Mr. Murder

light in a bad dream.
        No one would ever mistake the place for any part of Manhattan, but it confirmed that civilization still existed.
        A large motorhome was the only vehicle in sight. It was parked near the concrete-block building that housed the comfort stations.
        "We're right on top of him now." Oslett switched off the SATU screen and placed the unit on the floor between his feet. Popping the suction cup off the windshield, dropping it on the electronic map, he said, "No doubt about it-our Alfie's snug in that road hog.
        Probably ripped it off some poor shmuck, now he's on the run with all the comforts of home."
        They drove past a grassy area with three picnic tables and parked about twenty feet away from the Road King, on the driver's side.
        No lights were on in the motorhome.
        "No matter how far off the tracks Alfie's gone," Oslett said, "I still think he'll respond well to us. We're all he has, right? Without us, he's alone in the world. Hell, we're like his family."
        Clocker switched off the lights and the engine.
        Oslett said, "Regardless of what condition he's in, I don't think he'd hurt us. Not old Alfie. Maybe he'd waste anyone else who got in his way but not us. What do you think?"
        Getting out of the Chevy, Clocker plucked both his hat and his Colt.357 Magnum off the front seat.
        Oslett took a flashlight and the tranquilizer gun. The bulky pistol had two barrels, over and under, each loaded with a fat hypodermic cartridge. It was designed for use in zoos and wasn't accurate at more than fifty feet, which was good enough for Oslett's purpose, since he wasn't planning to go after any lions on the veldt.
        Oslett was grateful that the rest area was not crowded with travelers.
        He hoped that he and Clocker could finish their business and get away before any cars or trucks pulled in from the highway.
        On the other hand, when he got out of the Chevy and eased the door shut behind him, he was disturbed by the emptiness of the night. Except for the singing of tires and the air-cutting whoosh of passing traffic on the interstate, the silence was as oppressive as it must be in the vacuum of deep space. A copse of tall pines stood as backdrop to the entire rest area, and, in the windless darkness, their heavy boughs drooped like swags of funeral bunting.
        He craved the hum and bustle of urban streets, where ceaseless activity offered continuous distractions. Commotion provided escape from contemplation. In the city, the flash-clatter-spin of daily life allowed his attention to be directed forever outward if he wished, sparing him the dangers inherent in self-examination.
        Joining Clocker at the driver's door of the Road King, Oslett considered making as stealthy an entrance as possible. But if Alfie was inside, as the SATU electronic map specifically indicated, he was probably already aware of their arrival.
        Besides, on the deepest cognitive levels, Alfie was conditioned to respond to Drew Oslett with absolute obedience. It was almost inconceivable that he would attempt to harm him.
        Almost.
        They had also been certain that the chances of Alfie going A.W.O.L were so small as to be nonexistent. They had been wrong about that.
        Time might prove them wrong about other things.
        That was why Oslett had the tranquilizer gun.
        And that was why he didn't try to dissuade Clocker from bringing the .357 Magnum.
        Steeling himself for the unexpected, Oslett knocked on the metal door.
        Knocking seemed a ludicrous way to announce himself under the circumstances, but he knocked anyway, waited several seconds, and knocked again, louder.
        No one answered.
        The door was unlocked. He opened it.
        Enough yellow light from the parking-lot lamps filtered through the windshield to illuminate the cockpit of the motorhome. Oslett could see that no immediate threat loomed.
        He stepped up onto the door sill, leaned in, and looked back through the Road King, which tunneled away into a swarming darkness as deep as the chambers of ancient catacombs.
        Be at peace, Alfie," he said softly.
        That spoken command should have resulted in an immediate ritual response, as in a litany, I am at peace, Father.
        "Be at peace, Alfie," Oslett repeated less hopefully.
        Silence.
        Although Oslett was