Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

SHE sat up in bed. There had been gray light through the scrim when she had switched off the bedside lamp, the mixed contributions of headlights and taillights, of ugly yellow streetlights and many-colored electric signs. Her window was dark now, night-black glass behind the scrim, night solidified.

On which someone or something tapped.

Throwing aside sheet and blanket, she stood up. The tapping continued.

“Who’s there?”

There was no answer.

“What do you want?”

There was only the tapping. Step by step she made her way across the dark room to the window and pushed aside the scrim.

They might have been vultures, if vultures stood taller than men and possessed towering pale helmets with elongated visors like caricatures of human faces.

She screamed. One of the tall figures gestured and she screamed again.

Her suitcase was locked and she had forgotten where she put her keys.

The door opened an inch or two — and stubbornly refused to open farther.

Dumping her purse on the floor revealed jangling keys. Suddenly compliant, her suitcase flew open. She crouched beside it trembling, gun in hand.

Knocking awakened Cassie. It was cadenced and polite, yet firm, the resolute knocking of someone who assumed she was asleep and had not the least intention of leaving until she woke. Yawning, she sat up, threw back the blanket and sheet, and stumbled over to the peephole in the door.

Seeing a familiar face, she threw it open. “Ebony!”

They hugged.

“Come in! I was still in bed. What time is it? Ten fifteen? Well, no wonder! My call’s for eleven.”

“I’m sorry.” Ebony looked contrite. “Oh, God! It sounded like such a mess. I thought I might help.”

“I would have gotten up at seven to see you,” Cassie announced firmly. “Six! Five forty-five, but no earlier than that. When’d you get out?”

“This morning. I guess it was — oh, I don’t know! But early. I was in the chow line, and a cop came in and pulled me out. He said I was going to be released, and — listen, Cassie, I’m practically starved. Throw on some clothes and I’ll buy you breakfast and tell you all about it. Only then you’ll have to tell me, okay?”

Underwear, slacks, and a sweater. A quick trip to the bathroom that included a brief encounter with a toothbrush, shoes, and they were almost out the door. “I warn you,” Cassie said, “I haven’t had a chance to put on makeup, so I’m going to do it while we wait for — ”

The telephone on the nightstand rang, and she stopped to stare at it. “It shouldn’t have done that.”

“Want me to get it?”

It rang again. Cassie shook her head and picked up the handset. “Hello?”

A familiar voice she could not place said, “Is that you, Cassie?”

“Who’s asking?”

“This is Scott. I need to talk to — ”

“Hold it right there. Is this the lieutenant?”

“What?”

“Hold on.” Cassie covered the speaker. “What’s that police lieutenant’s name, Ebony? Big guy, seems important, smokes?”

“Lars Aaberg.”

“Thanks.” Uncovering the speaker, “Is this Lieutenant Aaberg?”

“This is Scott, Cassie! We used to be married.”

“Oh. It’s you. I thought we were finished. I’ve got a hungry friend waiting, so I’m cutting this short, Scott. I’m not going to lend you money. Not one dime. I’m not going to invest in anything you’ve got doodilly squit to do with, either. Clear? Don’t call me again.”

She put down the handset and gestured urgently to Ebony. “Let’s split before he does.”

The telephone rang again as she followed Ebony out; she slammed the door, muttered something her mother might not have liked, and hustled Ebony down the corridor to the elevators.

“Mind my asking who that was?”

“My ex, a handsome no-good bum who was my leading man in — oh, never mind!”

Chimes announced an elevator.

“What I want to know is how much he had to slip somebody to get his call through. I told them to block incoming, and they said they would.”

They boarded. As the bronzed mechanical doors slid shut, Ebony murmured, “I guess I missed a lot while I was in the slammer.”

“You were lucky.”

“Norma, you mean. Zelda told me. She said it was all over the news.”

Their elevator stopped at the eighth floor. The doors slid open and thus revealed Scott, big, erect, and handsome in a summery bone-white-and-Chablis seersucker suit. As he stepped in, his right eyebrow lifted in a way Cassie found unexpectedly painful. She said, “How the heck did you know I’d be on this one?”

“I didn’t.”

The elevator doors slid shut behind them, and the elevator resumed its swift descent.

“You said your friend was hungry, so I thought you might be going downstairs to get something. Lunch is on me, but I get to talk to you.”

“The heck you do! My blasted phone wasn’t supposed to ring. Ever. Nothing but my wake-up call, and I get a call from the one person in the whole world I’d jump out the window not to talk to.”

Ebony muttered, “Glad you two parted friends.”

“You’re half right,” Scott told her. “I’ll always be Cassie’s friend. I’m Scott Zeitz.”

“Ebony White.” She did not extend her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps you can explain to my onetime bride that call blocking blocks only calls from outside. A wake-up call and other in-house calls aren’t blocked, as they don’t go through the operator. I’m staying in this hotel, so I had no trouble calling.”

Grinning, he turned to Cassie. “Another friend of yours was shot yesterday. It was meant as a warning to you. If you’ll have lunch with me, I can tell you more about that.”

“It’s breakfast, and I’m heading straight to the police if you killed Norma.”

“Breakfast, then. An early lunch for me. Will you?”

As the doors opened, Ebony said, “The cops don’t scare you much.”

Scott shook his head. “You’re right, they don’t. I have a get-out-of-jail card.” When neither woman spoke, he added, “I checked in last night. Anybody know where we can get a meal?”

A smiling hostess seemed very happy to see them, and ushered them to a table for four in the middle of an almost empty restaurant. Cassie said, “You serve breakfast ’til noon, right?”

The hostess paused in the distribution of menus to say, “Right, Miss Casey.”

Scott watched her hips appreciatively; when she had returned to her station, he turned to Cassie. “They know you here. It must feel good.”

“They ought to know me. I woke up half the hotel last night.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I had a bad dream and screamed, and somebody called the police. Tell me about Norma.”

“Your friend who was shot? I never knew her, and I certainly didn’t kill her. Let’s — ”

Ebony said, “But you know who did.”

“If I have to speak to that sort of thing, we’ll be here all day.” Scott waved to a waitress. “I assume you serve club sandwiches. I want a club sandwich, turkey and bacon on lightly toasted white bread. Mayonnaise in a cup on the side.”

“A club sandwich?” The waitress got out her order book.

“Listen up, bitch! What did I just say?”

Cassie intervened. “He wants a club sandwich. If he doesn’t like it, he can send it back. I’ll have the fruit plate and yogurt.”

Scott said, “That doesn’t sound like you either.”

Ebony ordered biscuits and gravy, with a side of sausage and a side of ham.

Cassie asked, “Don’t you have frosted flakes and orange juice? I thought I remembered that.”

“I’ve been eating jail food.” Ebony sighed. “I’ve been up since five, and I was waiting in line for their god-awful oatmeal when that cop pulled me out and let me go. Want to hear the rest?”