Read Online A Cruel Season for Dying by Harker Moore - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Harker Moore
Ads: Link
from his chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, which was the dominating feature in the tiny eleventh-floor
office. Beyond the plaza the Municipal Building loomed over Chambers Street, its collocated towers topped by the statue
Civic Fame.
Bracing his hands against the black glass, he dropped his head and breathed deeply, as if he could inhale the night. Then
closing his eyes, he let his head fall back on his shoulders. His next breath held a single soft sound.
Hanae.
His wife’s name. His mantra.
This time of evening in lower Manhattan, the streets were mostly empty. The Fulton Street Market not set to stir for hours.
The canyons of Wall Street deserted. The man had little trouble finding a space for his cycle near the rental garage to which
he’d trailed his quarry. Plenty of time to get himself in place.
He held his breath now, bracing his arm for the shot. The infrared image that was Lieutenant James Sakura shimmered like heat
waves in the scope, the mounted lamps on either side of the Nocta triggering with a soft electronic pop that was hidden in
the traffic noise drifting from the Brooklyn Bridge. The flash itself was intense, if invisible to human eyes. The detective,
pausing on the pavement, had no awareness of the camera not twenty yards away.
Still irradiated by the scope’s built-in searchlight, Sakura walked the remaining steps to the entranceway of a nearby building.
With his key in the lock, he turned back to the street, as if for the first time sensing something not quite right in the
dark. The lamps flashed again in a whisper, catching the tired smile that mocked his apprehension. Caught him again as he
disappeared through the door.
The man breathed out slowly, resting for a moment against the cold brick at the mouth of the alley. The effects of the drug
he had taken last night had long since worn away, and the desire of his human shell for food and rest tugged at the edges
of his consciousness. He had not eaten for more than twenty-four hours, had not slept.
He had, of course, been aware that the dead bodies would draw police and press attention. There was no way to avoid that.
And though he might resent the unavoidable human dimensions of the mission he had set for himself, he could not afford to
ignore them. He had waited since before dawn in the streets outside Westlake’s building. Had been drinking coffee in the bistro
across the street when the first police vehicles had arrived. He’d already paid the bill and stepped outside as Sakura had
emerged from his unmarked car.
It was an opportunity to learn what he could of his adversary, and he’d followed the detective as he’d left the crime scene
and gone back to Police Plaza. It had been a matter of parking the Harley in sight of the ramp from which Sakura would have
to exit the underground lot … and waiting. A very long wait as it had turned out. But he hadkept the vigil through the afternoon and evening, till the detective’s car did at last emerge onto the street, then trailed
him here to the apartment building where he apparently lived.
For a moment hunger nearly overcame him, and he considered giving in. But there might be more he could learn tonight. He closed
his eyes, denying the flesh, repeating the syllables of his name till exhaustion vanished. A car went past. A tug sounded
from the river. Then with the Nocta safe in the bag, he went looking for a suitable building.
For a long moment, Sakura stood without moving inside the
genkan.
The small entryway, with Hanae’s marriage kimono suspended over the low
tansu,
was for him both an ending and a beginning—the curtain that fell each night, closing off the outer world and opening the
private world that was his and Hanae’s alone. But tonight the outside world would not be stilled. Even before he’d removed
his coat, the cell phone was ringing inside his pocket.
“Lieutenant Sakura.” Simon Whelan’s voice on the
office. Beyond the plaza the Municipal Building loomed over Chambers Street, its collocated towers topped by the statue
Civic Fame.
Bracing his hands against the black glass, he dropped his head and breathed deeply, as if he could inhale the night. Then
closing his eyes, he let his head fall back on his shoulders. His next breath held a single soft sound.
Hanae.
His wife’s name. His mantra.
This time of evening in lower Manhattan, the streets were mostly empty. The Fulton Street Market not set to stir for hours.
The canyons of Wall Street deserted. The man had little trouble finding a space for his cycle near the rental garage to which
he’d trailed his quarry. Plenty of time to get himself in place.
He held his breath now, bracing his arm for the shot. The infrared image that was Lieutenant James Sakura shimmered like heat
waves in the scope, the mounted lamps on either side of the Nocta triggering with a soft electronic pop that was hidden in
the traffic noise drifting from the Brooklyn Bridge. The flash itself was intense, if invisible to human eyes. The detective,
pausing on the pavement, had no awareness of the camera not twenty yards away.
Still irradiated by the scope’s built-in searchlight, Sakura walked the remaining steps to the entranceway of a nearby building.
With his key in the lock, he turned back to the street, as if for the first time sensing something not quite right in the
dark. The lamps flashed again in a whisper, catching the tired smile that mocked his apprehension. Caught him again as he
disappeared through the door.
The man breathed out slowly, resting for a moment against the cold brick at the mouth of the alley. The effects of the drug
he had taken last night had long since worn away, and the desire of his human shell for food and rest tugged at the edges
of his consciousness. He had not eaten for more than twenty-four hours, had not slept.
He had, of course, been aware that the dead bodies would draw police and press attention. There was no way to avoid that.
And though he might resent the unavoidable human dimensions of the mission he had set for himself, he could not afford to
ignore them. He had waited since before dawn in the streets outside Westlake’s building. Had been drinking coffee in the bistro
across the street when the first police vehicles had arrived. He’d already paid the bill and stepped outside as Sakura had
emerged from his unmarked car.
It was an opportunity to learn what he could of his adversary, and he’d followed the detective as he’d left the crime scene
and gone back to Police Plaza. It had been a matter of parking the Harley in sight of the ramp from which Sakura would have
to exit the underground lot … and waiting. A very long wait as it had turned out. But he hadkept the vigil through the afternoon and evening, till the detective’s car did at last emerge onto the street, then trailed
him here to the apartment building where he apparently lived.
For a moment hunger nearly overcame him, and he considered giving in. But there might be more he could learn tonight. He closed
his eyes, denying the flesh, repeating the syllables of his name till exhaustion vanished. A car went past. A tug sounded
from the river. Then with the Nocta safe in the bag, he went looking for a suitable building.
For a long moment, Sakura stood without moving inside the
genkan.
The small entryway, with Hanae’s marriage kimono suspended over the low
tansu,
was for him both an ending and a beginning—the curtain that fell each night, closing off the outer world and opening the
private world that was his and Hanae’s alone. But tonight the outside world would not be stilled. Even before he’d removed
his coat, the cell phone was ringing inside his pocket.
“Lieutenant Sakura.” Simon Whelan’s voice on the
Similar Books
