The Syndic
Page 20
XX
Lee swore and said: "I can get up if I want to."
"You'll stay in bed whether you want to or not," Charles told her."You're a sick woman."
"I'm a very bad-tempered woman and that means I'm convalescent. Askanybody."
"I'll go right out into the street and do that, darling."
She got out of bed and wrapped Oliver's dressing gown around her. "I'mhungry again," she said.
"He'll be back soon. You've left nothing but some frozen--worms, lookslike. Shall I defrost them?"
"Please don't trouble. I can wait."
"Window!" he snapped.
She ducked back and swore again, this time at herself. "Sorry," shesaid. "Which will do us a whole hell of a lot of good if somebody saw meand started wondering."
Oliver came in with packages. Lee kissed him and he grinned shyly."Trout," he whispered. She grabbed the packages and flew to thekitchenette.
"The way to Lee Falcaro's heart," Charles mused. "How's your throat,Ken?"
"No pain, today," Oliver whispered. "Latham says I can talk as much as Ilike. And I've got things to talk about." He opened his coat and hauledout a flat package that had been stuffed under his belt. "Stolen fromthe factory. Brushes, pens, tubes of ink, drawing instruments. Myfriends, you are going to return to Syndic Territory in style, withpasses and permits galore."
Lee returned. "Trout's frying," she said. "I heard that about thepasses. Are you _sure_ you can fake them?"
His face fell. "Eight years at the Chicago Art Institute," he whispered."Three years at Original Reproductions, Inc. Eleven years at PicassoOils and Etchings, where I am now third figure man in the BlueDepartment. I really think I deserve your confidence."
"Ken, we trust and love you. If it weren't for the difference in yourages I'd marry you _and_ Charles. Now what about the Chicagoans? Holdit--the fish!"
Dinner was served and cleared away before they could get more out ofOliver. His throat wasn't ready for more than one job at a time. He toldthem at last: "Things are quieting down. There are still some strangersin town and the road patrols are still acting very hard-boiled. Butnobody's been pulled in today. Somebody told me on the line that thewhole business is a lot of foolishness. He said the ship must have beendamaged by somebody's stupidity and Regan must have been killed in abrawl--everybody knows he was half crazy, like his father. So my friendfigures they made up the story about two wild Europeans to cover up amess. I said I thought there was a lot in what he said." Oliver laughedsilently.
"Good man!" Charles tried not to act over-eager. "When do you think youcan start on the passes, Ken?"
Oliver's face dropped a little. "Tonight," he whispered. "I don'tsuppose the first couple of tries will be any good so--let's go."
Lee put her hand on his shoulder. "We'll miss you too," she said. "Butdon't ever forget this: we're coming back. Hell won't stop us. We'recoming back."
Oliver was arranging stolen instruments on the table. "You have a bigorder," he whispered sadly. "I guess you aren't afraid of it becauseyou've always been rich and strong. Anything you want to do you thinkyou can do. But those Government people? And after them the Mob? Maybeit would be better if you just let things take their course, Lee. I'vefound out a person can be happy even here."
"We're coming back," Lee said.
Oliver took out his own Michigan City-Chicago travel permit. As always,the sight of it made Charles wince. Americans under such a yoke! Oliverwhispered: "I got a good long look today at a Michigan City Buffalopermit. The foreman's. He buys turps from Carolina at Buffalo. Isketched it from memory as soon as I got by myself. I don't swear to it,not yet, but I have the sketch to practice from and I can get a few morelooks later."
He pinned down the drawing paper, licked a ruling pen and filled it, andbegan to copy the border of his own pass. "I don't suppose there'sanything I can do?" Lee asked.
"You can turn on the audio," Oliver whispered. "They have it going allthe time at the shop. I don't feel right working unless there's somemusic driving me out of my mind."
Lee turned on the big Hawthorne Electric set with a wave of her hand;imbecillic music filled the air and Oliver grunted and settled down.
Lee and Charles listened, fingers entwined, to half an hour of slushyballads while Oliver worked. The news period announcer came on with someanesthetic trial verdicts, sports results and society notes about whichRegan had gone where. Then--
"The local Mobsters of Michigan City, Indiana, today welcomed MauriceRegan to their town. Mr. Regan will assume direction of efforts toapprehend the two European savages who murdered James Regan IV lastmonth aboard the ore boat _Hon. John Regan_ in waters off Michigan City.You probably remember that the Europeans did some damage to the vessel'sreactor room before they fled from the ship. How they boarded the shipand their present whereabouts are mysteries--but they probably won't bemysteries long. Maurice Regan is little-known to the public, but he hasbuilt an enviable record in the administration of the Chicago PoliceDepartment. Mr. Regan on taking charge of the case, said this: 'We knowby traces found on the Dunes that they got away. We know from the logsof highway patrols that they didn't get out of the Michigan City area.The only way to close the books on this matter fast is to cover the citywith a fine-tooth comb. Naturally and unfortunately this will meaninconvenience to many citizens. I hope they will bear with theinconveniences gladly for the sake of confining those two savages in aplace where they can no longer be a menace. I have methods of my own andthere may be complaints. Reasonable suggestions will be needed, but withcrackpots I have no patience.'"
