He sat down in the darkness and took the small mechanism from his pocket. The memory unit of the sidewalk psychiatrist. The record of the interview, his fingerprints, all the pertinent data.
Without this the psych squad wouldn't have a thing to work on. A brief glimpse in the darkness. And Danny was big for his age. A twelve year old psych case? They wouldn't think of it.
Danny laid the mechanism on the ground and stamped on it dispassionately. When the destruction was complete he scooped up the remains and tossed the useless unit into a small stream that gurgled nearby.
His knees were weak. He buried his face in the grass and let sobs shake him until there were no tears. He smoothed his hair and wiped his face and got up.
The way was not exactly clear, but he knew he was going to reach it. He would have to do it alone.
There was always a chance a passerby might look into the entrance and see him. Danny worked according to plan. He adjusted the ultraviolet cell, fanning it out to a thin vertical beam of the proper height. He sat it on the floor and aimed it at the dark stripe that looked like a decoration but wasn't. It was a photo electric eye, continuous from floor to ceiling. It was also, Danny knew, a minimum intensity circuit. And that made it easier.
Danny walked through the circuit, behind the cell he had set on the floor. The alarm didn't ring. It wouldn't, as long as the eye received an unbroken beam from any source. In the ultraviolet cell he had provided such a source.
He reached back and drew the cell toward him, carefully pointing it at the dark stripe on the wall until his hand was safely through. He snapped off the cell and hurried around the corner. He was beyond chance human detection.
He went on. There was a door, locked, as he expected. An old fashioned lock, mechanical type, in keeping with the character of Music Hall. It had been a good lock when it was made, nearly unpickable. Danny inserted a wire device and listened. He turned, and the door swung open.