by Gene Wolfe
“Come in! I was still in bed. What time is it? Ten fifteen? Well, no wonder! My call’s for eleven.”
“I’m sorry.” Ebony looked contrite. “Oh, God! It sounded like such a mess. I thought I might help.”
“I would have gotten up at seven to see you,” Cassie announced firmly. “Six! Five forty-five, but no earlier than that. When’d you get out?”
“This morning. I guess it was — oh, I don’t know! But early. I was in the chow line, and a cop came in and pulled me out. He said I was going to be released, and — listen, Cassie, I’m practically starved. Throw on some clothes and I’ll buy you breakfast and tell you all about it. Only then you’ll have to tell me, okay?”
Underwear, slacks, and a sweater. A quick trip to the bathroom that included a brief encounter with a toothbrush, shoes, and they were almost out the door. “I warn you,” Cassie said, “I haven’t had a chance to put on makeup, so I’m going to do it while we wait for — ”
The telephone on the nightstand rang, and she stopped to stare at it. “It shouldn’t have done that.”
“Want me to get it?”
It rang again. Cassie shook her head and picked up the handset. “Hello?”
A familiar voice she could not place said, “Is that you, Cassie?”
“Who’s asking?”
“This is Scott. I need to talk to — ”
“Hold it right there. Is this the lieutenant?”
“What?”
“Hold on.” Cassie covered the speaker. “What’s that police lieutenant’s name, Ebony? Big guy, seems important, smokes?”
“Lars Aaberg.”
“Thanks.” Uncovering the speaker, “Is this Lieutenant Aaberg?”
“This is Scott, Cassie! We used to be married.”
“Oh. It’s you. I thought we were finished. I’ve got a hungry friend waiting, so I’m cutting this short, Scott. I’m not going to lend you money. Not one dime. I’m not going to invest in anything you’ve got doodilly squit to do with, either. Clear? Don’t call me again.”
She put down the handset and gestured urgently to Ebony. “Let’s split before he does.”
The telephone rang again as she followed Ebony out; she slammed the door, muttered something her mother might not have liked, and hustled Ebony down the corridor to the elevators.
“Mind my asking who that was?”
“My ex, a handsome no-good bum who was my leading man in — oh, never mind!”
Chimes announced an elevator.
“What I want to know is how much he had to slip somebody to get his call through. I told them to block incoming, and they said they would.”
They boarded. As the bronzed mechanical doors slid shut, Ebony murmured, “I guess I missed a lot while I was in the slammer.”
“You were lucky.”
“Norma, you mean. Zelda told me. She said it was all over the news.”
Their elevator stopped at the eighth floor. The doors slid open and thus revealed Scott, big, erect, and handsome in a summery bone-white-and-Chablis seersucker suit. As he stepped in, his right eyebrow lifted in a way Cassie found unexpectedly painful. She said, “How the heck did you know I’d be on this one?”
“I didn’t.”
The elevator doors slid shut behind them, and the elevator resumed its swift descent.
“You said your friend was hungry, so I thought you might be going downstairs to get something. Lunch is on me, but I get to talk to you.”
“The heck you do! My blasted phone wasn’t supposed to ring. Ever. Nothing but my wake-up call, and I get a call from the one person in the whole world I’d jump out the window not to talk to.”
Ebony muttered, “Glad you two parted friends.”
“You’re half right,” Scott told her. “I’ll always be Cassie’s friend. I’m Scott Zeitz.”
“Ebony White.” She did not extend her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps you can explain to my onetime bride that call blocking blocks only calls from outside. A wake-up call and other in-house calls aren’t blocked, as they don’t go through the operator. I’m staying in this hotel, so I had no trouble calling.”
Grinning, he turned to Cassie. “Another friend of yours was shot yesterday. It was meant as a warning to you. If you’ll have lunch with me, I can tell you more about that.”
“It’s breakfast, and I’m heading straight to the police if you killed Norma.”
“Breakfast, then. An early lunch for me. Will you?”
As the doors opened, Ebony said, “The cops don’t scare you much.”
