place to rest. An overcoat. He sure as hell needed an overcoat. He wouldnât bleed to death now, but he might very well freeze to death.
One thing at a time, he told himself. No more confusion, now. One thing at a time. Take a place to rest, something to eat, and an overcoat. Roll them all into one big ball, and what do you get? Help. He needed someone to help him. Molly? Cindy?
The cops had already questioned Cindy. Maybe she was the best bet. Heâd have to try it, anyway.
He left the hallway and began scouting for a phone booth. It was funny how nobody looked at him. It was cold as a bastard, and he was walking around in his shirt sleeves, and nobody gave him a second glance. What a goddamn rotten world, he figured. Everybody so wrapped up in what they were doing, they didnât give two hoots about somebody in his shirt sleeves when it was so cold out. Well, that was to his advantage. Let them be all wrapped up in what they were doing. If they took a second look at his shirt, theyâd take a second look at his arm. He didnât want that.
So how was he going to get into a phone booth without someone spotting that arm? Hell, why did everything have to be so difficult? A simple thing like making a goddamn phone call! You make a phone call by walking into a booth and dialing. You donât go around working out a strategy. Thatâs plain stupid. Well, it may be stupid, boy, but you got to do it. Have you got a dime?
He fished into his pocket, pulling out the change there, the task made difficult because he kept his change in his right pocket, and he wasnât using his right arm at the moment. He twisted his left arm until he got the change, and then he jiggled it on his palm and studied it. Four pennies. A quarter. A fifty-cent piece. A subway token. A nickel.
No dime.
He wasnât surprised. The way things were going for him, he was lucky he had any change at all. But no dime, and that meant heâd have to make change, and that meant the risk of having the arm spotted.
Now wait a minute, donât start panicking again. Man, youâre the most berserk-running cat in Harlem. Just take it easy. You think things out, and theyâre all easier that way. Like who says you have to get change at the cigar counter or the drug counter or whatever counter wherever you stop to make the call? Is there a law says that? Why canât you stop at one of the newsstands outside the subway? Why canât you stop there, show the newsstand keeper your left side, hell, find one run by a blind man, even? Letâs start using that head, man, or weâre gonna wind up behind the eight ball.
He walked to the nearest subway station, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He tucked his right hand into his pocket. He walked quickly, and he felt the cold biting at his skin. His ears were particularly cold. His ears and his feet, and when your ears and feet are cold, you feel cold all over.
The newsstand on the west side of the avenue, squatting near the subway entrance there, was closed. He cursed silently and crossed the street, a smile mushrooming onto his face when he saw that the newsstand there was open. He walked to the stand quickly. He picked up a copy of the New York Post , plunked down the quarter, and waited for his change. He stood with his left side toward the stand, hiding his bloody right arm. The news dealer put down two dimes on a stack of Amsterdam Newses . Johnny said nothing. He picked up the dimes and walked away.
There, now, wasnât that easy? The easiest, man, the very easiest. Now we find a phone booth.
A phone booth with particular advantages, though. A phone booth in a store that had two entrances, so he could slip in the back entrance without passing any cash registers or counters. Just slip in and hit the phone. Where was there a store like that? Lots of stores like that, but where exactly were they? It just took a little thinking, thatâs all. He thought. He walked
One thing at a time, he told himself. No more confusion, now. One thing at a time. Take a place to rest, something to eat, and an overcoat. Roll them all into one big ball, and what do you get? Help. He needed someone to help him. Molly? Cindy?
The cops had already questioned Cindy. Maybe she was the best bet. Heâd have to try it, anyway.
He left the hallway and began scouting for a phone booth. It was funny how nobody looked at him. It was cold as a bastard, and he was walking around in his shirt sleeves, and nobody gave him a second glance. What a goddamn rotten world, he figured. Everybody so wrapped up in what they were doing, they didnât give two hoots about somebody in his shirt sleeves when it was so cold out. Well, that was to his advantage. Let them be all wrapped up in what they were doing. If they took a second look at his shirt, theyâd take a second look at his arm. He didnât want that.
So how was he going to get into a phone booth without someone spotting that arm? Hell, why did everything have to be so difficult? A simple thing like making a goddamn phone call! You make a phone call by walking into a booth and dialing. You donât go around working out a strategy. Thatâs plain stupid. Well, it may be stupid, boy, but you got to do it. Have you got a dime?
He fished into his pocket, pulling out the change there, the task made difficult because he kept his change in his right pocket, and he wasnât using his right arm at the moment. He twisted his left arm until he got the change, and then he jiggled it on his palm and studied it. Four pennies. A quarter. A fifty-cent piece. A subway token. A nickel.
No dime.
He wasnât surprised. The way things were going for him, he was lucky he had any change at all. But no dime, and that meant heâd have to make change, and that meant the risk of having the arm spotted.
Now wait a minute, donât start panicking again. Man, youâre the most berserk-running cat in Harlem. Just take it easy. You think things out, and theyâre all easier that way. Like who says you have to get change at the cigar counter or the drug counter or whatever counter wherever you stop to make the call? Is there a law says that? Why canât you stop at one of the newsstands outside the subway? Why canât you stop there, show the newsstand keeper your left side, hell, find one run by a blind man, even? Letâs start using that head, man, or weâre gonna wind up behind the eight ball.
He walked to the nearest subway station, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He tucked his right hand into his pocket. He walked quickly, and he felt the cold biting at his skin. His ears were particularly cold. His ears and his feet, and when your ears and feet are cold, you feel cold all over.
The newsstand on the west side of the avenue, squatting near the subway entrance there, was closed. He cursed silently and crossed the street, a smile mushrooming onto his face when he saw that the newsstand there was open. He walked to the stand quickly. He picked up a copy of the New York Post , plunked down the quarter, and waited for his change. He stood with his left side toward the stand, hiding his bloody right arm. The news dealer put down two dimes on a stack of Amsterdam Newses . Johnny said nothing. He picked up the dimes and walked away.
There, now, wasnât that easy? The easiest, man, the very easiest. Now we find a phone booth.
A phone booth with particular advantages, though. A phone booth in a store that had two entrances, so he could slip in the back entrance without passing any cash registers or counters. Just slip in and hit the phone. Where was there a store like that? Lots of stores like that, but where exactly were they? It just took a little thinking, thatâs all. He thought. He walked
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