I tossed and turned the whole night, every position bringing a new bolt of pain. Whether it was my hand, my head, or
Amanda accidentally kneeing me in the groin, I would have had a better night sleep covered in honey and stuck in an ant farm. Amanda didn't wake once. I tried to be jealous, but watching her sleep soundly, all I could do was smile.
After making love we fell asleep for an hour. When we woke, I threw on a pair of boxers, Amanda slipping into cotton underwear and one of my T-shirts that came down to her knees. We fell into bed and wrapped our bodies around each other, my head on two pillows and numbed by two aspirin, my hand stretched above my head to prevent undue pressure from ripping the stitches.
When the sun came up, I blinked the crust from my eyes and went to the bathroom. After peeing for what felt like an hour, I turned the water on for a shower.
'You're not supposed to shower for forty-eight hours,'
Amanda mumbled from the bed.
'Crap, I forgot. Good thing I'm all sweaty from last night,
I've always wanted to smell like a hobo at work.' Though Amanda's face was mushed into a pillow, I saw the edge of a small smile.
I got dressed, and pulled out the note Agnes Trimble had written me yesterday. My stomach clenched as I wondered if the killer was watching me from the window. Watching
Agnes. Watching Amanda.
I took out my cell phone and called Curt Sheffield.
'Hey, Henry, how's the noggin feeling?'
'Feels like I went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson circa 1989.'
'Damn, that's bad. Don't worry, give it a few years and you'll be biting off ears and threatening to eat people's children.'
'Those are some nasty side effects.'
'You're telling me.'
'Listen, Curt, I was wondering if you could get someone to watch Amanda. Just while I'm gone during the day.'
'Bro,' Curt said, laughing. 'Look out your window.'
Confused, I pulled open the window with my good hand and poked my head out. Below me I could see the sidewalk and the building's entrance. Parked right in front was a blueand-white squad car. I could see two officers inside. And I swear I could make out the outline of a donut.
'They'll be on your ass every morning and night for the next week. You got a private escort to and from work, as does your ladyfriend. You decide to shop for groceries, go to the
Chinese laundry mat during the day, that's all you.'
'Thanks, Curt, I appreciate it.'
'Don't thank me. Orders came down from Chief Carruthers's office. Guess there are people who want you to stay alive.'
'I'll be sure to send Carruthers a fruitcake.'
'No fruitcake. His in-laws send one every Christmas and he chucks it. Later, Henry, give me a ring if you need anything.' I hung up, then dialed the number Agnes Trimble had given me for Largo Vance. Hopefully Vance was an early riser. The phone picked up on the very first ring.
'Yes, who is this?' a high-pitched voice croaked out.
'Hello, is this Professor Largo Vance?'
'If this is Jehovah's Witness, then no. If it's anyone else, depends who's calling.'
'Mr. Vance, my name is Henry Parker. I'm a reporter with the New York Gazette and I was given your name by Professor Agnes Trimble-'
'Agnes! I haven't seen that minx in years.' There was a moment of silence as I tried to think of what to say. 'Oh, come now, Mr. Parker, don't be offended. I mean that with the highest compliments. Agnes is a randy little minx, she and I go way back.'
'That's, um, wonderful. Anyway, Mr. Vance, if you have a few moments today, I'd like to talk to you about Brushy
Bill Roberts.'
This time the silence came from Largo Vance's end. His response came sputtering out. 'How fast can you be here?'
'Um, I don't know where you live, Mr. Vance…'
'3724 Bleecker. Be here in half an hour.' He hung up.
'Who was that?' Amanda asked. She was sitting up in bed, clutching a pillow in her arms.
'A potential source Professor Trimble gave me yesterday,'
I said. 'An old professor. I think he has some more information on the Billy the Kid lead.'
'Henry,' she said, 'please…be careful. Just yesterday you were in the emergency room and…'
'I know that.' I went to the bed and sat down next to her.
I took her hand in my good one, raised it to my lips and kissed her fingers. 'I promise I'll be careful. There are policemen downstairs who are going to watch you, just to make sure this lunatic doesn't come after us again. If you go anywhere other than work, you know Curt's number. Call him.'
'This lunatic killed four people,' she said. 'If he wants to kill, he's going to get them.' I let that sink in, knew she was probably right.
'Call in sick today. Just this once. I have to go talk to this guy Vance. I have to.'
'Then go,' Amanda said. 'The sooner you go, the sooner you get back, the less time I have to spend worrying about you.'
'Listen, that guy wouldn't have attacked me if he didn't have something to hide. He has an entire city police force looking to draw and quarter him. A newspaper reporter doesn't pose that much of a threat, comparatively.'
'If he was willing to break into our apartment and do what he did, it must be something awful he wants to keep a secret.'
'That just means I'm going to find it,' I said. 'I'll call a locksmith, have him change the locks and get a security system installed.'
'This apartment?' Amanda said. 'That's like getting rims on a 1987 Yugo.'
'Now that sounds like one crunked-up car. Don't worry about me,' I said. I was having trouble pulling a shirt over my head, so Amanda came over to help. 'I'm Mr. Incredible.'
'Well, please ask Mr. Incredible why he needs help getting dressed. In the meantime Lois Lane would like it very much if he looks both ways before he crosses the street.'
'Surely will. Besides, you'd make a sexy-ass Lois. My phone will be on if you need anything.'
'Just remember not to open it with that claw of a hand.'
'I won't.'
'And Henry?' Amanda said. I turned to her, smiled, but the smile quickly faded when I saw the look on her face. 'Be careful. I can't say it enough.'
'I will,' I said. 'Love you.'
'Love you, too.'
I left on that sentiment. I nodded to the cops parked outside. They gave half nods back but otherwise did not acknowledge me. As I walked, I saw one plainclothes follow about ten yards behind me while the other followed in a squad car. When I entered the subway, plainclothes followed, staying at the other end of the car, pretending to read a copy of one of those free newspapers that people toss onto the tracks and end up clogging the drainage systems.
I got off at Bleecker Street, picking up and swallowing a cup of lukewarm coffee and two more aspirin on the way. I buzzed an L. Vance at the given address, an elegant brown brick town house with a rusted front gate.
The buzzer granted my entrance, and I took a recently painted elevator to the third floor. When the elevator door opened, a man that had to be Largo Vance stood in the doorway. He'd been waiting for me.
'Henry Parker,' he said. 'Largo Vance. Get inside. Now. '
