|
|
AS I HUNG up the phone, I looked at my laptop on the desk, the first two hundred or so words of the latest Maxwell Bronte novel waited for me to go on.
It was about half past nine. I had to write another forty-eight hundred words and have them to Mack by two. It might be tight if there was nothing else for me to do, but Gail needed me.
I turned away from the laptop, feeling an almost audible hiss of discontent from it at my betrayal of Mack as it settled into standby mode. An even deeper queasy feeling settled in as I thought about how I might be screwing myself out of a contract.
Gail needed me.
Despite the fact she was betrothed to another man, I still had deep feelings for her and would do whatever I could to help her.
I left the apartment and her scent was still there, mingled with that new perfume she’d been wearing. It was easy to follow.
With the exception, of course, of the elevator ride. I’d ended up taking a different elevator than the one she’d been in. In fact, not only wasn’t I graced with Gail’s sweet scent, but I had to share the elevator with this overweight tourist with a particularly nasty combination of a body odor and rye smell to him.
He stood beside two small packed suitcases in his red flowered button-down shirt, black shorts and, you guessed it, black socks and sandals. If the bags weren’t enough of a clue, the despair I smelled off him, mixed with the booze and sweaty smell to him told me he was at the end of his big city vacation.
It was a relief to both my nostrils and my state of mind when we got to the lobby and I scuttled out of that elevator.
As I walked the few blocks south down to Grand Central, I followed the exact route Gail had taken, not wanting to miss a step of where she’d been.
And though I was focused on Gail, I still relished the raw sensation of walking down Fifth Avenue during the morning rush. My first time in this city, I’d gotten here on a weekend, and so, though the tourist traffic was moderate and steady, I had no idea the difference a work-day made. And since I rarely, I’m talking about sheer pedestrian traffic.
A thick flow of people coursed over every part of the sidewalk. But it wasn’t a thick, unmoving line, like the kinds you see in the middle of Times Square. No, they were all moving in unison, like a colony of ants of every color and size. And while they all appeared to be moving together, they were actually all motivated by their own unique agendas. Yet they still created this marvelous flow of traffic, the way a series of sticks tossed into a set of rapids all move purposely forward, but all taking slightly different paths as they sway in similar currents or bounce in different directions off of the rocks.
And that’s just the visual. There were so many layers of scents and sounds to surf through that it was a smorgasbord of the human experience. Here there were heartbeats and scents exuding a thirst and drive to arrive at work or make it to the next appointment. The scent of hope walked beside the scent of anger. The sound of a mid-management suit talking on his cell phone mingled alongside a homeless person’s plea for spare change.
While a good part of my werewolf nature enjoys the freedom of space, there was also something raw, rudimentary and powerful about being swallowed up within such a crowd.
As I approached the station, I realized how Gail didn’t even tell me where in Grand Central she was or where she would meet me. She knew I retained some of the heightened senses in human form and would thus be able to determine where she was by her scent alone.
When I walked into the station, I followed the lingering scent of Gail’s perfume down the north stairs and spotted her sitting on a bench. She was looking my way, had likely had me in her sights from the moment I’d started descending the steps.
She stood as I approached, and without speaking, she stepped into my personal space, placing her hands on my chest, and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Out of old habit I almost took her into my arms and lifted her off of her feet, but stopped myself.
She could read my impulse, because she smiled up at me and said, “I know, Michael. I know. It’s a bit awkward for me too. But thank you so much for coming down here.”
“So what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Her heart was beating fast, and there was the smell of intensity to her, and I knew it had nothing to do with my presence.
“Oh, Michael. It’s Howard.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain this, and it’s the reason that I left your place so quickly. But, I think that Howard has gotten into something a little over his head. And I need your help to get him out of it.”
My heart sank at the mention of her fiancé. Of course, I was kidding myself if I thought there could ever be something besides friendship between us.
“Sure, just tell me and I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m not sure what it is, but Howard has been acting odd lately. He has been working overtime, taking phone calls at all hours that he hasn’t explained and is far less talkative about what’s going on at work.
“I know he used to have an issue with gambling and I’m wondering if that has resurfaced with all the stress related to paying for the wedding.
