She laughed shyly.
"Promise not to tell anyone?" she whispered.
"Promise," he replied with mock solemnity.
"There's a sundeck up on the roof that's not unlocked until 8. I have a key to the door and I go up there, lock myself on top, and sunbathe in the nude. The early morning sun feels great. The old people who run the place know it, but they take pity on a poor blind girl's one pleasure, and run interference."
"Hmmm... As a member of the Future Rapists of America, I'll file that away."
She laughed--a very amiable laugh, he thought.
"Just try it. I'm the best blind karate student in the county!"
"Say, will we need a car to get to this diner?"
"Yes, it'd be better than walking seven blocks," she replied. "But you'll have to guide me to and help me in the car."
This he did easily, and soon, following her directions, they pulled up to THE DINER.
He thought of it all in capital letters because it looked like a million diners he'd seen--silver, long and thin, sort of like a wheelless railroad car. He helped her in and they took seats in a booth near the door. The diner wasn't all that crowded--by 8:30 the regulars were on their way to work and any others were out gawking at the operations by the lake. He ordered sausage and eggs for the two of them.
"Well, sir," she said playfully, "what with this being our first date and me buying, I think we ought to be properly introduced."
"Paul Carleton Savage," he answered. "And you?"
"Jennifer Barron."
She put out her right hand. He hesitated for a second, then shook it awkwardly with his left.
"How come the odd handshake?" she asked as the waitress poured coffee.
Savage hesitated. Here it was. Well, it was only strike one. She couldn't see the rest of him.
"I--well, I have a handicap," he told her.
"Well, that gives us something in common..." she replied uncertainly. "What's yours?"
"Put out your right hand again--Careful of the coffee!"
She did, and he put the claw into it. She took it, felt it carefully, shaping its line and form. Her face was serious and intense.
"A mechanical hand?"
"Yep. Call me Lefty."
"How'd you lose it--if I can ask."
"Vietnam," he replied. "It was shot off."
A slight shiver went through her at the thought, but it passed quickly.
"In case you haven't noticed," she said after a moment, "I have a handicap, too. Nothing so glamorous."
"Well, I told you about mine. Tell me about yours."
"Nothing to tell, really," she replied. "I was born blind."
She reached up and took off her dark sunglasses. Her eyes were snow white. She had no pupils. She put the glasses back on.
"That usually turns everybody's stomach," she said sourly.
The eggs came as if on cue.
"So does the hand," he replied. "Looks like we were made for each other!"
She laughed, and started in on the sausage.
The eyes had been a mild shock, but, as his claw had with her, they quickly became irrelevant.
"The only thing repulsive," he told her, "is the amount of ketchup you're pouring on perfectly good scrambled eggs."
She laughed. "Savage," she said. "That's a good English name, like Barron."
"Actually, I have no idea of my ancestry. I'm an orphan."
"Then where'd the name come from?"
"Well, let's just say I'm not really handsome," he explained gingerly. "Never was. Too much hair, and a build more like an ape than anything. I was a really ugly baby. I think my parents thought I was retarded or something. At any rate, one of the wits at the orphanage thought I kind of looked like a caveman he'd seen pictures of in an anthropology book, and Savage I became. Paul was just a good name for a boy in a Lutheran orphanage, and I added the middle name, Carleton, myself because it sounded classy."
He wolfed down the meal and started on his second cup of coffee, starting to feel fully awake for the first time. "What about you?"
"No real story," she replied casually. "I was born here. Daddy was a real estate agent and did a pretty good business, upper-middle-class and all that. I was the only child. I think my parents blamed themselves for my blindness; anyway, they lavished all their attention on me--special tutors, braille class, Seeing Eye dog, the whole bit. But I was really sort of a prisoner in the house. It was my world. I knew it absolutely.
"The tutors helped me get state certification, and I graduated from high school sort of without ever being in a school. I could have gone--but Mama wasn't willing to let me out of her sight, it seemed."
"Where are your parents now?" he asked.
