Secrets & Lies by Raymond Benson Read Free Book Online

weeks!
    That just put me in a good mood. Good enough to go out. Talk to you later, dear diary!
    L ATER
    It’s taken me thirty minutes for me to catch my breath after barely making it home. The newspaper was right. There are a lot more cops on the streets. They’re
everywhere
.
    The night started off all right. I didn’t see any policemen until Igot to Washington Square Park around 10:00. There were so many! It was a regular cop convention, I counted at least ten. I avoided the spot, moved uptown, and put a lot of distance between me and the park. Maybe I should have taken that as a warning to give up and go home, but I kept going and got up into the 20s. I headed west; I don’t know why. It’s not too often that I have a plan when I go out as the Stiletto. Usually I just wander, and that’s what I did tonight.
    It was around 7th Avenue and 22nd Street that a patrolman spotted me. I was running along the street as I normally do, and suddenly, there he was on the corner. We practically bumped into each other. He shouted for me to halt. I called back to him, “No time, sorry!” and kept going, darting out into traffic. Horns honked. A cab almost hit me. The cop blew his whistle. There was no question that he’d call for a patrol car, so I didn’t let a few moving vehicles stop me. I successfully made it across 7th and ran like the dickens to 8th Avenue, and then shot uptown.
    Figuring I’d eluded the patrolman, I slowed to my normal sprinting pace. It’s always the same when I run through the city. Pedestrians see me, point, and gawk. Every now and then a woman screams, but I certainly don’t mean to scare anyone. Sometimes a man will do a wolf whistle. “Look, there’s the Black Stiletto!” “Hey, Stiletto, want to go on a date?” I often get applause and cheers, and just as frequently attract boos and am called nasty names. I’m used to it, but this time, though, it really bothered me. Some guy yelled something I can’t write down, dear diary, and it made me feel—
exposed
. That’s the only way I can describe it.
    A sense of great danger had crept up on me since I’d passed the policeman, and I suspected the cops were on my tail. Sure enough, a siren started blaring behind me. Turning, I saw the red-and-blue lights several blocks down 8th Ave. I had run up to 30th Street, so I hooked a right and sprinted into the shadows. A brownstone’s stoop provided enough cover for me as I squatted and waited for the cop car to pass on by the intersection of 30th and 8th. The siren piercedmy eardrums as the vehicle continued uptown. It didn’t turn toward me. For a moment, I thought maybe they weren’t chasing me after all and were on their way to another crime scene. Nevertheless, I waited a minute, caught my breath, and then continued east on 30th. So far, I’d spent the entire night running from the police. And it wasn’t over. As soon as I got to 7th Avenue, more patrol cars shot through the intersection, heading south. Were they looking for me? I froze on the corner amidst a few pedestrians. The last patrol car drove past me, but the officer in the passenger seat looked directly at me and we locked eyes. The driver slammed on the brakes; the wheels screeched horribly as the siren and lights kicked on.
    There were three options. I could dash across 7th Avenue into heavier traffic and maybe get killed by a speeding taxicab. Or I could run north on 7th, but I’d have to run past the cops. If I went south on 7th, they’d be in pursuit right behind me. The best alternative was to reverse my tracks on 30th and head west, so that’s what I did. Within seconds, I heard the two cops shout at me to stop, and then they gave chase. I knew I could outrun them, but one of the guys was some kind of track star; he gained on me surprisingly fast. With only twenty feet or so separating us, I approached the intersection of 30th and