Robert Tanenbaum - Reversible Error

This was apparently not the response expected of Tangerines bimbos. The guy's glib smile faded and he shrugged.

"So. Wanna dance?" he asked.

"No," she said. On the floor she would never be able to watch the door for Raney. Then, seeing his smile vanish completely, she added, "I, uh, hurt my foot playing racquetball. I'm practically crippled."

Smile again. "Hey, I play too. Where do you go?"

"Um, you know, all around."

"Like where? Tenth Street? Midtown Courts?"

"Yeah, those. And, um, you know, the Y." The guy looked at her peculiarly, his expression losing any enthusiasm. He thinks I'm lying. He thinks I'm trying to dump him. This wasn't working. She had to get JoAnne. "Look," she said, "I got to run to the ladies'. Why don't you order me another drink for us. I'll be right back. Don't go away now!" She tried to inject a flirtatious note into her voice. He nodded and she went off, remembering to drag a foot behind her, like Quasimodo.

The rest rooms at Tangerines were located off a long narrow hallway that led from the corner where the main room met the aisle of the bar. Marlene entered it, turned to make sure she wasn't being followed, and then went back into the crush of the meat market.

It was even more crowded now, at the peak of the Friday-night follies, and loud with fevered chatter. Despairing of finding JoAnne in time, she elbowed her way through to the bar and stood up tiptoe on the rail, hoping to spot the preposterous wig. To her vast surprise, she found herself staring down at a familiar head of strawberry-blond curls. It was Jim Raney, dressed for disco in a chino suit and an open-necked blue shirt.

"Raney," she shouted. "Dammit, where have you been!"

He looked up at her in amazement. "Where was I? Where were you? I've been here nearly an hour."

"Never mind that-I've got him," she said. "Follow me!"

She grabbed his sleeve and led him back into the main room. The band was, inevitably, doing "Saturday Night Fever" and showing they could play it loud. Marlene's eyes went to the wall where she had left the guy. The two glasses they had used remained on the little shelf; the man himself was gone.

Marlene clenched her fists and uttered a screech of frustration. Raney asked, "What's up? Where is he?"

"Where is he? He's fucking flown, Raney, that's where he is."

"Could he be in the John?"

"No, impossible! He would have had to get past me there, and he didn't. Shit! He must have skipped. There's a way out around the front."

Raney followed her quickly through the crowded cabaret, stepped around the ferns, over the velvet rope, and out into the street. "There he is!" Marlene shouted. Raney looked in the direction of her pointing finger. A man with a leather jacket stood on the curb, trying to flag down a cab.

Raney walked toward the man. "Hey, buddy," he called, "could I see you a minute?" The guy looked over his shoulder, saw Raney, saw Marlene. His eyes widened as he recognized her. He backed away. Raney took his leather shield holder out of his jacket pocket and flipped it at the guy. "Police," he said, and the guy ran.

Marlene was after him like a dog on a rabbit, across Madison. Raney cursed and followed, but the light on the cross street had changed and he found himself trapped briefly between the lanes of honking traffic.

Marlene was running without thought, concentrating only on the flapping crow shape of the leather jacket as it flickered, caught in one streetlamp after another.

She chased the guy north on the west side of Madison, about ten yards separating them. The foot traffic on Madison was sparse, mostly couples working the bars and panhandlers. They flicked by, barely noticing the chase. Marlene was wearing low heels, a disadvantage, but her quarry was wearing loose slip-ons, which kept flapping off his feet as he ran. Every twenty paces or so he would have to make a little skip to jam them back on, and Marlene would close the distance. Then his longer legs would tell and he would stretch it out again.

Marlene could hear his breathing become louder and more ragged. She was in better shape, she thought: raping probably wasn't all that aerobic. He wouldn't last another three blocks. With relief she heard Raney coming up behind her. The guy suddenly veered left up a side street. When Marlene turned the corner, the guy had slowed to an odd stumbling trot. He had his right hand jammed into the pocket of his jeans. He was struggling to get something out of his pocket. Marlene thought: Knife! Jesus, he brought his knife.

She couldn't stop. She was almost on him. She heard Raney shout, "Hold it, hold…!" The hand came out of the pocket and something shiny flew from it and skittered on the street.

He tried to accelerate again, but Marlene was on him, her fingernails digging deep into the leather of his jacket. He jerked his body violently and nearly pulled her off her feet. One of her shoes went flying. She felt several nails crack off. He swung an arm around, grabbed the front of her shirt, and heaved her around to face him. The shirt tore down the back and her grip on the jacket was broken.

She could see his face now, the sweat-slicked hair, the features red and contorted with rage and fear. He set his feet and aimed a backhanded right at her face.

Marlene crouched and ducked, but his knuckles still slammed against the side of her skull, reddening her vision. He hauled at the shirt, to set her up for another blow, but Marlene came with it, bringing her hard little right fist up from nearly pavement level, putting the full 110 pounds behind it, sinking it up to the wristbone in his crotch.

He let go of the shirt with a shrill cry and bent double. Then Raney was there in a long flying leap, whipping his big Browning pistol down on the guy's head with a sound that echoed from the buildings like a gong.

The guy crumpled without a sound. Marlene collapsed and sat on the pavement, sucking air, clutching the tatters of her shirt to her naked breasts. She felt the sweat drying on her back.

Raney checked the guy's pulse, cuffed his hands behind his back, and knelt down beside Marlene.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Light duty, huh?"

"OK, OK, OK," she gasped. "It was a screwup. I didn't think it would go down like this."

"Yeah, well, it happens. By the way, that was quite a shot to the nuts. Characteristic, if I may say so."

"Thanks, Raney," said Marlene sourly. "Hey, can I borrow your jacket? My tits are hanging out here." Raney shrugged it off and she slipped into it, grateful for its warmth as well as the protection it afforded from the gapers in the small crowd that had gathered around them.

Raney stood up and helped Marlene to her feet. She recovered her shoe and leaned against him to put it on. She was still wobbly and dizzy with adrenaline and fatigue. Raney said, "Look, we got to call this in." He pulled a card out of his wallet. "There's a booth on Madison and 66th. Call this number. Ask to talk to Detective Franklin. When you get him, explain the situation and tell him we need a blue-and-white and a bus."

"A bus?"

"Yeah, you know, an ambulance. Hey, are you sure you're OK?"

"Uh-huh. Just a little shook."

"OK, then meet me at the two-oh and we'll book him. What's the charge, do you think?"

Marlene sighed. "Better make it possession for now."

"Possession? What're you talking about? I thought this was the Wagner killer."

"It is. I think. But my witness never got a look at him and I don't know him from Adam. He just fit what we were looking for, in general. Meanwhile, he offered me coke in the place there, and he tossed a vial during the chase. You should find it in the street. It's enough to hang on to him with until I can get JoAnne there and ID him."

"Holy shit, Marlene!" Raney yelled. "You mean to fuckin' tell me-"