empty, more like anyplace else in nocturnal America. Only at these subdued moments could you truly comprehend that this glittering, blighted city was part of a slumbering continent; a vastness where headlights answered the constellations; a fertile black roll of field and woods dotted by the arctic brightness of gas stations and all-night diners, town after shuttered town strung with streetlights, sparsely attended by the members of the night shifts, the wanderers who scavenged in the dark, the insomniacs with their reading lights, the mothers trying to console colicky babies, the waitresses and gas-pump guys, the bakers and the lunatics. And scattered all over, abundant as stars, disc jockeys sending music out to whoever might be listening.
She got out of the cab at the corner of Fifth Street, paid Manil and gave him an extravagant tip. At first, as she approached her building, she merely understood that a small person was huddled in the doorway. Finding someone camped there was not unusual. She'd gotten used to stepping over drunks and vagrants on her way in. This one was smaller than most, though. He sat with his back against the vestibule door, knees pulled up to his chest. He was wrapped in a khaki jacket, army surplus. He was white. When she reached the bottom stair, she knew.
'Hi,' he said. Here was his voice.
Although it was hard to tell from his bunched-up position, she guessed he was just over three feet tall. A midget child. Or was it a dwarf? He looked out at her from the upturned collar of his oversized jacket. He had a pale, round face. Big, dark eyes and a tiny mouth, puckered, as if he were whistling. He might have been a baby owl, roosting on a branch.
'Hello,' she said. Calm. Stay very, very calm.
They were silent for a moment. What should she do? She could have the boys here in less than ten minutes, and she had his only exit blocked. Even if he managed to get around her, she could probably catch him.
Not yet, though. Not right this second. She mounted one stair tread. He didn't seem to mind her coming that much closer. This might be the only chance to get him talking. After this, it would be the interrogators.
She said, 'Are you all right?' He nodded.
Cat fingered the cell phone in her coat pocket. 'Have you decided to let me help you?' she asked.
He nodded again. 'And you've decided to let me help you, too, right?'
'How do you want to help me?'
'Every atom of mine belongs to you, too.'
'I know,' she said.
'I brought something.' 'What did you bring?'
He opened the jacket. Strapped to his tiny chest was a length of steel pipe. It seemed to be attached with duct tape. In his right hand he held a lighter, one of the cheap plastic ones you can get anywhere. It was red. He flicked it, produced a flame.
She drew a breath. Focus. Stay calm and focused.
'You don't want to do this,' she said. 'I know you don't.'
'We have to do things that are hard sometimes.'
'Listen to me. Walt is telling you to do something bad. I know it seems like it's right, but it isn't. I think you know that, don't you?'
He faltered. He looked at her pleadingly. He let the flame go out.
'You have to do it so it isn't murder,' he said. 'You have to do it with love.'
'You have a lot of love in you, I think. Am I right?'
'I don't know,' he said.
'And you're alone now. Is that right?'
He nodded. 'We moved out,' he said. 'We're not home anymore.'
'It's just you now.'
'Well. Me and Walt.'
'Walt left you on your own?'
'It's my time.'
'Are you afraid of Walt?'
'No.'
'What are you afraid of?'
'I'm not sure.'
'I think maybe you're afraid of getting hurt. I think you're afraid of hurting other people, too. Is that right?'
'It isn't murder if you do it with love.' 'Are you afraid you don't feel enough love?' 'I guess.'
'I think you have a lot of love in you. I think you're loving, and I think you're brave. It's brave of you to want to talk to me.'
'That's nice. But it's not true. You don't know.' 'What don't I know?'
He paused. His little puckered mouth curled in on itself.
She said, 'Listen to me. You're confused. You know what Walt is telling you to do is wrong. I want you to take that thing off your chest and give it to me. Then everything will be all right. I promise.'
He stood. He was barely three feet tall. It was impossible to tell, in the big jacket, how deformed he might or might not be. The eyes were slightly too big, the mouth too small. His round head was big for his frail body. It stood on the shoulders of the coat like a pumpkin. Like a picture of the moon in a children's book.
'I can't tell what to do,' he said.
'Yes, you can. Take that thing off and give it to me. I'll make sure you're all right. Everything will be all right.'
'I didn't want to move. We always lived there.'
'It's hard, moving. I can understand why you're upset.'
He nodded gravely. Cat was seized by a spasm of dreadful compassion. Here was a monster; here was a frightened child. Here was a tortured little boy who could at any moment blow them both away. Her ears buzzed. She was surprised to know that she was not afraid, not exactly afraid.
'I
She hesitated. What was going to work? Too much kindness, and he could decide he loved her enough to kill her. Too little kindness, and he might do it out of rage.
She moved a step closer. Why not? It wouldn't make any difference, if he detonated. And if she got closer to him she might be able to knock him down, pin his arms, get the bomb. He'd have to strike a flame and light the fuse. She'd probably have time to stop him. But she couldn't be sure.
'I'm sorry,' he said. His nose had started to run.
'Don't be sorry. You've got nothing to feel sorry about.'
Whoever put him up to this had abandoned him. No child responds well to abandonment, not even a deranged one. She decided. Her best chance was to take him in, try to gain his trust. Wait until he let his guard down, and make her move.
She said, 'Are you hungry?' 'A little.'
'Why don't you come upstairs with me? I could make you something to eat.'
'Really?' he said. 'Yes. Come on, it's fine.'
She went up the last two stairs and stood beside him. She took the keys out of her bag. Her hand was shaking (funny, she didn't
'Come in,' she said.
She held the door open for him. He waited. He wanted her to enter first, didn't he? He must know that if she got behind him, she could grab his arms.
She went in ahead. He followed.
'It's upstairs,' she said.
She mounted the stairs, with the kid right behind her, and opened the door to her apartment. He refused to go in ahead of her. He remained two paces behind.
'This is nice,' he said.
It wasn't nice. It was a dump. It was dirty. There were shoes and clothes strewn around.
