Smoke

by Donald E. Westlake

  “Is that you, Smokey?”

  “If this is a dumb joke,” Geoff said, “this must be Steve. Yeah, Steve, it’s me. I want you guys to down tools—”

  “Missy’s gonna be mad.”

  “That’s Missy’s problem. I want you to down tools and come over to my house. All of you. There’s somebody in there, I’m not sure who, not sure how many. Bring your walkie-talkie, and stay just down the block. Park in front of Whalens’. Don’t come in or show yourselves unless I call you.”

  Steve, his joking ways forgotten, said, “Geoff? You got a real problem there?”

  “Don’t know yet. Goin in to find out.”

  “We’ll be around.”

  “Cliff’s watching a van out front. Don’t let him shoot you.”

  “He might shoot at me.”

  Geoff got out of the pickup. He was in his tall firefighting boots, and black water-repellent coat, and now he put back on his fire-chief helmet, pocketed the walkie-talkie, and crossed Market Street to come at his house from the rear, as he’d done the last time he’d encountered Freddie and Peg.

  Letting himself quietly into the house through the back door, he paused to remove his firefighting boots, but kept his helmet on, and eased forward slowly through the house. Not a sound. Nothing visible out of place.

  His office door was closed and, when very quietly and cautiously he tested it: locked. He palmed his key, eased it into the keyhole, slowly turned it, and eased open the door.

  Nothing. Office empty. Office chair not tilted back, so the invisible Freddie was not in it.

  So what was going on? Where were they? Turning away from his now-open office doorway, standing in the middle of his front hall in his tube socks and firefighting gear, arms akimbo, Geoff looked this way and that and up the stairs, and nothing was to be seen, nothing was to be heard. “Peg?” he called. “Freddie?”

  A smiling fat man with a pistol in his hand came out of the parlor. The pistol was pointed at Geoff’s chest. The smiling fat man said, “You lookin for Freddie, too? What a coincidence, so are we. Let’s look together.”

  51

  This was not what Peg had had in mind, not at all.

  When she had realized, back home in the apartment in Bay Ridge, that this guy Barney was either too mean or too crazy to stand up to, that he would do terrible things to find out what he wanted to know, that in fact he might even be serious about cutting off her finger and sending it to Freddie, she had done her best to think fast. Not easy, under the circumstances.

  She would have to give these people something. Not Freddie, but something. A place to go, and they would certainly bring her along. She absolutely would not turn poor Freddie over to the tender mercies of Barney and his friends, but if she took them somewhere and Freddie wasn’t there, then what? Wouldn’t they get mad? Wouldn’t this guy Barney be both meaner and crazier? If she wouldn’t be able to stand up to him when he was calm—and she knew she wouldn’t—how could she possibly stand up to him when he was upset?

  That was when she’d thought of the little town of Dudley, and its he-man police chief. There was a hero for you. He already knew about Freddie, so no long explanations would be needed, and in fact, they’d already explained to him that Freddie was some kind of scientist, she could no longer remember exactly what kind, and that bad guys were chasing him, so here would be the bad guys.

  That’s the way she’d seen it in her mind’s eye, their arrival on the front porch of that big old house on the main street of Dudley, knocking on the door, and Chief Whatsisname answering, and her popping him a wink as she’d say, “These fellas are here looking for Freddie.” And let him take over.

  Instead of which, the bad guys captured the hero in the first second of play, just like that.

  So now, with the bad guys seated around this old-fashioned parlor, and the he-man that failed standing in the middle of the room with Peg beside him, Barney questioned him, and Peg listened to the answers.

  His name was Geoff Wheedabyx. He was police chief, and also fire chief and a lot of other stuff in this town, maybe even Indian chief as well. And he said he didn’t know where Freddie Noon was. “This is the first I’m hearing his last name,” he said. “Thank you for that.”

  “You know him, though,” Barney said. “You know Freddie.”

  “I’ve seen him,” Geoff Wheedabyx acknowledged, then chuckled sheepishly and said, “I’ve met him, I mean.”

