Janet Patzig lived in New York. That was good. He enjoyed hunting in a big city, and he had always wanted to see New York. Her age wasn’t given, but to j udge from her photographs, she was in her early twenties.
Frelaine phoned for jet reservations to New York, then took a shower. He dressed with care in a new Protec-Suit Special made for the occasion. From his collection he selected a gun, cleaned and oiled it, and fitted it into the fling-out pocket of the suit. Then he packed his suitcase.
A pulse of excitement was pounding in his veins. Strange, he thought, how each killing was a new excitement. It was something you just didn’t tire of, the way you did of French pastry or women or drinking or anything else. It was always new and different.
Finally, he looked over his books to see which he would take.
His library contained all the good books on the subject. He wouldn’t need any of his Victim books, like L. Fred Tracy’s Tactics for the Victim, with its insistence on a rigidly controlled environment, or Dr. Frisch’s Don’t Think Like a Victim!
He would be very interested in those in a few months, when he was a Victim again. Now he wanted hunting books.
Tactics for Hunting Humans was the standard and definitive work, but he had it almost memorized. Development of the Ambush was not adapted to his present needs.
He chose Hunting in Cities, by Mitwell and Clark, Spotting the Spotter, by Algreen, and The Victim’s Ingroup, by the same author.
Everything was in order. He left a note for the milkman, locked his apartment and took a cab to the airport.