My secretary looked at me strangely for a few moments, then finally picked up his sports coat from the back of the chair and walked around me. I felt, rather than saw, him pause in the doorway.
I continued, "Just come in on Monday morning and run the office the way you usually do. I'll check in with you. Don't schedule anything until I give the okay. Have a nice day, Francisco."
When I heard the door close behind me, I sat down at the secretary's desk, rubbed my eyes and blew my nose, then looked again at the number he had written down on the slip of paper. Now I wished I'd had the presence of mind to ask Francisco who had called, and just what they'd said, but it was too late. It probably didn't make any difference. The number was in the 914 area code, Rockland County, but it wasn't a Cairn exchange, so it hadn't been Mary or the Cairn police who'd called. Whoever answered would undoubtedly tell me again that Garth was dead, and presumably tell me how he'd died.
Actually, it didn't-as far as I could tell-make much difference to me how he had died, only that he was dead. If Sacra Silver had killed Garth, I was going to kill Sacra Silver, but Garth would still be dead.
My hands were perfectly steady as I picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number Francisco had written down. It was busy. For some reason that made me angrier than the news that Garth was dead or the possibility that Sacra Silver might have killed him; somebody had a lot of nerve tying up the phone line while I was trying to get through to get information about my brother's death. Some people had no manners at all.
It occurred to me that my emotional thermostat was slightly askew.
I punched the redial button. The line was still busy.
I started going over in my mind the things that would have to be done as soon as I got this stupid phone call out of the way. First, I would have to leave for Cairn as soon as possible to be with Mary and try to comfort her as best I could. Funeral arrangements would have to be made, our parents and other relatives would have to be notified. I would have to make arrangements for relatives around the country to come to the funeral, if they wished, and afterward I would have to arrange to have Garth's body shipped back to Nebraska for burial in the family plot. I would have to contact our lawyer and make arrangements for Garth's will to be read.
Dead brothers necessitate lots of arrangements.
Before I left for Cairn, I was going to have to make out a list of instructions for Francisco; there were clients to call, matters that had to be attended to; it would probably be a good idea to make arrangements for some of Frederickson and dead Frederickson's work load for the coming week or two to be farmed out to other agencies.
Now I was sorry I had sent Francisco home. I was suddenly hungry, with a ravenous craving for pizza. I could have sent Francisco out for pizza.
Damn Garth anyway for getting himself killed. It was all such a distraction, and there was so much to do.
But all I could do at the moment was sit and stare at the beige telephone and the number on the slip of paper in front of me. I'd already picked up the receiver and tried the number twice, so I couldn't understand why I couldn't do it again. But suddenly I felt frozen in place, paralyzed.
I was certain I would be all right if only I could eat two or three slices of pizza. Damn Francisco anyway for going home when I'd ordered him to. What kind of secretary was he? He should have known that I didn't really want him to go, that I needed help. It wasn't every day that your brother died.
I willed myself to move, to reach out for the telephone. But then I started to move too much; my hand had begun to shake uncontrollably, and I dropped it back into my lap, hunching over in an effort to keep it still.
Then the crushing weight of my grief settled over me like a black blanket of lead, and the tears came. With Garth gone, I felt less than half a person. He had carried me, both literally and figuratively, on his broad shoulders throughout a tormented childhood and had helped me to grow up reasonably whole. As things had turned out, much of my life had been defined by danger, both psychological and physical, perils I had undoubtedly, if not consciously, sought out to prove something to the world, or to myself. Always, Garth had been at my side, and he had saved my life on countless occasions. A half hour before, I'd been afraid of nothing; now it seemed I was afraid of everything, even to pick up a telephone and call a number to see what the person on the other end might have to say. Only now, with Garth dead, did I realize the extent to which my brother had been my courage, my heart, my spine.
I leaned forward on the desk, resting my head on my arms, and sobbed uncontrollably, letting the tears flow freely as my sorrow washed through me like some tidal wave of acid. When my tears were spent I didn't feel all that much better, but at least my hands had stopped shaking. I sighed, blew my nose, picked up the telephone receiver, and once again punched the redial button. The line was still busy. I redialed the number, just to make sure I had gotten it right. Busy.
I hung up the telephone and stared at it some more. When the line was still busy five minutes later, I got out my reverse directory for Rockland County and looked up the number. It was a pay phone in a shopping mall in Nanuet. Now I did what I should have done in the first place, what I probably would have done if I hadn't been just slightly unnerved. I picked up the receiver once again and called Garth and Mary's home. This line was busy also, but that didn't surprise me. I kept pushing the redial button until I finally got through.
"Hello," Garth said in a cracked voice.
I was certain there had been times in my life when I'd been happier, or felt more relieved, but at the moment I simply couldn't recall them. I closed my eyes, heaved a deep sigh. "It's Mongo, Garth."
There was silence at the other end of the line for a few seconds, then a tentative "Mongo?"
"Yep."
"Oh, Jesus, I thought you were-"
"Dead, yeah. You were out, and Mary took the message that I was dead, and you were to call a certain number to get the grisly details. The number's for a pay phone at the Nanuet Mall. The receiver must be off the hook."
"Jesus," he said again. "Just a minute. There's someone tearing at my sleeve here."
There was a brief pause, and then Mary came on the line. She was sobbing, but with joy. "Mongo! Is that really you?"
"In living color. I emphasize the word 'living.' "
"But I got a call from the police. ."
"It was just a misunderstanding that's been cleared up. I assure you the report of my death was highly exaggerated, and all that."
"But how could the police-?"
"Just a misunderstanding, babe, like I said. A case of mistaken identity. You know all dwarves look alike to you normal-size people."
"You know," she whispered hoarsely, "I really would miss you, Mongo."
"Yeah, I'd miss me too. Can you put Garth back on the line?"
"Sure. Love you, brother-in-law."
"Love you, sister-in-law."
"Yeah," Garth said in a low voice when he came back on the line. "A pay phone at the Nanuet Mall, huh?"
"That's right-but not for publication around there, because you-know-who has to be the one who pulled this little stunt. I don't think Mary should know. Can you talk?"
"No."
"All right, I'll talk. It looks like we've got a merry prankster on our hands."
"Now I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch," Garth said quietly in his casual, matter-of-fact tone of voice that was always a danger signal.
"Shhh. That's talking. You leave him to me; he's mine. I'll take care of Sacra Silver. Your job is to take care of Mary."
"What are you going to do?"
"For openers, find out who the fuck he really is."
"Maybe that is his real name," Garth said very softly. "Mary told me she never heard him call himself anything else."