Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

He nodded.

“Three or four months ago, while I was still in my apartment, I spotted a man across the street who seemed to be watching my building. When he lit a cigarette, I could see his face — your face. What were you up to?”

“You’ll cooperate if I give you a full, honest answer to that?”

Cassie nodded.

“Then I will. I don’t think we’re being overheard, but I’m going to try to do it without telling anybody who might be listening more than they ought to know. One time a friend of ours asked me to pick you up at an ice cream parlor and drive you to the place where he’d parked his car. I won’t ask whether you remember that. I know you do.”

Reluctantly, Cassie nodded.

“He was worried about you, and after he told me why he was worried, so was I. I assigned a couple of men to look after you, and I joined them myself whenever I could, and stayed around as long as I could, too. Nothing happened, so eventually I took my men off. Mind if I smoke?”

“Mind if I cough?”

“Not at all.” Aaberg’s lighter flared; he inhaled, and blew smoke to one side. “Have I answered?”

“Not quite. Are you working for our friend?”

“Getting paid, you mean?” Aaberg shook his head. “The city pays me. Our friend helps me out sometimes, and I repay him whenever I can. There’s a lot of that in my business.”

“I understand.” Cassie hesitated. “All right. Yes, Margaret works for me. She’s my dresser. Yes, I like her a lot. I’d be turning the whole city upside down to look for her right now, if I could. You could, but you’re not doing it.”

“We are, but we’re keeping it as quiet as we can. If they’re still here — which I doubt — we don’t want them to know how hard we’re looking for them.”

“You don’t think she’s here? Why not?”

“That’s not very interesting, even to me. What I want to know is whether you’ve got a good reason to think I’m wrong. Do you?”

“I guess not.”

“I wish you did. It might be helpful. Make up one.”

“Are you kidding?”

Aaberg shook his head. “You saw them and I didn’t. You know Mrs. Briggs. I don’t. Let’s hear you make some sort of reason up.”

“I suppose it would have to be because of something she could do here that she couldn’t do anyplace else.”

“That sounds good. Keep going.”

“She’s been a dresser for years and years, and she lives here. She knows the theaters here, and knows a lot of theatrical people. She’s bound to.”

“Right. Go on.”

“I can’t. I can’t even imagine what they’re trying to do.”

One of the three telephones on the large, modern desk rang. Aaberg picked it up, listened for a moment, and said, “That’s right, sir. Yes, she is.” After listening again he added, “I will,” and hung up.

Turning back to Cassie, he smiled. “That was the mayor. He’s afraid I’m planning to take you down to the basement and beat a confession out of you.”

“But you’re not?”

“Of course not. If you mean literally, we never do that. If you mean figuratively, we’re certainly not going to try sweating a confession out of you. A confession to what?”

Cassie shrugged. “I’ve noticed you guys can always find something.”

“I suppose that’s right. But believe me, we can’t always make it stick. Let’s start back at Springfield. You were in a show there last night?”

She nodded.

“How did you get here?”

“In Zelda’s hopper. Zelda’s my agent, and she just got one. It’s little, but all five of us managed to get into it.”

“Name the other four, please.”

“I’ve answered all this.”

“Sure. But it will take us a lot longer to argue about it than it will for you to answer. You promised to cooperate, remember?”

“I did, and I will. I’m just sorry I’ve got to cooperate with an idiot.”

“Okay, here’s one you haven’t been asked. Who else is in your show? An actress, if there is another one.”

“There is. Norma Peiper.”

“Suppose you and Norma read the same line. Would you sound alike?”

“No. Not even if we tried to.”

“Sweet. I want to hear you say the names, Miss Casey, not read them on my screen. I need to see your face as you hear my questions, and I need to watch you as you answer them.”

“I’m an actress. I could screw you up.”

“But you won’t. Not if you want your employee back alive.”

“All right, you’ve got me. Zelda drove. Or flew the hopper. Whatever you call it.”

Aaberg nodded. “Zelda’s last name is... ?”

“Youmans. I sat beside her in the shotgun seat. Ebony White sat in back of her. Ebony’s our assistant director.”

“Keep going.”

“Margaret sat behind me. Margaret Briggs. She’s my dresser. Have I said that?”

“We’ll get back to her. Go on.”

“Would it be all right if I opened my purse and got out my hankie? I’d like to tie it in knots while I talk. It might relieve my feelings.”

Aaberg grinned. “Got a gun in there?”

“No, I don’t. Honest Injun.”

“Then go ahead. I like to watch your bracelet move, anyway.”

“Gee. I thought it was me.”

He nodded, although it was not clear to what he was agreeing. “Go on.”

“Gil Corby sat in the luggage space behind the backseat.”

“Tell me about Corby.”

“He’s a tenor. That’s what Ebony says. He was supposed to sing the duets with me when we recorded.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else. I’d never seen him until today. India picked him to sing with me, so I assume he’s pretty good.”

Aaberg grunted. “I should have made him sing while I had him in here. I fell down on that. Maybe later. You’d never seen him until today?”

“Right.”

“But you — never mind, I’m getting ahead of myself. Zelda’s hopper landed here, at the airport.”

Cassie nodded.

“Couldn’t she have landed on top of the building that houses Sy-More Studios?”

“What?” Her eyebrows rose. “Can they do that?”

“I’m asking the questions. Could she?”

“I don’t know. I never even thought of it.”

“I see.” Aaberg leaned back, his fingers forming a steeple. “For your information, Miss Casey, a hopper can land just about anywhere. They don’t do it because it’s against the law. The law says they’ve got to land at airports. That’s because there can be midair collisions with other hoppers. With planes, too. For safety’s sake, the law wants them to land and take off where they’ll be under air-traffic controllers.”

“Makes sense.”

“Criminals don’t obey the law. If the men who took Margaret Briggs had a hopper, they wouldn’t have to take her to the airport, and they could be anywhere by now.”

“I see. I didn’t realize it was so — hopeless.”

“I don’t think it is. Just tough. Where were you the first time you saw Corby?”

“In the airport lounge. That was where we met. Gil and Ebony came separately, I don’t know how but probably in a cab. Margaret and I rode out with Zelda. She had a rented car. Avis? I think that was it.”

“Sweet. You said he had to ride in back.”

Cassie nodded.

“Did he argue about it? Object?”

“No. He’s not a big man, of course, so it was pretty easy for him. You’ve seen him. He’s not nearly as big as you are.”

“You like him?”

“Are you asking if I’m in love with him? No.”

“I meant nothing more than what I said. Would you say he’s likable?”

“Yes, very much so. He’s nice-looking, friendly, and polite. Knowledgeable, too.”

“Knowledgeable about what?”

“Hoppers, actually. I didn’t know a thing about them. Zelda’s the first person I’ve ever known who owned one. He explained a lot of stuff to me.”