Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

Cassie shook her head. “I want Scott to tell us who shot Norma. I also want to know whether he knows who has Margaret.”

Scott said, “Who’s Margaret?”

“Margaret Briggs.”

“I never heard of her.”

“She ordered fruit and yogurt every morning.” Cassie spoke mostly to herself. “That’s why I ordered it now. I miss her something awful.”

Scott tried to pat her hand, but she moved it away.

“A man who said he knew told me that the people who kidnapped her were going to let her g-g-go soon. They haven’t. Not yet. When will you let her go, Scott?”

“I haven’t got her.”

Ebony cleared her throat, a gentle sound just loud enough to make itself heard. “Before this goes any further I ought to say something. The cop who pulled me out of the chow line got me into a corner and said now listen, sister, we’re turning you loose. But if you raise a stink, you just might find yourself locked in here again. After that, they gave back my stuff and shoved me out the door. Your agent doesn’t have a bodyguard anymore, either.”

Cassie said, “This means something to you, Scott. I can see it.”

“Not a thing. I’m out of showbiz, Cassie. Just a tired businessman on a little business trip.” He launched into a humorous description of his current lifestyle that included nothing about the nature of his business, and was about to light a cigarette when their food arrived. “My friend here would like a big glass of O.J.,” he told the waitress. “She forgot to say that.”

The waitress nodded and hurried away.

“Let’s get down to it.” He replaced the cigarette. “Like I said, I’ve been living in South Florida. I have a nice little business going there — a very, very profitable business. There was a little bit of trouble about it, and a couple of nice guys came by to see me. They told me they worked for Arthur Thomas Franklin.”

Cassie said, “Who the heck is that?”

“It’s what they work for, and that’s all you’re going to know. This’ll go one hell of a lot faster if you don’t ask questions.”

“All right.” She shrugged.

“They wanted me to work for it, too. No salary, but plenty of expense money. Capeesh? And if I did it I could stay in my nice profitable business and nobody would bother me. I said sure.”

Cassie nodded slowly. “Why did Arthur Thomas Franklin want you?” The empty chair between them moved back as though Scott had nudged it with his foot.

Ebony touched Cassie’s arm. “They wanted him because he used to be your husband.”

Scott nodded. “That’s right. You’re my in, and in a minute I’m going to show you a picture someone copied from a webzine. Not right now, but soon.”

The waitress returned with Ebony’s orange juice.

“I want a cup of mayonnaise,” Scott told her. “Not salad dressing — real mayonnaise. If you won’t bring it, I’ll go into the kitchen and get it myself.”

Cassie murmured, “Give me a chance to get away.”

He turned back to her. “That wouldn’t be smart. Your friend, the dead one — ”

“Norma Peiper.” Ebony supplied the name.

“Norma Peiper died, Cassie, in order to show you that we’re serious. We’re after a man you’ve probably never heard of, and the key to our finding and killing that man is a man seen with you not long ago.”

The hostess was seating a new couple; another was waiting at her stand. “You better keep your voice down,” Cassie said.

“I hope you heard it.”

A new waitress appeared beside Scott. “Somebody here want mayonnaise?”

“He does,” Ebony told her.

“You’ve been approached by the FBI. We know all about it. They may threaten you, but they’re just playing games. Arthur Thomas Franklin doesn’t fool around, and your friend died yesterday so you’d understand that. Do you?”

“Yes.” Smiling, Cassie turned to Ebony. “Do I look brave?”

“Absolutely!”

Cassie cleared her throat. “Do I sound brave, too? Really brave?”

“You sound great,” Ebony assured her.

“Virgin Mary great or Joan of Arc great?”

“Joan of Arc all the way.”

“Fine. I’m starting to feel like her, too. Scott, did you put those big black birds — or whatever they were — on my windowsill?”

Scott shook his head.

“Or giant bats? I’ll bet they were giant bats.”

“You’ve been using something, Cassie, and I think I know what it is. I’ve gone there myself, and I’m telling you right now that you’ve gotten to the place where you’d better go back.”

“That’s good.” Cassie turned to Ebony. “They were horrible, but I had this crazy notion that they wanted to be friends. If Scott had sent them, that couldn’t be true. But he didn’t, so maybe it is.”

Ebony said faintly, “Giant bats, Cassie?”

“Something like that. They had tall heads like pointed caps, and their faces looked almost human. They wanted me to let them in. Only the windows won’t open.”

The new waitress arrived with their food. She glanced around at the occupied tables nearest theirs before she whispered. “Mister here has been cutting up rough with Elouise. If he cuts up rough with me, I’m going to the manager.”

“You ought to hear what he’s been saying to Ms. Casey here,” Ebony told her.

The waitress left without another word, and Ebony whispered, “I’ll bet she spit in the mayonnaise.”

“I’m not threatening you, Cassie,” Scott said. “Not me personally. I’m simply telling you how it is with the people I’m working with. And your friend’s right — they recruited me because I’ve been your husband. They asked me a lot of questions about you. That was the first thing they did, and I answered all of them as well as I could.”

Ebony looked disgusted. “But they won’t put the arm on you to kill her. Oh, no.”

Cassie said, “I hope they do. I hate your double-dealing insides, Scott, but I’m afraid of the people who killed Norma. Not you. Let’s see you try it.”

“Let’s hope nobody has to.” Scott took a picture from a pocket of his seersucker jacket. “This is a photo of you with Gideon Chase, Cassie. Tap it if you want to hear the music.”

Cassie said, “What?”

“On the back there’s a list of phone numbers.” Scott displayed the back of the picture. “When you know where this Gideon Chase is, all you have to do is call any number on the list and give the information to whoever answers. As soon as you do that, you’re in the clear. But, Cassie, you have to understand something. These people don’t have a lot of patience. If you don’t call in a day or two, it could be bad. Very bad. You watched what’s-her-name die. In two or three days, Ebony here could be watching you.”

Ebony, who had been eating hard and fast, looked up. “Show us the picture.”

“Yes,” a new voice said. “Show us the picture.” It was a familiar voice, deep and harsh.

Openmouthed, Cassie struggled to speak — but failed. Reis sat between Scott and Cassie herself, facing Ebony.

Scott goggled, and Ebony gaped. Cassie hid her face behind her napkin. No one broke the silence until the new waitress returned. “Would you like to order, sir?”

Then Cassie giggled.

Reis shook his head and gestured toward Scott. “He hasn’t touched his sandwich. I’ll eat that.”

Shrugging, the waitress turned away.

Scott said, “Who are you?” He sounded as though he were choking.

“I’m your replacement,” Reis told him. He took the photograph, glanced at it, and passed it to Cassie.

In it, she waltzed with Gideon Chase through a sea of blue light. She wore Mariah Brownlea’s spring-green gown. Gideon was costumed as a seaman, in white trousers, a blue jacket, and a jaunty, nautical-looking cap; his right leg ended in a wooden peg.