Free Live Free

by Wolfe, Gene

  “Have it your way. A champagne lunch. Lunch from now till midnight.”

  “You don’t look like you need it.”

  “Sure, but you do.” Candy picked up an Almond Joy. “These free? For me, I mean?”

  “Like hell. Fifty cents.”

  As she returned two of his quarters, there was a tug at her skirt. “Ma’am, have you seen my dad?”

  Candy glanced down at the boy. “No, ’fraid not. If I were you, kid—” She hesitated, staring. “Hey, maybe I have at that. What’s your name?”

  “Osgood M. Barnes.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Candy said. And then again, “Oh, Lord.” The concessionaire turned away, his back ostentatiously signaling that he had nothing to do with lost children in the bus station. Candy shrugged, took two more Almond Joys, and dropped them into her purse.

  “Have you seen my dad?” the boy asked again.

  “Uh huh. What’s your mother call you?”

  “Ozzie or Little Ozzie.”

  “Right. Well, you know, Little Ozzie, I call your dad Ozzie, so I’m going to call you Little Ozzie. That way I can keep the two of you straight. You want the other half of my candy?”

  Little Ozzie nodded.

  “Let’s go over and sit down on those benches for a minute. Did you get any breakfast today?”

  The boy nodded. “Real early. It wasn’t even daylight outside.”

  “What was it? Breakfast, I mean.”

  “Cornflakes.”

  “Uh huh. And then your mother took you down and put you on the bus, right? And she told you your dad would be meeting you here?”

  The boy nodded.

  “I know your dad, Little Ozzie.”

  “You do?” His mouth was full of sugared coconut.

  “I sure do. I’m Candy Garth, and I’m one of your dad’s best friends.”

  “Did he tell you to come here and get me?”

  “Huh uh. I just happened to come here because I wanted to check this big old suitcase in one of their lockers. In a minute we’ll do that, and we can put yours in with it so you won’t have to carry it around until you get settled someplace. Did your dad know you were coming?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, I kind of wonder about that because he never mentioned it to me at all, and I think he would have. We were talking just this morning about what we were going to do today. Did your mamma write him a letter?”

  “She said she’d phone him after I was on the bus,” the boy said. “She didn’t want to wake him up, and it was real early.”

  “Uh huh. Only she thought he still lived at Mr. Free’s, I bet. The phone got taken out of there. It sounds like she had something pretty important to do, if she put you on the bus alone without making sure first there’d be somebody here to meet you.”

  “She was going someplace with Uncle Mike.”

  “Uh huh. Did she say when they’d be back?”

  “Pretty soon.”

  “Uh huh.” Candy sat silently, looking at the boy out of blank, china-blue eyes, a fat, pink girl in a white plastic raincoat and a good wool dress that seemed a bit too old for her.

  The boy stared back at her from dark eyes like his father’s. There was much of his father, too, in his high, square forehead and expression of innocent cunning.

  “I guess I promised you some candy, didn’t I?”

  Ignoring the earlier half bar, Candy fumbled in her purse and brought out one of the stolen Almond Joys. “Here. Have some candy from Candy. That way you won’t forget who I am. Candy Garth.”

  The boy said thank you.

  “I’m going to have kind of a busy day today, Little Ozzie. I want to say I can’t drag you around while I’m doing all this stuff, but honest to God, I can’t think of anything else to do with you—anybody to park you with. I’m supposed to meet your dad tonight, and—”

  “Are you?”

  “Yeah, we’re all going to meet back at the Consort—that’s the hotel. After that, I don’t know what the hell we’re supposed to do. And before then, I want to find a place to stay. We’ll see. Anyway, what I was going to say was that I might even run into him sooner. You never know. Meanwhile you’ll just have to tag along with me. Right now, I’m supposed to be going over to the hospital to talk to this certain person I helped doctor once. He’s kind of sick. You want to come along?”

  “Okay.”

