"So now I'm fantasizing?"
"What have you got, Hannah? Where's your proof?"
"Damn it, David, there isn't any proof. You know that. It's just a feeling I have."
"Right. Fucking woman's intuition, huh?"
"Shut up, David. Just shut the hell up!" Hannah stood up, the chair clattering backward to the floor. She waved her hand at him. "If you don't want to listen, fine. Then leave me alone. Get the hell out of here."
David laughed at her, braying in her face. "Who the hell's apartment is this? Hannah, listen to me. Do your damn job and drop this nonsense. I had a hell of a time convincing Malcolm and the others to get you this job, but I did. Don't throw away everything I've given you."
"I didn't want you to give it to me, David. I told you that from the beginning. I was willing to find my own job, my own place ..."
"But you sure as hell took it, didn't you? You sure came panting after me when I called."
"You arrogant son of a bitch!" Hannah picked up the brass paperweight that sat on the desk. David just looked at her. Hannah breathed heavily, staring at David, amazed at the revulsion she felt for him. It was as if she'd found a rip in a favorite teddy bear, and looked to see maggots writhing in the stuffing.
She set the paperweight down, and then the tears came in gasping sobs.
"Hannah ..." David said. She could feel the warmth of his body alongside her. "Hey, I'm sorry. I really am." His hand brushed her arm, and she felt his lips brush the back of her neck. "Just ... just forget everything I said. I didn't mean any of it."
But you did mean it, David, and I can't forget. I won't ever forget.
Hannah wanted to tell him that, but she didn't.
DAVIS: Mr. Ramblur, do you understand the rights that I've just read to you?
RAMBLUR: Yeah. (pause) I've heard 'em before. If I want my damn shark of a lawyer here, I can call him. So what? I don't need him. I ain't done nothing.
SIMPSON: Then you'll be happy to answer a few questions for us.
RAMBLUR: I'm fucking ecstatic. If I were any happier I'd come in my pants.
DAVIS: Would you mind if we went inside?
RAMBLUR: If you were alone, I'd say that'd be lovely, blondie. But since you have your bodyguard here with you, yeah I'd mind.
SIMPSON: (unintelligible)
RAMBLUR: Yeah? Well, ask your questions and get the hell out of here. I'm missing As Takis Turns. (He laughs) Just remember I'm talking with you on my own time. When I say I'm done, I'm done.
DAVIS: Where were you on the night of September 16th, Mr. Ramblur?
RAMBLUR: Out. Celebrating Black Queen Night.
SIMPSON: With someone or by yourself?
RAMBLUR: With friends. You want alibis? I can give you a dozen people who'll say they saw me.
DAVIS: Would any of your friends be jokers or aces?
RAMBLUR: (laughs) Not a fucking chance, lady. I don't have garbage for friends.
DAVIS: Do you burn your garbage or just throw it out on the street?
RAMBLUR: (laughs) You're a pretty fucking clever bitch, ain't you? Bet you're real popular back at the office with a mouth like that. Well, let me tell you something ... (pause) I ain't gonna cry over that church burning. I ain't sorry at all it happened. Fire is clean. Fire purifies. And there ain't no place that needs purifying more'n Jokertown.
"Hannah?"
The voice caused Hannah to drop the transcript. Quasiman was standing in her cubicle. He seemed to have all his body parts today, at least the ones she could see. "Damn," she muttered. "You are just about the sneakiest SOB ..." To cover her embarrassment, she straightened a few of the papers on her desk. Quasiman took a step toward her. Hannah scooted her chair back until it hit the wall.
The hunchback noticed, and the open hurt in his twisted face brought red-faced guilt to Hannah's face, but she didn't move back. "I remember you," he said. "I know that doesn't sound like much, but you don't understand how difficult ..." Quasiman sighed. "I made Father Squid write everything down. I make him read it all back to me every night, just so some of it stays. I keep saying your name, trying to keep your face in my mind. I even pray -"
"Stop," Hannah said. "Just stop. I don't want to hear any of this. You need to leave."
"I just wanted to know," Quasiman said. "If you'd found out anything?"
Yes, I've found out that I'm not in love with the man I moved here for. I've found out that I don't really like him or what he believes in. How's that for a revelation? "Nothing I can tell you," she said. "I'm working on it, okay? Now let's get you out of here before Security throws a fit. You don't have a pass."
"Will you find out soon?" Quasiman persisted. "I'm worried, Hannah. I can't keep holding things together much longer. What I've seen ..." A look of pain crossed his face.
Hannah sighed. "I'm sorry -"
"But you believe me. You do." The earnestness in the hunchback's voice was almost painful. "You're still looking."
Hannah shook her head. "I'll admit that I'm disgusted and surprised by some of what I've learned. I won't say that I'm convinced there's anything to your conspiracy. I'm willing to go a little further, okay? It's just that following up isn't easy. You need to be patient, Qua -" She stopped. "You wouldn't happen to have a regular name, would you? I feel really dumb calling someone 'Quasiman'."
The joker shrugged. With his distorted back, it was an ugly gesture. "If I have, I've forgotten it. And whoever I was before, I'm not exactly that person anymore, am I?"
"I'm sorry," Hannah said. The words seemed wholly inadequate. Quasiman nodded and shrugged again. "All right," Hannah continued. "Just so you know, just so I can get you out of here, let me tell you why I'm stymied. I'd like to get some information from what used to be Vietnam. The trouble is I'm not getting any cooperation. We've opened tentative diplomatic relations with Free Vietnam in the last month, but the Feds have been no help. The UN's stonewalling, sending me from department to department. I've talked to Dr. Rudo at WHO, who said he'd see what he could do, but I haven't heard from him yet. There's actually a Free 'Nam delegation in town trying to get emergency funding from the UN - I've sent messages to them but I'm getting no answers there either: I haven't got the pull to get through the buffers to a decision-maker. If I can get to someone there before they leave ..."
A slow smile had come over Quasiman's face during Hannah's explanation. He was positively grinning at her. "What?" she asked.
"Mark Meadows," he said.
"Who?"
Quasiman just grinned. "Right at the moment, we jokers have good relations with Free 'Nam."
***
"Agent Davis?"
Hannah rose from her seat in the anteroom of the Free Vietnam suite in the Washington Omni. The man standing at the entrance to the room could have been thirty-five or fifty-five. He was caucasian, not Vietnamese; in excellent physical shape, not much taller than Hannah, but muscular. His face had a weather-beaten quality, as if he'd spent much of his time outdoors, and the aquiline nose had been broken, bending just slightly to the right over a gray walrus moustache. His hair was crewcut, the light brown brush sprinkled generously with gray. Hannah liked his eyes best of alclass="underline" they were a pale, almost colorless blue, striking in the tanned face. "Minister Belew? Thank you for seeing me."
"Minister-Without-Portfolio," Belew corrected. "I haven't the foggiest idea what that means, but it sounds official. You have some identification?" He made the request like someone used to such precautions. Hannah handed him the leather case. He looked over the photo more carefully than most, glancing back at her once and running his thumb over the state seal to make sure it was raised and embossed.