It was pitch-black here, there was no choice but to switch on the flashlight, whatever the danger. He did it in quick sweeps, I on and off, just enough to orient himself each time. He was looking for the women’s dress boutique again, and the offices up on the second floor.
But before he found that store, his light flickered over a sign: MEN’S AND BOYS’ WEAR. He turned that way, found the door, kicked it open, went inside.
He took a chance on keeping the flashlight on for longer periods of time now, and went quickly through the store. Very little stock was left, but there was some. Socks and underwear, short-sleeved shirts, summer-weight zipper jackets, thin slacks. No winter clothing, no shoes, no suits.
But it was better than nothing. He found an empty cardboard carton in the back of the store, filled it up with goods he thought he could use, and then left that store.
The women’s boutique was diagonally across the street. He looked around, saw nothing but the darkness, heard nothing anywhere, and ran across and into the shop. He went down the narrow aisle to the mirror, opened it, went upstairs.
The office had windows on two walls, with shades and curtains. He drew the shades, then switched on the flashlight, put it on the floor, partially covered it with a sheet of paper from the desk. It gave a very small light, but it was enough to see by.
There was a bathroom next door, with a long hand towel on a roller. Parker opened the roller and removed the long foot-wide ribbon of towel, then stripped off his wet clothing and dried himself. It was still cold in here, almost as cold as outside, but once he was dry the shivering began to ease a little, he could relax his jaw without his teeth chattering.
He dressed in the summer clothing he’d brought, putting on three pairs of socks, two pairs of slacks, two polo shirts and one of the lightweight zipper jackets. He hung his own clothing around on chair backs and doorknobs, and it was then he discovered his pistol was gone.
He stood there with his hand in the empty jacket pocket, holding the jacket up by the neck with his other hand, both hands cold and wet from contact with the jacket. The pistol was gone. Four shots. Gone.
It must have fallen out in the struggle with the cop, either on the ship or when they fell into the water. More likely then, falling into the water, the pistol getting jolted out of his pocket, lying now in the knee-deep water around the pirate ship in the darkness. Gone for good.
He put the jacket over a chair back. He still had the two knives, and these he set on the desk. He’d need them for sure now.
What was happening outside? He picked up the flashlight, switched it off, carried it over to the window. He pulled the shade aside and looked out, but there was nothing to see, no lights bobbing around. Were they calling off the hunt until morning? It would be smart, if they kept on moving around in the dark like this he could pick them off one at a time. If he had a gun.
They wouldn’t know he was unarmed now, that was the only edge he had left.
He wished he could go out and take a look for them, find out for sure what they were up to, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t wear his shoes yet, and he had no others. The clothing he had on wasn’t enough to keep him warm inside this building, and it was even colder outside.
The soaking he’d taken had drained his energies more than he liked to admit. He still shivered from time to time, still found himself on the verge of losing his balance. His arms and legs seemed heavier than usual, and he was having trouble thinking, concentrating his thoughts. He needed time to recuperate, time to get ready again, so he hoped they really were doing the smart thing out there, pulling back to the gate to wait till morning.
He stood watching at the window for nearly five minutes, and saw nothing at all. He opened the window briefly, to try to listen for conversation, but the cold breeze coming in made him close it again. The absence of light out there was enough anyway. If they were still hunting for him, he’d see their flashlights. And probably see them switch on the lights in different buildings.
But they’d be careful about that now. They’d walked into his electric booby trap at the Buccaneer! ride, and they’d be a hell of a lot more cautious now, knowing he’d been setting up surprises for them while waiting for them to come in.
He didn’t know whether the Buccaneer! trap had killed anybody or not, but it had caught at least one guy, and even if he was still alive he wouldn’t be in any shape to hunt for anybody for a while. So out of the original seven, that left five out there. All of them armed, all of them wary now, and more than likely willing to wait to come after him in daylight.
All right. He’d take the respite, he could use it, and worry about tomorrow when it got here. He left the window at last, re-crossed the room, and went downstairs to the dress shop.
Draperies had been used as the principal decoration inside the shop, unlined cotton draperies in colorful prints. Parker took them all down from the walls and windows and carried them upstairs. It took two trips. The third time he went down he got a chair and a metal wastebasket from near the cash register and carried them over to the stairs. He went up two steps, pulled the mirror-door shut, and leaned the chair so its back legs were on a step and its top was against the door. Then he put the wastebasket on the chair seat. If anyone pulled this door open now, chair and wastebasket would both go crashing.
When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he went back upstairs again. Moving around helped, but it was still cold in here, and he was still weak and a little disoriented.
He covered both windows with draperies, putting them up with thumbtacks from a desk drawer, putting three of the thin draperies over each window. Then he turned on the flashlight again and tried the light switch, but the power in here was off. He would have liked to go downstairs and turn it on, but he didn’t know what lights or sounds were already in an On position and would begin to blare his position the minute he switched on the electricity.
He searched the office, and in the closet found a small electric heater. Again he regretted the lack of current, but there was nothing to be done about it. He left the heater where it was, and kept on searching, and in a bottom desk draw, tucked away behind a lot of manila envelopes as though it had been forgotten there, was a bottle of store-brand whiskey, about one-quarter full.
There was nothing else useful anywhere. There was a carpet on the floor, and Parker sat down on it and wrapped himself in the last two draperies. They smelled of dust, making him sneeze, but they started to get him warm.
