Dressed again in the jeans and sweater and coat, you head for the lobby. The exhilaration of a few hours ago has worn off, and because the evening has not turned out as well as you hoped, you're feeling somewhat low. It's at times like these that questions of morality arise and circle you like whispering shades from unkempt graves.
What right have I to do this?
The question doesn't arise nearly so often as it did during the early days. But tonight it creeps back. You face it squarely.
No right at all.
Then why? Why do you do it?
You know the litany. You do not flinch from the response.
Because I can! Because I must! Because I love it! Because I cannot stop! But most of all because without it I might as well be dead!
Besides. You are one of a kind, a law unto yourself. That is your justification. Isn't that enough?
▼
3:30 A.M.
Movement at the front of the Kramer building caught Rob's attention through his half closed eyes. He straightened up and squinted through the foggy windshield.
Gates. Leaving his office.
Christ! What had he been doing in there all this time?
Gates began to walk uptown. Since Seventh Avenue ran downtown only, Rob couldn't follow. He took a gamble. He started the car and took the next even numbered street east up to Sixth Avenue, raced uptown to Twenty-first and came down the street with his lights out. He pulled in by a fire hydrant at mid-block and waited.
Gates showed a few minutes later. He went up the steps to his front door and disappeared inside. Five minutes later all the lights went out.
Rob debated extending the watch, then decided against it. He had a feeling Gates wouldn't be going anywhere until his office opened in five and a half hours.
A wasted night. Or maybe not. At least he knew Gates hadn't been out snooping around Kelly's apartment playing mind games on Kara. But he was puzzled as to what it was in Gates' office that would keep him occupied until this hour.
Sooner or later he'd find out. Rob had no doubt about that. Patience and vigilance—sooner or later they paid off.
He turned on the headlights and headed home.
▼
9:32 A.M.
Ed had tried to age the coveralls quickly by bunching them up on the floor and stomping all over them. It had added wrinkles, but still they looked too clean. The same was true of the tool box he carried, even though he had taken a hammer to it.
Nothing I can do about it now, he thought as he entered the Kramer Medical Arts Building.
But he'd skipped shaving and showering this morning and was pleased with the slightly grubby effect.
He walked up to the directory, found Dr. Gates listed on the third floor, and took the elevator up. That was when he began to sweat.
This is crazy! I could get disbarred for this!
The best thing to do was turn around now, go back to the apartment, and go to work late. He had called in sick this morning but he could always tell them the virus had passed as suddenly as it came and he felt fine now.
No! You're going to do this. You're going to go through with it. No backing down.
When the elevator door opened, he marched out and found Dr. Gates' office. The door was flush steel. He took a deep breath, readied his best grin and Bronx accent, and pushed it open.
"Mornin'!" he said to the receptionist behind the desk. "How's it goin' t'day, sweetheart?"
"Can I help you?" she said, fixing him with a frosty stare.
"Yeah. Y'havin' any trouble witcher locks?"
She shook her head. "No. Why do you ask?"
"Complaints. Loadsa complaints. Mostly on da fourth floor, but de owners want me t' check ev'ybody out as long as dey got me here."
"I can't allow you to disturb Dr. Gates' patients—"
"Nah, don' werry. Jus de outta door here. Lemme see yer key set."
She reached for her bag and then stopped.
"I don't know…"
Ed had been afraid of something like this, but he had a plan of action prepared: Bull your way throush.
"I should look atcher rest room keys, too."
Still she hesitated.
"C'mon, lady. Watcha tink I'm gonna do, steal 'em? I ain't got all day. And if sumpin goes wrong wit da cylinder or da tumbluhs later, yer boss'll hafta pay outta his own pocket. Know what I'm saying'?"
She handed him a ring with two keys on it— probably the lobby key and the office door key—plus the two restroom keys that she kept in her drawer.
Ed smiled at her. "Tanks, sweets. Dis'll only take me a minute."
He checked out the lock on the door. It was a simple dead bolt with a knob inside and a keyhole outside. He found the right key on the second try and turned it back and forth. It worked perfectly.
"Hear dat?" he said, putting his ear down to the face plate as the bolt slid in and out. "Yer cylinders is dry. I'll fix dat in a jiffy."
He took out the can of graphite spray he had bought this morning and squirted some into the keyhole. He tried the key again.
"Much better! Okay, I'm gonna check out yer rest rooms and da front. Be right back."
Without giving her a chance to protest, Ed closed the door and hurried down the hall. He took the stairs two at a time down to the lobby, walked quickly through the front doors, then sprinted down to the locksmith on Fourteenth Street. He threw the office and main entrance keys on the counter.
"One copy of each! Quick!" he said, puffing.
Jesus, I'm out of shape!
The man behind the counter gave him a sidelong look, but made up the copies and charged him four bucks plus tax. Ed had a five ready. He slapped it down, told him to keep the change, then sprinted back to the Kramer building.
He took the elevator up to allow him to catch his breath, then strolled back into Dr. Gates' office. The receptionist looked relieved to see him.
"Here y'are, sweetheart. Ev'ryting works fine. No problemo."
"Thank you," she said, her cool and distant manner returning.
Now came the fun part of his plan: the psych-out. If he left too fast she might start wondering about him. So Ed had decided to make her want him to leave.
"Say, y'doin' anyting tonight?"
"Yes."
"How about t'morra?"
"Sorry, but I'm involved."
"Yeah, well, hey, I'm involved, too, but dat don' mean we can't go out an have a lil fun, if know what I mean."
"I'm very involved, now if you'll—"
He held up his hands.
"Hey, sorree!"
Just then the door marked "Consultation" opened and a middle-aged man stepped out.
"Hiya, doc," Ed said.
"That is not Dr. Gates," the receptionist said. "Now, will you please leave?"
"Cert'nly. But how 'bout I drop by 'roun' five and we'll get a drink somewheres? Howzat soun'?"
She ignored him.
Shrugging dramatically, and with a great show of reluctance, Ed picked up his toolbox and left. He strolled to the elevator. The car that came for him was empty. When the doors closed and he was alone, he began to laugh. He leaned back and held his fists up to heaven.
"You did it, you clever bastard, you! You fucking-ay did it!"
His heart was pounding, he was bathed in sweat, but he'd never felt so alive in his life. And the best part about it all was that it had been fun! Jesus! He'd almost be willing to do this sort of thing for a living!
The car stopped on the second floor and he straightened up. An old lady with a walker came in, assisted by a younger woman. Ed tried to look serious, but he felt too good. He rode the rest of the way down grinning like an idiot and jingling the two brand new keys in his pocket.
But the grinning and jingling came to an abrupt, panicky halt when the elevator doors opened on the lobby and he saw Kara waiting outside. For an instant Ed couldn't breathe, couldn't move, then he noticed that she wasn't looking his way. Her eyes were down, her face pale, her expression blank. Her mind looked to be a million miles away.