Proved nothing. It was empty, I knew it was empty. I could take the thing to a pistol range, load it and fire at targets, and that wouldn’t prove anything either.

It bothered me that I’d been unable to fire the gun. And yet I was grateful it had happened that way, because otherwise I’d have emptied the gun into that car of kids, probably killed a few of them, and what would that have done to my peace of mind? Tired as I was, I went a few hard rounds with that particular conundrum. I was glad I hadn’t shot anyone and frightened of the implications of not shooting, and my mind went around and around, chasing its tail.

I took off the robe, got into bed, and couldn’t even begin to loosen up. I got dressed again in street clothes, used the back end of a nail file as a screwdriver, and took the revolver apart for cleaning. I put its parts in one pocket, and in another I stowed the four live cartridges along with the two knives I’d taken from the mugger.

It was morning and the sky was bright. I walked over to Ninth Avenue and up to Fifty-eighth Street, where I dropped both knives into a sewer grating. I crossed the street and walked to another grating and stood near it with my hands in my pockets, one holding the four cartridges, the other touching the pieces of the disassembled revolver.

Why carry a gun you’re not going to shoot? Why own a gun you can’t carry?

I stopped in a deli on the way back to the hotel. The customer ahead of me bought two six-packs of Old English 800 Malt Liquor. I picked out four candy bars and paid for them, ate one as I walked and the other three in my room. Then I took the revolver’s parts from my pocket and put them back together again. I loaded four of the six chambers and put the gun in the dresser drawer.

I got into bed, told myself I’d stay there whether I could sleep or not, and smiled at the thought as I felt myself drifting off.

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

The telephone woke me. I fought my way out of sleep like an underwater swimmer coming up for air. I sat up, blinking and trying to catch my breath. The phone was still ringing and I couldn’t figure out what was making that damned sound. Then I caught on and answered it.

It was Chance. “Just saw the paper,” he said. “What do you figure? That the same guy as got Kim?”

“Give me a minute,” I said.

“You asleep?”

“I’m awake now.”

“Then you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. There was another killing, this time in Queens, some sex-change streetwalker cut to ribbons.”

“I know.”

“How do you know if you been sleeping?”