“They say why?”
“To kill me.”
“Are we back to that again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And you don’t know why?”
“No.”
“You have no idea?”
“No.”
“Have you ever seen them before?”
“No.”
“Would you like to go to the hospital and get that shoulder looked at?”
“N—I think that would be a fine idea.”
They took him to a hospital on Second Avenue, where Tally walked him down to an area where a lot of people were being treated for wounds.
“What happened here?” Tally asked a doctor.
“Big fight on Broadway,” the man answered. “We’re swamped here. What have you got?”
“Bullet wound.”
“Bad?” the doctor asked, looking at Decker.
“Not too bad,” Decker said.
“I can have a nurse dress it,” the doctor said to Lieutenant Tally.
“That’ll be fine.” Tally turned to Decker and said, “I’ll wait for you outside and take you back to your hotel.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Come with me,” the doctor said.
He led Decker to a small cubicle with a table and chair and said, “Sit on the table and wait. A nurse will be right with you.”
Decker nodded. He waited a full ten minutes, and then a woman entered and pulled a white curtain closed so that they wouldn’t be disturbed. Decker was going to say something, but when she turned, the words caught in his throat.
“Hello,” she said.
She was beautiful, sultry, even in white. She had brown eyes, with heavy eyebrows, and a lush mouth. She was about twenty-four, five five and slender. At the moment her beautiful face looked a little sad, as if she’d seen a lot of pain that night—or that year.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I…got shot.”
“I know that, silly,” she said. “I mean, why were you staring?”
“Was I?” he asked. “I’m sorry.”
She almost said something, then just gave her head a little shake and moved toward him.
“Let me have a look at that.”
She leaned over him to look at the wound, and he could smell her, her hair. She must have been on duty for a while, because he could smell her sweat, a scent that was not at all unpleasant.
She slid his jacket down and looked at his shoulder.
“This doesn’t look too bad.”
“That’s what I told the doctor.”
“Let’s get your shirt off,” she said. “Help me.”
“Sure.”
Together they got his shirt off. When she saw the scars on his body, she gasped.
“Well,” she said, “you’ve been through this before.”
“Once or twice.”
“I can count,” she said. She looked the wound over and said, “The bullet is still in there. You didn’t tell the doctor that. I’ll have to get him.”
She started away, and he grabbed her arm.
“You do it.”
“You trust me?”
He moved his hand from her arm to her hand and said, “I trust these hands.”
She smiled at him and said, “OK, cowboy. Let’s get it done.”
After she got the bullet out, she cleaned and dressed the wound, then stepped back to admire her handiwork.
“Not bad, even if I do say so myself.” She was smiling, but there was a touch of sadness in her eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Linda Hamilton.”
“I’m Decker,” he said, putting his hand out.
She hesitated a moment, then put her hand in his.
“Thank you,” he said, shaking it.
“You’re very welcome.”
She helped him get his shirt and jacket back on. Then she smiled at him again. “Good luck,” she said.
“You didn’t even ask me how this happened.”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious,” she said, “but I’m afraid I don’t have the time. I still have an hour to go on my shift, and we are very busy.”
She had a strand of hair caught on her left eyebrow so that every time she blinked, it moved. He reached up with his left hand and freed it.
“Goodbye,” she said.
“Goodbye.”
She drew the white curtain open and stepped out. He watched her walk down the hall.
Outside, Lieutenant Tally was waiting, smoking a cigarette.
“Finished already?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s take a ride to my office and talk a little bit. Feel up to it?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Police headquarters was otherwise known as the Central Office. It was located on Mulberry Street, between Houston and Bleecker streets. It was a handsome structure of white marble that extended through the block to Mott Street, where its front was brick.
The Central Office housed the offices of the commissioners and their clerks, the superintendent, the street- cleaning bureau, the detective squad, the chief surgeon and the rogues’ gallery. The building was also connected to each of the city’s thirty-five station houses by special telegraph wire.
Tally was assigned to the detective squad. He didn’t have an office but a desk in an office full of desks.
“Cigarette?” he asked, sitting behind his desk.
“Thanks,” Decker said, accepting one and lighting it from Tally’s.
“You got anything else to tell me, Mr. Decker?”
“Just Decker, no
“All right, Decker. What else is there?”
“That’s all, Lieutenant. I didn’t know those two, and I don’t know why they would try to kill me.”
“Well, take my advice,” Tally said. “The only reason those two would try to kill you is because they were
