by Gene Wolfe
3: GETTING AWAY
The executive smiled the smile of a gambler who knows that he can only win. “I told you I’d give you fifteen minutes, Mr. Grison. You’ve used only six. I’ll try to be equally concise.”
Skip waited.
“You say that Vanessa Hennessey is a human being, and that reverting her will result in her death. For that death you threaten Reanimation with the law, both criminal and civil. We can prove by public records that Vanessa Hennessey died some years ago. Fingerprints and retinal patterns will prove that the woman to whom you refer is in fact an employee of ours, and not Vanessa Hennessey. Let me add that I have no intention of divulging our employee’s identity to you here. It will be divulged in court—if necessary. Comment?”
“None at this time.”
“Good.” The executive offered Skip a cigar, which he declined. “Mr. Grison, you’re in an odd position. I won’t say an unethical one, but it’s pretty odd. You’re Vanessa Hennessey’s sponsor as well as her attorney. Pro bono?”
Skip nodded.
“Odd, to say the least.” The executive rolled his cigar between his palms. “If you succeed, you’ll be saving your own money.”
“I would also be freeing Ms. Hennessey. As things stand I can stop paying. That would be tantamount to a death sentence, so I hold the power of life and death over her. I don’t want it.”
“You signed a contract with us. I assume you read it thoroughly. An attorney would.”
Skip nodded.
“In that case…,” the executive studied his cigar, “you may have noticed that although we have no right to increase the payments agreed upon, we have the right to refuse your payment and reclaim our employee.” He sighed. “That, you see, is what we do in such cases as this. Your most recent payment has been refused, Mr. Grison. Check your account, and you’ll find that your money has returned to it.”
“I was afraid of this.”
“You should’ve been more afraid of it.” The executive closed large, yellow teeth upon his cigar and lit it with a gold Florentine lighter.
“My client will not willingly come back to you.”
“Here we differ, Mr. Grison. Our security people will contact her, and she’ll come. They’re very persuasive.”
Skip stood up. “You asked for my comments, which I withheld. I’ll offer them now. You’re not an attorney, Mr. Feuer. I’m certain your company must have some on retainer, and I suggest you consult them. Your case is much weaker than you suppose.”
“You are about to rush out to warn your client.” The executive’s gentle smile was worse than a smirk. “You’ll be too late, and the case you boast will be moot.”
Skip left, followed by a puff of reeking smoke.
* * *
A card that would open Apartment 733 was in his hand, but there was no need for it; the lock had been broken out of the doorframe. Grimacing, Skip pushed aside the door and went in. A tele, a telephone, and a sofa—period. The black tele looked old; presumably she had bought it used, as he had suggested. The pink sofa had been more than a trifle worn; it was ruined now, its disemboweled cushions scattered across the floor, their springs exposed, their stuffing shredded. In the bedroom, blankets and sheets had been torn from the bed. The pillow had been cut open. The drawers of a battered bureau had been pulled out and thrown aside. Skip examined them, bending and peering to scrutinize their interiors without touching them.
He was about to go when his right foot sent a small, brown object skittering across the bare concrete floor. He picked it up, opened it, and tested the edge.
From his own apartment he called Michael Tooley. “You won’t have forgotten the woman we talked about, Mick. Have you heard from her?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Have you been in contact?”
“No, sir. You gave me her number, but I haven’t used it and she hasn’t called me. Should I call her?”
“No. I was just in there. There’s no one there.”
“Am I to take it that there should’ve been, sir?”
“Not necessarily. Do you still eat lunch where you did this summer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be there. If I can’t come I’ll call you. Wait half an hour. If I still haven’t come or called, talk to the police.”
“Like that, sir?”
Skip paused, took out the slender brown object, and touched its edge to the rosewood of his telephone stand. “I’m afraid so,” he said.
The old man’s resale shop was on Avenue AA, not quite too far to walk. Selecting a platform rocker, Skip waited for the old man to deal with his customer.
“Good morning, Mr. Grison.” The old man smiled as his customer left. “Something I can do for you?”
“I hope so. I sent Vanessa Hennessey to you. Did she come?”
The old man rubbed the side of his nose, with his forefinger. “Good-looking. Younger than I expected. Spent…” He paused. “Four hundred and ninety-eight. About that. Pretty much all of it for furniture. I got Acacio to deliver it for her. He’s cheap, and as good as anybody. Is she going to sue me?”
“I wish she would.” Skip took the brown object from his pocket. “Did she buy this here?”
The old man studied it for a long moment. “You know, she did. I asked her what she wanted it for, and she said she just liked it. I think I had it priced at two noras, but since she was buying so much I threw it in.”
“Good of you. What’s it for?”
“It’s an old-time shaver.” The old man demonstrated, holding handle and blade at an obtuse angle and not quite touching the edge to his cheek. “They had to be careful, though.”
“It looks more like a knife,” Skip said.
“No point.” The old man demonstrated, tapping the blunt end of the blade with his finger.
The park was too far to walk, but Skip walked anyway, edgy and eager to spend his energy on something. There was a chill in the air; the sky, gray and lowering, veiled the upper two-thirds of the towering buildings.