  Mordon Leethe, the awful attorney, said, “He knows Freddie, all right.”

  “So why doesn’t he know where he is?” Through his maddening perpetual smile, Barney was beginning to exhibit dangerous signs of frustration.

  Leethe said, “Barney, there’s another question that comes first.”

  Barney showed by a raised eyebrow that he didn’t think that was possible. “Yeah?”

  “This is the fire chief, is that correct?”

  “That’s what his costume says.”

  “But he’s also the police chief, Barney. Is he armed?”

  “No,” Geoff Wheedabyx said.

  Barney grinned. “You don’t mind,” he said, “we don’t take your word on that. Search him,” he told one of the thugs, who rose obediently to his feet.

  Spreading his arms, Wheedabyx calmly said, “I don’t lie.”

  The thug patted him down, and said, “No gun, but here’s a walkie-talkie.”

  “No kidding,” Barney said. “I wonder who’s at the other end of it, do you think. Freddie? Give it to the chief.” To Wheedabyx he said, “Say hello into it.”

  “I’m not in touch with Freddie Noon.”

  “Say hello into it, Chief.”

  “I don’t see what you hope to—”

  “Say hello!”

  Obviously reluctant, Wheedabyx lifted the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Hello.”

  Immediately the room was filled with the staticky broadcast voice saying, “Geoff, everything okay in there? We’re out here, man, we’re ready. Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s okay,” Barney prompted.

  “Everything’s okay.”

  “Come on in, all of you,” Barney suggested.

  Wheedabyx made a sour mouth, but repeated the words.

  “Fine,” Barney said. “Take the walkie-talkie away from him. Greet our guests when they come in, and lock them in the basement.”

  Two thugs left the room, drawing guns from inside their suitcoats. Wheedabyx called after them, “They aren’t armed, they’re my construction crew.”

  “No construction today, Chief,” Barney said. “Where’s Freddie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you don’t lie,” Barney said.

  Some noise in the hall; not much, and not for long.

  Barney nodded. “I’m beginning to believe you, Chief. The last guy Freddie Noon is gonna hang out with is a straight-arrow police chief from some hick town. He probably dodged you one time, that’s how you know about him. Right?”

  “Yes,” Wheedabyx said.

  “There, you see?” Barney said, as pleased as if he’d invented Wheedabyx himself. “The man doesn’t lie. But Peg might,” he said, and leered at her. “Is that right, Peg? Like you didn’t happen to mention this house belongs to the chief of police in this burg. You led us to this place because you figured Captain America here’d come to the rescue, is that it?”

  Peg didn’t answer, but she felt her face grow red. And when she glanced sidelong at Wheedabyx, his face was red, too. And he wasn’t looking at her.

  Barney gave an exaggerated shake of the head and said to Wheedabyx, “Sorry to involve you in this, pal. Is there a post office in this town?”

  “Other end of Market Street. Why?”

  “I got a little package to mail.” Heaving himself to his feet, Barney said to Peg, “Let’s take care a this in the kitchen, not get stains all over these nice antiques here.”

  Wheedabyx said, “What’s that?” He was looking very alert, and as though he was thinking of
doing something stupid and heroic after all.

  So Peg gave up. “Okay,” she said. “You win.”

  “Come on, Peg. Kitchen,” Barney said.

  “Fuck you, Barney,” Peg said. “I told you I give up. I’ll give you Freddie, dammit to hell, but I won’t play your stupid fucking games anymore.”

  Barney beamed at her. “Peg,” he said, “I admire you. You fought the good fight. And as long as you do what I want, you can use every curse word in the book. Is Freddie around here?”

  “About ten miles away.”

  “What town?”

  “Not a town, a house in the country.”

  “What I always dreamed of,” Barney said. “We’ll take the van, to keep him calm.”

  “Er,” said Wheedabyx.

  “No,” said Peg.

  “Hold it,” Barney said to Peg, and to Wheedabyx he said, “Whadaya mean, er?”

  Wheedabyx seemed very tired of this whole situation. “I have a man outside,” he said, “keeping an eye on the van.”

