Gene Wolfe - Free Live Free

Williams asked, “Why you want to do this anyway? What this old house mean to you?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Stubb said. “To tell you the truth, I’m damned if I know.”

“Well, move. I’m just going to have to carry you off.”

Stubb shook his head.

Sergeant Proudy threw his arms around Barnes, pinning Barnes’s own to his sides. From nowhere, as it seemed, there was an explosion of white dust. Sergeant Proudy began to sneeze violently, and on the third sneeze, he released Barnes.

Williams yelled, “Get out the way!” and shouldered Stubb aside. Swiftly the red ax flashed up, then slammed forward. There was a scream of wood as Williams wrenched at the blade.

Behind him, Mick Malloy lost his balance on the icy steps and fell heavily against Nate Glasser and Ozzie Barnes. Both of them fell against Williams. The long, sharp wrecking spur of the fire ax flew wildly back just as Sergeant Proudy straightened up from yet another sneeze.

Vaguely through the falling snow and the fog of myopia, Stubb saw the white of bone and the gush of blood.

When Captain Davidson stepped out of his car, the street was calm again. The television crew had departed for a more visual disaster, and of the varicolored kids and old folks, only a corporal’s guard remained. Four policemen, in attitudes diversely self-important, oversaw the conversation of the salesmen. A fifth drooped some distance away. “Now then,” Captain Davidson demanded. “What’s going on here?”

A big, red-faced policeman stepped forward. “They got him in there, sir.”

“The hell they have.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were here when it happened?”

“Yes, sir. I been here the whole time. I come with him. I’m Evans, sir.”

“And you let them take him inside?”

“I couldn’t help it, sir. The doctor did it. The sergeant was down on the sidewalk floppin’ around, with these salesmen steppin’ all over him—”

“Did you say salesmen?”

“Yes, sir. Them over there, sir. Then this old doctor come runnin’ up from someplace. I think he lives around here, sir. He was yammerin’ about stoppin’ the bleedin’. Then the door opened. This big fat gal in a pink robe that threw the water at us opened it, and the doc yelled help him up. So I did, and the first thing I knew, the doc had his shoulder on one side and the guy with the mustache was on the other side, and the two of them carried him in the house and locked the door, sir.”

“And you didn’t go with him.”

Evans shook his head. “I tried to, sir, but all the salesmen was tryin’ to get in too, and the fat gal was pushin’ them away. She’s a good pusher.”

“This whole God-damned operation has a curse on it,” Captain Davidson said bitterly. “It’s already taken ten times as long as it should have and used up ten times too many men. Now this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You looked like you were going to say something, Evans. Spit it out.”

“No, sir. I wasn’t goin’ to say anythin’.”

The captain jerked his head toward the construction vehicles parked along the curb. “Where are the operators?”

“Down the street, sir, gettin’ some coffee.”

“I don’t blame them.”

“No, sir.”

Captain Davidson walked to the stoop and leaned forward to peer at the door.

“Watch it, sir. It’s icy.”

“So I see.”

“Think we’ll get much more snow, sir?”

Captain Davidson turned around to look at Evans. “Not before we have them out of there, no. Not before I have the whole God-damned bunch of you screw-offs back on the job. Who’s got the ax?”

None of the policemen spoke.

“You heard me. Somebody hit this door with an ax. Williams, you beaned Proudy with it. Where is it now?”

Williams muttered.

“Speak up! If you’re afraid to swing it again, I’ll do it myself. Where is it?”

“Somebody got it.”

A slightly disheveled man in blue spectacles separated himself from the knot of salesmen. “A little guy with thick glasses got it, Captain.”

“What?”

“This officer was somewhat dazed—I think we all were—and this little guy came up to the officer and said, ‘I’ll take that,’ and took the ax from his hand. That was the last I saw of it.”

“Who are you?”

It was said briskly and even abruptly, but the man in the blue spectacles stepped forward smiling. “Nathaniel Glasser, Captain.” Like a stage magician producing a miraculous bouquet, he extended his card. “I’m an investment counselor. Possibly you’ve heard of us—Papke, Mittleman, Glasser & Dornberg. We got our clients into women’s preperfumed bras right at the beginning. They made millions, and we steered them into tax shelters. Our own percentage is very small, of course.” The card was in Captain Davidson’s hand. Glasser stepped back, still smiling.

“The sunlight troubles your eyes, Mr. Glasser?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean these?” Glasser removed his blue spectacles. “Yes, it does. When the sun’s out, I mean. Reflects off the snow. I’m not wanted, if that’s what you’re thinking, Captain.”

“No, I suppose not. The sun’s not out now, Mr. Glasser.”

“They have my correction,” Glasser said, and replaced the blue spectacles.

Captain Davidson turned away. “Evans, you’re pretty big. I want you and Williams here up on that stoop. You two—” he gestured toward a pair of policemen who had been watching the salesmen. “You go around back. You, Peters,” he pointed to his driver. “You come—”

At that moment, the door of the Free house opened; Mick Malloy stepped out, closing it behind him.

“What are you waiting for, you dumb bastards! Evans! Get that door!”

Evans lunged for it, slipped on the ice, and caught himself by grabbing the knob. After a moment he got his knees under him and tried to turn it. “Locked again, Captain.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Captain Davidson stalked across to Malloy. “Who’re you?”

“Eighteen years on the force,” Malloy said. “Seven in plain clothes. I’m Mick Malloy. Used to be Eleventh Precinct, Captain.”

“You live in there?”

“’Fraid not, Captain. I was just in there talking to Sergeant Proudy; I’m his insurance advisor.” Malloy’s hand dipped into an inner pocket and came out with an official-looking document. His eyes sought out a red-faced man in the crowd. “I just signed Sergeant Proudy up for twenty-five thousand whole life.”

The red-faced man stepped forward, swinging his attache case. “You signed him while he was lying there bleeding? You dirty cocksucker!”

“He was anxious to sign,” Malloy said happily. “He wanted to sign, Steve. You should have heard him thank me afterwards. I could have made it fifty. I’m kind of sorry I didn’t.”

“Suppose he dies?” Marshal asked angrily. (Captain Davidson watched the two of them in silence.)

“He won’t.”

“The hell you say! You’re no doctor.”

“The doctor’s a doctor. He’s got him in there taking stitches in his head. He’s not yelling about oxygen and transfussions, is he?”

“How the hell would I know?”

Captain Davidson said, “You said you didn’t live there, Malloy.”

“I don’t, Captain.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we had a look at your keys, would you? Just friendly. You say you’re an ex-cop. You ought to know how it is.”

“I’d like the keys back, Captain. I hope you’ll keep the card. You know how it is.”

“I don’t. I never sold insurance.”

A shivering man in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt appeared at Malloy’s elbow. “Did you say twenty-five thousand whole life?”