Skyler told himself to stop running, that he would attract less attention that way, and he slowed to a fast walk. But he was sweating profusely, he was still panting heavily, and he could not refrain from looking over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued. He felt conspicuous — he was sure that the terror welling up inside made him stand out. And, in truth, people did seem to be staring at him oddly, all those others on the sidewalk who seemed to have a reason to be there and a place to go. He had neither — and he was not even thinking clearly enough to consider his next move. He was just running on instinct, choosing streets that somehow looked less dangerous, the way a hunted fox will head for the hedgerows.
He came to a park that had asphalt in the center and pathways on either side. A fountain spewed a jet of water into a basin that formed a knee-deep brownish lake brimming with floating apple cores and banana peels and plastic bottles and soggy pieces of cardboard. Young people in shorts were wading in it, and others with mostly long hair or shaved heads were seated on the edge, close to a young woman who was playing a guitar and singing plaintively. Men stripped to the waist and women with halter tops and frayed blue jean shorts were zipping by on some kind of wheeled shoes. The central square of the park, facing a large monumental arch, was mobbed. Walkways led off in all directions, and under scraggly trees, elderly men and women sat expressionless on park benches.
He read a sign: WASHINGTON SQUARE.
The crowd made Skyler feel more exposed, not less. And he noticed that people were whispering things to him; men standing around who looked away as he approached, but spoke almost without moving their lips—"smoke, smoke" and "half kilo" and "black ice" and "Mexican spike." He could not catch all the words, and at first the men looked so conspiratorially secretive he thought they were trying to warn him of something. He spun around, and they quickly moved away, but the more he looked around to see what they were talking about, the more desperate their whispers became.
"Shit, man. Chill," said one man wearing black pants and a black shirt and a cream felt cowboy hat.
Skyler left the park and walked two blocks until he came to a coffee shop. He sat down at a table in a dark corner inside, and when a young woman with a seethrough black lace top asked him what he wanted, he said, "Coffee."
"Black or milk?" she asked, and he just nodded, so she shrugged and went away. A few minutes later, she came back with a mug. He sipped it, thinking about his situation and wondering where to go. He did not want to sleep again in Central Park. He pulled out the money Jude had given him and counted it; he doubted that it would go far.
Behind him, lights suddenly blazed and converged in a riot upon a small stage, where a young, thickly set black man with baggy pants and a small beard fiddled with some knobs on a black box. He set off a snarling squeal of music centering on a pounding beat. He grabbed a microphone, held it close to his lips and began swaying and jerking spasmodically, yelling out words that were difficult to catch. Skyler stood to leave and, passing a cashier's booth, he asked how much he owed.
"Fifteen bucks."
He was stymied.
"Fifteen dollars. Five for the coffee and ten for the entertainment."
He pulled out a ten and a five in despair. That was almost a third of his money. As he made for the door, the cashier upbraided him.
"It's a custom on this planet to leave a tip, you know."
He looked at her blankly.
"Christ," she said in a stage whisper. "What an asshole."
He ducked out onto the street, his cheeks burning, feeling doubly conspicuous. How was it possible in such a vast place with so many people rushing in all directions to feel that they all had their eyes on him?
He walked three blocks and came to a wide street. On the corner, a wire-mesh fence ten feet high enclosed a playground where men played basketball — he had seen it on TV. They were moving so swiftly it was hard to follow the ball. Sweat poured from their brows and down the muscles of their backs, and they looked grim, backing into a huddle under the basket, leaping straight into the air and poking one another with their hips and elbows.
It was while he was watching them that he turned and thought he saw a familiar figure across the avenue, a large, muscular frame and a head rocking ever so slightly, as if it were ducking something. But he could not be sure. The sun was reflecting off of the window of a parked car, and it made it appear as if the man had a slash of white to the hair. An Orderly. Skyler could not tell for sure, but his gut tightened with fear. He turned away and then slowly turned back and looked again. The figure was looking in an opposite direction; it did not see him. Could it possibly be?
Skyler did not even try to contain himself this time. He ran back down the street, turned a corner and ducked into the first open doorway, finding himself in a darkened room. His eyes gradually adjusted to the light and he looked around: half a dozen men were there standing around, some of them leafing through bins of magazines. He moved to the back and entered another small room that led to a darkened corridor lined with doors. He opened one and stepped inside. It was dark except for one wall of thick, lighted glass, behind which he saw flashes of white flesh — a woman, half naked, dancing ponderously. She was wearing only a red string below her waist and had huge breasts that hung almost to her stomach, like waterfilled balloons. They swayed heavily as she moved. Skyler saw her odd smile fade into alarm as she spotted him standing immobile in the tiny booth, and then he saw her look down, and finally he noticed the back of a head rising up right before him. A man stood up and faced him, at first surprised, then his lips curling in anger.
"Hey, what the fuck!"
And at that moment Skyler saw the woman reach for something, and with a crashing sound, a metal shutter fell down and she disappeared, plunging the booth into almost total blackness. He felt a hand grabbing his left arm, and backed away. Reaching behind him, he found the doorknob and turned it, twisting so that the hand left his arm and was grasping his shirt. He pulled away, heard a tear, and left quickly, finding a back door that led onto an alley. He ran to the end, spun around a corner, and was back out on the crowded sidewalk.
The words rose within him and came into his brain before he had time to think: Jesus Christ!
He walked away, moving fast and turning from time to time to look over his shoulder, and as he did so, he thought of Jude in the subway, doing the exact same thing. Jude had appeared sincere in the bar, concerned for Skyler's welfare. Should he try to find him? Could he trust him after his experience in the rooming house? Had Jude set him up?
Three blocks later, Skyler came to stairs leading from the sidewalk down into the subway, and without even thinking, he took them, the fox now going to ground. He heard the grinding sound of an approaching train, stopped at the booth and thrust a dollar through the tiny window, then another, and got a token, which he inserted into the turnstile.
"Hey, buddy," yelled the token booth clerk. But Skyler pretended he did not hear and moved quickly down the platform.
"Your change!"
The train was crowded. He looked around from face to face and did not spot anyone suspicious-looking. There was no flash of white hair, no Orderly. Skyler paced the length of the car and looked into the adjoining car and did the same at the other end. Not there, either. The screeching sound was unnerving to him, as was the roll and pitch of the car, and a wave of nausea swept over him. He felt a sudden compulsion to leave the train at the next stop, but when it pulled in, he forced himself to stay on board. He had to cover more ground, put more distance between himself and the Orderly — if that was who he had seen. Two more stops came, and then three and four, and each time his desire to flee was stronger, and as the car filled with more and more people, it seemed more stifling and more sinister.