“None at all. I just tracked your cell phone. Am I staying here or at the motel you visited a little earlier today?”
“You’ll stay here, Irwin,” Crockett said. “My name’s Crockett.”
“Ah, yes,” Bergman said, with another fleeting hand touch. “David Crockett. Quite the asset in an adventure like this, from what I know of you.”
“And just what do you know of me, Mister Bergman.”
“Not a great deal. Just your background, ex-police officer, disabled on duty, retired. A bit about your association with Ivolee Cabot and Cletus Marshal over the past few years. Some of the legend of the contemporary Davey Crockett. Nothing overly specific.”
“I see.”
“In addition to being what many people might call a techno-geek, Mister Crockett, I specialize in information and its retrieval and, unlike the celebrated Homer Simpson, my storage appears to be unlimited. I can’t forget anything, you see.”
“Photographic memory?”
“More didactic, actually. And yet, not exactly. We know so little about how memory works, but it would seem mine is rather extraordinary.”
“I see.”
“It’s not necessarily a blessing. From time to time I long to be able to forget something. It also appears to hinder my approach to the practical aspects of life now and then. My recent struggle with my seatbelt, for instance. It’s not that I forgot to release it; I can’t forget. It’s more as if, because of everything else I was mentally dealing with at the time, I simply neglected to.”
Unable to resist, Crockett plunged ahead. “What else were you dealing with mentally?” he asked.
“The possible dimensional permutations within the common appreciational level of what a layperson might refer to as Dark Matter. Fascinating.”
“You’re not from Vulcan or anything are you?” Crockett asked.
Bergman giggled. “What a wonderful thing to ask, Mister Crockett,” he said. “Thank you very much.”
“Let’s go inside. Stitch and the girls are waiting to meet you.”
Bergman took half a step and stopped. “The girls?” he said.
The girls and Stitch were clustered at the snack bar when Crockett and Clete brought Bergman inside. Introductions were made, each with Irwin’s darting handshake. The only one of the three he actually spoke to was Stitch.
“I thank you for your selfless service to our country during the conflict in southeast Asia, Mister Winkler,” he said. “Your number of tours and your refusal to accept a Silver Star for the incident in the Mekong Delta speak well of your courage and humility.”
Stitch looked a little stunned. “Wow. Like, thanks, man. Gitcha some coffee?”
“Thank you, no. I don’t drink stimulants,” Bergman said, directing his attention toward Crockett. “Perhaps, now that the amenities are concluded, I might gather my things and retire to my lodging. I find myself fatigued. If you agree, we can continue our planning and discourse in the morning. I usually arise quite early.”
Crockett stifled a smile. “Okay by me.”
Stitch jumped in. “C’mon, dude. Let’s get your shit and I’ll show ya where your crib is. Then you can crash.”
Bergman smiled. “I believe that ‘far out’ would be the appropriate response.”
“Cool,” Stitch said.
Clete let them get out the door before he spoke. “That li’l shit a half a bubble off plumb, or what?” he asked.
“He’s different,” Crockett said.
“A encyclopedia with feet,” Clete went on. “Kinda makes me twitch. That boy ain’t got enough line on his reel or somethin’.”
“He didn’t even look at Whisper and me,” Danni said.
Crockett chuckled. “And the two of you are so delightful to gaze upon. Hurt your feelings?”
“Bite me,” Danni said.
“Naw. You’d tell your mom.”
“Maybe he’s gay.” Clete said.
“Gay doesn’t make any difference,” Danni said. “Gays look, they just look different than you manly types.”
“He’s not gay,” Whisper said.
“He’s not?” Clete asked.
“Nope. My gaydar never fails. He’s not asexual or nonsexual either. He spanks the monkey just like everybody else. Women confuse him. When something confuses him he wants to study it. If he thinks he can’t study it, he tries to avoid it. The guy probably graduated from college when he was three. He didn’t grow up normal. He doesn’t have the balls to study women, so he dodges us.”
“That shows a lot of insight,” Crockett said.
Whisper smiled. “Surprised?”
“Actually, no. But you won’t let this alone, will you?”
Whisper’s smile enlarged into a grin. “Probably not.”
“Thinking about starting a study group?”
“I’ll make breakfast in the morning,” Whisper said, getting to her feet. “You guys should sleep in a little, say to around eight-thirty or so. See ya.”
Clete shook his head as he watched Whisper leave the room. “Poor bastard,” he said.
Danni giggled. “See you guys around eight-thirty,” she said, and walked away.
Cleteus looked at Crockett. “Think we should warn him?”
Crockett shook his head. “No point in causing a panic.”
By six the next morning, Whisper had a pot of coffee and a pot of tea, both decaffeinated, brewing in the kitchen. She wore no make-up, a man’s dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up her forearms, baggy safari shorts, and white running shoes. Bergman, deep in thought, approached to within ten feet of the snack bar before he noticed her.
“Hi, Irwin,” she said.
Bergman actually flinched and froze in his tracks. His eyes darted from left to right, confirming that they were alone.
“Have a seat. Coffee or tea? They’re both de-caf.”
