Free The Triumph of Evil by Lawrence Block Page B

even he was not immune to their poison.’
    “Generally conceded to be an easy victor in his November bid for reelection , the popular Indiana governor has increasingly turned his oratorical guns from state to national issues. In response to speculation that …”
    Dorn favored the first three items with a nod, and gave the last a quick smile of recognition.
    One night Dorn went to a movie on Times Square. On the way back to his hotel a young woman emerged from a doorway and beckoned to him. He stopped to see what she wanted.
    She said, “You want some sweet brown sugar, lover? I’ll fuck you, I’ll suck you, anything you want.”
    “Oh no,” Dorn said firmly, then softened it with a smile. “No,” he repeated. “I’m far too old for that.”
    “You ain’t too old,” she said as he turned away. “Bet I make you feel young again.”
    He walked away.
    “Motherfucker!” she called after him.
    He walked back to his hotel and went to sleep. In the morning he went to Central Park and familiarized himself with some of the paths. He saw a woman feeding bread crumbs to the pigeons. She seemed to have purchased a bag for that purpose. He thought that it was nice of her to do this, and was reminded of an item he had read reporting that the Board of Aldermen somewhere had appropriated funds for a program designed to eradicate pigeons by feeding them with a chemical which would interfere with their reproductive processes. They would lay eggs, but the eggs would not have shells. This was heralded as humane. Dorn wondered why. The pigeons were to be eradicated—terminated, Dorn thought—because they had a propensity for shitting on statues and the steps of public buildings.
    It is in the nature of pigeons, Dorn thought, to shit on statues.
    It occurred to him that this woman might be feeding such a chemical to the pigeons. She might even be poisoning them. It was impossible to say with certainty.
    He took a taxi back to his hotel, packed, checked out. He caught an afternoon flight to Charleston and a bus to Willow Falls.
    “How was New York?”
    “Exhausting,” he told her. In German he recited its faults. German was a good language for finding fault. “It is, in the first place, impossible to breathe the air or drink the water. There is a trash receptacle on every corner, but no one seems to have informed the public of its function. Consequently the streets and sidewalks are strewn with garbage. One cannot walk a block without being accosted by several panhandlers, perhaps a third of whom were better dressed than I. All of the taxis seem to be permanently off duty. Everyone is shrunken and sullen-faced. No one smiles. I see no reason why anyone should.”
    “I was going to say I wished I could have gone along, but you don’t make it sound very wonderful.”
    “It was not very wonderful at all. Be glad you were here. Anyone who goes unnecessarily to New York is flirting with commitment to a mental hospital. The city itself is a mental hospital, all patients and no staff.”
    “Oh, poor Miles.”
    “I survived. Actually I spent almost all my time at the Public Library. An excellent institution. And, perhaps because I hated the city so much, I managed to get an impressive amount of research done in a week’s time.”
    “I wish you would give me at least a hint of what this project is about.”
    “In due time. You see, I know that if I talk about it, I won’t get around to doing it.”
    “I don’t mean to bug you.” When he squinted at the idiom, meaningless in German, she translated it.
    “But you don’t bug me,” he said.
    “At least you won’t have to go back to New York again, will you?”
    “I sincerely hope I will never have to go back there,” he said.
    “You’re a good cook,” she said. “This is really delicious. I don’t know how to cook anything.”
    “It’s not hard to learn.”
    “Do you give cooking lessons? I could afford them, now that my German lessons are free.”
    “I learn