  “Fine. Now you come and help Cousin Candy put the bags in the locker. You might even help me get in to see him—I’ll explain on the way over.”

  Belmont Hospital was a pile of gray stone, a monument (as Ben Free’s house had been in a much smaller way) to the constructive urges of the last century. Its eight stories were overshadowed by the steel and glass towers of this one, but it spoke with every thick stone windowsill: “I will remain when they are gone. When the spades of the scholars clear my walls of the soil this city will at last become, I will yet stand whole. I will last forever.”

  Belmont was psycho, of course, but it was possible it was also correct, as so many of the mad are at last discovered to be. The long-necked yellow machine might have battered those granite blocks for weeks and only disfigured them; and who would dare to use dynamite when the steel and glass towers were so near? As it was, they dropped their eight-foot panes in every wind.

  Candy and the boy went up Belmont’s wide steps as though they had legitimate business there, the boy skipping ahead, perhaps because his energies had been refueled by chocolate, almonds, and coconut, perhaps only because they had been restored by a trifle of soiled affection, a hug on the bus. Candy labored after him, her cheeks puffed like Boreas’s and as red as two apples.

  “I’m his sister,” she told the nurse inside. And then, recalling that she did not in the least look like Sergeant Proudy, “Not really his sister, but that’s what we always said. We were both adopted.”

  “I don’t know whether that makes you a relative or not,” the nurse said doubtfully. She was a pallid, sharp-chinned woman with untidy black hair.

  “Legally it does,” Candy announced firmly. “Legally, I’m his sister. We have the same mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. John Proudy.” She was already sorry she had qualified her initial assertion.

  “I meant emotionally. After all, that’s what we should really consider, isn’t it? If we’re going to let visitors in and get the patients upset and disturb the whole routine of the hospital, it has to be because we feel it will do the patients some good. What does them good, we think, is seeing someone to whom they are emotionally attached.” She swiveled to face a computer terminal, and her fingers danced across the keys. “He must be quite a bit older than you. He’s forty-two.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” Candy said automatically.

  “That’s over twenty years.”

  “He was always such a kind big brother,” Candy fantasized desperately. “He used to take me fishing. On hot days we went to the ball game.”

  “Baseball?” The nurse looked interested. “Do you like it?”

  “I never really cared that much about the game, but I liked the hot dogs and soda. There used to be a vendor there who’d put sauerkraut on your wienie if you asked for it.”

  “Sauerkraut commonly symbolizes pubic hair,” the nurse remarked pensively. “And the phallic symbolism is almost too obvious.”

  “Shut up!” Candy snapped. “I wasn’t talking dirty. I got a kid here.” She picked up Little Ozzie and seated him on the reception desk. “This is Sergeant Proudy’s little son, my nephew Oswald.”

  “It’s vital that children learn to recognize their own psycho-sexual urges.”

  “Listen,” Candy leaned across the desk, her face redder than it had been on the steps. “I’ve had it up to here with you. Are you going to let me in to see my brother?”

  The nurse shook her head. “Your inappropriate rage probably indicates orgasmic repression. You should see a therapist. How long has it been since you’ve had a satisfactory sexual relationship? One with a male
who did not recall your father?”

  “You dumb bitch, you think you ought to talk like that with a little kid around? You two-bit hunk of tail!” Candy reached across the desk and grabbed the nurse by her starched lapels. Like many fat people, Candy was stronger than she looked, and she shook the nurse until her arms were pinioned behind her.

  “Thank you, Parker,” the nurse said.

  “Right-o,” drawled a voice behind Candy. Then, “Ow! He kick me! That li’l boy kick me!”

  He kicked him again, and again and again, the square-toed black shoes flying, tears streaming down small cheeks. Candy squirmed in the orderly’s grip, mouthing words no child should hear.

