Thomas Harris - The Silence of the Lambs

"Barney?"

"Yes, Dr. Lecter?"

"You've been decent to me for a long time. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Next time Sammie's at himself, would you say good-bye for me?"

"Sure."

"Good-bye, Barney."

The big orderly pushed open the doors and called to the troopers. "You want to catch the bottom there, fellows? Take it on both sides. We'll set him on the ground. Easy."

Barney rolled. Dr. Lecter up the ramp and into the airplane. Three seats had been removed on the craft's right side. The copilot lashed the hand truck to the seat brackets in the floor.

"He's gonna fly laying down?" one trooper asked. "Has he got rubber britches on?"

"You'll just have to hold your water to Memphis, buddy ruff," the other trooper said.

"Doctor Chilton, could I speak to you?" Barney said.

They stood outside the airplane while the wind made little twisters of dust and trash around them.

"These fellows don't know anything," Barney said.

"I'll have some help on the other end-- experienced psychiatric orderlies. He's their responsibility now."

"You think they'll treat him all right? You know how he is-- you have to threaten him with boredom. That's all he's afraid of. Slapping him around's no good."

"I'd never allow that, Barney."

"You'll be there when they question him?"

"Yes." And you won't, Chilton added privately.

"I could get him settled on the other end and be back here just a couple of hours behind my shift," Barney said.

"He's not your job anymore, Barney. I'll be there. I'll show them how to manage him, every step."

"They better pay attention," Barney said. "He will."

Clarice Starling sat on the side of her motel bed and stared at the black telephone for almost a minute after Crawford hung up. Her hair was tousled and she had twisted her FBI Academy nightgown about her, tossing in her short sleep. She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach.

It had only been three hours since she left Dr. Lecter, and two hours since she and Crawford finished working out the sheet of characteristics to check against applications at the medical centers. In that short time, while she slept, Dr. Frederick Chilton had managed to screw it up.

Crawford was coming for her. She needed to get ready, had to think about getting ready.

God dammit. God DAMMIT. GOD DAMMIT. You've killed her, Dr. Chilton. You've killed her, Dr. Fuck Face. Lecter knew some more and I could have gotten it. All gone, all gone, now. All for nothing. When Catherine Martin floats, I'll see that you have to look at her, I swear I will. You took it away from me. I really have to have something useful to do. Right now. What can I do right now, what can I do this minute? Get clean.

In the bathroom, a little basket of paper-wrapped soaps, tubes of shampoo and lotion, a little sewing kit, the favors you get at a good motel.

Stepping into the shower, Starling saw in a flash herself at eight, bringing in the towels and the shampoo and paper-wrapped soap to her mother when her mother cleaned motel rooms. When she was eight, there was a crow, one of a flock on the gritty wind of that sour town, and this crow liked to steal from the motel cleaning carts. It took anything bright. The crow would wait for its chance, and then rummage among the many housekeeping items on the cart. Sometimes, in an emergency takeoff, it crapped on the clean linens. One of the other cleaning women threw bleach at it, to no effect except to mottle its feathers with snow-white patches. The black-and-white crow was always watching for Clarice to leave the cart, to take things to her mother, who was scrubbing bathrooms. Her mother was standing in the door of a motel bathroom when she told Starling she would have to go away, to live in Montana. Her mother put down the towels she was holding and sat down on the side of the motel bed and held her. Starling still dreamed about the crow, saw it now with no time to think why. Her hand came up in a shooing motion and then, as though it needed to excuse the gesture, her hand continued to her forehead to slick back the wet hair.

She dressed quickly. Slacks, blouse, and a light sweater vest, the snub-nosed revolver tucked tight against her ribs in the pancake holster, the speedloader straddling her belt on the other side. Her blazer needed a little work. A seam in the lining was fraying over the speedloader. She was determined to be busy, be busy, until she cooled off. She got the motel's little paper sewing kit and tacked the lining down. Some agents sewed washers into the tail of the jacket so it would swing away cleanly, she'd have to do that…

Crawford was knocking on the door.

In Crawford's experience, anger made women look tacky. Rage made their hair stick out behind and played hell with their color and they forgot to zip. Any unattractive feature was magnified. Starling looked herself when she opened the door of her motel room, but she was mad all right.

Crawford knew he might learn a large new truth about her now.

Fragrance of soap and steamy air puffed at him as she stood in the doorway The covers on the bed behind her had been pulled up over the pillow.

"What do you say , Starling?"

"I say God dammit, Mr. Crawford, what do you say?"

He beckoned with his head. "Drugstore's open on the corner already. We'll get some coffee."

It was a mild morning for February. The sun, still low in the east, shined red on the front of the asylum as they walked past. Jeff trailed them slowly in the van, the radios crackling. Once he handed a phone out the window to Crawford for a brief conversation.

"Can I file obstruction of justice on Chilton?"

Starling was walking slightly ahead. Crawford could see her jaw muscles bunch after she asked.

"No, it wouldn't stick."

"What if he's wasted her, what if Catherine dies because of him? I really want to get in his face… Let me stay with this, Mr. Crawford. Don't send me back to school."

"Two things. If I keep you, it won't be to get in Chilton's face, that comes later. Second, if I keep you much longer, you'll be recycled. Cost you some months. The Academy cuts nobody any slack. I can guarantee you get back in, but that's all-- there'll be a place for you, I can tell you that."

She leaned her head far back, then put it down again, walking. "Maybe this isn't a polite question to ask the boss, but are you in the glue? Can Senator Martin do anything to you?"

"Starling, I have to retire in two years. If I find Jimmy Hoffa and the Tylenol killer I still have to hang it up. It's not a consideration."

Crawford, ever wary of desire, knew how badly he wanted to be wise. He knew that a middle-aged man can be so desperate for wisdom he may try to make some up, and how deadly that can be to a youngster who believes him. So he spoke carefully, and only of things he knew.

What Crawford told her on that mean street in Baltimore he had learned in a succession of freezing dawns in Korea, in a war before she was born. He left the Korea part out, since he didn't need it for authority.

"This is the hardest time, Starling. Use this time and it'll temper you. Now's the hardest test-- not letting rage and frustration keep you from thinking. It's the core of whether you can command or not. Waste and stupidity get you the worst. Chilton's a God damned fool and he may have cost Catherine Martin her life. But maybe not. We're her chance. Starling, how cold is liquid nitrogen in the lab?"

"What? Ah, liquid nitrogen… minus two hundred degrees Centigrade, about. It boils at a little more than that."

"Did you ever freeze stuff with it?"

"Sure."

"I want you to freeze something now. Freeze the business with Chilton. Keep the information you got from Lecter and freeze the feelings. I want you to keep your eyes on the prize, Starling. That's all that matters. You worked for some information, paid for it, got it, now we'll use it. It's just as good-- or as worthless-- as it was before Chilton messed in this. We just won't get any more from Lecter, probably. Take the knowledge of Buffalo Bill you got from Lecter and keep it. Freeze the rest. The waste, the loss, your anger, Chilton. Freeze it. When we have time, we'll kick Chilton's butt up between his shoulder blades. Freeze it now and slide it aside. So you can see past it to the prize, Starling. Catherine Martin's life. And Buffalo Bill's hide on the barn door. Keep your eyes on the prize. If you can do that, I need you."