Donald Westlake - Smoke

"Uh-huh."

"Listen," Peg said, "it won't be as bad as you think, it really won't. It'll work out, you'll see."

"With me up here, and you down there."

"Mostly. It'll make life a lot easier, Freddie, it really will. For you, too. If you want to walk around in just shorts and sneakers, there wouldn't be anybody there to scream when you walked into the room. You could relax."

Freddie seemed to think about that for a few minutes, and then he said, "At least you don't want to call it off completely."

"Oh, no, Freddie, absolutely not. We're still together, only just not so much anymore."

"I know you tried, Peg," Freddie said. "I know you did your best."

"Thank you, Freddie. We need gas."

"Take the exit at Route Fifty-five, there's that good gas station there."

Seven miles south, Peter and David were traveling now in their caps, having learned what a mistake they'd made in accepting the sunroof. David said, "Peter, I could not be more thirsty. I feel like we're in one of those Foreign Legion films."

"There's that convenience store and gas station at the exit by Fifty-five," Peter said. "I'll pull off there."

"You don't need gas?"

"No, Hertz fills it right up."

Peg and Freddie didn't discuss their situation any more before they reached the Route 55 exit, where she swung off the Taconic and across the state road to the large gas station. "Sit back, kind of," she advised Freddie, and got out of the van to pump gas.

Freddie, sitting back, reflected on the complexities of life. The same thing that's a boon and a benefit is also a bane and a complete drag. "If I had it to do over," he muttered inside the Khomeini head. But what was the point? He didn't have it to do over.

The van took eighteen gallons of gasoline. Peg waited while a red Ford Taurus crossed her path, then walked over and into the convenience store to pay, where she had to wait behind two other customers.

David and Peter got out of the Ford, stretching and bending. David glanced at the old man slumped in the passenger seat of the van over by the pumps, but hardly registered him at all. They went into the convenience store and Peter got a Diet Pepsi while David chose a lemon-lime seltzer. They stood on line behind a young woman paying for gasoline, then paid for their drinks.

Peg went back out to the van, got in, and started the engine. "It'll be okay, Peg," Freddie told her. "Don't worry."

She smiled at that frowning madman mask. "Thank you, Freddie," she said, touched, and put the van in gear.

Peter and David came out of the convenience store, backed the Ford out of its parking place, then had to wait while the van with the old man in it went by in front of them, the young woman at the wheel. They followed the van out of the station, to the right, under the Taconic, and then right again. Peter, impatient, wished the van would move a little faster. The two vehicles came up the curving ramp, back toward the Taconic northbound, and at the merge the van put on its left blinker and slowed to a crawl, while the young woman checked for oncoming traffic.

"Get on with it," Peter muttered.

First the van, then the Ford, rejoined the light traffic flowing northward. For a couple of miles, the Ford stayed behind the van, but then Peter pulled out and passed it, just at a moment when Peg had slowed again, because she was saying, "Freddie, can I tell you what I think we ought to do?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

Peg watched the red Ford pull back into the right lane. He didn't really want to go that much faster than her, she could tell. She said, "When we get to the house, I think we should collect some cash and then go to a used-car lot, and buy you a car. Maybe one with the smoky side windows."

"Because you want the van?"

"Because people know about the van," Peg said. "The cop that followed me up here to the railroad station, and the police chief in Dudley. I think you're better off, driving around in the country, if you're not in the van."

"You may be right about that," Freddie admitted.

"I think we should do it this afternoon," Peg went on. "Soon as we get there, so they can do the paperwork and the insurance and the license plate and all that."

"Why? Peg? When do you want to leave?"

"To . . ." She'd been going to say tonight, but at the last second she found herself stumbling, and saying instead, "Tomorrow."

Another sigh from Freddie. "I'm really gonna miss you, Peg."

"I'm gonna miss you, Freddie," Peg said. "But, truth be told, I've already been missing you for quite a while now."

Up ahead, David said to Peter, "Peter, what if they find the invisible man?"

"Our Freddie? What if?"

"They want us to enslave him, don't they? Into their own nefarious designs."

"Well," Peter pointed out, "he's fairly nefarious to begin with."

"Not their way. Not our way, Peter."

Peter gave him a long hard look, before once again checking the road out front. (The van remained well back in the rearview mirror.) "David," he said, very cold, "do you intend to be a sodden sack of guilt the entire weekend?"

"No. I intend to forget my troubles the instant we get there."

"With drink?"

"I'm not going to be sodden, Peter, all right?"

"Thank you," Peter said.

They drove for a minute or two in silence, and then David said, " And they want us to lie to him."

"Well, David," Peter said, "I must admit I'm not looking forward that much to telling him the truth."

In the van, Freddie said, "What if I call the doctors?"

"What?"

"When we get there. You go off to a used-car lot, you don't need me along anyway, you'll be more comfortable if I'm not there—"

"Are you sure? You don't want to pick out what you're gonna drive?"

"You know my taste, Peg. Smoky glass, that's nice, but maybe not too flashy after that. Not something the cops automatically look at. I trust you to pick the right thing, we know each other that good."

Peg thought it over. "Okay," she said. "Then we can go back to the place together in the van, later today or tomorrow, whenever they got it ready, I'll get out of the van a block or two away, go pick it up, drive it back to the house."

"Perfect," Freddie said. "And today, when we get there, while you're off to get the car, I'll call the doctors."

"You won't tell them where you are, will you?"

"Of course not. I'll just say I'm ready to discuss a deal, and do they by any chance know when this thing is gonna wear off. And then play it by ear."

"Anytime you need me, Freddie, any help, drive you places, pick things up, whatever . . ."

"I know that, Peg. I appreciate it."

Four miles ahead, David broke a long silence in the Ford by saying, "A great weight has been lifted from me."

Peter glanced at him. "Good."

"You don't have to worry, Peter, I will not be a wet blanket all weekend. Or any of the weekend."

"Very good."

"I just had to say it, that's all, get it off my chest. And now it's gone. Look how beautiful it is up here."

Peter looked. Green trees, blue sky, gray road. It was beautiful. "Yes, it is," Peter said.

"I've left the cares of the city behind me," David said, as they drove on by Freddie and Peg's exit, their own exit to North Dudley being some miles farther north.

Five minutes later, Peg slowed again to take that exit from the Taconic onto the county road. Following its twists and hills, she at last, eight minutes later, turned in at their own little hideaway. They got out of the van and went into the house, which for both of them was already becoming home, familiar and comforting.

While Peg looked in local phone books for used-car dealers, Freddie called information for the number of the Loomis-Heimhocker Research Facility, then called that number, and a young woman answered, saying, "Loomis-Heimhocker Research Facility," so that part was okay.