Scott shook his head. “You’re right, they don’t. I have a get-out-of-jail card.” When neither woman spoke, he added, “I checked in last night. Anybody know where we can get a meal?”
A smiling hostess seemed very happy to see them, and ushered them to a table for four in the middle of an almost empty restaurant. Cassie said, “You serve breakfast ’til noon, right?”
The hostess paused in the distribution of menus to say, “Right, Miss Casey.”
Scott watched her hips appreciatively; when she had returned to her station, he turned to Cassie. “They know you here. It must feel good.”
“They ought to know me. I woke up half the hotel last night.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I had a bad dream and screamed, and somebody called the police. Tell me about Norma.”
“Your friend who was shot? I never knew her, and I certainly didn’t kill her. Let’s — ”
Ebony said, “But you know who did.”
“If I have to speak to that sort of thing, we’ll be here all day.” Scott waved to a waitress. “I assume you serve club sandwiches. I want a club sandwich, turkey and bacon on lightly toasted white bread. Mayonnaise in a cup on the side.”
“A club sandwich?” The waitress got out her order book.
“Listen up, bitch! What did I just say?”
Cassie intervened. “He wants a club sandwich. If he doesn’t like it, he can send it back. I’ll have the fruit plate and yogurt.”
Scott said, “That doesn’t sound like you either.”
Ebony ordered biscuits and gravy, with a side of sausage and a side of ham.
Cassie asked, “Don’t you have frosted flakes and orange juice? I thought I remembered that.”
“I’ve been eating jail food.” Ebony sighed. “I’ve been up since five, and I was waiting in line for their god-awful oatmeal when that cop pulled me out and let me go. Want to hear the rest?”
Cassie shook her head. “I want Scott to tell us who shot Norma. I also want to know whether he knows who has Margaret.”
Scott said, “Who’s Margaret?”
“Margaret Briggs.”
“I never heard of her.”
“She ordered fruit and yogurt every morning.” Cassie spoke mostly to herself. “That’s why I ordered it now. I miss her something awful.”
Scott tried to pat her hand, but she moved it away.
“A man who said he knew told me that the people who kidnapped her were going to let her g-g-go soon. They haven’t. Not yet. When will you let her go, Scott?”
“I haven’t got her.”
Ebony cleared her throat, a gentle sound just loud enough to make itself heard. “Before this goes any further I ought to say something. The cop who pulled me out of the chow line got me into a corner and said now listen, sister, we’re turning you loose. But if you raise a stink, you just might find yourself locked in here again. After that, they gave back my stuff and shoved me out the door. Your agent doesn’t have a bodyguard anymore, either.”
Cassie said, “This means something to you, Scott. I can see it.”
“Not a thing. I’m out of showbiz, Cassie. Just a tired businessman on a little business trip.” He launched into a humorous description of his current lifestyle that included nothing about the nature of his business, and was about to light a cigarette when their food arrived. “My friend here would like a big glas
s of O.J.,” he told the waitress. “She forgot to say that.”
The waitress nodded and hurried away.
“Let’s get down to it.” He replaced the cigarette. “Like I said, I’ve been living in South Florida. I have a nice little business going there — a very, very profitable business. There was a little bit of trouble about it, and a couple of nice guys came by to see me. They told me they worked for Arthur Thomas Franklin.”
Cassie said, “Who the heck is that?”
“It’s what they work for, and that’s all you’re going to know. This’ll go one hell of a lot faster if you don’t ask questions.”
“All right.” She shrugged.
“They wanted me to work for it, too. No salary, but plenty of expense money. Capeesh? And if I did it I could stay in my nice profitable business and nobody would bother me. I said sure.”
Cassie nodded slowly. “Why did Arthur Thomas Franklin want you?” The empty chair between them moved back as though Scott had nudged it with his foot.
Ebony touched Cassie’s arm. “They wanted him because he used to be your husband.”
Scott nodded. “That’s right. You’re my in, and in a minute I’m going to show you a picture someone copied from a webzine. Not right now, but soon.”