"Dead. Car crash coming home from a New Year's party, 'bout two years ago. I might've gone, but there were only older people there and I didn't like to socialize much--all this 'Please, dear, let me do this for you' and 'Oh, you poor, poor girl' bullcrap. I stayed home--and inherited about a hundred and fifty thousand. I hadn't known Daddy was worth nearly that much. I sold the house for another sixty, and banked it, then moved into the apartment. It was all I needed: I have few expenses, the money draws good interest, and I can probably last the rest of my life on the money."
Savage decided on a calculated risk. The torrent of words that poured from her demonstrated her extreme loneliness, and told the whole story. Isolated from the mainstream of society--even blind society--by overprotective parents, and told she was crippled and treated that way all her life, she had not known how to communicate. Dropped suddenly into real life, she had no experience to cope with it. She'd retreated into the small world of her apartment, and stayed. People wanted to help, of course, but their obvious motive--pity--only increased her own self-pity. She dressed sloppily because she didn't have anyone to dress for. She kept a sloppy house because she had lost hope. When she was feeling particularly lonely, she ate.
Savage chose his words carefully. "Did you ever," he asked softly, "wish you'd gone to that party?"
She froze, sitting straight up for an instant; then she seemed to melt. Tears welled up behind the glasses and streamed down her cheeks.
"I--I'm sorry I said that," he apologized. "I shouldn't have."
"No, no, that's all right," she said. "You're right. Yes, I've wished it. I--I've even thought of correcting the mistake."
"What the hell for?" he chastised her. "There's no reason for it. You're not unattractive, and, being born blind, you're less handicapped than somebody who goes blind. There are lots of productive things you could do. Jobs. Get out!"
"For what?" she asked bitterly. "For who? Why? So I can exchange one prison for another?"
"Maybe for me..." he said softly.
"For you...?" She gave a bitter, humorless laugh. "Who are you, Paul Carleton Savage? A traveler? A man of great experience? Somebody who got here last night and will be gone tomorrow morning."
Savage sat thinking for a few seconds. How strange, he thought. How really strange. Come in on a dirty case, and in the space of an hour in the morning get caught up with somebody. She was right, after all. If the Team cleaned things up, he would be gone. Somehow, he felt very guilty about all this. Abruptly, he decided he would take a vacation--they were pretty flexible around D.C. headquarters, anyway--when this job was done. Here. Stay a while. See it through. He'd made a commitment somehow.
"I'll be here for a while, Jennifer," he told her. "Let's see what develops."
She smiled a wan smile, but she didn't believe him. Even so, this was the first time anything had happened. It was like the excitement last night, she thought. Enjoy it while it lasts...
"Let's go," he said, picking up the check.
"How much is it?" she asked him.
"Never mind. My treat."
"Oh, no!" she shot back. "Remember--this is my date."
He shrugged. "Three twelve."
She brought out the wallet and counted out three ones and took a quarter from the chan
ge purse. "You leave the tip," she said.
As Savage got in the car, he heard the buzzer alarm inside.
Jennifer heard it, too. "What's that?" she asked.
"Car phone," he replied, and touched the stud. "Hang on a minute while I answer this."
She sat quietly as he picked up the receiver. "Savage here."
"Savage! My God, been trying to reach you for some time!" came a gruff male voice.
"Breakfast with a pretty lady," he answered, and Jenny smiled.
"Well, time to get to work. We can't get the Team assembled there until four or so this afternoon. You'll have to delay the dive until then."
Savage felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "You mean that's not the Team out there now?"
"Hell, no! What gives?"
"Hate to tell you this, but the Army is out there--and it's not what we planned at all."
"Oh, shit!" exclaimed the watch. "You mean the real one?"
CHAPTER THREE
As Savage drove out to the lakeside, Jennifer was silent for a while. Finally, she asked, "Just what sort of work do you do?"
"I investigate. That big visitor you had last night is my baby--the reason I'm here. It's my job to check out all sort of weird happenings around this area of the country."
