'I ought to get to sleep,' I said.
'You're not even tired.'
He was right. I wasn't. I don't know how he knew it, because I must have looked tired, but the whole evening had somehow energized me. He drove downtown and west and parked at a fire hydrant in front of an old-fashioned diner across from the river a few blocks south of the entrance to the Holland Tunnel.
A white-haired waitress brought us menus. He ordered steak and eggs, the steak rare, the eggs over easy. They had Philadelphia-style scrapple on the menu, and I ordered that with scrambled eggs. And coffee, I said.
'Did you want the special coffee?'
I asked what it was. She looked uncomfortable, and Ballou told her I'd have plain black coffee, but that he'd like the special coffee. At that point I caught on, and I wasn't surprised when the special coffee turned out to be straight scotch served in a coffee mug.
He said, 'You can give the police his address.'
'I could. I don't know what they'd do with it. I tried to press charges against him and Durkin wouldn't even listen to me.'
'There's more,' he said. 'You have to do this alone.'
'Do I?'
'I think you do. It's between the two of you, and that's how it has to be settled.'
'That's how it feels to me, too,' I admitted. 'But it doesn't make sense. It's not as though he's a worthy foe and I have to meet him as an equal. He's a murderous psychopathic son of a bitch and I'd love it if he got hit by a bus crossing the street.'
'I'd buy the driver a drink.'
'I'd buy him a new bus. But I can't wait for a bus to get him, and there's as much chance of that as the cops bagging him. I got a call earlier from the police lieutenant in Ohio. He did some work on his own, found a motel clerk who ID'd Motley. But nothing like that is going to make a difference in this case. I have to face him myself and I wish I knew why.'
'Your business with him is personal.'
'Is it? I'm not even in a rage. I was before, God knows, but I used it all up on that big stupid kid in the park. It ran away from me, Mick. I could have killed him.'
'Small loss.'
'A big loss to me if I went away for it. Anyway, my rage went away somewhere after that. I must be carrying a lot of anger, but I swear to God I can't feel it. I must hate the bastard, but I don't feel that, either. I just feel —'
'What?'
'Driven.'
'Ah.'
'He's my problem and I have to solve him. Maybe it's because I set him up twelve years ago. I didn't play according to the rules, and everything that's happened since has to be charged to my account. Or maybe it's simpler than that. It's personal to him, and maybe there's no way to avoid buying into his perception of it. Either way, I have to do something about him. He's the boulder in front of my door. If I don't shove him out of the way I'll never leave the house again.' I drank the rest of my coffee. The grounds were like sludge on the bottom of the cup. 'Except he's an invisible boulder,' I said. 'I've got a sketch of him based on a pair of twelve-year-old memories. I never get to see him. I keep looking over
my shoulder and he's never quite there.'
'He was there the other night. In the empty lot.'
'Was he? I think back on it and it might as well have happened in a dream. I never quite got to see him.
He was behind me almost all the time. The one time I took a swing at him I couldn't really see what I was doing. It was dark as a coal mine in there, all I saw was a shape. Then I was facedown in the dirt, and then I was unconscious, and then I was all by myself. I suppose I should be grateful for the aches and bruises. They were proof the whole thing really happened. Every time I pissed blood I knew I hadn't made it all up.'
He nodded, and ran his right forefinger over a scar on the back of his left hand. 'Sometimes pain's a great comfort,' he said.
'I went to take him down and bring him in,' I said. 'In a funny way I have a better shot than the cops do.
I'm a private citizen, so none of the Supreme Court rulings get in my way. I don't need probable cause to search his dwelling, and I can enter the premises illegally without disqualifying any evidence I turn up.
I don't have to read him his rights. If I get a confession out of him, they can't disallow it on the grounds that he didn't get to consult an attorney. I can record anything he says without getting a court order first, and I don't even have to tell him I'm doing it.'
The waitress brought me more coffee. I said, 'I want him in cuffs and leg irons, Mick. I want to see him sent away and know he won't be coming out again. And I think you're right. I think I have to bring him in myself.'
'You may not be able to. You may have to use the gun.'
'I'll use it if I have to.'
'I'd use it first chance. I'd shoot him in the back.'
Maybe I would, too. I couldn't really say what I'd do, or when I might get to do it. Chasing after him was like pursuing mist once the sun came up. So far all I had was an address and an apartment number, and I didn't even
