“Uncle Keith?” Holl tapped on the door, right on cue.
“Oh, wait,” says Keith. “I’m babysitting for my nephew. He’s a Trekkie. You don’t mind if he comes, too, do you?”
“No, not at all,” the reporter assured him.
Holl came in, hatless, casually dressed in a new pair of jeans made by Maura and a windbreaker borrowed from Keith’s younger brother. He could easily have been a member of the Doyle clan. There was theatrical latex smeared all over his ears, courtesy of Pat, which made them look larger than usual. Holl scratched fitfully at the rubber goo, which was dried to a matte finish. “Uncle Keith, can I have a can of pop?”
Carl jumped to his feet and pointed. “That’s one of them. That’s not a kid. He’s an elf.”
“He’s a Trekkie,” Keith explained. He gestured at Carl and made a spinning motion at his temple with a finger.
“Oh, I see,” the reporter nodded.
“Fascinating,” Holl intoned.
“For God’s sake, his ears! Look at his ears!” Carl dragged Holl over to the reluctant reporter, and turned the elf’s face sideways. Holl put on a convincing demonstration as the uncooperative adolescent. “Lemme go!” He struggled and kicked at Carl until Keith interceded.
“Look, you’ll pull them off. Watch it,” Keith said, moving Holl away. “They’re expensive.”
“I shall have to stun you,” Holl threatened in what was obviously an excited child’s attempt at a Vulcan monotone, pulling a toy phaser from the pocket of his borrowed windbreaker. Keith pushed the barrel of the toy gun toward the floor.
“Never point guns at anyone, Holl,” he admonished his “nephew” solemnly. “Not even toys.”
“They’re latex and rubber,” the reporter said to Carl coldly, after examining the plastic coating with Holl’s grudging cooperation. “You’ll have to do better than that to convince me you’ve got something, Mr. Mueller. Two articles in the National Informer do not constitute proof to me. The library, I think you said?”
“After you,” Keith said, courteously bowing Arnold and Carl out before him. He hung back until he was sure they were well on their way down the hall. With a maniacal chuckle, he tilted the flask at eye level, and very carefully poured about an ounce of skunk cocktail into each of Carl’s track shoes. Holl gave him a wink as they pulled the door closed.
O O O
A guest pass was secured for Arnold in the office of the library. The plump administrative assistant on duty recognized the name when she stamped the card with the date and hour. “Steven Arnold?” she asked almost flirtatiously, smoothing her flowered print dress. “I’ve read everything you’ve published. You have a fine mind.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Arnold said politely. “Takes one to know one.”
She blushed and giggled, for a moment looking far younger than her fifty or so years. “Are you going to write a piece about our library, young man?”
“I sincerely hope so,” Arnold said. “I’ve been promised a special exclusive.” He gave Carl a this-had-better-be-worth-it look.
“Come on,” Carl said, impatient with protocol and all librarians. “This way.”
O O O
“Just a moment,” the librarian on duty stopped them as they reached the checkpoint for the stacks.
“They’re with me,” Arnold said, flashing his pass and a big smile. The librarian perused them indifferently and let them by. Holl lifted an eyebrow at her as he passed.
“Fascinating.” Holl was really catching on to the Trek jargon, Keith thought approvingly.
“My nephew,” Keith said, as he went in behind Holl.
They took the elevator to the twelfth level, and walked down the stairs from there. There was no screech or struggle as they entered Level Fourteen. Carl had obviously set it up beforehand; the security door had been left propped open and the hinges oiled. The lights were on, but the place still had an air of eeriness.
Arnold scribbled on his legal pad, having no need of illumination to write, a talent forged over long years of experience. He looked around at the tall shelves of books looming over him forbiddingly like giant librarians. After a moment, he wrote the image down in his notes. It would make good copy for the sensationalist editor to whom his work was frequently assigned.
The corners of the chamber were dark in spite of the fluorescent lighting, which was inadequate for the expanse it had to cover. Arnold had to admit that willing suspension of disbelief would be easy to accomplish in such a spooky location, but he was still waiting to be shown.
