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It was getting really cold when he hit the streets again, leaving the blind woman
’
s place, turning one time, seeing her sitting there behind those glasses, stroking the giant dog.

Billy Boy pulled his raincoat tight around him and began to walk, stopping only once, to ask where this Bloomingdale
’
s was and how long a walk were we talking about. He had money in his pocket. It was cold and he could have cabbed. But the thought never crossed his mind. No reason for it to.

He was good at streets.

And sure, he
’
d never navigated any with this kind of population, but he knew it wouldn
’
t matter. He felt at home on streets. He wasn
’
t much at memory, but he could tell you all the shops on a block after he
’
d walked it once. He could do that when he wasn
’
t even trying to remember. He understood somehow the way each street had its own style, its own rhythm. And he could change his pace to fit. It was not possible, of course, for someone who looked the way Billy Boy looked to be unnoticeable. But all things considered, he came as close as anyone could.

They were selling all kinds of crap along the sidewalks on Broadway. Billy Boy bought a cap, black, mid wool, and he pulled it down so his ears were covered. As he adjusted it, he looked around at Times Square. What a place. You wanted something, you could sure find it in Times Square. A black whore with good legs, a Chink one with tits—surprise—a blond one with a pretty face. He couldn
’
t believe it. Pretty. White. Really blond. Doing it for money. What a place.

“
Who
’
s smokin
’
? Who
’
s smokin
’?”
A little old guy scurried by. He held a bunch of joints in his hand. Billy Boy watched him and he was glad he did, because the next thing that happened was the guy with the joints bumped into a cop for Chrissakes, and never
once quit with his spiel.
“
Who
’
s smokin
’
? Who
’
s smokin
’
—Sorry Mac—Who
’
s smok
in’?”

Billy Boy started walking again. What a place, Times Square. If you had the bread, you couldn
’
t get closer to heaven.

He was gonna have the bread. Soon. More than he hoped for. The Duchess had told him. Three four hundred maybe? Blow half on clothes, then quick back here to ball his brains out, grass, booze, sleep. And the same tomorrow only tomorrow would be even better because tomorrow he
’
d wake up here, right in the center of the world,, Newwwwww Yawwwwwwwwwk.

He crossed over on 47th and the Jews made him nervous at first, till he realized from the storefronts this was the diamond market. Everything bought and sold. Top dollar for
top quality. Jewels, watches, f
urs. There were signs all over. Too bad, but he wasn
’
t anticipating being able to do business with these guys. Wouldn
’
t that be something though, haggling with some old kike about how much was this mink worth and
outlasting
him,
heating
him, making him pay more than he wanted.

Now he walked up Fifth Avenue, his walk properly somber. All the stores. All the fancy windows. You had to be some kind of rich to do your shopping on Fifth Avenue.

On 58th, the stores stopped so he headed east again and at Lex, caught Ms first tight of Bloomingdale
’
s. It was the whole effing block, like Field
’
s in Chicago. Billy Boy walked around the place twice, getting the feel, getting the fed. Then he walked the blocks around the stores, getting the feel, looking for his spot.

He passed Hero
’
s and checked their merchandise, pleased with what he saw. Always smart to have something to do in the area after you
’
ve pulled a job. All the cops think you run after a job, Only the dumb ones do. If you wore smart, smart like Billy Boy, you lingered.

Now it must have been well after four and he needed to land. Fifty-ninth between Third and Lexington felt right. Close to dark now, but more than that—

—to hell with
“
more than that
”
—59th and Lexington was right because
he sensed
it was right, period.

Lots of small building. Up ahead was one with dark stairs leading down. A delivery entrance kind of. It had a gate across it, but the gate was in rotten shape, and Billy Boy moved next to it, tested it

He could rip it open easy. So he did.

Now all he had to do was wait for the flow to be right. Everyone talks about traffic flow, about how there will be a bunch of cars, then fewer, then none, then a bunch again. Well, people flowed like that too. If you were patient, there were times when there was, for a moment, no one going by.

Well, Billy Boy was patient. Not in life. Not most of the time at all. He was the reverse most of the time. But on the streets, he was patient. When he had to be. He had to be now. It didn
’
t bother him at all, the waiting.

He was good at streets.

