IT WAS a half a mile up Fifth . . . up, uphill part of the way. I sprinted a block and walked a block, and by the time I got there I was as wet from the sweat pouring out as if the rain was soaking in. Vivette Lyselle’s Caddy stood parked in the alley. But when I pounded on the back door, she didn’t answer. I tried the knob and it wasn’t locked. So I went in, holding my g*n ready.
upI was winded and blowing like a porpoise, and at every step my shoes went squash-squish. I moved through a stockroom into the night-lighted rear of the record store. Then I could see the foot-tracks ahead of me, only they weren’t so much the shape of shoe marks as just big puddles of water. I followed them along under a back-of-the-store balcony and they stopped at a closed door.
I pushed the door open, and a
