CHAPTER TEN

He ran from the pharmacy in anguish, without direction or hope. She was gone, and she would never return. His guilt had bred other guilt and the job wasn’t finished; Chino still had work to do.

He didn’t know what Chino had planned, but he knew what he planned for Chino. He would find Chino and Chino would have to kill him.

It was the only way to end this, and he was impatient for the end because he no longer wanted to live.

There were people on the streets and as he strode rapidly along the sidewalks, he heard the people on the stoops, the sidewalks, and as they leaned against automobiles, heard them talking about everything and nothing.

The black and white design of a police prowl car made him dart into a hallway and when the car passed him, he hurried toward the Coffee Pot but Chino wasn’t there. Then he realized that he could never find Chino on the streets, that he would have to take to the backyards, the cellars or the roofs. He would have to let Chino know that he was hunting instead of being hunted.

“Chino?” He stood in the yard between two tenements in PR territory and called loud enough to be heard. Then he took a deep breath and bellowed. “Come and get me, Chino! I’m waiting!”

He heard a movement, whirled toward it, and spread his arms wide to make himself a full target. But the voice that called his name was not Chino’s, and in the dim light he saw Anybodys running toward him. “You’re crazy!” she challenged him. “This is PR territory.”

“Get out of here.” He brushed Anybodys aside, before he cupped his hands to shout again. “Chino—come get me! Damn you—I’m waiting!”

Anybodys clung to his arm and tried to pull him toward the cellar. “The gang—”

“Beat it! I’m warning you.” He swung his right hand in a full arc and his open palm caught Anybodys across the face. Above him the lights went on in several windows, and Tony ran toward the end of the yard. “Chino!” he shouted. “Where the hell are you, Chino? I’m waiting for you. Hurry up and—”

The bullet struck him full in the chest and whirled him around in a confusion of pain and sound, and as the blood rose to his mouth, he thought he saw a white figure running toward him and calling his name.

Maria flung herself on the body that lay face upward, and her tears spilled over to wet the lifeless cheeks of Tony Wyzek, who had died with the roar of the city in his ears, had died too young to have it really said that he had ever lived. She raised herself from the body, but covered Tony’s eyes with her hand, and as she saw Anybodys walking toward her, very slowly, she ordered the girl to stop.

“Stay back,” she warned Chino too. “No, come over here and give me the gun.”