Trust in the people, Mike Terry had told him. They’ll never let you down.

He followed the woman into her parlor. She told him to sit down and left the room, returning almost immediately with a plate of stew. She stood watching him while he ate, as one would watch an ape in the zoo eat peanuts.

Two children came out of the kitchen and stared at him. Three overalled men came out of the bedroom and focused a television camera on him. There was a big television set in the parlor. As he gulped his food, Raeder watched the image of Mike Terry and listened to the man’s strong, sincere, worried voice.

“There he is, folks,” Terry was saying. “There’s Jim Raeder now, eating his first square meal in two days. Our camera crews have really been working to cover this for you! Thanks, boys… Folks, Jim Raeder has been given a brief sanctuary by Mrs. Velma O’Dell, of three forty-three Sixty-Third Street. Thank you, Good Samaritan O’Dell! It’s really wonderful how people from all walks of life have taken Jim Raeder to their hearts!”

“You better hurry,” Mrs. O’Dell said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Raeder said.

“I don’t want no gunplay in my apartment.”

“I’m almost finished, ma’am.”

One of the children asked, “Aren’t they going to kill him?”

“Shut up,” said Mrs. O’Dell.

“Yes, Jim,” chanted Mike Terry. “You’d better hurry. Your killers aren’t far behind. They aren’t stupid men, Jim. Vicious, warped, insane-yes! But not stupid. They’re following a trail of blood-blood from your torn hand, Jim!”

Raeder hadn’t realized until now that he’d cut his hand on the windowsill.

“Here, I’ll bandage that,” Mrs. O’Dell said. Raeder stood up and let her bandage his hand. Then she gave him a brown jacket and a gray slouch hat.

“My husband’s stuff,” she said.

“He has a disguise, folks!” Mike Terry cried delightedly. “This is something new! A disguise! With seven hours to go until he’s safe!”