  “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” Barney said. “A fireman?”

  “No.”

  “Is he armed?”

  “He’s just a part-time deputy, he’s got a gas station out on—”

  “So he’s armed.”

  Sounding frightened for his deputy, Wheedabyx said, “Except in the qualifying sessions, he’s never fired his weapon.”

  “Well, he won’t start today,” Barney promised. “Does he have a radio out there?”

  “No.”

  “How do you get in touch with him, if you want him?”

  “I go out on the porch and say, ‘Hey, Cliff.’”

  “Ha ha,” said Barney, without mirth. “You stand in the doorway, with these two friends of mine just out of sight, and you say, ‘Hey, Cliff, come in here a minute.’ And if it turns out his name isn’t Cliff, and he heads in some other direction, Mr. Wheedabyx, he will never get to fire that weapon of his, we will disqualify him completely.”

  “His name is Cliff.”

  “Good.” To the thugs, Barney said, “Disarm Cliff, and put him with the construction crew.”

  Wheedabyx and the two thugs left the room, and Barney turned back to Peg. “You’re making a lot of trouble for a lot of people today, Peg,” he said, “and I don’t know how big the basement is in this house, and it seems to me the last word I heard you say was no. Now, why’s that, Peg?”

  “We can’t go there,” Peg said. “Freddie knows you guys are after him. He knows you even had skip-tracers looking for me. So we’ve got a signal, if I show up in the van, just show up, he’ll disappear, he’ll know it’s not my idea I’m there. I mean, he won’t let you find him or talk to him, he won’t let me find him. If Freddie decides to disappear, you know, he can really do it.”

  “So we’ll take some other car,” Barney said. “The chief’ll loan us something.”

  “A strange car pulling in? He’ll be off like a shot.”

  Mordon Leethe broke a long and troubled silence, saying, “You said you’d give him to us, Miss Briscoe.”

  “I’ll phone him,” Peg said. “I’ll tell him you guys have me, I’m your prisoner, and it’s gonna get tough for me if he doesn’t come here and talk it over.”

  Barney said, “And you think he’ll show up, on your account?”

  “If I’m wrong,” she said, “I’m in deep trouble.”

  “You certainly are.”

  Wheedabyx came back in, then, looking disgusted, trailed by the thugs. Everybody ignored him. Leethe said, “Barney, I think it’s worth the try. If Peg Briscoe is the hook that’ll hold Freddie Noon to us, let’s use it. If she isn’t, let’s find out now and go kidnap his mother next.”

  With a surprised laugh, Barney said, “Counselor, I’m beginning to rub off on you!”

  “In for a penny,” Leethe said. “Once she brought us to this police chief. . . . What happens when we leave here, Barney, and all these people start identifying us?”

  “First they have to find us,” Barney said. “Peg’s the only one who knows who we are, and she isn’t gonna tell, are you, Peg?”

  “Not unless I can get away from you,” Peg said, seeing nothing to be gained by trying to soft-soap these people. What she was up to would work, or it wouldn’t work, that was all.

  And Barney loved her answer. Laughing, he said, “That’s right, Peg, not unless you get away from us, and that ain’t about to happen.” To Leethe he said, “Anyway, Counselor, I got my alibi all firmed up. Don’t you have yours?”

  “Not yet,” Leethe said. He didn’t look either happy or well.

  “You’ll be all right,” Barney assured him, and turned back to Peg. “What’s Freddie driving these days?”

  “An orange Subaru station wagon. I bought it for him used.”

  Barney turned to Wheedabyx. “Chief, I need a phone for the lady, and an extension for me.” He grinned at Peg. “Not that I don’t trust you,” he said.

  52

  Freddie was moping around the house, was what he was doing. He didn’t feel like swimming in the pool, he didn’t feel like watching a movie on the VCR, he didn’t feel like sitting in the sun or in the shade or indoors or outdoors. He didn’t feel like much of anything.

