Read Online The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan - Free Book Online Page A

never believed in anything.”
    He laughed again, ignoring the pain. “Yeah.” He pushed off her chair. Stood. “Maybe that’s why I don’t have anything to say.”
    â€œOh now.”
    He reached out to her, smiling. Laid the back of his hand softly against her cheek. She leaned against the hand, closing her eyes. Perkins looked down at her. His smile fell away. She was so still like that. Her eyes closed. Her breathing barely visible. He could feel the fading furniture around her. The fading pictures. The fading gold in the light. It was pretty well close to unbearable.
    He took a deep breath, let it out unsteadily. “Don’t …” He had to clear his throat. “Don’t worry, Nana. Please. Okay? I promise. I’ll go right over there.”

N ancy stared up from the bench. The beggar hovered over her. The blue sky, the yellow sycamores, the path, the other benches, the Hall, they were all erased. He filled her vision. His slack jowls, his glaring white eyes, pressed down on her.
    Eight o’clock. Don’t forget now. That’s the Animal Hour.
    Her pulse beat loudly in her head. It drowned the honk of horns, the Broadway buses. The rattle of leaves and the footsteps on the street were gone. There was just the tom-tom of her pulse in her head, all through her.
    Eight o’clock …
    â€œWhat?” She had to force the word out. “What did you say?”
    That’s the Animal Hour …
    The beggar held his hand out, grinning, glaring at her.
    â€œWhat?” she said again, more loudly; shrilly.
    He spoke in his thin cackle. “Can you spare a quarter, Miss? Just a quarter—fifty cents—for a cup of coffee.”
    Nancy tried to breathe. She tried to catch her breath. Jesus, am I going nuts? What did I hear, what did he say?
    â€œPlease, Miss. A quarter. Just something for some coffee.”
    She became aware that her wrist was aching. The gun. She remembered all at once that she was still gripping the gun. Holding it just within the mouth of her leather purse.
    Christ!
    She made a small noise. Looked down, stared down. Saw the ugly black weapon in her hand.
    Christ! Christ!
    She dropped the thing as if it had burned her. She clutched the purse shut with both hands, all ten fingernails digging into the leather.
    Then she raised her eyes, fast. The beggar had shuffled in even closer. The sour, rancid smell of him, of his piss and his sweat, clogged her nostrils.
    Why don’t you shoot him? Why don’t you just shoot him?
    Oh shit , she thought. This is definitely getting out of hand.
    â€œJust a quarter, Miss. Come on,” the man said.
    â€œI’m sorry.” She managed a breathy whisper. Her breath was fluttering in her chest. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m … I’m sorry …”
    She tried to stand up. He bore in on her. He held her so close to the bench she couldn’t straighten her knees. The smell of him gagged her. His grin—his chancred lips—seemed an inch from her eyes.
    â€œPlease,” she said.
    She twisted her body sharply. Twisted away from him, away from the bench out into the path. Her head felt as if it were spiraling down. The yellow leaves blowing and whirling in the air made her stomach turn. For a moment, the trees around her seemed to keel over. City Hall seemed to tilt up on its side and fall back again.
    â€œYou can spare a quarter, Miss,” said the beggar. “I know you can.” He came at her again. He held his hand out. His ragged shoes chafed the path.
    â€œNo,” she said. She pressed one hand to her head. Clutched the leather of her purse so tight with the other that her fingernails bent painfully. “No, no, no, I’m going … I’m going …”
    Nuts , she thought. I’m going nuts. This is how you go nuts.
    â€œI have to … I have to … go. I’m sorry.”
    She spun away from him