"I'll let you out," Matt said, and went down the stairs ahead of him.
Matt went into the kitchen and took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and went into the living room, slumped in his chair and picked up a copyof Playboy. He looked at his answering machine. The red,You Have Messages light was flashing.
I really don't want to hear my messages. But on the other hand, Wohl may be wondering what the hell took me so long.
He reached over and pushed the PLAY button.
There were six calls, five of them from people People, hell, Evelyn is at it again!
– who had not chosen to leave a message, and one from Jack Matthews, who wanted him to call the first chance he got.
And I know what you want, Jack Matthews. The FBI wants to know what the hell the Keystone Cops are doing with the Secret Service big shot from Washington. Fuck you!
As the tape was rewinding, the doorbell, the one from the third floor, at the foot of his stairs, buzzed.
Now what, O'Mara? Did you forget something?
He got out of his chair, and pushed the button that operated the solenoid, and then looked down the stairs to see what O'Mara wanted.
Mrs. Evelyn Glover came through the door and smiled up at him.
Jesus H. Christ!
"Am I disturbing anything?"
"No," Matt lied. "I was just about to call you. Come on up."
There was an awkward moment at the head of the stairs, when Matt considered if he had some sort of obligation to kiss her and decided against it.
"I guess I shouldn't have done this, should I?" Evelyn asked.
"Don't be silly, I'm glad to see you. Would you like a drink?"
"Yes. Yes, I would."
"Cognac?"
"Yes, please."
She followed him into the kitchen, and stood close, but somewhat awkwardly, as he found the bottle and a snifter and poured her a drink.
"Aren't you having one?"
"I've got a beer in the living room."
"I owe you an apology," Evelyn said.
"How come?"
"I didn't really believe you when you said you had to work," she said. "I thought you were… trying to get rid of me."
"Why would I want to do that?"
Because even as stupid as you are in matters of the heart, you can see where this one is about to get out of control.
"But then, when I happened to drive by and saw the police car parked in front…"
"He just left."
As if you didn't know. What have you been doing, Evelyn, circling the block?
"Forgive me?" Evelyn asked coyly.
"There's nothing to forgive."
She had moved close to him, and now there was no question at all that she expected to be kissed.
There was just a momentary flicker of her tongue when he kissed her. She pulled her face away just far enough to be able to look into his eyes and smiled wickedly. He kissed her again, and this time she responded hungrily, her mouth open on his, her body pressing against his.
When she felt him stiffen, she caught his hand, directed it to her breast, and then moved her hand to his groin.
She moved her mouth to his ear, stuck her tongue in, and whispered huskily, pleased, "Well, he's not mad at me, is he?"
"Obviously not," Matt said.
To hell with it!
He put his hand under her sweater and moved it up to the fastener on her brassiere.
Marion Claude Wheatley turned the rental car back in to the Hertz people at the airport in plenty of time to qualify for the special rate, but there was, according to the mental defective on duty, 212 miles on the odometer, twelve more than was permitted under the rental agreement. The turn-in booth functionary insisted that Marion would have to pay for the extra miles at twenty-five cents a mile. He was stone deaf to Marion's argument that he'd made the trip fifty times before, and it had never exceeded 130 miles.
It wasn't the three dollars, it was the principle of the matter. Obviously, the odometer in the car was in error, and that was Hertz's fault, not his. Finally, a supervisor was summoned from the airport. He was only minimally brighter than the mental defective at the turnin booth, but after Marion threatened to turn the entire matter over not only to Hertz management, but also to the Better Business Bureau and the police, he finally backed down, and Marion was able to get in a taxi and go home.
When he got to the house, Marion carefully checked everything, paying particular attention to the powder magazine, to make sure there had been no intruders during his absence.
Then he unpacked the suitcases, and took his soiled linen, bedclothes, and his overalls to the basement, and ran them through the washer, using the ALL COLD and LOW WATER settings. He watched the machine as it went through the various cycles, using the time to make up a list of things he would need in the future.
First of all, he would need batteries, and he made a note to be sure to check the expiration date to be sure that he would be buying the freshest batteries possible for both the detonation mechanism and for the radio transmitter.
He would need more chain, as well. He was very pleased to learn how well the chain had functioned. He would need six lengths of chain, five for the five devices, and one as a reserve. Each length had to be between twenty and twenty-two inches in length.
He would need two 50-yard rolls of duct tape, and two 25-yard rolls of a good quality electrical tape, tape that would have both high electrical and adhesive qualities. He wouldn't need anywhere near even twenty-five yards of electrical tape, but one tended to misplace small rolls of tape, and he would have a spare if that happened. One tended to lose the larger rolls of duct tape less often, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful.
And he would need five pieces of luggage in which to place the devices. As he had driven back from the Pine Barrens, Marion had decided that what had been "AWOL bags" in the Army would be the thing to get. They were of canvas construction, nine or ten inches wide, probably eighteen inches or two feet long, and closed with a zipper.
It would be necessary to get them with brass, or steel, zippers, not plastic or aluminum. By attaching a wire between a steel or brass zipper and the antennae of the devices, it would be possible to increase the sensitivity of the radio receivers' antennae.
He would also need an attache case in which to carry the shortwave transmitter. He had seen some for sale in one of the trashy stores along Market Street, east of City Hall. They were supposed to be genuine leather, but Marion doubted that, considering the price they were asking. It didn't matter, really, but there was no sense in buying a genuine leather attache case when one that looked like leather would accomplish the same purpose.
Marion made two more notes, one to remind himself not to buy the AWOL bags all in one place, which might raise questions, and the other to make sure they all were of different colors and, if possible, of slightly different design.
He was finished making up the list a good five minutes before the washing machine completed the last cycle, and he was tempted to just leave the sheets and everything in the machine, and come back later and hang them up to dry, but then decided that the best way to go, doing anything, was to finish one task completely before going on to another.
He waited patiently until the washing machine finally clunked to a final stop, and then removed everything and hung it on a cord stretched across the basement. Things took longer, it seemed like forever, to dry in the basement, but on the other hand, no one had ever stolen anything from the cord in the basement the way things were stolen from the cord in the backyard.
When he came out of the basement, he changed into a suit and tie, and then walked to the 30^th Street Station. He wanted to make sure that his memory wouldn't play tricks on him about the general layout of the station, and what was located where. He had been coming to the 30^th Street Station since he had been a child, and therefore should know it like the back of his hand. But the operative word there was " should," and it simply made sense to have another careful look, in case changes had been made or there was some other potential problem.