“I’m worried that he has slipped back into it, is possibly in trouble, perhaps owes some people some money. I’m wondering if you can follow him and find out; see what is going on so I can help him.”
She looked at her watch, then cast a quick glance around the station. “There isn’t much time. He’ll be here soon. I can’t stay. I’ve got to hide somewhere.” She dug into her purse, pulled out a handkerchief. “Here, this has his scent on it.” Then she produced a wallet-sized shot of him. “If this also helps, here’s what he looks like.”
I held the handkerchief, not needing to bring it to my nostrils to detect Howard’s unique smell on it, especially since it contained the additional, overpowering scent of his aftershave. It was Old Spice. My father’s aftershave of choice. Without looking at his picture, I had a sudden image of him, of Howard’s old-fashioned nature.
I handed her back the handkerchief and studied his picture. It didn’t quite match my mental image, but I started to build an account of him immediately.
He was middle-aged, had a thin face with a pale complexion, and, although it was a bust shot, I could see he had a slight build based on the narrow width of his shoulders. He had short, blond hair and small, round glasses that rested mid-way down his nose. I immediately imagined he had a habit of tilting his head back to look at people through those glasses rather than pushing them up his nose.
I figured he was either an accountant or a stockbroker, perhaps even a banking advisor. And, since Old Spice didn’t seem to match his lifestyle, I imagine he wore it as some sort of ode or remembrance of his father.
I didn’t want to like Howard, but there wasn’t anything immediate about my impression of him that I didn’t like. Well, except for the fact that he had Gail.
There was a part of me that wondered what Gail was doing with a guy like him. But the Old Spice, some of the “older man” attributes, suggested he perhaps appealed to the absent father from Gail’s childhood that I knew she had struggled with. Howard’s essence exuded that older man, fatherly presence. Gail likely found those elements about him appealing, fulfilling a deep-rooted need from long back.
Gail skittered off, doing her best to lose herself in the crowd. I, of course, kept a bead on her and had to force myself not to continue paying attention to where she was, but, rather, to start seeking out Howard.
I took a few moments to try to absorb the unique and intriguing atmosphere of the terminal. It’s a wonderfully vast echoic chamber, filled with an amazing cross-section of people. It’s like a microcosm of the larger island of Manhattan.
To my left was a kiosk selling coffee and muffins, ready-made fruit, and yogurt cups, and fresh fruit. A tall man in a dark-green suit was adding sugar to his coffee, then he took a few steps over to the newspaper vendor and bought the morning edition of some paper. Behind him, a woman struggled toward the news kiosk pushing an umbrella stroller with a sleeping toddler in a bright-yellow jumpsuit with one hand and carrying a baby in her other arm. As she reached for her purse for change, Howard’s scent came to me from the left.
I picked him out relatively easily, spying him walking immediately ahead of two men in dark trench coats and suits, guys that reminded me of characters out of Goodfellas.
I was trying to determine if the two men were walking with Howard or merely moving in the same direction as him, when someone brushed past me from behind. I normally don’t pay much heed to such things, particularly when I’m in large crowds, apart from the annoyance of it. But this was different. There was something peculiar about the way the person who pushed past me moved – the sudden whiff of anxiety, the speed of his heartbeat – so I turned back to him.
His anxiety level increased as he headed for the woman with the stroller. She’d be virtually helpless with both hands full and two kids to mind. I gathered the anxious young man was intent on an easy purse swiping.
I took a single step toward him.
Back where I’d spotted Howard, a ruckus occurred.
There was a startled yell, the clattering of something falling to the floor, and I strained to see through the crowd as the two men I’d seen with Howard were rushing him towards the exit, a firm hand on each upper arm.
I began rushing toward them.
The woman near the news kiosk started yelling, “No, stop! Please! Someone! Help!”
Still moving toward Howard and his assailants, I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see a purse snatching, but instead spotted the mother on the floor in front of the newsstand, clinging desperately to the baby in her arms and trying to get up. The stroller was overturned beside her. A few feet away, the hood carried the toddler in the yellow jumpsuit on his shoulders, moving fast toward the south exit.
