Chase: Roman

shivered uncontrollably as one of them trickled down his cheek, under his ear and down the side of his neck like a skittering cockroach. When he dared move again, the board squeaked as he stepped off it, but he was now convinced that Judge was not expecting him. He went to the wall of the house and pressed himself to it, between the window and the door.
        He wished he had a gun.
        What was he doing here without a gun?
        Just checking things out. Get a look at Judge, at Linski, then run for it, be sure he matched his description, tie up that loose end, then call the cops.
        He knew he was even lying to himself now.
        Stooping low, he brought his face up to the window and peered into the tiny, bright kitchen. He saw a pine table and three chairs, a straw basket full of apples in the centre of the table, a refrigerator, an oven, all the other paraphernalia he might have seen in anyone's kitchen - but no Judge. Turning, he stepped past the door and bent at the second window. Here he was rewarded with the sight of a kitchen work area, canisters for flour and sugar and coffee, an instrument rack full of scoops and spoons and cooking forks, storage cabinets, a blender plugged into a wall outlet -but no Judge. Unless Linski was standing directly behind the door, trying not to be seen - an unlikely possibility - he was somewhere else in the house.
        Chase pulled open the screen door, and winced as it made a high, sweet singing noise which seemed to cut through the quiet night air like a gunshot, a sure alarm.
        No one came to investigate.
        The music on the radio had covered him, more likely than not.
        He put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it as far as it would go, took a last deep breath to help quiet his nerves and pressed the door open. It was not locked. He stepped quickly into the house, looked around at the empty kitchen and closed the door after him. The hinges were well oiled; the door did not make a sound.
        For the first time since he had conceived of this foray, Chase was conscious of his nakedness, of the fact that he had come unarmed, and he felt his neck aching as it had after Judge had taken a bead on it with his pistol and then missed. He considered trying the drawers in the cupboard by the sink and securing a sharp knife, then dismissed the idea. For one thing, he would be certain to make considerable noise pulling open drawers full of silverware, more noise than the violins and trumpets could drown. Secondly, he would be wasting precious time in such a search, minutes during which Judge might step into the kitchen after a glass of water and come upon him, negating any advantage of surprise that he might otherwise possess. Finally, there would be far more satisfaction in taking Richard Linski with his own two hands instead of with an impersonal weapon.
        Of course, he would not actually attempt to apprehend Judge - unless he was seen and had no other choice - for that was the job of the police. Ideally, he would come upon Judge asleep in the bedroom, make a quick identification without waking him and beat it the hell out of there. Ideally, there would be no trouble.
        Another lie.
        He paused at the archway between the kitchen and the dining room, for there were no lights where he was going next, just what spilled from the kitchen and living room. In a few minutes he had assured himself that no one was hiding by the heavy pine hutch or the dining table, and he crossed swiftly to the open doorway that led to the main living room. Here the floor was carpeted in shag pile, softening the sound of footsteps.
        He stood at the threshold of the front room, letting his eyes adjust to the brighter light.
        Someone coughed. A man.
        In Nam, when a mission was especially tense, he had been able to devote his mind to its completion with a singleness of purpose that he had never achieved on anything else in his life, to become almost obsessed with the chore at hand. He wanted to be as brisk and clean and quick about this as he had been about those missions, but he was bothered by thoughts of Glenda sitting all alone in that strange motel room, waiting for him to return…
        He was evading the moment, he knew. He could not hesitate; he must get on with it.
        He flexed his hands and drew a slow breath, preparing himself for the fight, even though he was sure there would not be