Mick Tooley was sitting on the bench farthest from the silent fountain, sipping coffee from the same cracked mug he used at the office and frowning at two gray pigeons. He rose. “Glad you made it, sir.”
“So am I.” Skip sat. “That number I gave you was for her apartment in my building. She doesn’t have a mobile phone as far as I know.”
Tooley resumed his seat.
Skip sat, too. “You can probably forget the number.”
“This is Reanimation, sir?”
“Probably. I talked to them this morning.”
Tooley nodded. “How’d it go?”
“Badly. I told them we had a good case, which we do. They—his name is Feuer, he’s a vice president—indicated that their security boys would make our case moot.” Skip paused to turn his coat collar up. “When I got away from him I tried to call her. That may have been a mistake.”
“So you were careful with me.”
“I tried to be, yes. After that I went straight back to my building. I thought they didn’t know where she was, and that Feuer had spoken as he did so they could follow me to her. I also thought they’d think I was going to my own appartment to get something, and they’d wait to follow me when I came out.”
“Sounds good.”
“I went straight to her apartment instead. It had already been broken into and searched. Searched pretty thoroughly. She wasn’t there.”
Tooley said, “Then they didn’t get her, sir.”
Skip studied him. “You think not? Why?”
“Because they searched. They want her, not something she’s got.”
Skip nodded.
“So they were looking for something that might tell them where she went. Did she have luggage?”
“You’re good. You’re very good. I wish I’d had you with me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, she had an overnight bag. It wasn’t there.” Skip paused to think. “Chelle hasn’t gotten her lea
ve yet. Tomorrow, she says. She sounded confident.”
“That’s good, sir.”
“My point is that Vanessa can’t have joined her. She can’t have walked into Camp Martinez and announced that she was staying with her daughter.”
“A hotel room?”
Skip shook his head. “She’d need a credit card at the very least. Identification, too, very likely. She hasn’t got either one.”
“You said she was a clever woman, sir.”
“You’re right, she is and she may have gotten some somehow.”
“I’ll get the Z man on it. It’s his kind of problem. Okay if I pass along your description?”
“Yes. Of course. Give him everything you’ve got. Chelle and I plan to book a cruise. We’ll do it and board as soon as she gets leave. If Zygmunt finds out anything—or if she contacts you, which I’d think more likely—call me right away. Otherwise, you’re in charge as long as I’m not there.”
“You don’t have a picture, do you, sir?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I did.” He handed Tooley the brown object. “Ever see anything like this? Be careful if you open it. It’s sharper than broken glass.”
“A pocketknife? No, I’ve never seen any quite like this one.” Tooley handed it back.
“It’s probably two hundred years old, or so I was told by somebody who knows about such things, and it was meant for shaving. The brown handle is bone—he thought it had been dyed that color. Vanessa got it from him, and I found it in her bedroom. She’d bought furniture from him. He’d probably had it in stock for years with no takers, so he gave it to her. When I came in it was on the floor.”
“So they didn’t want it.”
“Correct.” Skip opened the blade. “The thing that interests me is that it seems pointless in two senses. Why did she want it?”
* * *
Skip had been relaxing on the veranda outside their stateroom for an hour or more when Chelle dropped into the chair next to his. “I have the most amazing news! You won’t like it. Want to hear it?”
He turned to look at her. “You’re so beautiful that my spirit would soar if you’d come to announce the end of everything.”
“That wouldn’t be amazing, just the Os. This really is amazing. I hope you won’t be angry.”
“With you? I couldn’t be.”
“With her.” Chelle took his hand, holding it between both of hers; he noticed yet again that her right hand was noticeably larger than her left. “Mother’s on the ship.”
He straightened up. “You’re not joking? Are you sure? You didn’t just glimpse someone who looked like her?”
“I—I hugged her.” For a moment Chelle was silent. “That was after we’d talked for a minute or two. She … She said to call her Virginia. Virginia Healy. That’s what they call her here, she said.”
“Which worries you, as it should.”
“I want a drink.” Chelle rose, posing. “I was hours and hours in the spa. Don’t you think I look pretty?”
“Lovely. You glow.”
“That means sweat, and I did. I want a cold drink and something to eat. Do we have to go to the dining salon?”
“No, and it would be better not to.” Skip took out his phone. “I’ll call food service, and that will give you time to think over what you want to say.”
“I know what I want to say. I’m trying to decide how I feel. You brought—not now. I want something tall and tropical, icy cold, with fruit juices and rum.”
“How about the umbrella?”
“Tell them they can keep it.” Chelle sat again. “I want a club sandwich, too. A big one.”
“Anything else?”
“A teddy bear. Never mind, you’re my teddy bear. I hold you and feel comforted. And safe. Pretty soon I’ll stop hitting the dirt when I hear a loud noise.”
Skip smiled and ordered.
“Let me start like this. I didn’t hate her today.”
“I never thought you did.”
“Sorry, but you’re wrong. Furthermore I told you about it that time in the restaurant.”
“I didn’t believe you.”
