“If you see a cop, that means they’ll get you.”
He cackled again. “That’s all part of the game. If I see a cop it means you elected to let your wife die alone. Don’t you see, Mr. Doyle? The only way you can win is to come alone and try to rescue her, knowing you’ll be killed in the attempt. Don’t come, or call the cops, and you know the rest of your life you failed your wife when she needed you most.”
“What’s in the game for you, Leon?”
“Revenge for Maureen, for one, and what has always been in the game for me. Uncertainty. Maybe you’ll succeed. Maybe you’ll rescue her. Who knows, stranger things have happened.”
“Let me talk to her, Leon.”
“Want to make sure she’s not already dead, eh? Don’t blame you, but then it wouldn’t be a game if she were, would it?”
A few minutes later I heard what sounded like Kelley. A tiny voice said, “Matt? Don’t come, please don’t come. I heard it. He’s in the room with me. He’s crazy. Don’t come, please don’t come.”
After an ominous silence Leon came back on. “Just taping her up again,” he said jovially. “Well now, that was quite touching. ‘Don’t come, please don’t come’. Your wife has just introduced a new element into the game. The question now is, are you as brave as she is?”
“Stay where you are, Leon,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
The Colt Python was still sitting on the desk, where I put it when Leon called. I checked to make sure it was loaded, fingers feeling the familiar shapes. Six .357 mag bullets. Six would be plenty. I took the Walk-Mate ultrasound beeper out of its box and snapped it on the back of my belt, set for six feet, vibrate, no sound. If Leon came up behind me, I’d be ready for him. I put my collapsible blind man’s cane and cell phone in my jacket pocket, strapped the shoulder holster under my left armpit for the first time in three years and slid the Python into its well-worn place. The old piece of iron felt good hanging there. I felt like I was balanced again. I put Buster’s harness on him and he wagged his tail. He liked going out. I didn’t tell him about Leon. I called home and left a message on the answering machine, telling the kids I loved them and to take care of themselves and Buster.
I punched the elevator button five or six times, trying to hurry it up. I was about ready to run down the fire stairs when I heard the floor bell ring and the elevator doors open. I jumped in, dragging Buster with me, and stabbed at the buttons. Ground floor. I knew where the button was, I’d felt for it enough. I willed the elevator to go faster, I willed no other stops. I felt the elevator rumble, hurtling downward, much too slowly. “Make it go faster, God!” I cried, and Buster pressed against me, probably wondering what the hell was going on. We were there, finally, the ground floor. The doors opened and we rushed out, crossing the tiny lobby in half a dozen quick steps. The doors were automatic, and we were through them and out on the street.
The Market Street subway was a couple of blocks away. We walked through the pedestrian throng as quickly as we could, the Walk-Mate vibrating against my spine, telling me, unnecessarily, there was someone within six feet of me. Buster got us to the corner and stopped. Traffic was against us. I controlled my impatience. I couldn’t do anything about the traffic. I forced myself to relax, forced my fears down deep inside, hiding them. Being hyper wouldn’t help her. Keeping my wits about me was the only way to get out of this. When the traffic sounds changed I said “Forward,” and Buster stepped off the curb.
A mass of people crossed with me, pressing in on me with their weight and sound. The sidewalks were crowded. I heard people walking by, heard them talking, heard the cars and buses rumbling by, heard the impatient horns, the occasional whistle of a traffic cop. Even in my present state I was aware of the smells and the heat, aware of the feel of the sun upon my face. If I could still see I probably wouldn’t have been aware of half of what I heard and smelled and felt.
At Market Street we bounded down the steps to the cashier, who buzzed us in. I knew where I had to go, knew we had a good seven or eight block walk once we got off the elevated. Impatient, Buster must’ve caught my mood, for he leaned against me and I stroked his head. I hoped for the best, but if it turned out badly, I hoped Leon didn’t hurt him.
A train rumbled into the station, and Buster led me to a door. He found me a seat, and a young woman’s voice said, “I’ll slide over so you can have the aisle seat.” I smiled and said thanks, and she asked if she could pet him. I said sure.
