Free Sleep Tight by Jeffrey Jacobson Page A

important people in the city. He set his jaw.
    He was all ready to give her a piece of his mind when he got within five feet, but she wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, she was intently watching the promenade down by the water. Unable to stop himself, as if he was passing a gruesome traffic accident, he followed her gaze.
    Down on the walkway that ran along the river, between the wrought-iron benches and cement flowerbeds, was a rat. Holtzfelder’s lips pursed. Rats had no more a right to be in the city than the homeless did. Still, it wasn’t natural to see a rat out in the direct sunlight, moving so slowly.
    In fact, the rat wasn’t acting right at all. It stumbled from the shadows, staggering slightly as if drunk. He needed his glasses, because there seemed to be something wrong with the rat’s hair. It looked almost as if it was crumbling away, leaving a trail of dirt behind it. It hobbled to the edge of the river, and simply fell in. There was no jump, no grace, nothing natural. It looked like it was dying.
    The homeless woman spoke, so suddenly and so close that Holtzfelder jumped. “Rats be sicker than a motherfucker. All over the place. This town, it be in all kindsa trouble. You watch.”
    Holtzfelder edged around her and the cart, with no idea of what to say. The lights changed, and he hurried across the street, leaving the woman still staring at the empty space where the rat had fallen.

C HAPTER 14
    8:45 PM
    April 17
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    Those first months on the job, Tommy learned the habits of rattus norvegicus . Don would lead him down into the labyrinth of tunnels and subways and fissures, leaving behind the vicious winter winds that howled through the streets above. Tommy found it fascinating. He felt privileged somehow, exploring this forbidden perspective, as if buried deep beneath the skyscrapers where the city anchored itself into the earth, he could actually see the hidden corners and abrupt angles where the city crashed against itself, grinding the cement, buckling the sidewalks, cracking the bricks.
    They would start each night by hitting the alleys behind restaurants and bars, restocking bait and checking holes. Then they’d creep into ancient basements or slip into abandoned buildings, carrying long poles with loops at the ends, swaddled in heavy leather. Tommy began to understand and follow the maze of tunnels under the Loop. They could enter the subway system at Harrison and climb out at Washington avoiding the train lines altogether.
    Tommy could squirm into places where Don could only shine a flashlight. Thanks to his relatively small size and strength that hadn’t faded since his glory days as an energetic human vacuum cleaner shortstop on the De La Salle Meteors, Don had come to rely on Tommy to crawl into holes and cracks, baiting and catching rats in places that had been previously inaccessible. They’d leave bait, and days later, return to collect dead rats to keep the people that read the paperwork happy. Along with his new boots, Tommy carried his high school aluminum bat, a Louisville Slugger Exogrid, in a sling across his back, in case any of the rats weren’t quite dead.
    The last stop of the night was always the incinerators on the West Side.
    The work was filthy, choking, and dangerous. Still, Tommy enjoyed it, relished the rush as adrenaline pulsed through his body as he crawled through the dust, always facing the possibility of running into rats ready to defend their territory. It forced him to concentrate and kept his mind off of Kimmy and Grace, at least for those hours underground. Then, when they stopped at the bar after dropping off the dead rats at the end of the night, he felt as if he’d earned a beer, and could relax.
    Don, though, was relaxed all the time. He moved in one speed and never got in much of a hurry. The way he saw it, the rats would always be around. Why rush? “Besides man, rats are the most successful mammal on the