Fear the Night

13

Ralph Evans walked with Venus, guiding her gently by the elbow as they wove through the mass of pedestrians on the sidewalks of West Forty-fourth Street. Vehicular traffic was heavy but moving swiftly, horns blaring, cabs jouncing over the potholed street. At the corner was a swirl of sound and activity.

“All the people, all the cars,” Venus said, keeping pace with Evans. “Kind of exciting.”

“Not like Ohio,” Evans said. “Wakes you up.”

“Ohio has its charms.”

“When you’re there.”

They walked along for a while, deftly avoiding collisions with people coming the other way, and stopped now and then to glance in a shop window.

“I like it here,” Venus said, “noise, exhaust fumes, and all, but I won’t be sorry to get back to Columbus.”

“You’re not in New York mode yet. You’ll see, hon, the place’ll grow on you. I didn’t like the city either, first time the company sent me here. . what, five years ago?”

“More like ten, Ralph. Time’s rushing past like that traffic.”

“I guess it is. Faster’n we know.”

They stopped at an intersection to wait for a walk signal, then stepped down off the curb swiftly to avoid being trampled.

“Know what?” Venus said. “These high heels are killing me. How far is it to where we’re gonna buy tickets?”

Evans slowed their pace. He realized he’d been walking too fast, forcing her to keep up. It got to be habit, after you visited this city enough. Five minutes and you were a New Yorker living by the New York minute. “It’s a way yet. We can get a cab if you’d rather.”

She paused to lift one foot and bent sideways, balancing herself, to adjust her shoe. It was a graceful pose he’d never tired of appreciating. “I think I’d rather.”

As they continued walking, only more slowly, Evans glanced from time to time at the traffic. Now that they needed a cab, there were none in sight.

At the next intersection, he steered Venus away from the pedestrians packed at the corner waiting to cross when the light changed. He gazed down the line of parked cars.

“There’s a space where we can stand. Let’s move away from all these people to where we can hail a cab.”

They stepped off the curb, then waited for a break in traffic. Evans led the way as they walked single file alongside the parked cars to where there was a clear spot near a fire hydrant, where Venus could stand behind him well away from the rushing cars and trucks.

A dusty cab roared past. Its driver ignored Evans’s wave. Evans hadn’t seen a passenger in the back of the cab. He felt a tingle of anger.

New York. Get used to it.

Another cab without a passenger sped past. This time the driver glanced over at Evans but didn’t stop.

What is it, the roof light’s on when they have a fare or a call, or is it off? Bastards probably don’t bother with it anyway.

The light changed at the corner, and a cab in the far lane darted out ahead of the accelerating traffic and crossed in front of it at an angle, speeding toward Evans and his wife. The driver must have seen them waving for the other cab. This cab drew a few angry horn blasts as it veered toward the curb to pick them up, then coasted smoothly to a stop alongside where they were standing.

Evans opened the back door and stepped back for Venus to enter first.

She got into the cramped space, smelling leather and some kind of cologne or perfume from the previous passenger. The driver had classical music playing softly, a piano concerto, and it was warm in the cab.

Venus worked herself across the slick seat to give Ralph room.

He had one foot in the cab and was lowering himself to slide across the seat toward her, when she heard him grunt. Almost at the same time there was what sounded like a crack of thunder, but she couldn’t tell where it had come from, the way it echoed. People on the sidewalks seemed to stop or break stride, and the cabdriver hunkered down on the other side of the clear panel that separated him from his passengers.

Ralph removed his shiny black shoe from the cab and she thought he was going to stand up straight so he could see what had made the noise. Instead he slumped down and fell forward so the upper part of his body was inside the cab, the lower half in the gutter. His head was in Venus’s lap, turned so she could see his face. He looked puzzled and scared.

“Ralph. .?” she heard herself say. Something dark and heavy weighted his name and made it difficult to forge into sound.

“Ralph?”

He tried to answer, but when he opened his mouth blood gushed out.

Venus began screaming his name over and over.

The Night Sniper thought at first he might have missed, and his target would climb into the cab and be driven away.

Then the target seemed to change his mind about getting into the cab with the woman. He removed the one foot he’d put inside and started to straighten up; then he bent forward and almost dived back into the cab, leaving his lower body outside the vehicle. The Night Sniper could tell by the way the target’s legs shuffled, as if he were dreaming of walking, then were still in an awkward, splayed position, that his bullet had found its mark.

The target was dead.

The Night Sniper had seen enough. He was satisfied. He backed away from the parapet and the steel framework supporting the billboard. It took him only a second to find the expelled brass casing and slip it into a pocket.

Moving with practiced precision and speed, he disassembled the rifle and fit stock and barrel into his backpack. He was still zipping the pack closed as he strode across the roof toward the service door.

He opened the door, then removed the rectangle of tape he’d used to block the spring lock.

The heavy door closed itself silently behind him, as he worked his arms through the pack’s thick straps and wrestled its familiar bulk onto his back.

He made it to the lobby unseen, and few people glanced at him as he stepped out into the street. Those who did glance would wonder what such a person was doing in the lobby; then they would forget him almost instantly, reject him.

As he strode along the sidewalk, the people around him seemed slowed and erratic in their movements. Frightened.

Not wanting to be noticeable, he made himself slow to below their speed and assumed his unsteady, shuffling gait.

Sirens were wailing now, yodeling through the backed-up traffic. They didn’t bother the Night Sniper. The vehicles sounding the sirens were making their way toward the commotion down the block, where blinking and dancing red and blue lights dashed formless, flickering shapes against the buildings.

Behind him.