"For whom? I mean, for what do you work?"
"Well, a combination of agencies, really," he said carefully.
"Government?"
"Some," he admitted, "and some private foundations as well. Whoops! Here comes the roadblock. Army men this time. Hope you don't mind the delay."
"That's all right," she said quietly. "I have nothing else to do."
The sentry was not as trusting as the trooper had been; Savage's DIA credentials were meticulously scrutinized. However, when the man was satisfied, he motioned Savage on through and told him to park next to a troop carrier about a hundred feet farther on.
"Wait here," Savage told Jennifer, and got out.
In a few minutes, he had spotted the obvious supervisor, a chicken colonel, who, Savage saw from his nameplate, was named Marovec.
"Morning, Colonel," Savage called pleasantly.
"Who the hell are you?" snarled Marovec, some exasperation in his voice. Ever since coming in at about 6 A.M., he had been besieged with town officials, public works men, and a few reporters.
"Savage, DIA, Pentagon," he replied crisply. "I didn't get any word that regulars were being sent up."
"You wouldn't," Marovec replied in a more subdued tone. "Didn't know it myself until a few hours ago. I got the order to move down--have a little installation up in the hills there--and wait for an Air Force specialty team."
"Any idea why?"
"Not really," he admitted. "I think NORAD tracked this thing down and didn't like something about the way it came in."
"Flying saucers?" Savage asked derisively.
"Naw. None of that goddam silly stuff. Could be a lost Russian item or something, though. I'm told that what bugged the hell out of them was the slow descent and the fact that it changed course for no apparent reason, like it wanted to hit just where it did. Anyway, we want to see what's there."
"So do I, Colonel, so do I. What's going to happen now?"
"Well, we wait for the flyboys to come in. Should be good--never saw flyboys in scuba gear before. All we need now is the Navy."
"Well, look, I've got a local in the car. Let me drop her off and I'll come on back."
"No hurry," the lieutenant colonel replied. "They're flying in some people from Vandenberg and"--he looked at his watch--"they just now left. It's almost ten now. I don't figure they could get to Mycroft, get their stuff, and get out to this site before three or four. Good thing it's summer--plenty of working light."
"Okay," Savage replied. "I'll complete my interviews with the locals in town and meet you about three, then."
"Should be time enough. Probably just a big rock, anyway, buried so deep they'll never get it out."
"I don't think so, Colonel," Savage objected. "Look out there at the center of the lake. See that dark blotch? I think that's it."
"Could be," Marovec admitted. "We'll see."
As Savage walked back to the car, he saw that Jennifer had gotten out and was leaning against the door, letting the warm breeze off the lake hit her in the face. He stopped to stare at her for a moment.
Funny, he thought to himself. Here I meet her only this morning and, in the middle of the biggest job of my life, I can't think of much else but her. This sort of thing happens to other people, not to me, he told himself. But the strong emotional feeling, somewhat ill-defined and very alien, just wouldn't go away. He found himself liking--even admiring--the unkempt, informal look: her deficiencies, so obvious earlier, seemed to turn into assets or become suddenly irrelevant.
Walking back up to her, he put his left hand in hers.
She smiled. "So how'd it go?"
"Nothing much doing until the big boys get here this afternoon," he told her. "Let's go back."
He helped her into the car and started back to the Merritt. As he drove, he punched the stud and picked up the transceiver once again.
"Duty Watch," responded the same gruff male voice he had talked to earlier.
"Savage again," he reported. "The big boys are coming in from Vandenberg at three. Can you vouch for me through DIA and get me in on the show?"
"Already done after your first call. Looks like a rough one, Savage. Particularly if there's still something alive in there."
"Don't see how we can put the lid on it now," Savage agreed. "The best we can do is cover the examination when they get the thing out. That won't be easy--a couple of days and some heavy equipment."
"Okay. Stay there and do what you can. Above all, keep us informed. We have Della Rosa already on that Air Force team and Peterson's there with his Washington Post cover. We're ready to drop in the Team and to hell with it if things get really messy."
