"Raney," she shouted. "Dammit, where have you been!"
He looked up at her in amazement. "Where was I? Where were you? I've been here nearly an hour."
"Never mind that-I've got him," she said. "Follow me!"
She grabbed his sleeve and led him back into the main room. The band was, inevitably, doing "Saturday Night Fever" and showing they could play it loud. Marlene's eyes went to the wall where she had left the guy. The two glasses they had used remained on the little shelf; the man himself was gone.
Marlene clenched her fists and uttered a screech of frustration. Raney asked, "What's up? Where is he?"
"Where is he? He's fucking flown, Raney, that's where he is."
"Could he be in the John?"
"No, impossible! He would have had to get past me there, and he didn't. Shit! He must have skipped. There's a way out around the front."
Raney followed her quickly through the crowded cabaret, stepped around the ferns, over the velvet rope, and out into the street. "There he is!" Marlene shouted. Raney looked in the direction of her pointing finger. A man with a leather jacket stood on the curb, trying to flag down a cab.
Raney walked toward the man. "Hey, buddy," he called, "could I see you a minute?" The guy looked over his shoulder, saw Raney, saw Marlene. His eyes widened as he recognized her. He backed away. Raney took his leather shield holder out of his jacket pocket and flipped it at the guy. "Police," he said, and the guy ran.
Marlene was after him like a dog on a rabbit, across Madison. Raney cursed and followed, but the light on the cross street had changed and he found himself trapped briefly between the lanes of honking traffic.
Marlene was running without thought, concentrating only on the flapping crow shape of the leather jacket as it flickered, caught in one streetlamp after another.
She chased the guy north on the west side of Madison, about ten yards separating them. The foot traffic on Madison was sparse, mostly couples working the bars and panhandlers. They flicked by, barely noticing the chase. Marlene was wearing low heels, a disadvantage, but her quarry was wearing loose slip-ons, which kept flapping off his feet as he ran. Every twenty paces or so he would have to make a little skip to jam them back on, and Marlene would close the distance. Then his longer legs would tell and he would stretch it out again.
Marlene could hear his breathing become louder and more ragged. She was in better shape, she thought: raping probably wasn't all that aerobic. He wouldn't last another three blocks. With relief she heard Raney coming up behind her. The guy suddenly veered left up a side street. When Marlene turned the corner, the guy had slowed to an odd stumbling trot. He had his right hand jammed into the pocket of his jeans. He was struggling to get something out of his pocket. Marlene thought: Knife! Jesus, he brought his knife.
She couldn't stop. She was almost on him. She heard Raney shout, "Hold it, hold…!" The hand came out of the pocket and something shiny flew from it and skittered on the street.
He tried to accelerate again, but Marlene was on him, her fingernails digging deep into the leather of his jacket. He jerked his body violently and nearly pulled her off her feet. One of her shoes went flying. She felt several nails crack off. He swung an arm around, grabbed the front of her shirt, and heaved her around to face him. The shirt tore down the back and her grip on the jacket was broken.
She could see his face now, the sweat-slicked hair, the features red and contorted with rage and fear. He set his feet and aimed a backhanded right at her face.
Marlene crouched and ducked, but his knuckles still slammed against the side of her skull, reddening her vision. He hauled at the shirt, to set her up for another blow, but Marlene came with it, bringing her hard little right fist up from nearly pavement level, putting the full 110 pounds behind it, sinking it up to the wristbone in his crotch.
He let go of the shirt with a shrill cry and bent double. Then Raney was there in a long flying leap, whipping his big Browning pistol down on the guy's head with a sound that echoed from the buildings like a gong.
The guy crumpled without a sound. Marlene collapsed and sat on the pavement, sucking air, clutching the tatters of her shirt to her naked breasts. She felt the sweat drying on her back.
Raney checked the guy's pulse, cuffed his hands behind his back, and knelt down beside Marlene.
"You OK?" he asked.
"Yeah. Fine."
"Light duty, huh?"
"OK, OK, OK," she gasped. "It was a screwup. I didn't think it would go down like this."
"Yeah, well, it happens. By the way, that was quite a shot to the nuts. Characteristic, if I may say so."
"Thanks, Raney," said Marlene sourly. "Hey, can I borrow your jacket? My tits are hanging out here." Raney shrugged it off and she slipped into it, grateful for its warmth as well as the protection it afforded from the gapers in the small crowd that had gathered around them.
Raney stood up and helped Marlene to her feet. She recovered her shoe and leaned against him to put it on. She was still wobbly and dizzy with adrenaline and fatigue. Raney said, "Look, we got to call this in." He pulled a card out of his wallet. "There's a booth on Madison and 66th. Call this number. Ask to talk to Detective Franklin. When you get him, explain the situation and tell him we need a blue-and-white and a bus."
"A bus?"
"Yeah, you know, an ambulance. Hey, are you sure you're OK?"
"Uh-huh. Just a little shook."
"OK, then meet me at the two-oh and we'll book him. What's the charge, do you think?"
Marlene sighed. "Better make it possession for now."
"Possession? What're you talking about? I thought this was the Wagner killer."
"It is. I think. But my witness never got a look at him and I don't know him from Adam. He just fit what we were looking for, in general. Meanwhile, he offered me coke in the place there, and he tossed a vial during the chase. You should find it in the street. It's enough to hang on to him with until I can get JoAnne there and ID him."
"Holy shit, Marlene!" Raney yelled. "You mean to fuckin' tell me-"
"Don't, Raney. It'll work out OK-trust me. Let me make that call now. You got a quarter?"
The guy was loaded and shipped, leaving a small round bloodstain on the sidewalk. The cops found the vial the guy had dumped, half-full of white powder. Raney and Marlene walked back to Tangerines in silence.
The noise of an excited crowd greeted them when they were half a block away from the club. Marlene buttonholed a chubby young woman in a fringed white dress.
"What's going on?"
"It's crazy!" the woman replied. "Some chick with a big knife got this guy cornered in the hallway by the John. She's yelling he raped her and she's gonna cut his business off. It's wild! I'm going home to watch it on TV."
Marlene felt a thrill of despair. "What kind of woman?" she croaked weakly. "A blond in a dark tent dress?"
"Yeah, frosted blond. But it was a wig. She pulled it off and threw it at the guy. It was just like the movies!"
The woman hurried off down the street. Marlene started to run toward Tangerines, but Raney grabbed her arm.
"Marlene, what the fuck is happening?" he cried.
"It's JoAnne. My witness." She broke away from him and trotted heavily down the street to the club, her belly roiling, her heart popping against her breastbone. Fifty or so people were milling around outside and more were flowing out of the door. Marlene pushed vainly against the tide. Raney caught up with her, put his arm around her, hoisted her up on his hip, and, waving his shield and shouting, "Police! Coming through!" forced their way into the bar.
Someone had turned the cleaning lights on, giving the interior of Tangerines the charm of a raddled whore at noon: stained carpet, rusty tin ceiling, overturned chairs and tables, pools of spilled drinks and melting ice. Marlene and Raney moved along the length of the deserted bar, broken glass and ice cubes crunching under their feet.