The waitress returned with Ebony’s orange juice.
“I want a cup of mayonnaise,” Scott told her. “Not salad dressing — real mayonnaise. If you won’t bring it, I’ll go into the kitchen and get it myself.”
Cassie murmured, “Give me a chance to get away.”
He turned back to her. “That wouldn’t be smart. Your friend, the dead one — ”
“Norma Peiper.” Ebony supplied the name.
“Norma Peiper died, Cassie, in order to show you that we’re serious. We’re after a man you’ve probably never heard of, and the key to our finding and killing that man is a man seen with you not long ago.”
The hostess was seating a new couple; another was waiting at her stand. “You better keep your voice down,” Cassie said.
“I hope you heard it.”
A new waitress appeared beside Scott. “Somebody here want mayonnaise?”
“He does,” Ebony told her.
“You’ve been approached by the FBI. We know all about it. They may threaten you, but they’re just playing games. Arthur Thomas Franklin doesn’t fool around, and your friend died yesterday so you’d understand that. Do you?”
“Yes.” Smiling, Cassie turned to Ebony. “Do I look brave?”
“Absolutely!”
Cassie cleared her throat. “Do I sound brave, too? Really brave?”
“You sound great,” Ebony assured her.
“Virgin Mary great or Joan of Arc great?”
“Joan of Arc all the way.”
“Fine. I’m starting to feel like her, too. Scott, did you put those big black birds — or whatever they were — on my windowsill?”
Scott shook his head.
“Or giant bats? I’ll bet they were giant bats.”
“You’ve been using something, Cassie, and I think I know what it is. I’ve gone there myself, and I’m telling you right now that you’ve gotten to the place where you’d better go back.”
“That’s good.” Cassie turned to Ebony. “They were horrible, but I had this crazy notion that they wanted to be friends. If Scott had sent them, that couldn’t be true. But he didn’t, so maybe it is.”
Ebony said faintly, “Giant bats, Cassie?”
“Something like that. They had tall heads like pointed caps, and their faces looked almost human. They wanted me to let them in. Only the windows won’t open.”
The new waitress arrived with their food. She glanced around at the occupied tables nearest theirs before she whispered. “Mister here has been cutting up rough with Elouise. If he cuts up rough with me, I’m going to the manager.”
“You ought to hear what he’s been saying to Ms. Casey here,” Ebony told her.
The waitress left without another word, and Ebony whispered, “I’ll bet she spit in the mayonnaise.”
“I’m not threatening you, Cassie,” Scott said. “Not me personally. I’m simply telling you how it is with the people I’m working with. And your friend’s right — they recruited me because I’ve been your husband. They asked me a lot of questions about you. That was the first thing they did, and I answered all of them as well as I could.”
Ebony looked disgusted. “But they won’t put the arm on you to kill her. Oh, no.”
Cassie said, “I hope they do. I hate your double-dealing insides, Scott, but I’m afraid of the people who killed Norma. Not you. Let’s see you try it.”
“Let’s hope nobody has to.” Scott took a picture from a pocket of his seersucker jacket. “This is a photo of you with Gideon Chase, Cassie. Tap it if you want to hear the music.”
Cassie said, “What?”
“On the back there’s a list of phone numbers.” Scott displayed the back of the picture. “When you know where this Gideon Chase is, all you have to do is call any number on the list and give the information to whoever answers. As soon as you do that, you’re in the clear. But, Cassie, you have to understand something. These people don’t have a lot of patience. If you don’t call in a day or two, it could be bad. Very bad. You watched what’s-her-name die. In two or three days, Ebony here could be watching you.”
Ebony, who had been eating hard and fast, looked up. “Show us the picture.”
“Yes,” a new voice said. “Show us the picture.” It was a familiar voice, deep and harsh.
Openmouthed, Cassie struggled to speak — but failed. Reis sat between Scott and Cassie herself, facing Ebony.
Scott goggled, and Ebony gaped. Cassie hid her face behind her napkin. No one broke the silence until the new waitress returned. “Would you like to order, sir?”
