expression on his basset- hound features, he motioned for Nudger to come inside.
Nudger stood with the doughnut-shop door half open. As usual, there were no customers in the place. Pastry was mum; Danny could talk freely.
'A guy's upstairs waiting for you,' he said in a modulated voice, leaning back so he was half sitting on one of the red vinyl counter stools. His eyes darted momentarily upward; if the walls didn't have ears, the ceiling might. Danny nervously wiped his fingers on his grayish towel. 'Heavyset guy wearing jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. Looks like the trouble type.'
'How long has he been up there?' Nudger asked.
'That's just it; I saw him go in and heard him take the stairs about an hour ago, and he hasn't come down.'
Nudger was trying to remember if he'd locked his office door last night. His memory couldn't reconstruct his exit accurately enough for him to be sure if he'd keyed the dead bolt.
'The guy looked like he was used to heavy work, or maybe lifted weights,' Danny said.
'Did he have a stomach paunch?'
'Yeah, I guess so.'
Nudger relaxed. T-shirt and jeans, muscular and paunchy. Lester Colt, probably sitting on the landing outside the office door and waiting for Nudger with simple, tireless patience. 'It's okay, Danny,' Nudger said, 'I know who he is.'
'In that case,' Danny said, 'shut the door; you're lettin' the air-conditioning out.'
The narrow stairwell was dim after the brightness of late morning. The bare, low-wattage fixture that burned twenty- four hours a day on the high ceiling above the landing glowed like a distant star that shed only inconsequential light in this galaxy. The landing itself was in deep shadow. Nudger waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust before he began climbing the stairs. A stale, perfumed scent wafted down to him, like the wake of cheap deodorant.
Lester wasn't waiting on the shadowed landing; apparently Nudger had neglected to lock the office door. He often forgot about locking the door. He'd obtained some interesting clients that way.
As he opened the door he noticed the looseness of the knob. But he was a step inside before it registered: the lock had been forced. He turned and saw that the doorjamb was splintered at eye level where the dead-bolt lock had been whittled loose higher on the door than the latch lock.
The door came alive in his hand and jumped closed.
The man who'd been standing behind it was heavyset and muscular, but not what you'd call paunchy; he looked as if he lived on yogurt and raw meat. He was at least six foot three, with a full-back's muscles straining the fabric of his red T-shirt. He had arms the size of legs. He was lean- waisted and broad-shouldered and lantern- jawed and not Lester Colt. A different sort of animal entirely.
Worst of all was the way he was smiling. It was the kind of smile you saw sometimes after hearing the dirtiest of dirty jokes. Like a crack in the curtains of a room where something basic and lewd was happening.
Nudger started to back up a step, but a huge hand darted out in an oddly lazy fashion and caught him on the side of the neck, driving him farther into the office. He skidded, caught his balance, and something like a bowling ball with knuckles rammed him in the chest. Air exploded from him and he was aware of saliva dribbling down his chin. He felt two more hard blows to the lower ribs, and he sank slowly to his knees, like a horse he'd once seen shot in the head. He seemed a distant party to what was going on; there was no pain, only numbness. He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't respond and he wound up merely windmilling his arms and looking silly, like something built for the ground but trying to fly.
Vaguely he felt two more punches, this time to the head. The last one only grazed his ear and did bring a slice of hot pain. Each time the big man threw a punch he grunted loudly; it was more a grunt of animal pleasure than of effort. The ear continued to burn and Nudger somehow got his arms up over his head and started to roll into a protective ball.
But the grunter had feet and knew how to use them. He was an Astaire of destruction. Nudger experienced the same merciful numbness, but he was sure he heard a rib crack as the toe of a hard leather boot found him where he was most vulnerable.
Then he was yanked to his feet. The camera he'd used that morning was still strapped around his neck. His assailant grabbed it and laughed loudly, having a high old time. He twisted the strap about Nudger's neck, then began swinging him around like a bucket on a rope. Nudger heard himself gasp for breath as he stumbled in a circle, scrambling wildly to keep his balance. The revolving office began to fade into a deep and dizzying blackness pinpointed with beautiful, silent explosions of red, like hundreds of roses that kept blooming and blooming.
The strap, or one of the brackets where it was attached to the camera, broke. Nudger flew like something discarded into a corner, slumped on the floor, and began a rasping struggle for oxygen. Through hazed and distorting eyes he saw the big man hurl the camera onto the desk, pick it up and slam it down again, grunting as it broke into pieces that slid onto the floor. The guy sure liked to break things.
He walked over to Nudger, bent low, and gripped the front of Nudger's shirt, wadding it into a ball that tightened the fabric and made Nudger's head loll back. 'Can you hear me?' he asked in a surprisingly soft voice. The words seemed muffled by distance.
Nudger somehow managed a ludicrous nod.
'A message from Western Union,' the man said, grinning. He was witty as well as muscular. His breath smelled as bad as his deodorant, only different. 'Back off the case, asshole. You understand? Leave it alone. Com- fuckin'- pletely alone.'
He stood up, seeming to float, and Nudger, with that odd numbness, felt the back of his head hit the floor and bounce.
'You understand?' a voice asked from up near the ceiling.
'Complete fuckly alone,' Nudger stammered, wondering if the hoarse, dutiful voice was his own.
'No. com-fuckin'-pletely alone.' Trying to be patient.
'Fuck… com… 'lone.'
'Oh, well. You got the message.'
A boot toe dug into Nudger's thigh; there was another low, primal grunt.
After a moment Nudger heard the rear window scrape- squeak open. The big guy had figured it all out; he was parked in back and had known from the beginning he was going to use the fire escape to leave.
Nudger listened to the faint ringing clatter of leather heels on the steel fire escape, the muted metallic scream of the drop ladder levering down to the alley. Then he heard nothing but a high-pitched buzzing that he knew was inside his head, and he sank into a cold and dark place that scared him. 'I thought somebody was playing racquetball upstairs,' Danny was saying next to Nudger. Nudger sat with his eyes closed, concentrating on not letting the pain make him vomit. He was in a soft seat that vibrated and rocked; there was a low humming sound. A car engine. He slowly opened his eyes.
He was slumped low in the passenger seat of Danny's old blue Plymouth. So low that he couldn't see much out the windshield except the tops of trees and telephone poles zipping past.
Danny glanced over, caught his eye, and smiled his sad hound smile. But there was concern in his watery brown eyes. And something else. Anger.
'The guy had already got out the back way, Nudge,' Danny said. 'I didn't call the police; I figured I oughta ask you about that first. I couldn't identify him anyway, didn't even get a look at his car. And I only got a glimpse of him earlier when I seen him go up to your office. He musta been driving away while I was running up the front steps to see what all the bumping and bouncing around upstairs was.'
'It was me,' Nudger said. He raised his head to look around. A pain like a sharp slab of ice cut deep into his right side and made him suck in his breath.
Danny's pale right hand patted him gently on the knee. 'You okay, Nudge?'
'My guess is that I'm not.' His head began pounding with slow-pulsing force, as if someone were hammering long nails into his temples. 'Where are we?' Pound! Pound! Pound!
'On the Inner Belt. I'm taking you to the County Hospital emergency room. You need some X rays. And they'll give you some pain pills.' Dr. Danny. 'Guy did a job on your camera, Nudge. I cleaned up the pieces.'
Nudger didn't answer. He settled deeper into the Plymouth's worn upholstery and closed his eyes again, trying to stay as detached as possible from his throbbing head, from the playfully malicious pain that moved around