The radio began to spew more sports results. Oliver turned and waved atit to be silent. "I don't like that," he whispered. "I never heard ofthis Regan in the Chicago Police."
"They said he wasn't in the public eye."
"I wasn't the public. I did some posters for the police and I knew whowas who. And that bit at the end. I've heard things like it before. TheMob doesn't often admit it's in the wrong, you know. When they try todisarm criticism in advance ... this Regan must be a rough fellow."
Charles and Lee Falcaro looked at each other in sudden fear. "We don'twant to hurry you, Ken," she said. "But it looks as though you'd betterdo a rush job."
Nodding, Oliver bent over the table. "Maybe a week," he said hopefully.With the finest pen he traced the curlicues an engraving lathe hadevolved to make the passes foolproof. Odd, he thought--the lives ofthese two hanging by such a weak thing as the twisted thread of colorthat feeds from pen to paper. And, as an afterthought--I suppose minedoes too.
* * * * *
Oliver came back the next day to work with concentrated fury, barelystopping to eat and not stopping to talk. Lee got it out of him, but noteasily. After being trapped in a half dozen contradictions about feelingwell and having a headache, about his throat being sore and the painhaving gone, he put down his pen and whispered steadily: "I didn't wantyou to worry friends. But it looks bad. There is a new crowd in town.Twenty couples have been pulled in by them--_couples_ to prove who theywere. Maybe fifty people have been pulled in for questioning--what doyou know about this, what do you know about that. And they've begunhouse searches. Anybody you don't like, you tell the new Regan abouthim. Say he's sheltering Europeans. And his people pull them in. Why,everybody wants to know, are they pulling in couples who are obviouslyAmerican if they're looking for Europeans? And, everybody says, they'venever seen anything like it. Now--I think I'd better get back to work."
"Yes," Lee said. "I think you had."
Charles was at the window, peering around the drawn blind. "Look atthat," he said to Lee. She came over. A big man on the street below waswalking, very methodically down the street.
"I will bet you," Charles said, "that he'll be back this way in tenminutes or so--and so on through the night."
"I won't take the bet," she said. "He's a sentry, all right. The Mob'slearning from their friends across the water. Learning too damned much.They must be all over t
own."
They watched at the window and the sentry was back in ten minutes. Onhis fifth tour he stopped a young couple going down the street studiedtheir faces, drew a gun on them and blew a whistle. A patrol came andtook them away; the girl was hysterical. At two in the morning, thesentry was relieved by another, just as big and just as dangerouslooking. At two in the morning they were still watching and Oliver wasstill hunched over the table tracing exquisite filigree of color.
* * * * *
In five days, virtually without sleep, Oliver finished two MichiganCity-Buffalo travel permits. The apartment house next door was hit byraiders while the ink dried; Charles and Lee Falcaro stood waitinggrotesquely armed with kitchen knives. But it must have been a tiprather than part of the search plan crawling nearer to their end oftown. The raiders did not hit their building.
Oliver had bought clothes according to Lee's instructions--including twomen's suits, Oliver's size. One she let out for Charles; the other shetook in for herself. She instructed Charles minutely in how he was tobehave, on the outside. First he roared with incredulous laughter; Lee,wise, in psychology assured him that she was perfectly serious. Oliver,puzzled by his naivete, assured him that such things were notuncommon--not at least in Mob Territory. Charles then roared withindignation and Lee roared him down. His last broken protest was: "Butwhat'll I do if somebody takes me up on it?"
She shrugged, washing her hands of the matter, and went on trimming anddying her hair.
It was morning when she kissed Oliver good-bye, said to Charles: "Seeyou at the station. Don't say good-bye," and walked from the apartment,a dark-haired boy with a slight limp. Charles watched her down thestreet. A cop turned to look after her and then went on his way.
Half an hour later Charles shook hands with Oliver and went out.
Oliver didn't go to work that day. He sat all day at the table, drawingendless slow sketches of Lee Falcaro's head.
Time the Great Kidder, he thought. He opens the door that shows you inthe next room tables of goodies, colorful and tasty, men and womenaround the tables pleasantly surprised to see you, beckoning to you tojoin the feast. We have roast beef if you're serious, we have caviar ifyou're experimental, we have baked alaska if you're frivolous--join thefeast; try a little bit of everything. So you start toward the door.
Time, the Great Kidder, pulls the rug from under your feet and slams thedoor while the guests at the feast laugh their heads off at your painfulbut superficial injuries.
Oliver slowly drew Lee's head for the fifteenth time and wished he daredto turn on the audio for the news. Perhaps he thought, the next voiceyou hear will be the cops at the door.