John Godey - The Snake

"I guess not." Eastman's fleeting expression of hope disappeared. "You want to get started?"

"Might as well. There are two things we can try. We can shine a powerful flashlight beam around, and if the animal is nearby, the light bounces off its retina and you pick up the eye-shine. Trouble is, it's a local effect. You can't shine a light in the snake's eye if it's a block away" Eastman grunted. "What's the other thing?"

"Stake out a watering place. Snakes are mostly, though not exclusively, nocturnal animals. If it wants a drink, it'll probably come out for it at night."

"You know how much water there is in the park?"

"You told me this morning about a hundred and fifty acres. It's a very long shot, but there isn't much choice. The odds might be a little better tomorrow morning. Snakes are coldblooded, and have to lie in the sun to warm themselves up for an hour or so. Maybe less than that in this kind of weather, because they don't lose too much heat during the night. They like to bask early in the morning, and they Eke lying on a rock if there's one around."

"You know how many rocks there are in the park?"

"It's a problem. But if you give me a week or so, I'll guarantee to turn it UP."

"Look," Eastman said, "you're the expert and I have a lot of confidence in you. But it didn't take those two guys who got bitten any week to turn it up, did it? Both of them found it inside of twenty-four hours of each other."

"Yeah, well," Converse said, "they were just lucky. It was pure dumb luck."

Converse decided to stake out the Belvedere Lake because it was there, or near there, that Roddy Bamberger had been bitten. For all anyone knew, the snake might have been going to or coming from a drink when Bamberger had run across it.

"But it could have drunk in a lot of places." He tapped his fingers on Eastman's police department map of the park. "The Lake to the south, the Conservatory Water to the southeast, or even here…" With a broad sweep of his palm he covered the Receiving Reservoir that ran almost the entire width of the park between the 85th and 97th Street transverses.

"It's long odds," Eastman said. "Why don't we use some manpower and stake out all of the possible watering holes?"

"Because there's only one of me," Converse said, "and your cops would probably miss it or else step on it in the dark and get bitten."

Eastman said, "We'd better go back over your contract and include a breach of modesty clause." He covered a yawn with his hand. "We know the snake was around the Belvedere Lake a couple of nights ago. Is it their custom to hang around in one place?"

"Again, it depends on the species. As a rule, snakes aren't all that territorial except when they're breeding, so it could be anywhere in the park. But at least it's a starting place."

"We're not going to find it, right?"

"It isn't likely," Converse said. "We need time."

"We haven't got any," Eastman said.

They left the precinct around nine in a squad car driven by a patrolman who took them out of the park into Central Park West, then brought them back in again at the Hunter's Gate and drove on the pedestrian walks past the Swedish Schoolhouse, the Shakespeare Garden, and the darkened Delacorte Theatre. Except for one group of half a dozen young men and women whom they took to be Puries, there was no evidence that citizens were still at large in the park searching for the snake.

"At least I hope that's the case," Eastman said. "Muggers don't take kindly to having crowds of people wandering around in their park after dark."

The police car pulled over to one side of the walkway and parked.

Converse and Eastman got out and walked down the embankment to the lake.

"This is as good as anyplace else. We might as well sit down."

"Suppose it comes along," Eastman said. "I mean, sitting down, we'd be sitting ducks, wouldn't we?"

"Of course, if it comes down for a drink on the other side of the lake we won't see it. But it was near here that that fellow was bitten."

"You're sure it's okay to sit down?"

"Sure. That way there's no chance of our stepping on it."

"If you say so." Eastman touched the Pilstrom tongs. "I know what this stick is for. The pillowcase-I remember you putting that rattlesnake into some kind of a yellow bag."

"It was a yellow pillowcase. Listen, captain, it would be better if we didn't talk. Okay?"

"I thought snakes were deaf."

"They are. I'm not. I want to be able to hear it if it comes."

Eastman fell silent. Behind them, the driver had turned off the car's motor and lights. Converse could see him behind the wheel. Above them, the sky seemed to be pressing down, as if it bore a tangible weight of clouds. It was the color of lead, except where it was tinged with red from the puffing of neons in the center of the city. The oppressiveness of the heat seemed worse than ever. The park was quiet in the still air, except for the occasional sound of an auto horn or a noisy transmission as a car accelerated.

Eastman was sitting motionless with his head bowed, his hands clasped on the grass between his legs. He was probably terrific on stakeouts, Converse thought, a man who knew how to do that most difficult of things, wait. If the snake came along, Eastman wouldn't give them away. Not that there was much chance of it. Even if it was still in the area, even if it did come to the lake for a drink, it would be next to impossible to detect unless it practically ran into them.

He shifted his position slightly and dabbed at his sweaty face with a comer of the pillowcase. Eastman hadn't moved, not even to scratch his nose or mop up sweat. His breathing was regular, and Converse realized that he was asleep. He smiled in the darkness, and settled himself into a more comfortable position. But he kept his head raised, peering through the gloom for something that might never come and, if it did, might come and go unseen and unheard. He felt something on the back of his hand. A raindrop.

The snake curved in its flowing S-movement, propelling its great length forward swiftly toward the water it had drunk from on the previous nights. From time to time it paused to taste the air with its darting tongue. When it felt the first drops of rain it stopped. It raised its head high, tongue testing. Then the rain came down in a sudden torrent.

The snake slid into a coil as the downpour pelted it. It lowered its head to within an inch or two of the ground, and moved from side to side in an almost dancelike rhythm.

The downpour beat against its body, colder than it liked. The rain was so heavy it bounced off the parched ground, and quickly formed puddles.

The snake uncoiled and slid forward again toward the lake.

Then it stopped, dipped its head, and drank from a puddle. Afterwards, it returned to its tree.

After the first warning drop or two the rain fell out of the sky in sheets. In a few seconds, Converse was soaked to the skin. Nevertheless, Eastman continued to sleep through it. Converse shook him awake.

"Christ," Eastman said. "Where did this come from?"

"Let's go."

Converse held out his hand, and Eastman came to his feet awkwardly and with some effort. With the rain soaking him he looked old and bedraggled.

They ran to the squad car and jammed into the front seat beside the driver.

"Now what?" Eastman said.

"Maybe it'll cool off the weather," the driver said.

"Now we can go home," Converse said.

"Can't we sit here and watch from the car?"

Converse shook his head. "It won't come tonight, not now."

His technique was deplorable, but his stamina was prodigious, and he was sweet in a dumb kind of way. Stamina and sweetness normally ranked well down on Jane Redpath's scale of masculine virtues, so it remained an open question in her mind as to whether or not she would have gone to bed with him if he hadn't offered to go to the menagerie with her. At this point the matter was purely academic.