AT SOME BLEAK DARK HOUR WILSON AWOKE. HE TURNED ONTO his back and blinked at the ceiling. The light was dim. Only the streetlights. The stoplights going red to yellow to green. He had to pee. Pulled the covers off and crossed the room.
Halfway to the bathroom something stopped him. Call it a feeling. Call it a premonition. But it stopped him. And instead of the bathroom he went to the window. He pulled aside the curtain and let his eyes adjust. Through the warped glass and wet snow, Wilson saw the same figure standing in the alley just as before. Same stance. Cigarette in hand. It was like he had never moved. Wilson cupped a hand to the glass. He blinked to make sure what he was seeing was real. Nights that have been lost in dreams can often stay that way. So he blinked again. The burning end of the cigarette lifted from the man’s side and when he pulled on the cigarette the cherry flared and the glow illuminated his face and then that face was bedimmed by a cloud of smoke.
Wilson stepped back from the window. He left a thin sliver of glass showing and through that sliver watched the man as he pulled on his clothes. He went to the bureau and picked up the Galco holster and slid each arm through and then put on a jacket. He went to the window one last time. The man hadn’t moved.
The elevator dinged as it opened onto the lobby. The tired night clerk looked up from a magazine. He said Wilson’s name but Wilson ignored him. At the front door he stopped and turned back to the clerk.
Anyone come in here asking about me? he asked.
No sir.
No one?
No sir. Just me tonight.
Wilson nodded and walked out of the hotel. He stood under the hotel’s awning for a moment. Eyeing the street and the alleys and what they might be hiding. When he was confident he stepped out into the snow and crossed the street. The man standing in the alleyway flicked the cigarette in a long arc then turned away from the street and walked into the alley.
Hold it, Wilson called.
The man didn’t listen. Wilson set off into a jog. The wet street was crashing under his feet. He stopped just before the sidewalk, his shoes damming the gutter. He took a quick study of the alley. He had to squint his eyes. He could see trash cans and dumpsters. A pile or two of garbage in plastic bags. There were fire escapes with stairs and landings Z-ing up the buildings. Wilson stepped onto the sidewalk. He put his hand inside his jacket. His hand closed around the grip of the pistol.
My name is Agent Wilson, he said. I have my firearm drawn. If there is anyone in here you had better make yourself known right now.
He waited a belabored second. He listened for a clumsy footstep. The crashing of a trash can. Nothing. He stepped forward and pulled his gun from the holster. He trained the pistol up and as he walked, he took note of everything around him. The alley was deep and seemed like it had no end.
At a dumpster he stopped and rested his back against it and waited. Both hands were on his gun. He looked up at the buildings. The fire escapes were empty and all the lights in the windows were out. The alley was like a cave and the farther he got from the street the darker it became.
He slid along the dumpster till he hit its corner and there he paused and breathed in and spun around the edge with the gun pointed. A feral cat leapt and Wilson could feel his finger almost flex on the trigger.
He went a little farther. Peering around dumpsters and piles of trash bags. The alley seemed all but empty. The tenants of the buildings were asleep and only the cats seemed to be prowling. Wilson knew the alley had an exit and for all he knew the alley was empty. He stepped out into the middle and let his gun fall to his side and for a moment let his guard down. He said,
Anybody back here?
He felt the first shot before he had even heard it. Didn’t even really hear it. More like a lump of bread dough hitting the floor. The stinging pain came second. What he felt first was the sticky wet of the blood running down his left arm into his fingers. Each fingertip dripping like rainwater from a leaf. He had time enough to see the flash of the second just as he was diving behind a stand of trash cans. The bullet clipped him in the side. Wilson bunched himself up behind the cans and pressed his good hand to his side. When he took it back it came away warm and all slick with blood. His back was against the brick of the building. He was suddenly exhausted. He tried to quiet his breathing. He listened for the shooter to make his next move. He expected lights to go on all up and down the alley but only two shots had been fired and both had come from a silenced gun.
Wilson sat there holding himself. He listened for footsteps. He cocked back the hammer of his gun. The definitive click was immediately followed by the starting of a big-block engine and Wilson saw the length of the alley come to light. He heard the transmission dropping into place and the tires snapping over the wet pavement and he knew what was about to happen so he lifted himself as best he could and started running toward the street. Wilson turned once and fired three shots at the approaching car. One hit the headlight and the alley went a little dimmer. Wilson heard the engine growl behind him. Heard the car smashing through everything in its path.
He was loping along as fast as he could. It seemed futile. When he had just about given up the alleyway ended and Wilson leapt to the side and the car came bellowing out onto the street. Fishtailing over the wet road. Its tires spinning wildly. Wilson lay there with his face on the sidewalk. And with the last of his strength propped himself up and fired twice more but missed his mark and watched the car vanish down the street.
Gasping, Wilson reached for his side and winced at the pain. He felt thirsty. Most of the lights in the buildings had come on and he heard people leaning out of their windows wondering what the hell was going on. There were dogs barking. In the distance Wilson heard the unmistakable sound of a siren. He scooted himself up against the stone wall of a building, the warm blood pooling in his crotch.