I changed direction and charged after the man. It didn’t take me more than about a dozen steps to reach him.
I managed to get my hands under the child’s shoulders and pull him easily from the man’s shoulders.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man growled, launching himself toward me.
I’d turned my back to him, rushing back toward the woman when his hands came down solidly on my shoulders in an attempt to wheel me around. Without much effort, I brushed off his hold and continued on my way. A fist came down hard on my back. Then another one on my shoulder, and one more to the back of my head. I was impressed with the strength of his punches, but they didn’t slow me.
A few more steps and I was closer to the young woman and her baby. I was surprised that this child abductor was actually sticking around to risk being caught.
I smiled down at the toddler as we approached the woman and realized he was completely terrified. Of me. And I realized that the scent on him was new. Meaning he hadn’t been terrified while sitting on the man’s shoulders I had plucked him from. He hadn’t been terrified until I grabbed him.
I paused, looking at the woman as she righted the stroller that still contained her strapped-in toddler.
What the hell?
Upon closer observation, it was her purse that was missing.
The purse-snatcher must have caught her off balance by pushing the stroller over to distract her.
I’d seen the underside of the overturned stroller and a man walking away with a toddler dressed in the same color.
And drawn a completely incorrect conclusion.
If I had relied more on my heightened senses, I wouldn’t have made these mistakes. Was I that distracted by Gail?
I turned toward the man who’d been beating on my back, holding the toddler toward him. I recognized, now, that he and the boy I was carrying had a similar, familial smell. Father and son.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I thought he belonged to this lady.”
He took the young boy from my arms and gave me a punch in the face for good measure. “Goddamn freak!”
I didn’t react to the punch except to mutter an apology again. If he wanted to keep punching me, I would just stand there and take it.
I deserved it, after all.
Since I’m not a father I can only imagine the horror he must have felt to have a complete stranger pluck his son off of his shoulders in the middle of Grand Central Terminal. I’m only glad that I didn’t hurt him before grabbing his child.
I looked back at the woman who’d had her purse snatched, debating trying to right my wrong by finding the man who’d taken it from her.
But I still had Howard to deal with.
I glanced back in the direction that the men had been dragging him. They must have left the building already.
Sprinting in their direction, I was relieved to divorce myself from the embarrassing situation I’d just created. As I ran to the door, I wondered if Gail had seen what had happened, seen how foolish I had been.
I went out through the exit, easily picking up Howard’s Old Spice scent. I followed the scent out to the sidewalk, then south about twenty feet or so.
The scent ended at the edge of the sidewalk on the street.
Howard’s abductors must have had a car waiting. If I’d been here sooner, I would very likely have been able to trail the vehicle.
I looked out over the sea of traffic heading down Fifth Avenue, unable to determine what to do next.
Behind me, I could hear Gail’s footsteps, smell her worried scent. I slowly turned to face her as she approached, thinking how I’d just screwed up.
Without a word, Gail lunged at me and pounded her fists against my chest. I stood there, dumbfounded, letting her hit me, unable to look her in the eye. I didn’t need to be able to smell the intense anger, the hatred, the fear for her abducted fiancé to know how I had let her down.
No heightened super senses were required to be able to read those things in the tears of rage and in the sheer horror in her face.
When she ran out of energy she crumpled against me, her head against my chest and between sobs the words finally came, surely but slowly between deep anguished breaths. “How . . . could . . . you?”
I opened my mouth, about to tell her that I’d find him, about to promise her that no matter what it took, I’d find him, but nothing came out. Perhaps a part of me knew that I’d done enough damage here – that I’d already failed enough times today.
After a moment, Gail lifted her head up and then turned and walked away.
I stood looking after her, helpless.
Sure, I could have followed her, could have tried to explain.
But I knew Gail well enough to know she wouldn’t want to hear any of it. Not now anyway. And besides, while I hadn’t promised her that I’d find Howard, I still planned on doing just that.
Gail had just disappeared from view when I caught a distinct statement I knew was directed at me.
“There he is officer. There’s the pervert who tried to steal the little boy.”
Those words were my invitation to get the hell out of there, and quickly.