The Death Instinct Read Free

there's going to be trouble.'
        'Let me think,' said Littlemore, scratching his head. 'What would you do on St. Paddy's Day if some blacks were causing trouble? Break up the parade?'
        'I'd break up the blacks, sir. Break 'em up good.'
        'That's a boy. You do the same here.'
        'Yes, sir. All right, you lot,' Officer Boyle yelled to the marchers in front of him, pulling out his nightstick, 'get off the streets, all of you.'
    'Boyle!' said Littlemore.
        'Sir?'
        'Not the blacks.'
        'But you said-'
        'You break up the troublemakers, not the marchers. Let cars through every two minutes. These people have a right to parade just like anybody else.'
        'Yes sir.'
        Littlemore returned to Younger and Colette. 'Okay, the tooth is a little strange,' he said. 'Why would someone leave you a tooth?'
        'I have no idea.'
        They continued downtown. Littlemore held the tooth up in the sunlight, rotated it. 'Clean. Good condition. Why?' He looked at the slip of paper again. 'The note doesn't have your name on it, Miss. Maybe it wasn't meant for you.'
        'The clerk said the girl asked for Miss Colette Rousseau,' replied Younger.
        'Could be somebody with a similar last name,' suggested Littlemore. 'The Commodore's a big hotel. Any dentists there?'
        'In the hotel?' said Colette.
        'How did you know we were at the Commodore?' asked Younger.
        'Hotel matches. You lit your cigarette with them.'
        'Those awful matches,' replied Colette. 'Luc is sure to be playing with them right now. Luc is my little brother. He's ten. Stratham gives him matches as toys.'
        'The boy took apart hand grenades in the war,' Younger said to Colette. 'He'll be fine.'
        'My oldest is ten - Jimmy Junior, we call him,' said Littlemore. 'Are your parents here too?'
        'No, we're by ourselves,' she answered. 'We lost our family in the war.'
        They were entering the Financial District, with its granite facades and dizzying towers. Curbside traders in three-piece suits auctioned securities outside in the September sun.
        'I'm sorry, Miss,' said Littlemore. 'About your family.'
        'It's nothing special,' she said. 'Many families were lost. My brother and I were lucky to survive.'
        Littlemore glanced at Younger, who felt the glance but didn't acknowledge it. Younger knew what Littlemore was wondering - how losing your family could be nothing special - but Littlemore hadn't seen the war. They walked on in silence, each pursuing his or her own reflections, as a result of which none of them heard the creature coming up from behind. Even Colette was unaware until she felt the hot breath on her neck. She recoiled and cried out in alarm.
        It was a horse, an old bay mare, snorting hard from the weight of a dilapidated, overloaded wooden cart she towed behind her. Colette, relieved and contrite, reached out and crumpled one of the horse's ears. The mare flapped her nostrils appreciatively. Her driver hissed, stinging the horse's flank with a crop. Colette yanked her hand away. The burlap- covered wagon clacked past them on the cobblestones of Nassau Street.
        'May I ask you a question?' asked Littlemore.
        'Of course,' said Colette.
        'Who in New York knows where you're staying?'
        'No one.'
        'What about the old lady you two visited this morning? The one with all the cats, who likes to hug people?'
        'Mrs Meloney?' said Colette. 'No, I didn't tell her which hotel-'
        'How could you possibly have known that?' interrupted Younger, adding to Colette: 'I never told him about Mrs Meloney.'
        They were approaching the intersection of Nassau, Broad, and Wall Streets - the financial center of New York City, arguably of the world.
        'Kind of obvious, actually,' said Littlemore. 'You both have cat fur on your shoes, and in your case, Doc, on your pant cuffs.