"Right. Back at three or earlier, if things develop," Savage told him. "Clear for now."
"Clear," responded the watch officer.
"That really was a spaceship that crashed in there, wasn't it?" Jenny asked suddenly.
Savage was startled. "Huh? What makes you think the flying saucers are among us all of a sudden?"
"When you're blind," she explained, "you train your other senses to a fine point. I heard both ends of the conversation."
Savage turned into the parking lot and parked the car. He sat for a along moment, thinking about what to say.
"Yes," he said finally. "We think it was. And it could be extremely dangerous."
He got out of the car and opened her door, helping her out. As he closed her side and they started for the door to the inside hall, Savage heard a series of electrical bells.
"What the hell is that?" he asked.
"The ice cream truck," she replied. "It usually makes two runs through the area, right about now and later this evening."
"But I thought the guy who ran the truck was the father of the girl who was killed," he said in a puzzled tone.
Jennifer, too, looked suddenly strange. "He is, come to think of it."
Savage took her by the hand and they walked around to the front of the apartment complex. The truck, one of the snub-nosed, box-shaped trucks that specialized in soft ice cream, was just pulling out, its bells jangling. A half-dozen or so kids were standing in the lot, watching it go. Most were holding ice cream cones or bars, which were dripping messily in the hot sun, but none seemed to be eating. Instead, they all watched the truck roll down the road and out of view, dreamy sort of half-smiles on their faces.
That was what was wrong. That and the fact that kids almost never mill around after a truck leaves. They rush to buy the stuff, then run back to eat, get messy, and return to play. Savage described the scene to Jennifer.
They approached one of the kids, a boy of eight or nine just standing there, a double-dip chocolate cone oozing down.
"Hi!" Savage greeted the boy cheerf
ully. "Was that Mr. McBride?"
"Yeah," the boy answered sullenly, sounding like his mouth was full of mush.
"Is that you, Tommy?" Jennifer put in, recognizing the voice.
"Yeah, Jenny," he replied with the same mushy indifference.
"How did Mr. McBride look and act, Tommy?" Savage asked him.
The boy shrugged. " 'Bout the same, I guess. Didn't notice, 'cause of Charley."
"Who's Charley, Tommy?" Jennifer prodded.
"He's our friend," the boy responded dreamily.
"Is Charley a dog or something?" Savage asked.
"Naw. He's--well, sort of a little purple haystack, y'know."
And, with that, Tommy seemed to lose interest and wondered off with the other kids.
Savage frowned. "Ever hear of anything like that before?" he asked Jennifer.
"No," she admitted. "Not that. But kids have such great imaginations, and McBride was always good with them. He always pretended he had an invisible friend in the freezer who handed him the ice cream bars. They love it."
Savage shrugged, and they returned to the doorway, but something in the back of his mind told him that things weren't kosher. McBride out the day after his daughter was killed, her body still in the lake. And the kids' reactions...
He put it out of his mind for now as they approached Jennifer's door.
"Come on in for a few minutes, Paul," she invited as she unlocked it. "You said you had some time. And excuse the looks of the place."
He entered without a word and watched as she kicked off her sandals and plopped on the bed. He just sort of stood there for a second, cursing himself, unsure of what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, but there were inhibitions long ingrained in him which whispered that, no matter what he did, it would be the wrong move and blow it. Calm and as implacable as ever on the outside, he was a raging torrent on the inside.
"Come on over and sit on the bed," she said, and he did, putting his left arm around her.
"Have you had a lot of girls, Paul?" she asked. "World traveler, detective, and all that--you must have."
"No," he answered her softly. "Nobody. I grew up as much a social prisoner as you, Jenny. The ugly one, Mr. Ape Man, and all that. I never really had much of an adolescence. I stayed away from social contacts--the ridicule was too much. Finally, when one girl did show some interest in me--I was eighteen--I blew everything by not knowing what to do. I--I couldn't be human. The armor grew up with me and it proved too thick."
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