“It’s so wonderful they can train these dogs to be your guide. You and he must be inseparable.”
I was not in the mood for chit chat, but she was so nice I had no choice but to be amiable.
“Inseparable doesn’t begin to describe it,” I said.
“What’s your stop? I’m going all the way to Frankford, so I’ll tell you when we get there if you like.”
“That’s very kind of you, but the cars have an announcement system.”
“That’s right, they do. Forgive me.”
“I’m not going very far anyway, but thanks for your offer of help. One day Buster will be able to read and he can call off the stations as we go by.”
She laughed. “Then he’d have to be able to speak too.”
“I think Buster can do anything he puts his mind to.”
I had been aware, during our conversation, that the train had left the tunnel and was now above ground. The speaker called out the station, and I said, “Here’s where we get off. Thank you for the conversation.”
She said I was welcome, and we stood, bracing against the swaying car, and when it stopped we stepped off onto the elevated platform.
“Let’s go find the cashier, Buster,” I said. We could get through a turnstile if we had to, but it was easier to be buzzed through.
Buzzed through and down the steps, we went from the world of elevated car sound to street sound. The heat pressed in on me, and I don’t know how Buster felt, covered with all that hair, but I guess he was used to it. I got my directions fixed in my mind.
“A long hike ahead of us, Buster,” I said, and he banged his tail against me. A long hike to the waterfront, but at least we’d be walking a major street, with traffic lights, a street I was familiar with from the old days. We’d have to cross under I-95 and get across Delaware Avenue, but I had infinite faith in Buster.
Heat, horns and traffic. I was oblivious to it all. Foot traffic thinned out as we got closer to the river, and so did automobile traffic, to judge by the diminished sound. I stopped, taking advantage of the empty sidewalk to make a phone call. Leon was with Kelley when he called and I assumed he was there still. I was still several blocks from the river, making it safe for me to use the phone without him seeing it and thinking I was calling the cops. I called home again and left another message, longer this time, telling the kids again that I loved them, and their mother loved them, and that she was in trouble and I was going to get her, and if we didn’t come home to call the cops and tell them we were at the old Maclann carpet warehouse along Delaware Avenue. I thought briefly of calling Frank Kopf and telling him what was going on, but I knew he would only tell me not to go in alone. I knew also he’d call the District and have some bluesuiters there in seconds, and I didn’t want that, Leon would kill her the instant he saw them. I couldn’t call Frank or anyone else. I had to play this game by Leon’s rules. I said, “Let’s go, Buster,” and we continued on.
I couldn’t get what Leon had said out of my mind. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to live, and a time to die. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to weep and a time to laugh.
There was a time to weep, all right. And there was a time to die.
The change in sound told me we were crossing under I-95, and my stomach tightened. I was scared. Afraid for Kelley, afraid I wasn’t going to be good enough, afraid I was going to fail her when she needed me most.
“Not much further, old boy,” I said, and reached down to scratch
his ears, maybe for the last time.
Traffic sounds told me we were at the last major intersection, Delaware Avenue. We waited for the light, and when Buster thought it was safe to cross, we crossed the street. I remembered the old Maclann carpet warehouse was another half block away, and that meant I was in front of the old factory building. We continued on, and I could tell we had reached the end of the old factory building by the breeze from the river. A few more steps and I felt the old rails underfoot. I followed the rails into the weeds, and turned off, knowing the gravel drive was a few feet away. My feet felt the old gravel beneath the weeds and I stopped, knowing Leon was watching me now. I smelled the smells coming off the river, tasted them, possibly for the last time. Everything now seemed to be for the last time. Scratching Buster’s ears, smelling the river, feeling the sun on my face. Everything was heightened. The sharp, clean green smell of high weeds; the subtle smell of river mud; the raucous call of gulls arguing over something. Somewhere on the river a boat blew its horn, a tug boat from the sound of it.
I felt the scorching sun, and hoped Leon didn’t wonder why I was wearing a jacket, or why I kept it buttoned in this heat. I hoped it wouldn’t occur to him to think a blind man might have a gun. I said, “Let’s go, Buster,” and started forward, the feel and crunching sound of gravel underfoot taking us right to the old loading dock.
