head and saw, standing next to the window, Detective Irwin Harsk. The pink was as stone- faced as ever. 'Am I under arrest?'
Harsk looked annoyed. 'You are a paranoid bastard. Young blew up, you're
allegedly an innocent by-stander. Believe it or not, we found two witnesses that agree on two things in ten. Give me some credit for brains.'
'Why are you here?'
'I'm here because you're giving me problems downtown. I'm supposed to be some morey expert. They expect me to exercise some control over you. I don't like jurisdictional problems. I don't like the DBA staking out half of my territory. I don't like the Fed. And I don't like outsiders pressuring me to bottle something up. I don't like Binder. I don't like Binder's friends—'
Nohar struggled to get into a sitting position and his shoulder didn't seem to object. 'What?' 'A bunch of people who think they're cops are trying to dick me around. They want me to keep you away from Binder's people, or bad things will happen. Like what, I don't know. I'm already as low as you get in this town.' Harsk slammed his fist into the side of the window frame.
'Hell, Shaker's screwing around the Johnson killing for Binder. They deserve you.'
