It was cold, and the heater in the rented car wasn't working; that was bad. Harper was huddled next to me as I drove; that was good. "Why the quick exit, Robby?" she mumbled into my shoulder.
"I didn't want to wear out our welcome."
"I didn't notice that we had a real welcome to wear out. I kind of figured you were going to put a little heat on him."
"Why did you figure that?"
"You mean you believed that story about all of them being illegal aliens, refugees from communist tyranny traipsing through the Midwest in a kind of ghost circus?"
"No. First, I can't see how being with a circus would protect you from INS scrutiny. Second, and more important, there were no children; none in any of the acts that we saw, and none wandering around outside the trailers. It was Luther who mentioned families, and it's a little hard for me to believe that all those men and women just up and left their children behind- one or two couples, maybe, but not all of them. Have you ever seen a circus where the performers' kids weren't running around all over the place?"
"Hmm. Of course not. I hadn't even thought of that."
"That's the reason you're not a world-famous private investigator. Why didn't youbelieve him?"
"Because I know at least a half dozen performers living in Florida who are refugees from what used to be communist bloc countries, and they never had any trouble getting permanent resident status. I think our friend Luther was bullshitting us, Robby. He's a hell of a lot better animal trainer than he is a liar."
"Right."
"Then why didn't you press him on it?"
"What would be the point? It doesn't make any difference what's really going on there. The only thing that matters is that they own the circus, and they obviously don't intend to sell it."
"Then you're not going to check with the bank in Chicago?"
I shrugged. "Sure. Why not? It's on the way home."
"But you don't think any information they might give you could somehow help us get the circus back?"
"Highly unlikely. I just want the information, if I can get it."
"I don't understand, Robby. If the people who own World Circus are up to something fishy, I mean something besides providing a sanctuary for illegal aliens, then why wouldn't it be possible for us to expose them and perhaps put them out of business? We could pick up the circus the same way they did. They virtually stole it from Phil, so why shouldn't we steal it from them?"
"It might be possible; it just wouldn't be a good idea."
Harper lifted her head from my shoulder, peered at me in the dim light cast by the dashboard. "And just why not, Mr. world-famous private investigator? I thought getting Phil Statler's circus back for him was why we came here."
"Because, my dear, the people who own World Circus and who may be using it as a front for some kind of illegal operation might not appreciate having the circus 'stolen back,' as you put it, much less having their activities exposed. Let's suppose, for the sake of argument, that we're dealing with some heavy drug dealers here. That would be my guess as to what's going on; the circus is used as a front for picking up drug shipments and then distributing those drugs in lots to smaller dealers across the Midwest, all along a fifteen-hundred-mile route. They're able to keep everybody together, and everything buttoned up tight, because everyone has a piece of the action. They've probably bought protection from local police in the areas they travel through. Of course, we could always go to the DEA-assuming we had some kind of proof. So all of the people involved are busted and put in the joint, the circus is seized and eventually put up for sale, we buy it and turn it over to Phil to manage. You think the big boys behind the whole operation, assuming it is drugs, are going to let it go at that? The first thing they'd probably do is blow up the whole circus during the middle of a performance, and then they'd start knocking off every one of the listed shareholders in the Statler Brothers Circus, starting with you and me. Drug dealers don't take kindly to having their operations exposed."
"I see," Harper said in a small voice as she again rested her head on my shoulder. "I hadn't thought of that either. But what if we could expose them without their finding out who we are, or that it's really the circus we're after?"
"I've already told Luther we were interested in buying the circus. I want to do some checking with the bank in Chicago, and then I'll pass on anything I learn, along with our suspicions, to an FBI friend of mine in New York. But for now, we stay away from the circus. We want to get Phil back on his feet, not put him under the ground."
"You're right, Robby," she sighed. "It's just such a shame. ."
After a few more minutes, Harper began stroking my thigh- slowly and gently at first, then with increasing pressure and purpose. It was becoming just a tad difficult to concentrate on my driving.
"It's still a couple of hours to Topeka," I said hoarsely, stroking the back of her hand where it had come to rest in my groin. "You want to stop someplace for the night where we can be, uh, warm?"
"I think that's a wonderful idea, Robby," she said huskily. "I was beginning to wonder how long I was going to have to keep this up before it would occur to you. I was afraid I was losing my powers of persuasion."
Fifteen minutes later we came to a medium-size town and found a motel on the highway just beyond it. I pulled up to the main office, parked next to a newspaper vending machine and left the car running, went into the office to register. I'd just started to fill out a registration card when I heard the office door open and close. I turned, was surprised to find Harper standing just behind me, a wry grin on her face. She was holding up a copy of a local newspaper, and I was startled by the half-page photograph and the banner headline just above it.
Obviously, the story told by the photograph and the banner headline had, at least for one day, pushed news and rumors about the werewolf killings off the front page. Now the big news was UFOs, as well as the Big Question of what the message seen by a few million people across four states might mean, and who the message might have been intended for; none of the dozen pilots who had been hired to skywrite or tow banners professed to know.
The headline read: Message to an Alien in Our Midst?
The photograph was of a message in smoke written across the sky, and it read:
MONGO CALL HOME
"Robby, I think you'd better call your brother," Harper said drily. "He seems anxious to talk to you."
"Cute, Garth. Really cute. Is something the matter with Phil?"
"Well, well, well." Garth's voice at the other end of the line carried more than a hint of exasperation. "No, nothing's the matter with Phil. What with Mary's cooking and a lot of walks along the river, I'd say he's looking quite healthy. I see you got my message."
"I got it, all right, along with a few million other people. Jesus Christ, Garth, just how many planes did you hire, and how much is all that skywriting and banner-towing going to cost Frederickson and Frederickson?"
"Don't ask. I wouldn't have had to spend any money if you'd simply checked in with me after a reasonable time, the way you're supposed to. How the hell was I supposed to reach you? I thought we had a standard reporting procedure we're both to follow."