River smells got stronger the closer we got to the warehouse. I felt something loom in front of me, a massive presence, and I stopped. I reached out and touched the edge of the loading dock. I remembered there was a short flight of concrete steps to the left. I found them and put my hand on the rickety iron pipe hand rail.
“We’re here, old boy,” I said, and started up the steps. When we got to the top, I stopped again. “The last time I was here there was an open doorway just ahead,” I said. “Probably still is.” We started forward and in a few steps we were inside. Cooler and much quieter than outside. Too quiet. Where was the tugboat? Where were the gulls? This place was open to the elements last time I was here, and I was sure it wasn’t any different now. There should be plenty of outside noise, but I had the crazy thought that I had stepped into a room full of sleeping kittens. Inside the quiet and the coolness was a new scent, not river smell, but something odd. I remembered the floor had been strewn with old decaying rolls of carpet when I had been here for Delavaria, and thought that probably accounted for it.
Odd smell accounted for, heart pounding, filled with dread, thinking he might have already killed her, I called, “We’re here, Leon!” I stood stock-still, listening intently, straining for the least wisp of sound. I tried to read Buster’s body language, figuring if someone was near by, silently watching us, he would tense, but he seemed totally unconcerned. I smelled nothing that might indicate someone was near. I found myself hoping Leon used aftershave or chewed licorice.
A wisp of breeze brought the strong smell of decaying river mud, drowning out everything else. It also brought outside sounds; gulls, muted traffic on Delaware Avenue, insects, the creaks and groans of an old building ready to fall down. Had the sounds always been there and I simply not heard? I didn’t know. I only knew I had to blank them out if I expected to hear Leon creeping up on me.
The room where we found Delavaria was off to the right, as I remembered, and I started in that direction, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I didn’t know where Leon was. He could’ve been anywhere, watching me come up the steps, watching me enter the building, ready to come up behind me, but I didn’t think he’d do it that way. That wouldn’t have been playing the game. No, he would’ve been watching me come down the gravel driveway, watching for cops, but he’d be in that old office now, with Kelley, waiting for me.
I didn’t smell any blood, I didn’t smell the stench of a suddenly relaxed sphincter muscle. I walked slowly toward the office row, against the far wall, and when I felt it I stopped. So far Buster was indicating nothing amiss. My hand touched a rusty doorframe, and Buster wagged his tail, gently and slowly. I didn’t know if Leon was near or if he’d discovered the presence of Kelley.
The doorframe proved to be just that, a doorframe without a door. We walked through it, and I knew it was empty. If Kelley had been here Buster would’ve known it.
Another strong eddy of river mud smell blacked out most of the other smells of the old place, but I caught another smell, too, tantalizingly close, but borne under by the sulphurous mud flat smell.
We moved toward the rear of the warehouse, following the line of abandoned offices, kicking up debris as we went, Buster confident, tail still wagging. I stopped when he did. I sensed something nearby. I couldn’t smell any aftershave, or anything else to indicate Leon’s presence. Nothing but the tantalizing wisp of something sweet, buried beneath the river mud and decaying carpet.
The Walk-Mate buzzed against my back. I was too close to the office walls. I could stand here with my back to the wall, that would prevent Leon from coming up behind me, but it wouldn’t take me to Kelley. I moved away from the wall, but continued my way down the office walls. Something buzzed by my ear, something big, a wasp, probably, no doubt annoyed by my presence. I caught a whiff of the sweet fragrance again, and tried to locate its source, but in an instant it was gone.
What had Big Annie said? Tall, heavy built, clean hands, sandy hair? I was sure of one thing. He didn’t have clean hands.
I never heard him. The first I knew he was behind me was when I heard his voice, so sudden and so startling I jumped. The Walk-Mate hadn’t gone off, so he was further away than six feet.
“I knew you‘d come, Mr. Doyle.” There was no mistaking that whisky voice. “Thank you. The game is delightful, don’t you think?”
