The gloom in the air was pre-sunset, city gloom, nostalgic. He consciously dilated his pupils to accommodate the fading light, unaware now of the scurry of people on the sidewalks and the roar of the city cloaking for night amusement. Neon lights came on like cheap fire, out of the darkness, infinitely lonely.
He shifted uncomfortably. He stood up. He could wait no longer.
Then a man and woman emerged from the hotel. And he tensed. A wisp of thought, unsuspicious, floated to him on mental laughter.
The Oholo, Lauri.
He shielded his mind even tighter, scarcely thinking.
He began to amble in the direction the couple were taking, keeping to the opposite side of the street.
At Sixth they turned toward him, waited through the yellow for the green light. They crossed.
He paused studying a Community Chest sign, his hearts pounding uncertainly. He felt a curious little probe of thought that was delicate and apologetic, as if reluctant to intrude upon anyone's privacy. It passed him by undetecting.
The man bent toward the girl, a pert blonde, and laughed in answer to something she had said. Parr watched them go by and then at a short distance swung in behind them. He touched the focus weapon in his right hand pocket, a crystal-like disk with one side tapering to a central point. It was a short-range weapon, palm aimed, fired with an equally exerted pressure on the lateral sides.