up to your bull ring.'
The express screeched to a stop behind her. A local was also approaching on the inside track. The boy made a show of being astonished by her threat. As if he were trembling in fright, his hands jerked and the drawing tore nearly in half.
'Oh, sorry, man. Now I guess you need to get yourself another naked guy.' He finished ripping her drawing.
Echo, losing it, dropped her computer case and hooked a left at his jaw. She was quick on her feet; it just missed. The
With her left hand she took hold of the boy by his bunchy testicles and lifted him up on his toes until they were at eye level.
The Woman in Black stared at him, and the point of the knife was between two of his exposed ribs.
Echo's throat dried up. She had no doubt the woman would cut him if he didn't behave. The boy's mouth was open, but he could have screamed without being heard as the train thundered by a couple of feet away from them.
The woman cast a long look at Echo, then nodded curtly toward the express.
The kid in the Knicks jersey picked up Echo's computer and shoved it at her as if he suspected that she too might have a blade. The doors of the local opened and there was a surge of humanity across the platform to the parked express. Echo let herself be carried along with it, looking back once as she boarded.
Another glimpse of the Woman in Black, still holding the
Who was she? And why, Echo wondered as the doors closed, does she keep showing up in
She rode standing up to 86th in the jam of commuters, her face expressionless, presenting a calm front but inside just a blur, like a traumatized bird trying to escape through a sealed window.
Echo didn't say anything to Peter about the Woman in Black until Friday evening, when they were slogging along in oppressive traffic on the 495 eastbound, on their way to Matti-tuck and the cozy weekend they'd planned at the summer house of Frank Ringer's uncle.
'No idea who she is?' Peter said. 'You're sure you don't know her from somewhere?'
'Listen, she's the kind, see her once, you never forget her. I'm talking spooky.'
'She pulled a knife in the subway? Switchblade?'
'Maybe. I don't know much about knives. It was the look in her eyes, man. That
Coincidence. A third time in the same week, uh-uh, I don't buy it. She must've been following me around.'
Echo shrugged again, and her shoulders stayed tight. 'I didn't sleep so good last night, Pete.'
'You ever see her again, make it your business to call me right away.'
'I wonder if maybe I should—'
'You're thinking she could be some sort of psycho?'
'That's New York. Ten people go by in the street, one or two out of the ten, something's gonna be seriously wrong with them mentally.'
'Great. Now I'm scared.'
Pete put an arm around her.
'You just let me handle this. Whatever it is.'
'Engine's overheating.' Echo observed.
'Yeah. Fucking traffic. Weekend, it'll be like this until ten o'clock. Might as well get off, get something to eat.'
The cottage that had been lent to them for the weekend wasn't impressive in the headlights of Peter's car; it looked as if Frank Ringer's uncle had built it on weekends using materials taken from various construction or demolition sites. Mismatched windows, missing clapboards, a stone chimney on one side that obviously was out of plumb; the place had all the eye appeal of a bad scab.
'Probably charming inside,' . Echo said, determined to be upbeat about a slow start to their intimate weekend.
Inside the small rooms smelled of mildew from a leaky roof. There were curbsides in Manhattan that were better furnished on trash pickup days.
'Guess it's kind of like men only out here,' Pete said, not concealing his disbelief. 'I'll open a couple of windows.'
'Do you think we could clean it up some?' Echo said.
Peter took another look around.
'More like burn it down and start over.'
'It's such a beautiful little cove.'
