Gene Wolfe - Free Live Free

“Sure. Was I just supposed to do that from the greatness of my heart?”

“I was hoping for your help, yes. I suppose I could say that I hoped we’d find some area of mutual interest.”

“Fine. Money.” Stubb grinned at her.

“I haven’t got much.”

“Compared to me, you’re probably rich. Listen, I know you think a lot of Madame S., but she hasn’t been a damn bit generous about bread for expenses. So here’s what we’ll do. You’ve already offered to pay for my lunch.”

Sandy nodded.

“That’s fine, that’s a start. I want you to give me a hundred bucks now, with the understanding that it’s not mine. It’s a loan that I’ll pay back when—and if—I collect from Madame S., and I can use it as expense money while I’m working on her case.”

“I don’t have a hundred dollars in my purse, or anything like it.”

“You can write a check. They’ll cash it for us at the currency exchange down the street, which is good because we’re going to need a hunk of it for a cab right away.”

“And what do I get, besides a ride in a taxi?”

“Information. I tell you what I know about Free, and I let you tag along, shoot pictures if you want to, until the hundred runs out. When it does, we talk. You can buy in again for another hundred or so, or we can break up the act. What do you say?”

She sat staring at him and gnawing her lipstick. Half a minute passed, and Murray brought their sandwiches and a greasy bill on greenish paper. At last she said, “It’s not the magazines’ money, you know. It will be mine. My own.”

“You’re talking about selling the story and maybe even getting a new job. The magazines pay you to do that?” Stubb picked up a quadrant of his club sandwich and smeared salad dressing down the side. “You got that little camera with you?”

“Yes, I always carry it. You didn’t say you’d call Mr. Illingworth if I didn’t give you the money.”

“That’s because I won’t. I’m no blackmailer. I’m offering to let you buy into the story. If you want to, fine. If you don’t, that’s fine too. But if you don’t, don’t come around with your hand out.”

“You’ll tell me what that idea you just had was?”

“Sure. That’s the first thing I’ll tell you. Then you come along and watch me try to make it pay off. If I find out anything, you’ll hear what it is. Only you’ll have to keep the lid on it until I say you can write about it—which shouldn’t be long.”

“All right, a hundred dollars. You’re hoping for a clue to the whereabouts of this Mr. Free?”

“Indirectly, yes. More specifically, I’m hoping for a clue to those government people who called about him. So now, cooperation cuts both ways. What did they tell your boss?”

“I don’t know a lot of it. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“That’s what I figured. Did he say what agency?”

Sandy shook her head.

“Department of Justice? FBI? CIA? Treasury? Internal Revenue?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Just that it was a government agency?”

“Something like that.”

“Man or woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“But it could have been a woman?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” She gave a little shake of exasperation. “If he didn’t say, how could I? I wasn’t listening in.”

“Not even to his end of the conversation?”

“No. He was in his office with the door shut.”

“And you didn’t ask him questions when he told you your piece was going to get checked over?”

“Of course I did. It’s just that he didn’t answer them. He was full of the idea of letting them have their head, then springing the whole thing on the readers and making a big splash. He didn’t want to talk about the call. Mr. Stubb—”

“Jim. »

“Jim, I can see you mean well, but you don’t know Mr. Illingworth. He’s an old man—over seventy—and cranky. He was running the magazines before I was born, and he knows perfectly well that he’ll still be running them when I leave for a better job. He keeps the business under his hat.”

“They must have told him where to send your article on Madame S. Wouldn’t he have made notes? A name and address? Maybe a phone number?”

“I suppose so.”

“In a pocket notebook, or in something he’d leave there on the desk?”

Sandy pursed her lips. “Probably on his blotter. Really important things—printer’s deadlines and meetings with the distributor, things like that—he usually writes on his blotter. It’s a habit he has.”

“Any reason we couldn’t go in and have a look at it?”

“After he’s gone home, you mean? I don’t see why not. I’ve got a key. But, Jim—”

“Yeah?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for you to concentrate on that part of the story. I could do that myself. The reason I came to see you, and the reason I’m giving you a hundred dollars of my own money, is that I need you to help with the part that concerns Madame Serpentina. She’s the one they’re interested in, after all. Not Mr. Illingworth. Not me.”

“Not her either,” Stubb said. “I just told you, and if you’re going to write about this, you’d better learn to listen. It’s Ben Free. And don’t worry about me concentrating on one part of the case or another—I concentrate on all the parts. Now finish your hamburger and we’ll cash your check and take a ride over to Belmont Hospital.”

“Belmont?”

“Sure. That was my idea of the month. I told you already—these government people must have been watching Madame S.’s room at the Consort. They saw you come in, or maybe go out, and that’s how they got onto you. Swell. But somebody else was watching too. Hell, you got stopped by him while you were leaving, remember?”

“The policeman with the bandaged head!”

“That’s right. Sergeant Proudy. He was watching us, and there’s a damn good chance he saw whoever else was. This morning, when I was giving out assignments to the gang, I told Candy to go over and have a word with him, but that was just because she’d helped the old doc patch him up and he seemed to like her better than the rest of us. I wanted her to find out what he knew or thought he knew that made him think he ought to stake us out. She’s probably been and gone by now—I hope she softened him up for us.”

“Hello,” Captain Davidson said. “Can I help you?”

The dark woman glanced at him. “No.” She wore snowflecked mink, spike-heeled boots, and a hat with a veil, old-fashioned but elegant. She was not tall, but she looked tall, only in part because of the heels.

“You’re a Gypsy,” Captain Davidson said.

She appeared not to have heard him.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a Gypsy throw away the chance to take advantage of somebody who offered to help.”

“This is a wonderful world; a world far larger than you suppose.”

The captain glanced up at the dark facade of the stone building. “One of your tribe’s in Belmont?”

“Several, I understand. Have you influence at this place?”

“I hope so. One of my men’s in there.”

“We have common cause, then.”

“Somewhat.”

“I am Madame Serpentina,” the witch said. She held out a black-gloved hand.

“You mean that’s what I can call you.”

“Of course. You are a very intelligent policeman, and so you know that. And what may I call you?”

He told her. “I’ve got the Thirteenth Precinct now, but I used to be on Bunco. I knew a Gypsy once who took two old ladies for forty thousand dollars.”

“How terrible that there should be such evil among our people. How thankful you must be that there is none among your own. Captain Davidson. Shall we go inside?”