Hit List

of his hat, actually. And the rest of the time all I could see of him was what showed between his hat and his muffler.”
    “I think it’s the same man, Keller.”
    “The man I saw,” he went on, “was clean-shaven. In fact that was just about the only thing I could tell you about him. He was white, and he didn’t have a mustache. This one’s got a mustache.”
    “Give me the glasses, Keller.”
    “You didn’t see the mustache?”
    “I saw the mustache. I just want a closer look at it, that’s all. These aren’t the greatest binoculars in the world, are they?”
    “They’re not the worst, either.”
    “No. It’s a hot dog, all right, and it’s probably not the best hot dog in the world, either, judging by how long it’s taking him to eat it. That mustache could be a fake.”
    “So could the hot dog.”
    “Huh? Oh, you were making a joke. Aren’t you clever. I think it’s a fake mustache, Keller.”
    “Why would he have a fake mustache?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Maybe he grew it,” he said, “in the time we’ve been cooped up here.”
    “Maybe he’s a master of disguise. He’s done with the hot dog, believe it or not. I wonder if he’s going to light a cigarette.”
    “Why would he do that?”
    “That’s what smokers do. Don’t ask me why. Most of the people who stand around outside, they’re smokers who aren’t allowed to smoke in their offices. He’s not lighting a cigarette.”
    “Or a pipe,” Keller said.
    “He’s going into that building. The one he went into the other night.”
    “Back before he grew a mustache.”
    “Or pasted it on.”
    “The man the other night had somebody buzz him in. This fellow used a key.”
    “So?”
    “So what is it exactly that they’ve got in common? The lack of an umbrella?”
    “They’ve got the same walk,” she said.
    “They do?”
    “It looks the same to me.”
    “Left, right, left, right . . .”
    “Watch the window, Keller. Four flights up, second from the left.”
    “I’m watching it.”
    “See if a light goes on in the next five minutes.”
    He sat, waiting. The window stayed dark.
    “Amazing,” he said. “Can you believe it? The light didn’t go on. The dark window stayed dark. You called that one, all right.”
    “He’s sitting there in the dark.”
    “Maybe daylight’s enough for him.”
    “If he put the light on,” she said, “we could see him.”
    “See him doing what?”
    “Sitting in the window. At this angle, with no light behind him, we can’t see him.”
    “Dot,” he said, “what makes you think he’s there?”
    “He’s there.”
    “Why that window?”
    “Because that’s where he was last night and the night before.”
    “With the light on?”
    “No, sitting in the dark.”
    “Then how could you—“
    “Smoking,” she said.
    He thought about it. “A cigarette glowing,” he said.
    “Right.”
    “I noticed it once or twice. The night before last, I remember noticing it then. And maybe last night, too.”
    “I saw it on and off, both nights.”
    “You didn’t mention it.”
    “You were sleeping, Keller.”
    “And I guess you were sleeping when I noticed it. It’s not much to notice. If I’d had someone to talk to, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all. There! Somebody just lit a cigarette.”
    “Him.”
    “It’s always that window?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “So he’s a guy who lives there,” he said, “and he has trouble sleeping, and he sits by the window a lot.”
    “And smokes.”
    “It’s his apartment. Or loft, or office, or whatever it is. He wants to smoke, it’s his business.”
    “And it’s his face,” she said, “so he can paste a mustache on it anytime he wants to.”
    “If it’s the same man,” he said, “and he just happens to live there, I guess he’d either have a mustache or he wouldn’t.”
    “My point exactly, Keller.”
    “He could have one and shave it off. But he couldn’t not have one, and then two days later there it is.” He frowned. “If it’s the same man.”
    “Let’s assume he is.”
    “Okay.”
    “He’s got to be one of them.”
    “Our guy or Roger.”
    “Right.”
    “It would help,” he said, “if we knew which.”
    “We just wait, and—“
    “And see what happens,” he said. “That’s what we’ve been doing. And nothing happens.”
    “Well, if you’ve got a better idea . . . Isn’t that your girlfriend?”
    “Maggie? Where?”
    “Right there.”
    “It’s her. How’d she get over