Minutes before, terrified by the scale of what was unfolding, Pie had attempted to drive Gentle away and, having failed, had fled. Now such fear seemed stupid. What was there to be afraid of? Change? That would be welcome. Revelation? The same. Death? What did an assassin care for death? If it came, it came; it was no reason to turn from opportunity. He shuddered. It was cold here in the doorway; cold in the century too. Especially for a soul like his, that loved the melting season, when the rise of sap and sun made all things seem possible. Until now, he’d given up hope that such a burgeoning time would ever come again. He’d been obliged to commit too many crimes in this joyless world. He’d broken too many hearts. So had they both, most likely. But what if they were obliged to seek that elusive spring for the good of those they’d orphaned and anguished? What if it was their duty to hope? Then his denying of this near reunion, his fleeing from it, was just another crime to be laid at his feet. Had these lonely years made him a coward? Never.
Clearing his tears, he left the doorstep and pursued the disappearing figure, daring to believe as he went that there might yet be another spring, and a summer of reconciliations to follow.
8
WHEN HE GOT BACK TO THE HOTEL, Gentle’s first instinct was to call Jude. She’d made her feelings towards him abundantly clear, of course, and common sense decreed that he leave this little drama to fizzle out, but he’d glimpsed too many enigmas tonight to be able to shrug off his unease and walk away. Though the streets of this city were solid, their buildings numbered and named, though the avenues were bright enough even at night to banish ambiguity, he still felt as though he was on the margin of some unknown land, in danger of crossing into it without realizing he was even doing so. And if he went, might Jude not also follow? Determined though she was to divide her life from his, the obscure suspicion remained in him that their fates were interwoven.
He had no logical explanation for this. The feeling was a mystery, and mysteries weren’t his specialty. They were the stuff of after-dinner conversation, when—mellowed by brandy and candlelight—people confessed to fascinations they wouldn’t have broached an hour earlier. Under such influence he’d heard rationalists confess their devotion to tabloid astrologies; heard atheists lay claim to heavenly visitations; heard tales of psychic siblings and prophetic deathbed pronouncements. They’d all been amusing enough, in their way. But this was something different. This was happening to him, and it made him afraid.
He finally gave in to his unease. He located Martin’s number and called the apartment. The lover boy picked up.
He sounded agitated and became more so when Gentle identified himself.
“I don’t know what your goddamn game is,” he said.
“It’s no game,” Gentle told him.
“You just keep away from this apartment—”
“I’ve no intention—”
“—because if I see your face, I swear—”
“Can I speak to Jude?”
“Judith’s not—”
“I’m on the other line,” Jude said.
“Judith, put down the phone! You don’t want to be talking with this scum.”
“Calm down, Marlin.”
“You heard her, Mervin. Calm down.”
Marlin slammed down the receiver.
“Suspicious, is he?” Gentle said.
“He thinks this is all your doing.”
“So you told him about Estabrook?”
“No, not yet.”
“You’re just going to blame the hired hand, is that it?”
“Look, I’m sorry about some of the things I said. I wasn’t thinking straight. If it hadn’t been for you maybe I’d be dead by now.”
“No maybe about it,” Gentle said. “Our friend Pie meant business.”
“He meant something,” she replied. “But I’m not sure it was murder.”
“He was trying to smother you, Jude.”
“Was he? Or was he just trying to hush me? He had such a strange look—”
“I think we should talk about this face to face,” Gentle said. “Why don’t you slip away from lover boy for a late-night drink? I can pick you up right outside your building. You’ll be quite safe.”