Nikki looked across the street and back at him. She smiled and said, “I’ll bring in some pictures tomorrow,” and crossed with the light, leaving him there on the corner.
A half hour later, Nikki came up the steps from the R train onto the sidewalk at East 23rd and saw the neighborhood plunge into darkness as Manhattan finally threw in the towel and collapsed into a citywide blackout. At first a strange silence fell as hundreds of window air conditioners up and down the street ground to a stop. It was as if the city were holding its breath. There was some ambient light from headlights on Park Avenue South. But the streetlights and traffic lights were out, and soon came the angry horns as New York drivers competed for asphalt and right of way.
Her arms and shoulders were aching when she turned onto her block. She set the Sargent print down on the sidewalk and leaned it carefully against a neighbor’s wrought iron gate while she opened her shoulder bag. The farther she got from the avenue, the darker it had become. Heat fished for her mini-?Maglite and adjusted the tiny beam so she wouldn’t take a header on uneven pavement or some dog crap.
The eerie silence began to give way to voices. They floated in the darkness from above as apartment windows were thrust open and she could hear over and over again the same words from different buildings: “blackout,” and “flashlight,” and “batteries.” She startled at a nearby cough and shined her light on an old man walking his pug.
“You’re blinding me with that damn thing,” he said as he passed, and she pointed the beam down at the ground.
“Be safe,” she said but got no response. Nikki picked up her box in both hands and moved on toward her building with the mini-?Mag wedged between her palm and the carton, shining light a few feet ahead of each step. She was two doors from her building when a foot scraped on a pebble behind her and she stopped. Listened. Listened hard. But heard no footsteps.
Some idiot hollered, “Awooooo!” from the rooftop across the street and dropped some flaming paper that spun a bright orange swirl until it burned itself out halfway down to the sidewalk. These were healthy reminders that this would be a good time to get off the street.
At her front steps, Nikki set down the box again and bent to get her keys. Behind her came quickening footsteps and then a hand touched her back. She whirled and threw a high, backward circle kick that grazed Rook, and by the time she heard his “Hey!” it was too late to do anything but gain her balance and hope he didn’t hit his head on the way down.
“Rook?” she said.
“Down here.” Nikki shined her light in the direction of his voice and spotlighted him sitting up in the sidewalk planter with his back against a tree trunk, holding his jaw.
She bent down to him. “Are you all right? What the hell were you doing?”
“I couldn’t see you, I bumped into you.”
“But why are you here?”
“I just wanted to make sure—”
“—that you ignored what I said and followed me.”
“Always the savvy detective.” He put one of his hands against the tree and the other on the sidewalk. “You might want to turn away. I am about to struggle. Pay no attention to the groaning” She didn’t turn away but put a hand under his arm to help him up.
“Did I break anything?” she asked and shined the flashlight on his face. His jaw was red and chafed from her foot. “Do this,” she said and shined the light on herself as she worked her jaw open and closed. She put the light on him and he followed her instructions. “How’s that?”
“The humane thing may be just to put me down. You got a bullet on you?”
“You’re fine. You’re lucky I only grazed you.”