I walked along this narrow roadway that fronted the harborside. The big building was to my left. It was about four hundred feet long. At its end I found myself on the main roadway that led from the wharf and its warehouse all the way through the old factory complex, through the rest of what was called Cordage Park, and out to the highway. I saw the fence I had just circumvented. I walked up to it and peered through at the rest of the huge buildings on the other side of it. The roadway went straight ahead, and I saw the familiar series of courtyards created by U-shaped wings of the big factory buildings that opened off to one side of the road. Each courtyard was surrounded on three sides by walls six stories high. Big black pipes and high voltage wires crisscrossed these courtyards overhead.
I planted my fanny on an old truck tire and thought for a minute. It sure didn't seem as if there was much going on. A sound reached me from several courtyards down the narrow service road. It was an engine grinding away. I supposed it to be some kind of generator or cooling, compressor. It sounded just like a semi-trailer truck idling at a truck stop. I rose up and walked toward the wharf. The end of the fence came back again and snaked around its far side. I noticed a foul stench as I walked, and saw the dark object stuck on the Cyclone wire. I remembered the severed codfish head, and went up to it. It was the biggest fish head I'd ever seen. The big eyes were gone, eaten out by maggots. All that remained were two holes as big as tennis balls in the leathery carapace of the skull. The mouth was bucket-shaped, like a bass's. The big hook came up through the lower jaw. The fish, when alive, could have swallowed a bowling ball without knowing it.
I walked out to the wharf on the service road, the one Jim and I had seen the lift truck on, the same one that I'd spied the blue van on. Behind me the road went into the factory complex and the courtyards of the big buildings. I saw big dark shapes on the water. Four of them. The draggers sat stone still in the shallow water. There were no lights aboard them, not even little sparks on the spars, or cabin lights. Nothing. The wharf too was dark. I crept along the building, passing the big corrugated steel doors. There were small swing doors in between each one. There was a fifth boat behind the four big ones, a small cruiser. And I'd be damned if she didn't have a blue hull, white topsides. I moved slower now, keeping snugly against the warehouse wall on my right. The light was faint on this side of the buildings, the north side, and I knew I was invisible in the shadows in my dark clothes. When I was abreast the little boat I looked down at her for a long time. She was quiet and dark. It was too dark to read her bow numbers and I didn't dare show a light, so I sat and tried to remember things about her. I had been gazing and thinking for a few minutes when I saw a flickering motion out of the side of my left eye. I looked down toward the foot of the long dock and could see nothing; it was all dark. Then, looking back at the boat, the flickering came back. In dim light you can see much better out of the sides of your eyes than dead ahead. This is because the area of your retina where the image is focused is also the point on the retina where the optic nerve enters. Consequently it is almost devoid of the light-sensitive rod and cone cells.
I shrank back against the wall and sidestepped slowly about eight feet to my right, toward the end of the dock. There were two stacks of fish bins there, stuck into one another like cardboard hamburger baskets. They smelled mighty ripe but I was glad; nobody in his right mind would get within six feet of them. l snuggled right in between them, and then slid down to my knees. I peered out down the dock again. Now the flickering movement was close enough to be visible when I looked straight at it. Two of them, and they weren't midgets either.
They came up the wharf slowly, as quiet as alley cats. They, too, wore dark clothes. I drew out the folding hunter and opened the blade, locking it. It was mighty pathetic, but if they saw me and came at me, I was going to lash out at them with a couple of wide swipes, then run for the end of the dock and dive in. I was getting good at midnight harbor swims.
I shrank back as the two men approached. As they walked by one grabbed the other by the sleeve and pointed at the small blue cruiser. The other man looked at it awhile, then turned to the other and spoke in a barely audible whisper.
"Them?"
The other nodded.
"We'll go in the back then. I haven't the stomach for it-"
"The word's come down. McGooey."
"Come on-"
They crept on toward the very end of the wharf. I caught the faint whiff-very faint-of liquor. One man spoke with a real brogue, but it didn't sound like the man I'd met in the Buzarski barn. The other man sounded like an American. I peeped out at them as they paused beside the wall. I heard a metallic clack. It was either a doorlatch or the cocking of a pistol. The men were gone. I waited perhaps half a minute to make sure they weren't going to pop out again, then eased up into a standing position. Inching along the wall I kept eyes and ears alert. Nothing. I picked up the pace, heading toward the fence.
But just before I reached the end of the long wharf building, one of the small doors opened in front of me along the side of the warehouse wall. I slid up against the wall, trying my damndest to shrink right into it. A figure emerged from the doorway and began to walk past me. I knew he would have to see me. There was nowhere to go. He turned just as he passed me.
"John?" he whispered.
"Shhhhh!"
"Listen… I jus-hey, you're not John-"
But by that time I had shoved a hand into his gut just below the center of the rib cage. Not a fist, a hand. A set of fingers straight as I could set them, rather like an ice spade. A fist won't carry the force in far enough to hurt; that's what Liatis Roantis told me anyway. It seemed to work. He bent his knees a bit and bowed down right in front of me. I switched the steel flashlight into my right paw and thunked him on the nape of the neck medium hard. I didn't want to hurt him-whoever he was-any more than was necessary to effect a quick exit. He tumbled down without a sound, let out a slow sigh and rolled just a wee bit, like a kid in a scary dream. He kept moving to and fro, as if aware, even in his semiconscious state, of the discomfort I'd put him in. I reckoned he would not emerge well disposed toward me.
I started back down toward the foot of the wharf again, fast and quiet. But the good cards just weren't turning up.
Just before I reached the same small door it opened again. I was so close It swung into the wall right next to the hinges. The door covered me as it opened all the way, and I saw the shadow of a big man emerge and walk right on past me. He went over toward the edge of the pier, dipped his head into cupped hands, and lighted a cigarette. I saw the fiery halo surround his head. He wore a trenchcoat and a tweed hat.
"John's" friend was in a semi-doze not thirty feet from where he stood. He would thrash and groan, maybe yell, any second. The end of the wharf was another twenty yards. But there was no cover. I knew the man who'd come out for a smoke would discover his fallen comrade long before I could make it. By instinct I'd caught hold of the metal door before it swung all the way shut. It was pivoted on a hydraulic door closer. I twisted the doorknob quickly, forcefully back and forth in a millisecond. No go. As I had supposed, it opened only from within without a key. If I wanted to hide, it was now or never, I really had no choice. I ducked around behind the closing door and followed its swinging path into the blackness of the huge building. After all, I told myself, if the doors opened from the inside, I could always get out again.