  Chapter 29

  CITIZENS OF THE STREET

  “In a wall,” Stubb muttered to himself. Swiftly yet methodically, he inspected every wall, striking matches to peer at those the sunlight failed to reach, finding and lighting Free’s candle, grinning bitterly at the footprints Barnes and the witch had left in the snow, smashing plaster occasionally with a hammer he discovered in a broom closet. He found no ticket, no treasure, no wall safe or hiding place.

  Wearily, he walked to the house on the other side of Mrs. Baker’s and knocked. A thin young woman in a soiled housedress came to the door, carrying a baby that squalled fretfully, like a toilet with a leaky valve.

  “I’m sorry,” Stubb said. “I hope I didn’t wake him up.”

  “She hasn’t been to sleep yet. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, it’s a girl.” Stubb tickled the baby’s chin. “Isn’t she cute!”

  “Her name’s Melissa.”

  “How about that! Listen, Melissa, I’m a detective, and I need to ask your mommy a few questions about a certain car. Can I come in?”

  The young woman’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute. Are you really a cop?”

  Stubb took a badge case from his pocket, flipped it open, and closed it again. “You and your family aren’t in any trouble,” he said. “I just want to ask you about some people who came to the house next door last night.”

  “Okay.” The young woman stepped back. “Haven’t I seen you around the neighborhood?”

  “Sure,” Stubb told her. “I was in and out of the place two doors down a couple dozen times before they demolished it.”

  The young woman nodded wisely. Her house was less clean than Mrs. Baker’s and Free’s had been, and it smelled of excrement.

  Stubb sat on a green plastic chair at the dinette table. “I want you to think about the house next door. That way. Got it? An old lady lives there.”

  “I think so. I see her shopping sometimes. I don’t know what her name is. Is she all right?”

  “Sure, she’s fine—I just talked to her. Last night there was a four-door sedan, dark color, parked in front of her house. It must have been there from about six to at least eight. Think back. Did you see it?”

  The young woman shook her head.

  “Were you outside anytime yesterday evening?”

  The young woman nodded. “That’s the trouble. We went over to my mom’s and left Melissa, then we went to a movie. Ed got off at five, and we left just after that.”

  “You don’t work?”

  “Not since Melissa came. We decided I’d take at least a year off.”

  “What time did you get back from the show?”

  “Ten, maybe. See, we had to go over to Mom’s, and then we ate with her, and then we went back to the show, and then we sat around for a while and told her about the picture. It was Something Strange. That was the name of the movie.”

  “It’s good you get out once in a while. I know how it is, staying inside all the time looking after a little baby. You like the show?”

  The young woman smiled. “I guess so. It scared me silly. I hung onto Ed all night.”

  “You want to watch out, or you’ll never get back to work. It’s one of those haunted house pictures, isn’t it?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “There’s this old house up on a rock in New England. Barbara Delacourt answers an ad for a house-sitter. See, she’s supposed to take care of it while they’re in Europe. What she don’t know is the house eats people, and every so often they do this to feed it. Once she started to go into a closet, and the clothes hanging up and the shoe boxes on the floor all turn into teeth. I crawled right under the seat.”

  “You didn’t have to worry—the star never gets it until the end of the picture. But speaking of haunted houses, you haven’t seen anything funny going on in the place two doors down, have you?”

  “Not except that they’re tearing it down. They’re going to tear this one down too, and the place next door. They said they’d tell us when. Ed and me only rent, but we’re looking for something else, maybe an apartment if they’ll take Melissa.”

  “They’re going at it pretty slow, if they’ve started on Free’s but haven’t even told you when yours is coming down.”

  “Is Free their name? The place across from the Frees’s is condemned too.”

  “The doctor’s?”

  “No, that’s across from here. Across from the Frees’s. Only with the strike, it might be a long time.”

  “I didn’t know there was one.”

  “It’s the construction guys. They walked off yesterday afternoon. That’s why nobody’s working today. Some guy got hurt as soon as they started. Some cop. I mean a police officer.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “There was a big number about it. The TV came. Then two construction guys got hurt too, and the rest of them walked out. Unsafe working conditions, I guess.”

