Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

Corby took a deep breath. “I do want to talk to you. I want to talk to you more than I can say. Miss Casey, I need this job. You’ll get royalties on the recording, and thousands up front. I get five hundred for singing with you. If — ”

“That’s not fair. I’ll speak to Zelda.”

He shook his head. “It is fair. I agreed and signed a contract. The thing is that my contract says I must be acceptable to you. If I’m not I won’t get paid. I want you — I need you — to understand that.”

“All right, I do.” Cassie hesitated. “I’ll tell you what. If I’ve got to dump you, I’ll give you five hundred myself.”

“I won’t take it.”

Cassie turned to look at him. “I thought you said you were hard up, Gil.”

“I am.” Something unflinching had crept into Corby’s face. “I am, but I won’t take charity. I’d sooner steal than accept money you gave me because you pitied me.”

“If you say so. By the way, lunch is on me.”

His grin returned. “That I’ll take — and repay the favor just as soon as I can.”

“Right you are. What about steak today?”

“Steak will be just the beginning. Is that bracelet real?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie made a tiny, helpless gesture. “I want to have a jeweler look at it.”

“So you think it might be.”

“If I had to bet, I’d give you two to one it is. But not three to one.”

“Wallace Rosenquist gave it to you.” Corby sounded positive.

“How did you know that?”

“I didn’t. I guessed. He’s a billionaire, according the newscasters, and a friend of mine who knows him says he’s, well, crazy about you. Deeply in love with you, in other words.”

“Your friend knows him.” Cassie was staring out at the suburban houses that had replaced the farmland nearer the airport.

“Yes, but I don’t. I wish I did.”

“You move in high-class circles just the same.”

Corby laughed; he had a good laugh. “My dear Miss Casey! At this very instant I’m sharing a cab with the most desirable woman on any known planet, and you think I move in exalted circles because I know someone who knows Wallace Rosenquist.”

“You know physics, too.”

He shook his head.

“You knew about the hopper. How it worked.”

“I do not, though I wish I did. It warps space, just as gravity does. Any child could tell you that much. Ask me how it does it, and you’ll see me at a loss. Any good physicist could tell you, presumably. I can’t.”

“Nuclear energy. I think somebody said that.”

“Perhaps they did. It may even have been me who said it. Warping space and nuclear energy are just words, and anyone can say them. An astro-explorer named Chuck Finney discovered that Woldercan was home to an intelligent race. I can say that quite easily. Finding another planet with an intelligent native race would be rather more difficult. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Cassie smiled. “Here’s a bunch more questions. Could Zelda really go to Mars in her hopper?”

“That’s one I can answer easily. Yes.”

“Could she get out and walk around when she got there? Throw rocks? All that stuff?”

“If she had an air helmet, yes. She’d need the helmet because the Martian atmosphere is still too thin to support human life. They’re working on that.”

“One time I saw a diagram of a hopper, Gil. It had a big airlock, and the caption said how it worked. Zelda’s little hopper doesn’t have an airlock.”

“Actually it does, because those little hoppers are all airlock. When Zelda was suited up, she’d tell the onboard computer. A compressor would suck up most of the air in the cabin and store it. When it had finished, she could open the hatch and step outside. When she came back in — reassemble in reverse order, as the manuals say. She would shut the hatch, release the stored air, and take off her helmet. Clear?”

“Perfect. Next question. You said that like most of us you’d worked at all kinds of jobs when you couldn’t get a part. What were they?”

“Oh, Lord!” Corby shook his head in dismay. “It would take me an hour to go through them all. Have you ever been a waitress?”

Cassie nodded.

“Good tips, I bet. Well, I’ve been a waiter. I’ve been working at a little diner down the street from your theater. That’s my most recent job.”

“Well, by golly...”

“What is it?”

“India was talking about getting somebody new to play the mate, and the man who was bringing our food said that there had been somebody in there earlier who might fill the bill. I thought he meant a customer.”

“I was in there earlier,” Corby said. “Mitch — that’s his name — relieved me. When you had gone, he phoned and told me about it.”

“India wanted him to send you over.”

Corby nodded. “Mitch told me that, too.”

“All right, besides a waiter. What else?”

“City planner. Teacher and substitute teacher — ”

“Ah ha!”

“It pays well and I like working with students, but the bureaucracy and paperwork drive you insane. To say nothing of having a camcorder looking over your shoulder every minute.”

The cab braked hard as Corby spoke, and the driver growled, “Trouble!” Then, “No es cierto!”

He swerved down a side street, but not before Cassie had glimpsed Zelda’s old, familiar sedan. Zelda, Ebony, and Margaret were standing behind it, surrounded by four men.

One of the men held a submachine gun.

Cassie fumbled in her purse for her cell phone, only half aware that Corby was shouting for the driver to stop.

“I’ve been questioned already,” Cassie told the detective. “Questioned by you and by that ugly man with the cigar. I’ve got to get back to Springfield — ”

The detective (his name was Ed Quintin) raised a hand. “I know, ma’am. One more, and I don’t think it will take long.”

“Where’s Mr. Corby?”

“He’s been released. The lieutenant you’re going to see now finished questioning him and let him go. From what he said as he went out, he’s probably trying to get you a lawyer. Satisfied?”

Cassie nodded and rose. They went down a gloomy and rather old-fashioned hall to an elevator and up one floor. “No interrogation room this time,” the detective told her. “You’re going to his office.”

It was a corner office with four windows. Its chief furnishings included a large modern desk faced by a small chair, and file cabinets whose tops were heaped with what were, presumably, souvenirs.

The big man behind the desk stood and offered his hand. A slight twitch at one corner of his mouth might have been a suppressed smile. “Pleased to see you again, Miss Casey. I’m Detective Lieutenant Aaberg, but you can call me Scott if you’re more comfortable that way.”

“Oh! Oh, my golly!” Cassie sank into the chair facing his desk. “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

Aaberg laughed, a laugh as deep and rasping as his voice. “I ask the questions in this room, Miss Casey, and it’s a good thing I do. I couldn’t answer that one.”

She filled her lungs, determined to look and sound like a woman of great courage. “Suppose I ask you one I know you can answer, Lieutenant? Suppose I say — and yes, I’m saying it — that if you’ll answer I’ll cooperate in every possible way. But if you won’t I’ll tell you to go to blazes.”

“Margaret Briggs was your employee? You liked her?”

Cassie shook her head. “I’m not answering questions.”

“Suppose your stubborn refusal to cooperate costs her life?” Aaberg grinned. “You don’t have to answer that one.”

“I don’t have to answer anything. I can demand a lawyer, and tell you to take a hike until I get one. But I’ll say this. I’ve told every last thing I know to two officers already. I don’t think they listened to most of my answers, and I don’t think you will either. Want to hear my question?”