” The kid mimed a man throwing his keys up, made a quick little double step, snagged them with his off hand. Oh yeah, he was juggling his keys, that’s all.” Anything else? Anything? Did you see him talk to anybody, did he do a little dance, did he do anything. Then he got in her car, and then he got out, and then he moved away like Darkman. I saw her walking out, then I was looking at something else, then I saw him. With his face kind of always turned away.” Like, I couldn’t see if there was anything wrong with his face, but he moved like there was. You gotta see the movie,” the kid said with wide-eyed seriousness. “I couldn’t see that much, he had this hat. “There was something wrong with his face? The guy in the parking lot?”
#Eyes of prey book skin#
“He tries to put his face back together with this skin that he makes-” uh, messed up by these hoods,” the kid said, glancing at his mother. “See, there’s this guy Darkman, who gets his face all fuck. Lucas put his index finger on his lips and she shut up, her face reddening.
#Eyes of prey book movie#
“Not a comic-book guy, a comic-book movie guy,” the kid said. Barber said you thought he looked like some comic-book guy. “What kind of vibrations did he give off? The Maplewood cop, Barber, says you couldn’t see him too clearly, but you must’ve gotten some vibrations. “So what does this guy feel like?” Lucas asked, as they started down the length of the mall. “Okay.” Her head bobbed: she understood that. “But let your boy tell the story, okay? Any help you give him. To the kid, he said, “Why don’t we take a walk down the mall. “This is pretty important,” Lucas said mildly. “We would like to go home sometime,” his mother said, spotting Lucas as an authority. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, the same gesture Cassie used, half defense, half necessity. “I guess so, they won’t let me go nowhere,” the kid answered. “You got a minute?” Lucas asked the kid, when Barber walked him up. His mother hovered over him, throwing severe looks alternately at the kid and the police. He wore a long-billed hat with the bill turned down and to the side, covering one ear. The kid was a slender, ragged teenager with skateboard pads on his knees, fingerless gloves, dirty blond shoulder-length hair and a complexion that was going bad. And he kind of casually strolls by to take a look. So the kid thinks-he told us before his mother got here-he thinks this woman is a hooker maybe, doing blow jobs in her car, or maybe she’s dealing dope. Then, a couple of minutes later, he really doesn’t know how long it was, he sees the guy walking away. He wasn’t paying any attention to her, just hanging out, but a minute later, he saw a man by her car, it looked like he was helping her inside. “Because he saw the woman walking out toward her car. Says the killer looked like a guy from some comic-book movie.” Saw the guy’s car, too, but doesn’t have any idea about make or model or even color. “He was a hundred yards away and wasn’t paying too much attention. By the way, we found a kid who saw the guy.” I heard he’s looking at shirts over in the mall.” “He said it looked like we had it under control. “Where is he, by the way?” Lucas asked, looking around the lot.īarber grinned. “A copycat couldn’t get up that much enthusiasm for it. Lucas went and looked, and turned away, and they started a circle around the car.
Shearson? He says the technique is the same. One of your people is running around out here. “Any question whether it’s the same guy?” Lucas asked.īarber shrugged.
#Eyes of prey book tv#
Howie, go on over and tell that TV bunch it’ll be another twenty minutes, okay?”Īs Berkson walked away, Barber said, “C’mon.” He had pale blue eyes and a long lantern jaw. “John Barber, Maplewood,” said the cop in the jacket. “Davenport, over here.” A cop in a short blue jacket, who’d been talking to another cop in a sweater, called to him, and Lucas walked over. Lucas left his Porsche in a pod of squad cars and walked toward the Chevy. All four doors on the car were open and emergency lights bathed it in a brilliant showroom illumination. Television vans and reporters’ cars were lined up on the perimeter of the lot, a hundred yards from a battered brown Chevy. “I came through that storm-it’s a bad one, with hail. “Thanks,” Lucas yelled as he went through. At the roadblock, the patrolman leading Lucas said something to the others, and they stopped traffic, directed a car out of the way and let Lucas slip through to the parking lot. The patrolmen had given up trying to control the crush and had settled for getting as many people out of the mall as possible. The street was a nightmare tangle of shoppers trying to get out of the mall, gawkers trying to drive past the murder scene, and the normal traffic on and off the interstate. The patrolman jogged along the shoulder, leading the Porsche to a roadblock.
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