Then Cassie giggled.
Reis shook his head and gestured toward Scott. “He hasn’t touched his sandwich. I’ll eat that.”
Shrugging, the waitress turned away.
Scott said, “Who are you?” He sounded as though he were choking.
“I’m your replacement,” Reis told him. He took the photograph, glanced at it, and passed it to Cassie.
In it, she waltzed with Gideon Chase through a sea of blue light. She wore Mariah Brownlea’s spring-green gown. Gideon was costumed as a seaman, in white trousers, a blue jacket, and a jaunty, nautical-looking cap; his right leg ended in a wooden peg.
There was an exclamation near the entrance to the room, a murmur of voices and the scuffle of chairs being pushed aside. A gray-black beast that might have been a huge dog was leading a man Cassie had never seen before, pulling him along at the end of an absurdly thin leash.
“Don’t worry.” It was Reis’s rough whisper. “You’re perfectly safe.”
Then the beast’s paws, each as large as a man’s fist, were on Scott’s shoulders. For a moment that Cassie felt would never end, the two stared into each other’s eyes.
Scott rose. As he did, the beast dropped lightly to all fours. Turning with almost feline fluidity, it trotted off through the tables and chairs and staring diners, and out of the coffee shop. The man who held its leash walked after it, his hard face expressionless.
Scott followed him.
“OhmyGod!” Ebony had risen, too. “A woman tried to pet it. Did you see that?” She sat again.
“This needs Russian.” Reis was examining Scott’s sandwich.
At the third try, Cassie managed, “What was that thing? That animal?”
“A wolf. You’ve probably seen them in zoos. Aren’t you going to ask where I came from?”
Cassie shook her head, richly auburn curls bouncing. “I know where you came from, Wally. I figured it out the first time you took me to dinner, remember?”
“I do, and it will save a lot of explanation.”
“Well, I don’t.” Ebony still sounded breathless. “I don’t mean to piss you off, sir, but I don’t know where the holy h
ell you came from or how you got here.”
“From Melbourne,” Reis told her solemnly, “by hopper.”
Cassie touched his hand. “It’s your wolf, isn’t it? You had it come here.”
“Nobody really owns a wolf.” Reis smiled. “And I certainly don’t own that one. He’s his own wolf. Scott’s going to die for the same reason your friend Norma died. His death will worry you, I know.”
“Is he? I don’t think I’ll cry.”
“That’s good. Your life will be better with him out of the way.”
Reis turned to Ebony. “Scott said in your hearing that the agency he was working for had killed Cassie’s friend Norma — ”
“She was my friend, too, Mr. Rosenquist. She was in your show and I liked her a lot.”
“They shot her so Cassie would know they were serious. The agency that shot her has to learn that some others are serious, too.”
“Mr. Rosenquist, sir, I don’t understand any of this about agencies. When they let me out of jail, I went to Zelda Youmans’s agency. I knew she had a hopper, and I was pretty sure she’d help me.”
“I don’t think it’s that kind of agency,” Cassie said weakly.
“A government agency.” Reis signaled a waitress by holding up his empty cup.
“Are you saying that guy Scott was working for the government?”
Reis shook his head. “He was working for the agency, and it’s part of the government. But it doesn’t actually cooperate with the other parts. Most agencies don’t. A man I know was with the State Department for a while. It did pretty much as it chose, regardless of the president’s policy. That was true even when it knew what his policy was, which it seldom did because he rarely had one. It had rivals, and cooperated with them only under duress.”
As the new waitress filled Reis’s cup, Cassie asked, “Is this the FBI?”
“No.” Reis paused to ask the waitress for Russian dressing.
When she had gone, he said, “This is one of the FBI’s competitors. You met men claiming to be Bernard Martin, an FBI agent.”
Cassie nodded. “I think the second one was really him.”
“You’re right. The first was working for that man I know who used to be with the State Department. I wanted to clear that up before you jumped to the conclusion that the first was one of Scott’s friends. He wasn’t and he isn’t. Now tell me about the bats.”