Carl marched his little train proudly down the aisle to the wall that separated the classroom from the rest of the library. It was his moment, and he was going to enjoy it. Doyle and the elf kid with the stupid glue on his ears were in the back watching him, looking like they might laugh. Doyle was a jerk to miss out on bringing the Little Folk to the attention of the world. Now it was Carl Mueller who would get all the kudos. And all the rewards.
“Now, watch.” The reporter leaned in as Carl gestured them closer. The burly student took out his green glowing key, and felt the invisible door in the wall for the smooth metal scratch plate. It was still too dark in this corner to see what he was doing, but never mind. He’d been doing it without light for years. With a deep breath, he put the key to the keyhole.
There was a blinding green flash, and the green light around the key went out like a birthday candle. Keith, the reporter, and Carl all rocked backward as they were momentarily dazzled into shocked blindness. They scrubbed at their eyes, seeing red flashes that faded slowly back to normal vision. Holl, who knew what to expect, merely looked Vulcan and imperturbable. He had had his eyes closed.
When Carl could see again, he looked for the keyhole. He scrabbled at the wall. The doorplate had vanished completely. “What happened? Where did it go?” He looked down at his key. It was cold and dead again, just a piece of metal with nothing special about it but the shape.
“Where did what go, Mr. Mueller?” Arnold asked, watching the big student’s antics with an air of displeasure.
“Phasers on stun,” intoned Holl, from behind Keith. He re-sheathed his toy gun, which he had drawn when they boldly went where no man had gone before. “Request permission to beam up.”
“Sorry,” said Keith plaintively. “I shouldn’t buy him toys his mother hates. She always gets even with me. I’ve got him for a whole week.”
“What the hell happened?” demanded the reporter. “Is this some kind of elaborate college prank? My editor is going to be furious. You promised him an exclusive on alien beings living on this college campus. I don’t waste my time on student rookery. If you got me down here on a false pretense, I’m going to report it to your dean. I don’t work for the National Informer, you know!”
“Where’s the door?” Carl felt the wall wildly, sounding desperate. He was nearly sobbing with frustration. “You did this, Doyle. Somehow I know you did.” His voice reverberated hollowly in the concrete room, but the echoes sounded like the voices of children laughing.
“There’s no door here. This is the oldest part of the stacks,” Keith explained patiently. “The walls are solid.” He knocked on one, and it gave out with a flat THONK. “Everybody is always blaming me for things I haven’t done.” He turned back to the reporter, who was putting his pencil away in his breast pocket. “Did you know that the Historical Society has declared Gillington a historical monument? I have been in touch with them over the past months, and they have finally reached their decision. We’re looking forward to the restoration committee’s recommendations.”
“I’d heard,” Arnold said, taking the pencil out again. “Well, since I won’t be getting the story that I came out for, I might as well hear about your library.”
“Well, we’re proud of it. Built in 1863 during the Civil War.…” With an arm around the reporter’s shoulders, Keith led him and Holl back up the stairs to the ground floor. Carl didn’t follow immediately. There was a wild yell and a thud as the bur
ly student hit the dusty floor face first. From somewhere behind the American History section, Enoch had thrown a minor cohesiveness whammy and stuck Carl’s shoes to the floor.
O O O
On the way out of the stacks, Keith gave Steve Arnold a quick rundown on the history of the library. They parted with a friendly handshake before the disapproving eyes of the stack librarian. “I think you can count on seeing this Gillington article sometime next week, Keith. And I’ll be sending you an order for Hollow Tree pretty soon. Sure you can’t spare free samples for the press?” Arnold asked persuasively, putting his notebook away.
Behind them, the elevator door opened. Carl emerged, red-faced and fuming, and stalked across the floor to just behind where the three others stood. He had to walk with some care because he was shod only in sweat socks, but they helped him to move with greater stealth. His shoes still lay stuck to the floor on Fourteen as though by industrial-strength Crazy Glue. He didn’t know how he was going to blame Doyle for that, but it had to be his fault, just like the way Doyle made a fool of him in front of Steven Arnold.
