Manhattan Noir - Lawrence Block [56]
When I had five years on the job, I was assigned to a detail that focused on getting the homeless off the streets. The mayor wanted the city to look clean—he didn’t actually want to clean it up, he just wanted it to look better temporarily for political reasons.
One night, after a tour that dragged into overtime, I staggered back to the studio apartment I was renting on the East Side, exhausted. All I wanted was to go to bed because I had to be up again in six hours to head back to work. I had just laid down when Freddie Prinze appeared—on the ceiling this time.
I groaned. “I’m really tired. Do we have to do this now?”
“Hey, what’s the matter? You’re not happy to see me?” He sounded genuinely hurt.
“No, no, it’s great, really. I’m just very tired. Can you come back another time?” This dead guy in my house was just too much after the day I’d had.
“I have something important to tell you. That’s why I show up, you know. It’s my job to let you know this stuff.”
I couldn’t keep my eyes open one more second. “I’m sorry. I really have to go to sleep.” I was out like a light.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting up in bed, only I was fourteen again. I looked down at my knobby knees and tried to figure out what was going on. Freddie was slouching against the wall in Ed’s garage. What was my bed doing in California?
“It’s a dream,” Freddie said. “It doesn’t have to make sense.”
I didn’t feel tired at all, so when he spoke, I was happy to listen. I even enjoyed his company.
“If you’re too tired to stay awake, I’ll just have to talk to you while you’re sleeping,” he said. “Here’s the thing: You’re gonna have to make a tough choice very soon. I don’t want you going down the wrong path.”
“What are you talking about?” I felt floaty and good.
“These homeless guys you’re dealing with—one of them is going to try to hurt you. Your instinct will be to shoot him. Do not shoot. If you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Think about this. It’s the most important thing you’re ever going to hear.”
He started fading out, and then I wasn’t aware of anything else until the alarm woke me. The noise startled me back into the world, and I wondered whether my dream had been real. I didn’t have time to ponder it later that morning as I hustled homeless people into the converted trailers we had waiting for them.
Scraps of the dream came back to me as the day wore on. Do not shoot. If you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. I didn’t need a guardian angel to tell me that. I’d been around long enough to know what happens to cops who shoot and kill somebody. They get really messed up.
We were almost ready to go back to the station house when one of the street guys pulled a knife out from under his seventeen layers of clothing and stuck it in my face. My adrenaline jump-started me, and I kicked out at the guy. He was wearing too much clothing for the blow to have any impact. It just made him madder. He slashed at my face with the knife. I felt a trickle down my cheek, and a moment later, fire blazed the same trail. I pulled my weapon.
All my police training screamed at me to shoot. My finger started to pull back on the trigger. I aimed at the lunatic’s torso, just as I was taught at the range, but the view of my target was suddenly clouded. The sounds of the city were blocked out. All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. Each second felt like a month. Over the roar in my head, Freddie’s words came back. Don’t shoot … You’ll regret it …
I lowered my gun. The crazed homeless guy jumped on top of me. Bulletproof vests aren’t designed to stop knives, and mine didn’t slow this one down.
The knife slid in between my ribs, and I felt as though someone had disconnected my electrical charger from the wall socket. My essence just drained away.
I had felt pain at first, but now I didn’t. I noticed a cop lying on the ground, red blood staining the blue uniform. It was me, I realized. What was I doing down