Chase: Roman

I want to see you again, if that's all right with you.’
        ‘Christ, you're dense,’ she said. ‘That's what I've been trying to get you to say all morning.’
        At the door, he kissed her and found that it was not at all awkward, that they might have been long-time lovers.
        She said, ‘I'm sorry to have to drive you out so early, but it's my mother's day to visit. I've got to straighten the place up and remove all traces of my illicit behaviour.’
        ‘I'll call,’ he said.
        ‘If you don't, I'll call you.’
        Outside, the day was bright and hot, and a breeze only barely stirred the trees by the kerb. In his present state of mind, however, no degree of uncomfortable weather could affect him. He got in the Mustang, rolled the window down to get some fresh air, and was slipping the key in the ignition when it happened. Behind him something snapped with a curiously brittle sound, followed by a solid thump. When he turned, he saw a bullet hole in the centre of the rear window. Judge was up early on this bright, warm day.
        Chase fell sideways on the seat, below the level of the windows, with the back of the front seat to protect him from Judge's present position, and he heard the second shot star the back window in almost the same instant. On his side, with his head pressed against the vinyl of the passenger's seat, he could hear the slug slam into the upholstery, could feel the seat jerk a bit as it absorbed the shock. A silenced pistol was quiet, but it also packed less of a punch, since the extended, baffled muzzle cut the bullet's velocity appreciably. Ordinarily, it might have come through the thin stuffing of the bucket seat.
        He waited long minutes for a third shot.
        It did not come.
        Cautiously, he raised his head and looked around. He could not see anything unusual, and he was not shot at again. He started the engine, pulled away from the kerb and tramped the gas hard.
        Twenty minutes later he was certain that he was not being followed, for he had driven so many side streets and made so many abrupt turns into alleyways while he watched the rearview mirror, that a tail could not help but reveal himself. He found the crosstown three-lane and headed home.
        For a few hours he had forgotten Judge, though Judge had quite obviously not forgotten him. He was shaking badly, and he felt an itch at the back of his head about where the slug would have split his skull if Judge had been a better marksman. Indeed, he was shaking so badly that he twice thought he would have to stop the car and gather his wits. At first that seemed like an unreasonable response to the incident, especially for a man who had seen ground action in Southeast Asia. But then he realized that now he had something to lose, something to be afraid of being denied: hope, Glenda, whatever it was that might develop between them. He must not forget Judge again; he must be twice as careful as ever before.
        It occurred to him, as he parked in front of the house, that Judge might have gone ahead, anticipating his destination to take a position here, waiting for Chase to return. He sat in the car a long while, unwilling to get out and test that theory. At last, when he realized that Judge could have shot him in the car as easily as on his way to the door, he got out.
        In the downstairs hallway, Mrs Fiedling said, ‘I hadn't realized you were going away overnight.’
        ‘Neither had I,’ Chase said.
        She looked at his rumpled clothes as he kept walking toward the steps. ‘You didn't have an accident, did you?’
        ‘No,’ he said, starting up the stairs. ‘And I wasn't drinking, either.’
        His attitude so surprised her that she didn't have anything to say until he was too far up the stairs to hear her.
        In his room, he bolted the door and lay down on the bed. He let the shakes take him completely, until the fear was sweated out of him.
        

Nine
        
        Two hours later Judge called. When Chase picked up the receiver, hoping it was Glenda, Judge said, ‘Well, you were lucky again.’
        Chase was not as calm as he had been the other times they'd talked, and he had to fight off the urge to slam the phone down. He said, ‘You were just as bad a marksman as before, that's all.’
        ‘I'll agree with that,’ Judge said amicably enough. ‘But it's also the fault of the bore on the