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your taking the time.
Hayward nodded almost imperceptibly, as if acknowledging his compliment without accepting it.
I don t want to bust in on Captain Waxie s jurisdiction, D Agostacontinued. But I can t pass this up,
just in case there s a connection. I guess you figured that out already. So what we re going to do is,
we re going to forget you came to see me.
Hayward nodded again.
And I m gonna call up Waxie like I got these reports on my own, and then we ll do a little
sight-seeing.
He isn t going to like that. The only sight he likes is the view out the precinct window.
Oh, he ll come along. It wouldn t look too good if a lieu-tenant did his job for him while he sat there on
his ass. Es-pecially if this turns out to be big. A serial killer among the homeless that could be politically
explosive. So we ll take a little stroll, just the three of us. No use getting the brass stirred up.
Immediately, Hayward frowned. Not smart, she said. Lieutenant, it s dangerous down there. It s not
our turf; it s theirs. And it s not what you think, either. These aren t just a handful of burnt-out mainliners.
There re some pretty radical-ized people down there, whole communities, Vietnam vets, ex-cons,
hardcore SDS remnants, parole violators. There s nothing they hate more than cops. We ll need at least
a squad.
D Agostafound himself growing irritated at her brusque, disrespectful tone. Look, Hayward, we re not
talking aboutD day here. We re talking about a quiet peek. I m going out on a limb as it is. If it looks like
something, then we can make it official.
Hayward said nothing.
And Hayward? If I hear any talk about this little party of ours, I ll know where it came from.
Hayward stood up, smoothed her dark blue trousers, straightened her service belt. Understood.
I knew it would be. D Agostastood up, exhaling a jet of smoke in the direction of theNO SMOKING
sign. He watched as Hayward glanced at the cigar with either disdain or disap-proval, he wasn t sure
which. Care for one? he asked sar-castically, sliding another out of his breast pocket.
For the first time, Hayward slips twitched in what might almost have been a smile. Thanks, but no
thanks. Not after what happened to my uncle. What was that?
Mouth cancer. They had to cut his lips off. D Agostawatched as Hayward turned on her heel and
walked quickly out of his office. He noticed she hadn t both-ered to say good-bye. He also noticed that,
suddenly, the cigar didn t taste as good anymore.
= 8 =
He sat in the listening darkness, unmoving.
Although the chamber was devoid of light, his eyes flicked from surface to surface, lingering with a loving
glance on each object they encountered. It was still a novelty; he could sit motionless for hours, enjoying
the marvelous acuteness of his own senses.
Now he closed his eyes and allowed himself to listen to the distant sounds of the city. Slowly, from the
background mur-mur, he sorted out the various strands of conversation, filtering the nearest and loudest
from those more distant, many rooms or even floors away. Then those, too, faded into the haze of his
concentration, and he could hear the faint scamperings and squeals of the mice as they carried out their
own secret cycles of life within the walls. At times he thought he could hear the sound of the earth itself,
rolling and churning, swathed in its atmosphere.
Later he was not sure how much later the hunger started again. Not a hunger exactly, but the feeling
of somethingmissing: a deep craving, unlocalized, subtle for the time being. He never allowed the craving
time to grow.
Standing quickly, he stepped across the laboratory, sure-footed in the blackness. Turning on one of the
gas spigots along the far wall, he lit the attached nozzle with a sparker, then po-sitioned a retort of
distilled water over the burner. As the water heated, he reached into a secret pocket sewn into the lining
of his coat and withdrew a slender metal capsule. Unscrewing its end, he poured a trace of powder onto
the surface of the water. Had there been light, the powder would have shone the color of light jade. As
the temperature rose, a thin cloud began to spread downward from the surface until the entire retort
be-came a miniature storm of roiling liquid.
He turned off the heat, then emptied the distillate into aPyrex beaker. This was the point at which the
decoction should be placed between the hands, the mind emptied, the ritual movements performed, the
caressing vapor allowed to rise and fill the nostrils. But he could never wait; once again, he felt his palate
burn as he swallowed the liquid greedily. He laughed to himself, amused at his own inability to follow the
precepts he had set so sternly for others.
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