  “I see.” Stubb rose smiling. “Listen, I can see you’re busy with the baby, and I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You’ve been a big help. If the forces of law and order got more cooperation from good citizens like you, well, the neighborhoods wouldn’t be as bad as they are.”

  The young woman looked modest. “Officer, you were just somebody nice to talk to. A break in the day.”

  “Thanks. Listen—that car I told you about? I don’t know if it’ll be back, but I will. If you see it, take a good look and write down the license number, will you? Try and see who’s in it.”

  The man who answered the next door was large and black and yawning. He wore an undershirt and white boxer shorts. When Stubb showed his badge, he grabbed his wrist. “Hey, man, let me look at that. That say Private Investigator—you ain’t no real policeman.”

  “Did I say I was a policeman?”

  “Course you did.” The black plucked the badge case from Stubb’s hand. “Get your foot out my door.”

  “No, I didn’t. I said I was a detective. I am. I’m a private detective, just like it says on the tin. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

  “You got this out the mail-order catalog.”

  “Sure. Where else would I get a badge like that? There’s a company out in California.”

  “You just get out my door.” The black drew back the door to slam it, and Stubb stepped inside. The black said, “Man, just what do you think you’re doin’?”

  “You said to get out of the door, so I did. I have to talk to you, and I figured you were probably freezing, standing there in your undies.”

  “You woke me up, man. I was sleepin’. I work third shift this week.”

  “Yeah? What do you do?”

  “What you care? Little man, you know I could chew your ass up and spit you out.”

  “Sure, but you won’t.” Stubb looked about the room, then sat on a straight-backed chair near the lone, comfortable-looking easy chair.

  “You tell me why I won’t. Man, it’s cold in here.”

  “Because you know I’m a private op, and I might be carrying a gun.”

  “Are you doin’ that?”

  Stubb got out a battered pack of cigarettes and offered one. “If I said, you couldn’t be sure you could believe me.”

  “Guess you’re right.” The black accepted a cigarette and bent over Stubb’s match. “
Here.” He tossed the badge case into the small man’s lap. “Keep it. I’m goin’ to get a blanket.”

  He reemerged from the rear of the house in a minute or so, a plain, dark green blanket wrapped about his shoulders. “How about this? Look at superman. I got me a nice, warm robe a while back, but I spilled somethin’ on it. My woman’s been soakin’ it. Now, what you here for, wakin’ me up an’ botherin’ me?”

  Stubb told him about the car.

  “Didn’t see it. I don’t never pay much mind to what neighbors is doin’ anyway. If you do an’ they’re doin’ bad, they’ll get you for it. If they’re not doin’ bad, what’s the good of it?”

  “Will you keep your eyes open for me anyhow? I’ll check with you on the weekend when you don’t have to sleep.”

  “Man, weekends I sleep till noon.”

  “I’ll check in the afternoon, then.” Stubb stood up.

  “You don’t even know my name. I’m Buster Johnson.”

  “Jim Stubb. Somebody told me about you once—I think it was the lady down at the all-night grocery. She said you were a tough dude.”

  “She told you right. I does my share.”

  “You look it.”

  “See that scar?” Johnson touched his face with one finger. “That’s a busted beer bottle. You put that scar on you, man, and the little children would run off out the street. On a black man they don’t show so much.”

  Stubb nodded. “It’s a shame.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Depends on whether you want to scare the men or cuddle up the women. I believe I’d just as soon cuddle up.”

  “There were two women in that car I told you about. If you’ve got an eye for the ladies, you might use it to keep a lookout for them.”

  “I might at that. Specially if there was somethin’ in it for Buster.”

  “I haven’t got money to toss around on this one,” Stubb said. “But there might be some later. If you see something let me know, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  As he went down the icy steps to the sidewalk, Johnson called behind him, “Man, you really got heat?”