Turned another corner? he wondered. Escaped into a

There were low fences on the block. The man started walking down Pineapple Street toward Thomas's car, holding something ominous in a hand beneath his coat.

He approached the car, close enough so that the shadow from his head and hat fell across the interior of the car. No more than three or four yards away; the light came from a street-level apartment window.

He stopped.

Thomas thought his heart would stop, too. He saw the shadow moving. He glanced at Leslie, almost afraid that the movement of his eyes would be too loud. Her face was intense, studying the situation and deciding what their next move would be.

Their move, Thomas thought. Did they have one? Did she have one?

Thomas knew he didn't.

The gunman turned toward the car, his hand beneath his overcoat.

All he had to do was look down.

The shadow approached. We're screwed, Thomas thought.

Within his gloves, his hands were soaking wet.

The gunman turned completely, examining windows and fences and gates.

Not a movement on the street. Nothing. Then two teenagers appeared at the end of the block on the other side of Pineapple Street.

The gunman began to move. He walked back toward the Promenade, slowly examining the situation.

Leslie allowed a minute to pa.s.s. Then slowly she raised her head, looking in each direction. Thomas watched her, marveling at her composure. She held a hand to him to indicate not to move.

"Not yet, not yet;' she said.

More seconds pa.s.sed. She was convinced the man had drifted a safe distance from the block. "We can't make a mistake" she said.

"If he sees you pulling out he'll shoot your tires out."

"Terrific'" mumbled Thomas.

"All right," she said.

"Quickly."

They switched positions in the car, Thomas climbing into the driver's seat and pushing the key at the ignition slot until it slipped in.

Then he turned the key, waiting several long, painful seconds until the engine laboriously turned over. He stared in the rearview mirror the entire time, waiting for the bulky man in the overcoat to reappear.

He gunned the engine.

"Where to?" he asked.

He backed the car jerkily until it touched the car behind him.

Then nervously he allowed the front fender to sc.r.a.pe the car parked ahead of him. He pulled out.

She seemed to consider the question.

"My place;' she said.

"Yours?" He had never seen it, nor ever had any indication where it was.

We'll have to" she said.

"Yours isn't safe anymore. Take the Brooklyn Bridge back to Manhattan."

"He turned off Willow Street, heading for the Bridge.

"You know your directions pretty well for a foreigner," he noted, the remark being a remote form of accusation.

"I learn quickly."

Several seconds pa.s.sed. He was still perplexed by what had transpired.

"Who were they?" he asked at length.

"Your latest troublemakers' she said. They were on the Brooklyn Bridge. From the corner of his eye he could see her admiring the Manhattan skyline. An overloaded car cut across the solid line into the lane in front of them. Standard bridge etiquette.

"You're a popular man" she added.

"You now have two competing sets of goons after you" He gave her a long, hard, and inquisitive look, removing his eyes from the road, also standard bridge etiquette.

"How do you know that?"

She fed him a cryptic smile.

"Call it my artistic temperament' she said.

"Or attribute it to the fact that I've spent my life as Arthur Sandler's daughter. I can sense it " she declared.

"I know."

He was without a reply since obviously she was not a woman to reveal one iota of unintended information. They neared the exit ramp in Manhattan. He continued to study his rearview mirror as he asked,

"Where to next?"

"We're going to West Thirtieth Street," she said.

"Between Tenth and Eleventh Avenues" He looked at her as if to ask whether or not it was a serious request.

-Yes," she answered,

"I'm serious."