Gene Wolfe - Free Live Free

As they started up the steps, a cab swung out of the traffic and braked at the curb. A plump young woman hopped out as agilely as a plump brown bird, took a step or two toward them, called shrilly, “Madame Serpentina!” and whipped out a little camera with a gesture so much like the drawing of a gun that Captain Davidson’s hand started for his own. There was a brief flash, brilliant and yet lost in the vastness of street and sky, forlorn amid the sunshine and sparkling snow.

“It is you,” the witch said.

“And me.” Stubb walked around the rear bumper of the cab as it pulled away.

Davidson growled, “I know you. P.I. What the hell’s your name?”

“Jim Stubb.” Stubb thrust out his hand.

It was ignored. “I’m Davidson. Captain, Thirteenth Precinct. You wouldn’t be trying to recover the loot from some kind of a scam, would you?”

“You mean this lady here?” Stubb glanced toward the witch. “I work for her.”

“I see. I didn’t think you were licensed, Stubb.”

“I’m not—not yet. But the law doesn’t say a man has to have a license to get a job, only to advertise services. I’m just a working stiff, and right now I’m working for this lady.”

Davidson turned to Sandy Duck. “You too? You just took our picture.”

“I took hers,” Sandy said. She handed him a card.

“And what are you two doing here?”

“I don’t believe we have to answer that.”

“You do unless you want me to run you in. I could bust Stubb for operating without a license, and forget about that smart bullshit he loves spreading. I could take both of you on suspicion of fraud.”

Sandy’s mouth opened, and her eyes grew wide. “Oooh! Would you? Mr. Illingworth would be so happy! I get to make one call, don’t I? I could call the office. He’d get me a lawyer and everything, it would be wonderful!”

“You think so, do you?”

She had turned away and was chattering to Stubb. “You see, I belong to this little club—we call it Input for Smaller Magazines. And there’s one person in ISM who was arrested in a protest, fingerprinted and everything, and she’s bragged about it until the rest of us are absolutely sick.”

The witch said, “I have listened to enough of this trifling. Captain, I advise you to arrest this foolish woman—it will make you both very happy. Mr. Stubb, if you still consider yourself in my employ, come inside with me and help me if you can.”

She went up the icy stone steps without waiting to see whether Stubb or anyone else would follow her. All of them did, Sandy hurrying after the detective, and Davidson bringing up the rear.

Inside, the captain showed his badge to the nurse with the disordered hair.

“Oh, we’re so glad you’ve come, officer. It’s been such a long time. They’re upstairs in two seventeen.”

“You called the police?”

“These horrible people broke in here—three of them, officer, a woman and two men. They asked for someone, and when I told them he wasn’t here, they demanded to search the whole hospital. I tried to stop them, but they ran upstairs and started a riot.”

“I see,” Davidson said. “What do they look like?”

“Why, you can go upstairs and see for yourself, officer.”

“Right now, I’d like to have you tell me.”

The nurse considered. “They’re foreigners of some kind, I’m sure. One of the men has a big mustache—of course some American men used to have them too—and rings in his ears. Latent masochism, or maybe overt. The woman has a long skirt, and her hair’s tied up in a red scarf. They’re very dark. Do you think they could be from India?”

Davidson nodded. “About five hundred years ago. And you’re holding them until the precinct sends somebody over. Around what time did you call?”

“Goodness, it seems so long—so much has happened.” The nurse looked from Davidson to Sandy and Stubb, then back again. “Actually, it’s been less than an hour, I suppose.”

“You called Precinct?”

“I don’t know what that means. Dr. Roberts told me to call the police, and I did.”

“What was the number?”

“The telephone number? I don’t remember. The one in the front of the directory.”

“That’s headquarters, downtown. The wagon’s not here yet, but the Gypsies know some of their people are in trouble. They’ve even had time to send somebody. You ought to be hearing from their lawyer soon—they’ll sue.” Davidson glanced at Stubb, then looked around for the witch. “Where’d she go?”

Stubb grinned. “I’ll be damned if I know. One minute she’s here and the next she isn’t. Probably up to two seventeen. Isn’t that where the lady said they were?”

The nurse banged a glass paperweight on her desk. “You mean she’s gone up without permission? We can’t have this!” She snatched up a telephone fitted with a voice suppressor.

“You going up to see them too?” Stubb asked Davidson. “I’m here to see about my sergeant,” Davidson said. “Unless they’re guilty of something—which you can bet your ass they are—and unless we can prove it—which you can bet your ass we can’t—I don’t give a damn about them.”

The nurse slammed the telephone back into its cradle. “We’ll get her. I’ve warned Marcia, up on the second floor.”

Davidson said, “Good. Now I’d like to ask about Sergeant Charles Proudy. The way I heard it, you picked him up at the Consort this morning.”

“You wish to visit him?”

“No, I’m here to talk to his doctor. Who is it?”

The nurse swiveled to a terminal, pushing buttons as if to blow up a continent. “Here he is. Delusions of grandeur and persecution. Violent. Dr. Roberts.”

“Is Roberts here now?”

She nodded. “I’ll find out if he’ll see you.”

“I’m going up to see him. And don’t tell me you’ll sic your goons on me—that will be interference with an officer in the performance of his duty, and they’ll be in the slammer before you can say white coat. Also I’ll knock their God-damned teeth out.”

“I’m sure Dr. Roberts will see you, officer. Just let me phone—”

Stubb took Sandy’s elbow. “Come on!”

“What is it? Why are we whispering?”

In an alcove behind them, an elevator waited with open doors. Stubb pushed Sandy into it as the glass paperweight struck the wall. “Wonder how many chips she’s got in that thing.” The doors jolted shut.

“Where are we going?”

“I told you—to talk to Proudy. What do you think the chances were of us getting in to see him with that cop around?”

“You don’t even know where he is!”

“Sure I do—seven seventeen. It ought to make him feel right at home, because he was in seven seventy-one at the Consort. When that crazy broad at the desk got his record, I read the number. It’s no trick to read a three-digit number upside down. Speaking of tricks, though, did you see where Madame S. went when she left?”

As the elevator bumped to a stop, Sandy shook her head.

“Me neither. And she didn’t take this elevator, because it was there after she was gone, and nobody brought it back down. Hell, we’ll probably never know. Come on.”

They stepped into a wide hallway, sunny at the far end where a window faced the west, with a plaster ceiling and plaster wall painted yellow from four feet above the floor; in spots the dark linoleum had worn through to the boards. There were benches along the walls, and on them sat men in unstarched gray-white cotton pajamas and slippers. A few looked up, but it was without interest or intelligence.

“You think this Sergeant Proudy will be here?”

“Not out in the hall,” Stubb said. “From what I heard downstairs, he’s been cutting up too rough.” One of the silent men stood, pulled down the trousers of his pajamas, and began to masturbate.