  He had got dressed this morning, putting on summer shorts and a T-shirt and espadrilles, because we do spend most of our lives in clothing, so he just felt more comfortable that way. But no long sleeves, and no gloves, and no latex head, because who for? Not for himself. In those rare instances when he caught his own reflection, that passing image of the self-animated pale blue T-shirt and maroon shorts, in a mirror or a window or the face of the microwave, it just amused him. He kind of liked the look of himself in clothes; he thought it suggested something interestingly quirky about his personality.

  When the phone rang, he was just about to put his gloves on, however reluctantly, so he could make a lonely sandwich just to keep his strength up. Then the phone rang, and he decided it was probably a wrong number or somebody trying to sell him something, so why answer. Peg wouldn’t call in the middle of the day, she’d wait till this evening. In fact, as he remembered it, she planned to spend today probably getting her old job back, so she could look again into the mouths of people who had mouths you could look into.

  (I hope I never have to have dentistry, he told himself, while the phone rang. Or surgery, come to think of it. Important life-threatening surgery. “Nurse, we must remove this spleen at once!” “What spleen is that, doctor?”)

  Four rings, and the answering machine kicked in, Peg’s voice saying we’re out, leave a message, see what good it does you; no, not the last part, that was implicit. Freddie took cold cuts and mayo and mustard from the refrigerator, noticing again how rapidly his hands got hot in these gloves, even when he was reaching into the refrigerator, and Peg’s voice stopped on the answering machine, and then Peg’s voice started again, saying, “Freddie, aren’t you there? Oh, hell, if he’s up at the pool, I don’t know what to do. Jesus. Can I leave this number, he could call back?”

  By that time, Freddie had the refrigerator door closed, the gloves off, and the phone in his hand, floating in space. “Peg?”

  “I mean, he doesn’t know where the number is, if I tell him this number.”

  “Peg?”

  “What? Freddie, is that you? Are you there?”

  “Hi, Peg,” he said, smiling, happy to hear her voice, only faintly snagged by the realization she’d been talking to somebody else for a few seconds there. “I didn’t think you’d call so early,” he explained, “so I wasn’t gonna answer.”

  “Well, this isn’t a regular call,” Peg said.

  Then he heard the strain in her voice, and paid more attention to that memory of her speaking to somebody else wherever she was—not home, that was for sure—and he let the silence go by for a few seconds, during which time he heard breathing on the line that wasn’t Peg—heavier, raspier.

  “Freddie? Are you there?”
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  “Oh, I’m here, Peg. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the chief’s house.”

  Chief? What chief? Freddie’s invisible brow furrowed; he could feel it. He said, neutrally, “Oh, yeah?”

  “You remember. The guy with all the hats.”

  Then he did; the police chief, in Dudley, the guy they were going to keep clear of from now on. Feeling sudden concern for her, “Peg!” he said. “Did he nab you?”

  “No, not him. In fact, he’s nabbed, too. Remember that cop, moonlighting, followed me north that time?”

  Oh, Freddie thought, so that’s it. He said, “Is that him, listening on the line?”

  “Yeah.” Then, away from the phone, she said, “Why not? Am I supposed to pretend we’re all stupid?” Back to Freddie, she said, fatalistically, “Yeah, it’s him again.”

  “He gotcha at the apartment, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Said lead me to Freddie, you led him to the chief instead, right?”

  “Yeah, Freddie, right.”

  “That’s pretty funny,” Freddie said, grinning.

  “Nobody here sees the humor, Freddie,” she said.

  “Ahhhh, yeah. I guess not.”

  “What this Barney wanted to do, Freddie, that’s his name, he wanted to cut my finger off and mail it to you, with a phone number where you could call him and talk it over.”

  Barney is listening, Freddie reminded himself. Handle this situation. “Pretty drastic, Peg,” he said, wondering was this Barney bluffing or was this Barney a maniac.

  “There’s other guys with—” Off, she shouted, “I’m telling him the situation, isn’t that what you want?”

  Freddie said, “Peg? Peg, never mind him, cut to the car crash.”

  “This is the car crash, Freddie.”

  “Okay. What do they want?”