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“No...no...more,” he croaked. His body curled into a fetal position. “Please. Not again...” A passing tugboat’s blaring horn rattled him into a tighter ball. Hugging his knees to his chest, Rick tried to ignore the holes in his clothes; the powder burns; the deep pock-marked scars which seemed to hold his flesh together. He shuddered. A man-shaped wound in spasm. His eyes darted along the length of the pier, not really seeing; not even focusing... ...Until he spotted the cat. It lay in a slick trail of its own blood. Its eyes were glassy and glaring at the blackened water below. It was dead. Something hard and hot seemed to slide loose from Rick’s heart. It’s over! Rick thought, managing to sit up. I’m free! PurrrrPurrrrPurrrr... Another cat--this one with a coat as black and shiny as sealskin--sat a top a pylon, watching him intently. Its tail lashed through the air like an ominous snake. Other than the sharp wisps of its tail, it did not move at all. It could have been an ornamental figurehead, carved from the very same chunk of wood upon which it sat. Or maybe, Rick thought wearily, it had been chiseled from a block of granite. Over this fresh cat’s idle purring, Vera chimed in again. “Didja miss me, Rick?” The waves lapped at the pier. “You have to get ‘em, Rick. There’s still so much to do. Doherty. Bobby O’Grady. Paddy Nichols. And Mike The Trigger. You have to make them pay...”
“I’m through,” he moaned. “No you’re not. I’ve seen to that. You’re solid, Rick. Just like your name.” The black cat leapt gracefully off the pylon, nuzzling his foot with its whiskered cheek. The sun was rising. Rick Granite slowly got to his feet. As he shuffled back towards the south side, he wondered how long this day would last.
*****THE
END*****
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