On the next block, he stopped for a moment to watch a tow trucks two-man crew making their preparations for the removal of the Lincoln Town Car. No longer shielded by its DPL plates, or any plates at all, and being at once too far from the curb and right in front of a hydrant, it was an outstanding candidate for a tow, and would soon be on its way to the impound lot.
The sight of this gladdened Keller beyond all reason. There was, he knew, a German word Schadenfreude for what he was feeling; it meant experiencing joy through the pain of another, and Keller didnt suppose it was the noblest of emotions.
But he found himself smiling broadly all the way to his car, and just minutes ago he would have deemed it unlikely that hed ever have occasion to smile again. Schadenfreude , he could only conclude, was better than no Freude at all.
The bridge and tunnel tolls were only collected from cars entering Manhattan. It cost you six dollars to come in and nothing to leave. That halved the number of agents required to collect the money, but Keller had always figured there was a further underpinning of logic to the scheme. After a visit to the big bad city, how many tourists still had enough money left to buy their way out?
What it meant to him was one less person whod get a look at his face. He left the city via the Lincoln Tunnel and stopped at the first convenient place on the Jersey side to unfasten the DPL tags, which could draw unwelcome attention outside of the city. He didnt foresee any further use for them, but it seemed a waste to toss them, and he put them in the trunk, next to the spare tire.
He wondered if the Lincolns owner would ever be reunited with his car, and if its disappearance might touch off an international incident. Maybe thered be something about it in the papers.
He drove at first with no destination in mind, and when he finally asked himself where he was going, all he could think of was the Gujarati motel in Pennsylvania where hed spent the previous night. Me again, hed say, and the slim dark girl in the parochial school getup would check him in with as little interest as shed shown the first time. But could he even find the place? It was off Route 80, he knew that much, and he might recognize the exit when he got to it, but
But it was a bad idea, he realized.
It was familiarity that made it attractive. Hed stayed there once, without incident, and that led him to regard it as safe. But suppose the girl whod paid so little attention to him at the time had seen the inescapable photograph once more since his departure, and suppose it had rung a little bell, barely more audible than the rustle of that beaded curtain. She wouldnt bother to call the authorities, after all the man had checked out by then, and maybe she only fancied his resemblance to the man in the photograph. She might mention it to her parents, but thats as far as it would go.
Unless he was sufficiently brain-dead to show up again, giving her the chance for a good long look
this time around, one that would confirm her suspicions. And the recognition might show on her face, the legendary inscrutability of Asians notwithstanding, in which case hed have to do something about it. Or it wouldnt, and shed check him in, wish him a pleasant evening, and pick up the phone the minute he was out of the office.
Besides, it was already two in the morning, and it would be another four hours or more before he reached the motel. Guests did drive all night and check in at daybreak, but not too many of them, because theyd run up against the motels checkout time, which was generally noon at the latest. So anyone who showed up at six or seven in the morning was inviting more than the usual amount of attention, along with a time-wasting conversation about checkout time and the need to pay for a second night, and
Never mind. It was a bad idea, and it was out of the question even if it had been a good idea, and the only appealing thing about it, its familiarity, was actually not so good after all.
Should he just grab the first right-looking motel he came to? It was late, and it had been a long day, and he might think more clearly after a nights sleep.
Still, he was awfully close to New York. Earlier, heading east, hed felt safer the closer he got to New York. Now New York felt perilous, and he felt safer the more distance he put between himself and the city.
Should he eat something? Grab a cup of coffee?
He hadnt eaten anything since the movie house popcorn, but he wasnt hungry. Didnt much want coffee, either. And, while he was tired and his nerves frayed, he wasnt what you would call sleepy.
A rest area loomed ahead, and he pulled off and parked. The little building was locked up for the night, but the whole area was empty, and he peed in the bushes and went back to his car. He made himself comfortable behind the wheel and closed his eyes, and within seconds the lids popped right back up again. Another attempt yielded the same results. He gave up, turned the key, pulled out of the rest area and drove on.