“Do what you’re told, an’ shut your trap,” Raven snarled at him.
When Goshawk had gone he set about bleaching his hair. It took time, but when he’d finished the result in the mirror startled him. It certainly altered his appearance. He tried on his glasses. It still wasn’t good enough.
With a moustache it would be better. All right, he’d raise a moustache. It wouldn’t take him long. He felt the little bristles already growing on his top lip.
He sat on the edge of his bed and thought. Today was Tuesday. Tomorrow she’d get the letter. At the end of the week she’d have to leave her room. It ought to work. She was up against it. This was a chance right in her lap. Thursday night he’d go across and see her. Friday night they’d go. In the meantime he’d got to get a better suit and he’d got to get a car. How the hell was he going to do that? If Goshawk knew he was pulling out, would he keep his trap shut until he was gone, or would he yap at once? If Raven promised to pay him a lump sum if he got away safely he’d have to keep silent. Yes, that was what he’d have to do.
Tomorrow he’d get Goshawk to arrange about the car. He’d have to steal some spare plates. He sat there making his plans until the room grew dim in the evening light, then, remembering, he wandered over to the window. Across the way she had come in and had put on the light. He sat down and watched her behind the curtain. She didn’t dance that night, but sat limply in a chair, staring at the opposite wall, as lonely and as dejected as Raven himself.
17
September nth, 10.15 a.m.
RAVEN regarded himself in the mirror. He saw reflected there a thin, well−dressed man, whose eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. His hair and slight moustache were almost white. It wasn’t the Raven he knew. He was confident that no one could possibly recognize him.
He drew a deep breath.
“You look pretty good,” Goshawk said, looking at him. “I guess you could walk past any cop an’ get away with it.”