“I’m here, Leon,” I said, turning to face the sound. He was now at twelve o’clock, directly in front of me, and I would be at pains to keep him there. “I’m here, and that means you lose. I’ve come to take her home. Game’s over, Leon.”
“Ah no, surely not over,” he said, chuckling softly. “The game has only just begun. I haven’t explained the rules.”
I wanted him to get close, to come within reach. I wanted to goad him into doing something stupid. I wanted to play on his manhood. “Your move then, Leon. What do you intend to do, shoot me where I stand?”
“Now what kind of game would that be?” He sounded hurt that I could think so poorly of him. “No, you will die by my hand, up close and personal as they say. Mano a mano.”
I took my hand off Buster’s harness. “Lay down, boy,” I said. I didn’t want him to get hurt. I also wanted a clear six feet behind me for my Walk-Mate. I heard him lay down, and I took several steps away from him, taking me further away from the wall, giving Leon more room to come around from that side, but a risk I had to take.
“I’ll play your game, Leon,” I said, “but there’s one condition. If you win, I want you to see that Buster gets returned to my children.” I knew there was no way he could kill the two of us and then drop Buster off at the house, but I wanted to keep him talking.
“Agreed,” Leon said. He was no longer directly in front of me, but one word and I found him again. I turned, putting him back at twelve o’clock. I still couldn’t smell anything but river mud, and decaying carpet.
“Why don’t we even the odds a little, Leon,” I said lightly. “Put on some aftershave.”
He laughed delightedly. “Well played, Mr. Doyle. But I don’t think so. No, we shall play with the cards we have. Delightful smell off the river, isn’t it? And the old moldy carpet? I thought of taking off my shoes, but the floor is too full of odds and sods for that. Even so, there’s enough outside noise to make hearing me move around fairly difficult. So you see, Mr. Doyle, mother nature has cleverly deprived you of the last of your senses. No sight, no smell, no hearing. This will be a very interesting game.”
He moved as he talked, and I followed him as best I could.
“Give it up, Leon,” I said, “it won’t work. There’s a hundred cops
outside.”
“The old look out behind you trick, eh?” He was at nine o’clock now, and I never heard him move. His voice sounded nearer though, and the wisp of sweet smelling scent seemed a bit stronger. I turned to place him at twelve o’clock once more, and he laughed.
“I call it the circle game, Mr. Doyle,” he chirped gaily. “I just made it up. I circle around you and from time to time speak a word or two, letting you know where I am. But when I’m ready, I will not speak. When I’m ready, it will be up to you to find me. I may have a knife, in which case I’ll be facing you. I may have a garrote, in which case I’ll be behind you. You’ll never know which moment of silence will be your last. You’ll wait for the sound of my voice, and when it comes, you’ll be relieved and perhaps a little grateful that I allowed you to live a little longer. Is this not a truly delightful game? It’s my own special version of blind man’s bluff.”
“Quite delightful, Leon, but I thought you might want to tie me to a bedpost and slit my throat.”
“Oh no, Mr. Doyle,” he said softly. “That’s a special death, one that must be earned.”
A silence as deep and profound as the blackness settled over us. In the silence I thought I heard the distant gulls, still arguing, thought I heard the distant traffic, but could not be sure through the pounding in my ears. Buster growled, low and menacing, and I could only wonder what Leon was up to. Leon as much as told me he was either going to strangle me from behind or knife me from the front. My Walk-Mate was silent, meaning I had six feet of clear space behind me, and that left me free to concentrate on the front.
I found myself squeezing my eyes, willing them to work, willing my other senses to work. Buster growled again, and underneath the now nearly overpowering smell of river mud and moldy carpet I caught a whiff of scent, the sweet scent I’d detected earlier. I identified it now, which could only mean Leon was getting closer, enjoying his crazy game. The scent was soap, the same scent I’d smelled in Maureen’s apartment. Now that I knew what it was, I couldn’t smell anything else. Leon was moving, and his movement created tiny air currents, carrying the soap smell to me. I felt a little better. One more item in my favor.
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