Bergman perched on a stool and stared at the counter. “Uh…tea I suppose.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“No thank you. Where is everybody?”
Whisper poured a cup of tea and placed it on the counter. “They won’t be here for a while,” she said. “I asked them to stay away while I fixed you breakfast. I wanted us to be alone.”
Bergman’s eyes flicked to her then back on the cup. “To what end?” he asked.
“What do you usually eat for breakfast, Irwin?”
“Corn flakes are customarily my choice.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of poached eggs and wheat toast. How’s that sound?”
“Fine.”
“I wanted us to be alone to see if I could understand why you try to avoid women.”
Bergman fidgeted on the stool. “I see,” he said.
“Do you like hash browns, Irwin?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“I…uh…”
“I know I’m pretty. And I’m little, so that makes me cute, too. I also know that you’d like to look at me, right?”
“Well, ah…”
“I’ll make some hash browns to go with the eggs, since you like them. How do you feel about Canadian bacon?”
“It’s actually just ham, you know.”
“I don’t mind if you look at me, Irwin. As a matter of fact, I’d consider it to be a compliment. Everybody likes to be complimented, don’t they?”
“It’s beneficial for a certain level of self-esteem, I suppose,” Bergman said, gazing into his teacup.
“Tell you what I’m going to do. I’m gonna make some Canadian bacon, too. Tell you what else I’m going to do, Irwin. I’m going to stand back by the fridge, close my eyes, and turn in a circle a couple of times so you can look at me and not be embarrassed by me looking back at you.”
Whisper could feel his eyes on her as she rotated. When she finished, she approached the counter across from him and leaned in a bit. “Now do you know what’s going to happen?”
Bergman’s eyes flicked up to her
for an instant, then back to his cup. “No.”
“I going to fix breakfast for us while we discuss why you’re so shy around women. We are going to talk, Irwin, like people do. We are going to talk, and you are going to look at me and I am going to look at you. We, two people, two human beings, are going to engage in speech. You are going to stop insulting me by staring at the counter and we are going to have a conversation. By the time breakfast is over, you and I, Irwin, are going to behave in a socially acceptable manner. You may even enjoy yourself. You get it?”
Bergman smiled at the counter. “I get it,” he said.
“Good. Now, while I gather up the stuff to cook, you can look at me as much as you want to. Check me out, Irwin. Look at my butt and my legs and my boobs. See how pretty I am. I guarantee you, we’ll both survive. While you’re doing that, I’m gonna ask you some questions. When you answer me, I’m gonna look at you. Our eyes will meet, and I expect you to deal with it.”
Whisper went to the fridge and opened it. “So why do you get embarrassed when women look at you?”
“My, uh, appearance, I suppose.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I have no illusions. I am far from the standard conception of the attractive male.”
“Bullshit. You’ve got a lot of illusions. One of them is that appearance is the most important thing. We’ll get back to that. Let’s move on. Why are you afraid of women?”
“I don’t understand your minds.”
Whisper laughed as she retrieved a carton of eggs. “That’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes we don’t either. Be more specific.”
“All right. A woman might say to her husband that the grass is getting a little tall. That is an observation. A man would say that the yard needed to be mowed. That is a conclusion. A conclusion is more viable in the course of conversation than a mere observation. An observation requires investigation. A conclusion is a call to action. Mow the grass, as it were.”
Whisper grinned. “I never thought of it that way,” she said.
“Women seldom do,” Bergman replied. “Also, a man, seeing his wife preparing to leave the house, might ask her when she expected to return. She might reply with a list of places she had to go and things she needed to do that day, and then become annoyed when he asked her, yet again, when she would be home. Had she answered his question directly in the first place, considerable time would have been saved and wasteful discussion eliminated. A man, if the situation were reversed, would have responded with his anticipated time of arrival, as asked.”
“We’ll get back to that,” Whisper went on, digging into the fridge again. “Another question. What was your childhood like?”
“Limited, I suppose. I was home-schooled until I was seven, then went directly into an all boy’s Jewish Junior High. From there, I went to the same type of high school when I was nine. From there, at age twelve, into another sexually segregated accelerated program until I entered MIT at age fourteen. Because of my mind, I have been extremely cloistered by circumstance, happenstance, and choice. I find I’m more comfortable in my head, as it were, than in the world. I do not possess any significant social skills.”
Whisper picked up the teapot and filled his cup. “We’ll get back to that,” she said, leaning in so she was only a foot or so from her victim. “Now, one more question, Irwin. Look at me.”
Slowly Bergman raised his eyes until they were face to face.
“Are you a virgin?” she asked.
Bergman flinched, but held her gaze.
“I am.”
“We will get back to that, too,” Whisper said. “But right now, I’ve got to get things going. While I fix breakfast, you and I will actually converse.”
Crockett entered the area a little after eight to find Whisper and Bergman sitting at the counter. They were talking to each other.
Damn.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“This is the transmitter,” Bergman said, holding up a black circular device about twice the thickness and half the diameter of a poker chip.