Good at streets, good at waiting, good at making his hand a fist, his arm a club, it was amazing they ever caught him. No, not amazing. It only happened when he worked on an unlucky day and shit, anybody could catch him then, a kid could catch him then, a goddam little baby could—

—except this wasn
’
t like that, not just because of what the Duchess said, he had more proof than that because here, right here right now the street was in a silent time and here she came, a woman alone, in a navy blue coat, not paying attention to where she was going, no, she was looking at something, a piece of paper, a list maybe, and… and …

And he let her go by. He could have grabbed her with the one hand, clubbed her with the other, but he let her go by. For no reason except she just looked so goddam happy about something and when you were lucky, like he was, you could be nice, you could afford to be, and this one in the dark blue coat, the one he let go on account of her smile, why spoil her day?

He waited.

The flow was heavy all of a sudden so he took a step farther down the dark cement stairs beside the building. He pulled his black wool cap snug. He could have followed the stairs to the bottom, made a stab at forcing the service door or whatever was supposed to keep people out. The street gate was shit, probably the service door was the same. He could have been inside fast, and then shouldered open a couple apartment doors, or knocked and said he was the asshole delivery man or something else like he used to do when he was a kid.

But inside was not a place for him anymore. Inside meant hallways and people shouting or bimbos with guns just in case.

Billy Boy didn
’
t like inside work. He never understood people who did. Why take risks like that when there wasn
’
t a city in the world that didn
’
t have streets and there wasn
’
t a street in the world that didn
’
t get dark and when you were on a street in the dark-correction—when
he
was on a street in the dark, and his luck was running good, he was gold, he was king, he was Lombardi
’
s Packers driving for a pressure touchdown, no way to stop the score, and Billy Boy had his score before she had a shot at even blinking, one second she was just this slob with a shopping bag ambling along the suddenly quiet street, the next she was struggling as he dragged her down the stairs, his left hand over her mouth his right arm clubbing down and then she wasn
’
t struggling anymore and as she went unconscious, Billy Boy heard something that shocked him, the sound of broken glass—

—broken glass? Falling from between her now limp legs?—a lampshade was it? He couldn
’
t see enough in the darkness to tell for sure, but son of a bitch shit he didn
’
t have to see to know that what he
’
d done, what he
’
d gotten for his first time out in the Apple, on what was supposed to be a lucky day—what he had in his arms was a nothing, a lump, a fucking no-good bag lady, a shoplifter who stole garbage, who stole lampshades and—

—and now other crap was tumbling to the dark steps, more garbage, sure, that was all—mid the Duchess said he
’
d be lucky! —well, she
’
d pay, she
’
d pay—

—it was crystal.

Not a lampshade. Billy Boy bent down and stared at the shattered remnants of the cut-glass crystal dish stolen from Blooming-dale
’
s. And lying beside the crystal pieces was one of those watches with the numbers and another watch of gold and a thinner gold watch, a woman
’
s watch, and gold bracelets and gold necklaces and this was no bag lady of a shoplifter, no, this was the queen of them all, and Billy Boy ripped open her purse and there were more gold bracelets in there and cash, cash, in twenties and fifties and
“
Police!
”
this woman was shouting, not the one he
’
d clubbed but a new one standing at the top of the stairs with reddish hair and a blue coat and screaming again and again
“
Police! Police,
somebody please get the police no
w!
”
and God knows how long she
’
d have gone on if Billy Boy hadn
’
t gotten one hand to her arm, yanked her into the darkness, made his fist, made his club and
smash, smash
once in the face, once in the temple to make
sure and he could hear things tearing inside her, he
’
d given good shots and right where he wanted—

-—but she wouldn
’
t shut up.

“
… helllppppp…
”
she went, soft, but loud enough if someone was passing by and again,
“
… helpppppp
…
”
so he made the biggest fist he ever made and raised his club higher than ever before and with all his weight balanced perfect he crashed home against the side of her neck and that knocked the
“
hell
l
ppppps
…
”
out of her good, and quickly he grabbed the cash and the watches and the gold, all the gold, and then he moved up the stairs, stepping over the queen of the shoplifters who was starting soft to moan, stepping over the other one too, but then he came to a quick halt because she was at a crazy angle, this one, her head was lying at an almost scary angle, and for just a second it crossed his mind she might be dead, and if somehow this one here with the reddish hair and the dark coat, if somehow her time had come, well, it wasn
’
t his fault, you couldn
’
t blame Billy Boy, no way, no way, because what was the line that funny nigger guy said,
“
I didn
’
t do it, it wasn
’
t me, the devil made me buy this dress,
”
well, it was the same here, New York made him nervous, he didn
’
t know how things worked in New York, how hard to hit and it was New York that made him hit so hard, New York was the devil, his devil anyway
…