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Sophie Smith sat in her cell. She felt vindictive and
frustrated. She did not dare to take on Sue again, that
would be far too dangerous. Nor did she dare escape,
again for fear that Sue would look for her.
To overcome the Sleep Spell that they'd left to protect
the condo Sue must be unbelievably powerful. She had
manipulated them all along, pretending to be dumb to
stay a step ahead. Sophie cursed herself for tailing
Sue. She was the one who went on stage every day, not
Sue. She was the actress. Yet Sue had shown herself
to be a consummate actress, never once revealing that
she could see Sophie all along.
She sat on her bed trying to decide who to punish.
It was a full moon, her favorite time of the month.
She should be out flying, not stuck here. It took her
a whole hour to decide how to cheer herself up but when
she was finished she was very happy. This was delicious.
Subtlety, that was the key to a really nasty spell.
And best of all, Sue would not mind.
It was still early when Doberman emerged from the strip
club. He was a little wobbly from the champagne but
for once he was in a good mood. At considerable expense
he had gone into a back room with a girl called Fantasia.
This was a part of town he knew very well. He had spent
his bachelor days here, making hills of money during
the day and partying at night. In the club he had seen
many people he recognized but few he really cared to
talk to.
At the end of the block he would find a cab uptown.
That was the beauty of Manhattan. No matter where you
were, you were almost home. Those dumb shits who took
the train!
In a doorway at the end of the block he saw a drunk
with a thick coat over his legs. Doberman gave him a
wide berth, ignoring him at first but then, as he got
closer, making the mistake of looking down to meet the
old man's gaze. His brows were folded down a little
at the sides as if he were in perpetual pain.
The two things Doberman hated most were laziness and
incompetence, and in people who lived on the street
he anticipated both in large measure. But this man had
a strange air of nobility about him. At Stanford his
fencing teacher had worn the same look but there was
a winner not a loser.
Doberman paused for a moment and the man looked calmly
up at him, right into his eyes. "Hi," said
Doberman, quietly. The man nodded very slightly.
Doberman reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful
of bills. There were a few singles, a couple of twenties
and a couple of fifties. He took a twenty and handed
it to the man. "Here you go, Pop."
At first the man did nothing. Then he reached a steady
hand out and took the money. He gave a slow nod of acknowledgement
that spoke more than words ever could. Doberman looked
down at him, cleared his throat, and then simply left.
There was nothing more to say.
He did not gather his thoughts properly until the cab
pulled up outside his apartment building. "Jesus!"
he said to himself. "Why the hell did I do that?"
He was astonished at his own behavior. You don't help
people by giving handouts, you help them by motivation,
by showing them what they could have if they got up
and worked hard. The meter read $7.50. He handed the
driver the other $20 bill.
"Keep the change," he said.
THE END
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