The breakfast dishes were cleared away and the group was still clustered around the snack bar. In front of Irwin was what appeared to be nothing more sinister that a Plano tackle box.
“This tiny wire you see protruding from the side is not a wire at all. In fact, it is the microphone.”
“It’s so small,” Danni said.
“Actually,” Bergman went on, “there are smaller ones. Much smaller. But from what Mister Marshal told me, I decided that level of technology would not be necessary for such a rudimentary event as this.”
Crockett grinned. “Rudimentary, huh?”
“Perhaps I should have said uncomplicated. At any rate, this particular device has the power to send a signal eight hundred meters or so for several days. Perhaps even two weeks. I assume that is all that you might require?”
“That’ll be fine,” Crockett said. “How do we install this thing?”
Bergman handed the transmitter to Crockett. “You will notice,” he said, “a circular fabric patch on one side? Simply remove it to expose the adhesive below and stick the device to a smooth flat surface.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. The removal of the patch activates the battery and the device will begin to function.”
“How much area will it cover?”
“It should be adequate for a room fifteen feet on a side with a ceiling height of eight to ten feet.”
“There could be a problem,” Crockett went on. “This is a motorcycle shop. Engines are run from time to time. Even in Leoni’s office, the sound can get pretty pervasive.”
“In telephony,” Bergman said, “the useable voice frequency band ranges from about three hundred hertz to thirty-four hundred hertz, in spite of the fact that the typical male voice has a fundamental frequency between eighty-five and one hundred fifty-five hertz. And yet, that voice can still be heard. Why, you may ask? Because enough of the harmonic series will be present for the missing fundamental to create the impression of hearing the fundamental tone. The same is true for this device, plus we shall not require the same quality as a telephone and can limit the frequency range a bit more, allowing some flexibility in sensitivity and therefore overcome a great deal of the ambient noise one might expect to interfere with effective transmission of the desired range.”
“Ah, does that mean we’re okay?”
“I should think so. Plus, I can wash and adjust frequencies somewhat with the computer.”
“So all I have to do is put that thing in Leoni’s office and we’re in business?”
“After I’m set up at the motel, yes. Mister Marshal has rented a room on the second floor under the name of Clint Marsh. The balcony will serve well as an obstruction free area to place the receiver.”
Clete bristled. “How the hell do you know so much about the motel?”
Bergman looked at him and smiled.
“Never mind,” Clete said.
“Mister Marshal and I will depart for the set-up later this morning. You’ll be free to place the device two hours after that.”
“So you’ll monitor it from here?” Crockett asked.
“I could, but I find the less complicated the project the better the chance for avoiding Murphey’s Law. I’ll visit the motel each day and see what the computer has to say. Anything vital I’ll store for later retrieval and, of course, tell you what was said when I return.”
“Word for word, I suppose.”
“As I stated at about nine fourteen last evening, I can’t forget anything.”
Clete phoned from the motel a little before noon. “Crockett,” he said “we got a black box on the balcony, a computer an’ a bunch a other stuff on the table, wires runnin’ everywhere, and we’re good to go. I’m on the way to pick up some lunch. We’re stayin’ at the motel until you’re set up. You got the widget?”
“I have two widgets, thank you. Bergman says redundancy is desirable.”
; Clete laughed. “Son, that kid is good. He called the desk and told them that nobody was to come in the room if a knock wasn’t answered. The motel folks argued with him about housecleaning schedules and such. The boy digs around in his stuff for a while an’ comes up with this silver box, pops a couple a batteries in it, an’ sticks it on the inside of the door to the card key lock with a magnet. Then he drags out his own key card, looks at me and giggles. Now nobody in the whole place can get through their own damn door unless he lets ‘em. Ol’ Bergman is a mess!”
“He even talked to Whisper a little this morning,” Crockett said. “We may have a hard time getting rid of him.”
“Whisper gits done with him, we may just have to dispose a the body. Anyways, when ya figure on goin’ to the shop?”
“Around one thirty or so. I’ll call you when we’re on the way.”
“You carryin’?”
“I’ll take the Smith.”
“Smarter’n you look, Crockett. Watch yer ass. I’d hate ta hafta console Miz Satin.”
Leoni was standing in the empty showroom when Crockett and Stitch entered the shop. Very deliberately, Stitch eased his left hand under the right side of his jacket and leaned against a wall. Wook shifted his stance and let his hands fall below the top of the parts counter. Stitch grinned. His voice was low and firm.
“Don’t get stupid, Chewbacca,” he said, slowly withdrawing his hand. In it he held a grenade. He pulled the pin.
Wook’s face paled instantly. His hands thumped as he slapped them down on the top of the parts counter. Leoni gasped and took a step backwards.
“Walk out here and go sit on a bike where I can see you,” Stitch said.
Carefully, Wook complied.
“Smart,” Stitch said, putting the pin back in the grenade and replacing it under his jacket. “The Eagle fifty is here too,” he said. “You feel like fuckin’ with that?”
“No,” Wook said.
Stitch looked at Leoni. “Lock the front door, shithead.”
Leoni skittered to the doorway. His hands were trembling as he turned the lock.
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