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While Kyna slept the sleep of the embalmed, Cyrus counted the holes in the ceiling tiles. He was sure she wasn't faking because her snoring was beginning to shake the bed. At eleven-twenty he slipped out from under the covers and pulled on a black turtleneck sweatshirt, a pair of navy cord jeans and the pair of black Nikes he had taken off Dessotti's gunman. Giving Kyna one last look, he tiptoed out of the room and locked the door behind him. |
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It was less than half an hour until midnight when he stepped out on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, and yet Columbus Avenue was teeming with people. On one corner, a group of men held a whispered conversation in the umbra of a pawnshop awning while overhead the ocher glare of the high-intensity streetlamps cast the night in Halloween shadows. Across from the hotel, a pair of elderly streetwalkers took advantage of the stark visibility to strut their tarnished wares up and down the avenue. A two-tone squad car suddenly rounded the corner of Lombard and immediately transformed the animated street scene into a still life. |
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Cyrus walked briskly but calmly down to the corner and then turned in the direction of North Beach. He arrived at the jewelry store one minute before midnight. The place looked deserted. |
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Suckered by an old man. He mentally kicked himself. Feeling like a complete fool, Cyrus rapped softly on the recessed front door and was relieved when a light appeared in the back. A moment later he saw the snowy crown of Kazie Mabuto's head moving through the dark. |
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