Night kills

24

So here Quinn was in a blazing forest, terrified animals streaking past him, ignoring him. Deer, bears, rabbits, a lion. What next? A unicorn?

Quinn had fallen asleep in the brown leather chair in his den while reading about the Torso Murders in the Post. It amazed him how so much could be written on something everyone knew so little about. The Cuban cigar he'd been smoking lay smoldering in an ashtray on the carpet beside his chair. That was the sort of thing Pearl often warned him about. He was going to start a fire, kill them both, kill everyone in the building. Pearl, who'd melted the shower curtain with her curling iron.

He smelled cigar smoke and almost woke up. But not quite. His dreams weren't ready to release him. The smoke grew denser.

He was wearing only a plastic raincoat with a hood and, like the animals surrounding him, he was terrified of the advancing wall of flame. Even without the heat of the forest fire, he was sweltering in the plastic NYPD coat. The California heat was merciless.

California?

Where was Lauri? Was she safe from the fire? Was Wormy?

Pearl?

A phone was ringing. Or was it the urgent jangle of a fire engine? Gotta pull the damned car over to the side of the road.

Hold on! He wasn't driving. He knew that because he couldn't find a steering wheel.

He realized he'd fallen asleep. He struggled up out of the chair, wearily stumbled toward the phone. Snatched up the receiver and almost said, "Pearl?"

But he didn't say it. The word hadn't quite escaped.

Why did I think of Pearl? I was worried about Lauri. Even Wormy.

He smelled something burning and terror took a swipe at him. Then he noticed the smoldering cigar in the ashtray on the floor.

"Quinn?" a woman's voice said on the phone. Not Pearl's voice. "Quinn? It's Linda."

He suddenly wanted to see Linda. To hold her and feel her holding him.

"Linda," he said stupidly, still tangled in the cobwebs of sleep. He dropped the receiver but caught it just before it could bang against the desk. "I dozed off in my chair," he explained.

"You're working too hard."

"Not hard enough, though."

She was silent for a moment.

"I need to see you," he said.

"That's why I called. I need to see you."

Jesus! Quinn thought. Where is this going? So fast. Like being caught in a strong current propelling me toward a sea I know is dangerous.

"Quinn?"

Sharks. Not fire-water. Wake all the way up, numb wit!

"Quinn?" Linda said again, concerned.

"The Lotus Diner in half an hour?"

"I'll be there."

He hung up the phone and stood staring mutely at it for several seconds. Then he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. On his shirt, too. He decided he needed a fresh shirt. Realized he still had a bitter taste in his mouth from the cigar. Brushed his teeth. Went into the bedroom and changed his shirt. Back to the bathroom to comb his hair.

Before leaving the apartment, he picked up the cigar and ashtray and carried them into the kitchen. He ran water on the cigar and threw it away, then wiped the glass ashtray clean and set it on the sink counter.

He found an aerosol can of air freshener and sprayed it around the apartment, especially in the den, where he'd been smoking.

As he left the apartment, he wasn't thinking about his dreams, about the Torso Murders, about dead women.

Only about Linda, alive.

At first Jill was awkward around Tony when they met for dinner. He seemed not to notice, and by the time they were seated at Scampi, a four-star restaurant near Sixth Avenue and Fifty-second Street, she was much more at ease. Tony was so attentive, so reassuring, so…nonthreatening that Jill's conversation with Madeline receded in her mind and seemed more and more unreal.

Surely it was unreal, the delusional ranting of a mentally ill street woman. This was reality, sitting here with Tony in the soft light from the candle in the center of the white-clothed table, their half-eaten meals before them, the waiter bringing more wine.

Tony couldn't-he simply couldn't-be the kind of monster Madeline had painted. Surely if the story were true Jill would be able to see it in Tony. Not that he'd have horns and his eyes would glow red, but there'd be something. A person simply couldn't be as Madeline had described and at the same time be like Tony.

Besides, Jill knew this man. They'd had several dates now and were moving toward sleeping together. While making it obvious that was what he expected, Tony hadn't rushed her in any way while they continued to explore each other, making sure of what they wanted. Making sure of Jill, really. Tony seemed to know he wanted her, and for more than simple sex.

That was what had emerged from their time together, an intimacy that would be cemented by commitment when they were ready. A mutual trust. Their very private conversations had provided insights into each other's souls.

"You seemed a little unsettled when you got here," Tony said, as the waiter finished pouring the wine. His grin was beautiful and boyish. Toothpaste-commercial white, yet genuine as Tony himself. "Still worried about someone trespassing in your apartment?"

"Not anymore." Jill smiled, wondering if she should tell him about Madeline. Mad Madeline.

Actually mad?

Better to say nothing. Tony, handsome and perfectly normal Tony, might think she, Jill, was the one with the overactive imagination. The paranoid tendencies.

Maybe I am the mad one.

But she knew she hadn't imagined Madeline.

And somewhere deep in her mind she knew she couldn't entirely dismiss Madeline's mad tale.

Somewhere.

Far away.

The wine was relaxing her, making her feel warm inside. So warm and safe.

With Tony.

Over coffee at the Lotus Diner, Quinn and Linda made easy small talk. The evening was warm, but it was cool in the diner and unusually quiet.

It hadn't taken long before Quinn felt totally comfortable talking with Linda, and she seemed comfortable talking with him. Strangely, the coffee cups between them helped. They were similar to other containers of liquid from the hell they'd both visited, reminders of who they'd been, and who they were. The present, where the liquid containers had handles, was infinitely better than the past, and getting better.

Quinn hadn't taken a sip of his coffee in a long time. He sat toying with the warm cup, enjoying the scent of the coffee and the heat on his fingertips. "It was a good idea, meeting here tonight."

"I think so," Linda said. She was wearing a dark blouse, pale Levi's that she had the figure for, no jewelry except for four or five thin silver loop bracelets that jangled together ever so faintly whenever she lifted her right arm to sip coffee.

There were only a few other people in the diner, and no one was paying them the slightest attention. Outside the streaked window next to their booth, traffic on Amsterdam had slacked off and there weren't so many pedestrians-the city as relaxed as it ever got. Across the street, a woman waving a folded newspaper lured a cab to the curb. She opened its rear door and climbed in. The white of the newspaper showed behind the cab's reflecting windows as it drove away.

"My place is within easy walking distance of here," Quinn said.

Linda smiled. "Seeing that woman hail a cab make you think of that?"

Quinn looked into her eyes, not smiling. "You made me think of that."

Linda felt a stirring she hadn't experienced in years. She knew they could both feel their relationship shifting toward the tipping point and wondered if Quinn was as nervous about it as she was. Nervous and a little bit afraid. He couldn't be as afraid. He'd been the one who'd nudged things in a new and faster direction. Linda's heart wouldn't slow down.

Her smile faded and she raised a hand to run her fingertips lightly along the contours of his face, like a blind woman assessing someone's true self.

"I'll get the check," she said.

"Wouldn't think of it," Quinn told her.

"No, you wouldn't."

She thought that from this point on it wouldn't matter much which of them paid.