“I would if I could, but I have a really high overhead and a loan to pay back,” Keith said regretfully. He liked Steven Arnold. “The best I can do is a discount.”
Arnold shrugged. “It was worth a try. No hard feelings. Goodbye, kid,” the reporter waved to Doyle’s nephew.
Holl raised his hand in the Vulcan salute in which he had been carefully schooled by Keith. “Live long and prosper.”
Arnold left the library with Keith waving him a friendly farewell from the entryway to the stacks. Carl waited until Arnold was out of sight, then he sprang out and grabbed Keith by the front of his shirt. He had recovered from the shock he’d received downstairs, and now he was going to get even with the person responsible for ruining his plans. The satisfied look fled from the red-haired youth’s face as his air was cut off.
“Ulp!” Keith protested, trying to free his collar. He glanced over at the fire door.
Carl followed his gaze, then glared back at Keith. “You’ve got a heck of a lot of nerve,” Carl said, shaking him roughly. “It took me forever to set up that interview. I’m going to beat the funny stuff out of you. Yeah. Come on.” He dragged Keith back into the stairwell and let the door whine closed. Carl pushed him to the wall. “It’s just you and me.”
“Wrong,” said Lee, stepping out of the corner and dragging Carl away from Keith with ease of a man used to flipping around fifty-pound sacks of flour. “It’s you and all of us. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Carl stared at him in disbelief. “Where…?”
“I’m disappointed in you,” Teri said, appearing from behind him and shaking her head. “I’m the one who brought you in. I’m so ashamed. I thought he’d ruin it because he’s such a nut,” she pointed at Keith. “But you tried to do it. You know what this means to the rest of us. How could you?”
Carl goggled like a fish. A sentence forced its way out. “I didn’t think anyone would care. It was my chance.…”
“You’re crazy,” a voice grunted from the other side. Barry stood there in the shadows with an arm around Marcy, holding her, keeping her from springing out at Carl. She looked ready to explode, and Barry seemed dubious about his ability to keep her where she was much longer. “Mister Hotstuff,” Barry spat. “As if you don’t owe them, the same as the rest of us.”
“We do care,” Teri tossed her head. “In fact, we care more than we really knew. When it looked like we might lose our friends and teachers, it tore us to pieces. We blamed the wrong man because you accused him. And we believed you! You won’t ever be able to betray the Little Folk again, because you won’t know where they are.”
“No one will believe you when you talk about ’em. And none of us will back you up.” Lee punctuated his statement with another push.
“From now on, the Little Folk will just be a legend as far as you’re concerned,” Marcy said, throwing off Barry’s arm, her eyes glowing fire and stepping right up to Carl. She drew back her hand and slapped him ringingly across the face. He was so surprised he backed up a pace. “That’s for that day in class. Maybe you’d better study up on it, big man. Come on, Keith.”
Rubbing his shoulder, Keith turned out the door, side by side with Marcy. As one, the students walked out behind them, leaving Carl stunned on the landing, rubbing his cheek. “Hey!” he called.
The hinges squeaked faintly as the door sagged shut behind the other students, drawing the attention of Mrs. Hansen, who was discussing changes of assignment with the librarian on duty at the front of the stacks. “Oh, no,” she said, catching a glimpse of the fire door swinging closed. “Not again.” She shot through the chamber, pulled the door open, seized Carl by the shoulder and marched him out into the lobby. “If I have told you students once, I have told you a thousand times. That stairwell is OFF LIMITS! Come with me. I want to talk to your student advisor!”
O O O
Surreptitiously, Keith examined his own key. It was still glowing.
“Don’t worry,” Holl said, peeling off his latex disguise. “Yours will still work, always. We’ll just be opening a new door. Here,” he handed him the phaser. “I do not need this anymore.”
