▼

You buy a token and wait near the foot of the steps, watching for Detective Harris to appear. Suddenly there are footsteps descending but it is a tall lanky black man wearing what looks like a soft leather fez. His eyes challenge you as he passes. You look away. When you hear the rumble of an approaching train on the level below, you dash down the stairs to the platforms. You don't care where the train is going because you're only going to take it one stop. The wind gushes from the downtown side. Excellent! You run for it. The doors open at your approach, as if they've been expecting you. You find a car near the middle and step inside. But you don't sit down. Instead, you peer up and down the platform. You're taking no chances this time. There is no sign of Detective Harris. You watch until the doors close, sealing you in.

You smile as the train lurches forward. You've done the unexpected. Normally a man of your stature would not stoop to riding the subway. But you thrive on doing the unexpected.

The first stop is almost immediate. Forty-ninth Street. That's too close to where you got on. You decide to take the train one more stop.

See? Sometimes you even surprise yourself—you've changed your own plans in mid-play.

Let Harris try to catch you now.

▼

Rob crouched near the top of the stairway furthest uptown on the platform. He'd come underground via the other entrance. Apparently the doctor was unaware of the multiple stairways to and from street level at each stop.

Rob watched as Gates scanned the platform. He waited until the doors were closed and the train was in motion, then he made his move. He ran down the steps, darted across the platform, and grabbed one of the safety chains that swung across the space between the last and next-to-last cars. He slipped between the chains and stepped onto the platform between the cars.

He paused there a moment to catch his breath and get himself together. That move had been a lot easier when he was fifteen.

He slid the door open and entered the next-to-last car. Leaning forward against the train's momentum, he made his way toward Gates' car, somewhere near the middle. He found the doctor hanging on a strap and staring out the windows at the darkness of the tunnel.

He walked by and gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

"Sorry."

Gates turned, a glare in his eyes. But the anger abruptly turned to shock.

Rob gave him a polite smile, as if he were just another passenger.

"Wish they'd learn to drive these things a little smoother," he said, then continued forward to the next car.

He hid his grin from Gates. That expression on the psychiatrist's face was worth the risk of jumping on a moving subway. Any day.

In the second car from the front, Rob found a heavy black woman in a nurse's uniform standing by the door, obviously waiting for the next stop. That would be Forty-second Street. She had a face like James Earl Jones with a Roseanne Barr style body. Perfect.

When the train stopped at Forty-second, Rob exited the car in a half crouch on the nurse's downtown side, then slipped behind the nearest pillar and waited. He was sure Gates would not want to stay on the subway any longer. Well, pretty sure. This was pure gamble now. Rob stayed behind the pillar, not moving a muscle as the train slid its doors closed and began to roll toward Thirty-fourth Street. He peered into the passing cars. If he saw Gates, the chase was over. The psychiatrist would have won tonight. Rob would have to start again tomorrow night.

But he didn't see Gates. He must have got off.

But still Rob didn't move. When the train was gone, he heard what he had expected: a single pair of footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

▼

You watch every passenger who gets off the train, then you wait until the doors are all closed. And still you wait until the train has been swallowed by the subway tunnel. You are alone on the platform. The detective did not get off the train.

You turn and hurry up toward the street, planning what to do next. This has been a very unsettling experience. Detective Harris was exceedingly lucky tonight and very cocksure about it. He knocked you in the ribs on the subway car, then pretended you were a stranger. An insult. An assault. Even though the chase isn't over yet, he has succeeded in humiliating you. He'll be bragging about this to his policemen cronies tomorrow, calling you a fool.

Oh, it will be good to have Kara Wade's hand sink that blade into his gut and twist it!

But that will have to wait. What to do now? If you return to Chelsea he might well be sitting in his car outside your front door, waiting for you. Laughing at you.

You come up to the cold, crisp air. The neon sleaze of Times Square assaults you. You ignore it. Your mind is on, more important matters. What to do next?

An idea strikes you. Why return home at all? Spend the night at a hotel. A wonderful idea.

You look around. But you certainly won't stay here in the Times Square area. The Grand Hyatt is just a few blocks east. And the Helmsley Palace is further uptown. You were at the Helmsley as Kara a few nights ago.

Now you'll have to be there as yourself. Oh, well, it's a comfortable place.

No sooner do you raise your hand to flag a taxi than one pulls into the curb. You reach for the door but it opens by itself. A familiar, grinning face appears out of the rear interior.

"Need a ride, Doc? I'm heading your way."

The shock is like a stab in the throat. This is not to be borne! How can this buffoon know your every move? It's not possible! Not natural!

You lurch away, into the street to find another cab, one for yourself, to take you away from this city hireling who trails after you like a tin can tied to your tail. Rage is a living thing inside you. You'll kill him with your bare hands if you ever get the chance!

Suddenly there's the blare of a horn, unbearably loud, screeching tires. You spin. Lights, so bright, so close—

▼

"Oh, shit, man! Oh, shit!" Rob's cabbie was saying as he leaped from his taxi.

Rob was ahead of him, running around the back of the cab to where Gates lay sprawled face down on the pavement.

The driver of the van that struck Gates was running around in circles, grabbing anyone who might have been a witness, pleading with anyone who would listen.

"You saw him run out in front of me didn't you? I had no chance to stop! The light was green! He jumped right in front of me! It's not my fault!"

Rob wanted to shut him up.

"It's all right. I'm a police officer. It wasn't your fault. Now back off while—"

Gates groaned and got to his knees. He looked around in a daze. Finally his eyes focused on Rob. There was a wild look in them.

Rob took a cautious step forward.

"Just stay where you are, Gates. We'll get an ambulance."

Gates lurched to his feet and reached for Rob, staggering toward him. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead.

"El merit!"

"Easy, Gates. You're hurt. Why don't you sit on the curb here.

As Rob put out a hand to steady the injured man, Gates leaped at him.

"Nen tibet! Kedeshen, nen tibet!"

He grappled with Rob, slinging one arm around him and pulling at his jacket with the other. There was a crazed look in his eyes. Rob tried to push him away without knocking him down again.

"Hey, be cool, Doc. You're going to—"

And then Rob felt Gates' probing hand latch onto his holster.

He's going for my gun!

Rob shoved Gates violently away but felt the revolver pull free, saw Gates click off the safety. Rob grappled for it. Gates was in his face. He looked demented. He was breathing like a set of leaky air brakes. Flecks of saliva salted his lips as he wheezed in a faint, frantic, high-pitched voice, saying the same thing over and over.