“You should have, because it was true. Before I went into the Army, Vanessa was a bitch with stardrive. God knows my father had his faults, he drank too much and he cheated on her, but he never molested me and he was semi-nice. Vanessa should’ve been a Halloween costume. Nothing was ever right unless she did it. Nobody was good enough for me, and Charlie certainly wasn’t good enough for her—she had married beneath her, and let that be a lesson to me. Didn’t you notice that I never brought you home to meet my folks?”
Staring out at the rolling green Atlantic, Skip said, “Actually, I didn’t. I should have.”
“Why doesn’t the food come?”
“I suppose because it’s not ready. How’s the spa?”
“Small but good. The masseur’s a big black lady they call Trinity. It’s where she was born, she says. They ought to be Swedes, but she’s good and she’s got arms like a weight lifter. I liked her, and I think she liked me. Her brother’s a soldier.”
“What about the rest?”
“You haven’t said a word about my hair. Is it me?”
“Not quite, but it will be.”
She fluffed her golden curls with both hands. “Could our children be blonds, Skip? Any of them?”
“I didn’t know we were going to have any.”
“We are. That’s not negotiable. If you don’t like them, we can put them up for adoption.” Chelle paused. “Only I think I’d rather keep them. I’ll be a bad mother, though.”
“You’ll be a wonderful mother.”
“Because I had a bad role model.” Her voice fell. “Only I couldn’t hate her today. I—well, I just don’t know. I tried.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t hate or shouldn’t try?”
“Both. We’ve got to hate when we can’t help hating. It’s legitimate then, because we can’t help it. The other thing is the essence of evil.”
She grinned, happy with the change of subject. “Isn’t it supposed to be the love of money? Charlie used to say that.”
“Nine times out of ten, the love of money makes people work harder and do a better job.”
“Yeah. I guess so. Or fear does. Like when we were digging in. People worked until—you wouldn’t believe it. Fear made me clean up my room when I was a kid. Fear of what Mother was going to say and keep on saying. Saying over and over again, with no forgiveness. Not ever. I was afraid of how she’d look and how she’d scream and keep on screaming. I couldn’t help hating her. Can you understand that?”
Picturing the scene, Skip nodded. “Yes. Easily.”
“You brought her up to Canam because you thought I’d want to see her.” It was an accusation.
“You’re right. I did.”
“I didn’t! I hate the sight of her, hate the sound of her voice.”
“You didn’t recognize me, Chelle, but you struggled through that crowd to get to her.”
“Yeah. I suppose I did.” So softly that he could barely hear it, she asked, “Do you understand yourself?”
“Mostly, yes.”
“I don’t. I mean, I don’t understand me. When I met her here, just a few minutes ago. I was glad to see her, but I didn’t want to be.”
He waited.
“Why did you bring her here? It was supposed to be just you and me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Really?” Chelle stared.
“Yes. I’m going to tell you some things she wouldn’t like you to hear. In a way, I shouldn’t. But I haven’t promised not to, and they’re things I think you ought to know.”
“I won’t tell her you told me.”
“Thanks. You know she doesn’t have much money now. You commented on her feather earrings once.”
“I remember.”
“She has one other pair. They’re attractive and look like gold, but they’re plastic. She needed a plac
e to stay, and I found an apartment for her in my building. It was on the seventh floor, and everything below the twenty-fifth is—well, you know.”
“Cheap. Did she pay her own rent?”
“No.” Skip shrugged. “It wasn’t big and it didn’t rent for much, but she was happy to have it. She furnished it with used things. Used furniture—still serviceable, but used—is very reasonable.”
“She must have hated that.”
“I don’t know. I—”
A knock at the door of their stateroom announced the arrival of their lunches. When they were settled at the table, Skip sipped his gin-and-tonic and wondered how best to restart the conversation.
“We should have asked Mother,” Chelle said.
“Asked her what?”
“Asked her to lunch. Can she afford to eat?”
“If she could afford passage on this ship, even in tourist class, she certainly can. Food’s included in the ticket. Tourist-class passengers eat in the tourist-class dining salon. It’s not fancy, but if you don’t mind a lot of canned and dried stuff, there’s nothing wrong with the food.”
“Have you ever been there?”
He shook his head.
“Then how do you know?”
“I checked things out before I booked, that’s all. The information on their site covered all three classes. What the rooms looked like, where they were on the ship, what the food was like, and so on. What deck were you on when you met your mother?”
“This one. The spa’s on this deck, too. Why are you looking like that?”
“Because tourist-class passengers—and second-class passengers—aren’t permitted on this deck. Now eat your sandwich.”
Obediently, Chelle did. “Maybe they’re not, but if they have guards to keep them out, I never saw any. We could call her up and ask her. How could we get hold of her?”
“Wait. We need to talk, so let’s finish lunch.”
“I didn’t hate her. I met her and I was surprised to see her. Flubbergassed. And I hugged her, and she hugged me. I’m bigger and stronger than she is now.…”
Skip nodded.
“That didn’t seem right, but she didn’t seem to mind. You paid the rent on her apartment? Isn’t that what you said?”