Keith twitched his invisible whiskers in satisfaction. “By the way, I have a present for you,” he told Holl. Digging into a pocket, he came up with a small piece of beige paper. “It took a little conniving, but I pointed out you have got a bank account and a job, however nepotistic.” It was a Social Security Card made out to Holland Doyle.
“Thanks, Uncle Keith,” Holl said, reverently handling the card as if it was printed on crystal.
“Don’t mention it, nephew,” Keith replied, knowing that the breach between them was completely healed now.
***
Chapter 38
Five after three. The union president waited in the middle of the Sears television department for Keith to appear. It wouldn’t have been such a bad wait if there was any place to sit and watch the thirty or forty sets on display. Besides, with ten of ’em tuned to each of the four local stations, the place sounded like a zoo anyway. The manager had recognized him and was getting nervous. Sears employees were represented by a different union, but you never knew: they might be thinking of a change of organization. The wait didn’t bother him, because he knew he was going to win. Hollow Tree would join the happy membership roll of Lewandowski’s union.
Ten after. His bodyguards were watching two different soap operas on the most expensive receivers in the place. Lewandowski casually leaned against a big cabinet set as Keith came running up to him.
“Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find a place to park.”
“No problem, kid. Well, what can I do for you? We’re private.” No one could hear a thing over the racket.
“Well, I just wanted you to know that there’s no hard feelings,” Keith began, removing the toy camera from around his neck, “but I’m not going to join your union.”
Lewandowski’s blood pressure went up twenty points. “Are you nuts? Didn’t I tell you what I can do to you?”
“Sure you did,” Keith agreed. He set the toy down on top of the nearest console television. Suddenly, all forty sets showed the same scene. It was a man on a park bench under a maple tree with pigeons and squirrels all around him. Lewandowski glanced down curiously. The man on TV was himself. And he was talking, on every set in the store.
“… I’ve got police and judges and elected officials on my payroll who could see to it that you won’t get a job in this state for the rest of your life, let alone a lousy diploma. Judge Arendson gets plenty from me every month to sign court orders, and he sees the court cases go my way. I got insurance adjusters who never settle arson claims for the insured, not if they cross me.…”
Lewandowski’s bodyguards looked up with shock as their programs were interrupted by their boss’s confession. They noticed Keith and started toward him.
The manager of the television section wa
s beginning to get interested in the sudden change of programming on his sets, and was coming over to ask Mr. Lewandowski what was going on. The union boss grabbed Keith’s arm.
“Stop it! Shut it off!”
“Sure, Mr. Lewandowski.” The kid moved the camera away, and the taped confession was immediately replaced again by the soap operas. “See? I remember everything you said.”
Lewandowski narrowed his eyes at Keith, who still looked innocent and stupid to him. He waved away the bodyguards, who were within inches of grabbing the college student. “All right. You win. You’re not worth it. I’m a businessman, too. I know when I’ve lost. Gimme that tape.”
“I can’t,” Keith said firmly. “I think I’ll always keep it to remind me of you. But you’ll never hear from it again if you leave my customers alone.” The union man nodded reluctantly and Keith smiled. “Just one more thing,” he pointed out. “Please keep your gorillas off campus. We have an ordinance against wild animals in the streets, leash laws, you know.”
Keith watched the thugs’ faces turn red.
“Nice doing business with you,” he said cheerfully. “Excuse me. I’ve got another appointment I’ve got to keep.” The union boss was still staring at the bank of television sets as Doyle went out the door.
O O O
“You wanted to know where I was studying down in the library.” Keith said, guiding Diane down the stairs to Level Fourteen on that Tuesday afternoon. “So, I’m showing you.”
“What’s this got to do with my failing Biology?” Diane wanted to know. She looked around anxiously for any library personnel. They could get in trouble for being down here. The level was restricted, but Keith seemed to be pretty well at home.
“Well,” Keith began, “that just happens to be what I’m studying this term. The very thing.”
“Uh, Keith,” Diane babbled uncomfortably, clutching his arm as they crossed the dark floor. “I don’t think that, um, practical instruction in biology is what I need.”
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