Dying Voices

by Crider, Bill

  The next day when the student body had gone for assembly, Burns went down to the History lounge. The Phantom had been there again. Two more letters had been blacked out, and the sign now said:

  SMOKING

  PUB IC AREA

  Burns sat down in one of the rickety chairs to wait for the others to arrive.

  Mal Tomlin came in first. He already had a cigarette going. He joined Burns at the table, but he didn't say anything about the sign.

  "You have a date with a wampus cat last night?" he asked. "You look worse every time I see you these days."

  "Well, you might say that," Burns told him caressing his broken nose with the hand that had a cracked knuckle. "I expect you've heard all about it by now."

  "Most of it," Tomlin said. "The version I heard is probably a lot better than what really happened, though."

  "Yeah, tell us what really happened," Earl Fox said as he came into the room.

  Then he saw the sign and stopped dead. "I'm getting out of here," he said.

  "Don't be such a wuss," Tomlin said. "Have a cigarette." He offered his pack of Merits.

  "You two are crazy, that's what you are," Fox said. "If President Miller sees that sign, we can kiss our jobs good-bye. `Smoking pubic area.' Good grief."

  "What the hell," Tomlin said. "Name one person who ever made less money by leaving here."

  "He's right," Burns said. "And don't you want to hear what really happened?"

  "Well, . . ." Fox said.

  "Sure you do," Tomlin said, dragging out a chair with his foot. "Sit."

  Fox sat, and Burns told them what really happened.

  Fox was disappointed. "She didn't have her nighty all ripped off when the cops got there?" he said when Burns was finished.

  "No," Burns said. "I told you. She was wrapped up in a bedspread."

  "Damn," Fox said. "The way I heard it was better. If you ever put that in a book, I hope you get her naked, at least."

  "A book?" Burns said. "Write a book about this place? Do you think I'm crazy?"

  "But what about the manuscript?" Elaine said later that day. She was polishing a trophy that said "World's Greatest Mom." Burns hoped she wasn't keeping any secrets from him.

  "Napier didn't tell you when he was 'questioning' you?" Burns asked. "He should have known by then."

  Elaine put the trophy down, ignoring Burns's tone. "No, he didn't tell me," she said. "Did he tell you?"

  As a matter of fact, he had. Napier had gotten a call the previous day from the police who had searched Street's home. They had been told later that he also kept an office, where he did most of his writing. They had searched it, and they had found the manuscript, more or less as Street had described it. Napier had been wrong about there being no manuscript.

  "What do you mean by 'more or less'?" Elaine asked.

  "It's sort of the story he described, but it's not nearly complete. It's also just a rough draft. Probably about fifty pages, no more. Nothing publishable."

  "Oh."

  "Yes. And the pages were practically yellow with age. He hadn't touched them in years." So maybe Napier had been right, in a way. But Burns wasn't going to admit it.

  "It's really sad," Elaine said. "He had talent. He showed that in his two books."

  Burns agreed that it was sad, but he had other things on his mind. "What time shall I pick you up on Saturday?" he asked.

  "What time does the game start?"

  "Eight o'clock."

  "Seven-thirty, then. Did you know that R. M. was a football fan?"

  "What?" Burns said. "A football fan?"

  "Why, yes. When I told him that we were going to the game, he said that he had a ticket himself. He said that he'd look us up and sit by us if there was a vacant seat. Isn't that nice?"

  Sam Smooth, Burns thought. Don Juan. That snake!

  "Yes," he said, forcing a smile. "That's just wonderful."