"Well, where do we go from here?" She had asked. Somewhere in the telling of the tale she had begun and finished crying. Her voice was hard and tired by the end. "Is there anyone we can tell?"
"No." I told her, "I'm almost certain you won't hear about anyone going to jail for murder."
She didn't like that. "The criminals-they won't pay? What will happen to them?"
"I guess, about everyone involved has paid." I could remember looking at my hands then, and thinking of all the horrible things they had been doing. "Everybody paid. They're beyond justice, or, well…let's say that many of those involved will be learning to live with justice." I thought of Van Reydner then.
"Your fee, Mr. Wildclown. You have done an excellent job." Her voice had a sudden business tone to it.
"It's fine. A check for another week will do. It's Monday."
"What did we agree on?"
"Very little if I remember." I had to congratulate myself. My wit was coming back.
"I'm very grateful. I'd like to make it all worth your while. And, to be honest, I'd like to put it behind me."
I shook my head then. She couldn't see me do it, but I shook it anyway. Mrs. Cotton wanted to buy silence, a strange commodity to truck in. But these days, money worked better than bullets.
"Three grand." I had wanted to say five, or ten, but something inside me was repulsed by the whole idea. In fact, I wanted to wash my hands of the case as well. My magnanimity might also have come from the check in my pocket. Robert Hawksbridge had cut me one for twenty-five grand. I had to talk him down at that. The reward for Julie's return was fifty thousand, after all.
After I hung up on Mrs. Cotton, I had phoned the Gazette, and told them to give a message to Mary Redding that I would meet her at my office in half an hour.
I looked at the Authority squad car. A pair of inspectors looked at me over their magazines. They were right across the street growing nervous as I stared. I smiled, realizing I had been completely lost in reverie on the sidewalk. My eyes had glazed over, but were pointed at them. I turned and walked up the steps to my office. A sour reek was in the hall. The accountants were burning hamburger or branding cattle again.
I unlocked the door-Elmo was so efficient, he needed a raise-walked through the waiting room and into my office. I dropped myself into my chair, and immediately winced against the pain. I set my gun on the desk blotter. I lit a cigarette, and momentarily fought the urge to open the blinds. I won, darkness would do. I flicked on the desk lamp. I waited.
Chapter 67
I was drawn from my daze by the steel grinding sound of an Authority Transport pulling up in front of the building. I smiled. I heard the characteristic repetitive horn as the rear ramp opened. I thought of Willieboy's hideous end and shivered. There followed the heavy tromp of boots on pavement. I waited. A quick sweat broke out on my brow. What if I was wrong? That was a possibility, after all, and I believed everything to be possible. I shrugged, when I heard a single set of footsteps hit the stairs. If I were wrong, I would be dead soon-or Tommy would be. Really dead though, no way back. Maybe just darkness and the silence of the singing soul. Maybe stars, and light, or Pearly Gates. Maybe fire and brimstone, maybe more Greasetown. At that moment, I didn't care. What would be would be. Having fixed my mind on that rather dismal prospect, I began to get downright cocky. If the worst doesn't matter to you, how can you lose?
The door to the waiting room opened. I heard footsteps cross the carpet. The feet that made them weren't heavy and steel-shanked, I could tell that much. I saw a shadow appear in the pebbled glass window. It looked familiar. The door opened. Mary Redding pushed it aside, wearing the long black coat of Authority. I smiled, rather pleased with myself. I gestured to the company chair. Redding smiled. Then took it. Dark slacks hid her calves. Her feet were covered with crepe-soled shoes. I had a feeling I wouldn't be seeing her toes curl up in orgasm for a while. She took off the trademark fedora of the inspector and dropped it beside her chair.
"How did you know?" Her voice was clear but a little defeated.
"A number of things. But one clinched it." I offered her a cigarette, but she declined. She pulled one of her special brand from her overcoat.
Redding smiled then. "Goddamn it! You surprised a lot of people."
"I'm glad. Of course, a lot of those people surprised me." I lit my cigarette and pulled hard on the hot smoke. It reminded me of the fire in the Galaxy Tower. It reminded me of death. I put it out. I offered her a drink that she declined. Instead, she sat watching me.
"Did you get Van Reydner?" I asked.
"Yes. And what was left of that other guy. Van Reydner told us he, Tobias, and Adrian, were the masterminds of the whole operation. She said they came up with the method of collecting clients for Simpson's, and she said they were the ones who planned to sell the Regenerics Secret to the highest bidder. I guess she said a lot of things. I guess she'd pretty much sing like a bird right now, if we asked her to." Redding smiled and blew some smoke. "She's rather anxious to get into a preservation treatment of her own. Don't worry; we'll hurry that, just for her. Unfortunately, I won't believe much of what she's saying until she's been out of Blacktime for a while," she chuckled, then went silent again. "How did you find out about me?"
"I thought you were a reporter, and nothing more. I only began to get suspicious about some of the things you said, after I visited the Gazette. I noticed people acting a little strange around you. Then, you lied about Morris-the librarian. He just about jumped out of his skin when you took me into the morgue, you must have forgotten who he was so you made up that story about him being a volunteer. And Morris reacted like you had a lot more authority than you should have had. That was the hard part of your role as a reporter, you know. You get to work on murder assignments; yet, you have to cover your ass by saying that you haven't worked there long. You mentioned Malcolm Aird to me, and for the longest time I couldn't remember who he was. Then I got a mental picture of this short guy with gray hair and a black moustache. He was the editor of a newspaper. I can't remember where I met him, but I do know he was easygoing enough to share a few drinks with a clown. One of his biggest complaints was that since everyone was immortal, it was hard as hell to get any cub reporters to do the little stories. Everyone had too much experience. When you told me you had only been there two months, and were already working crime-it just didn't sit right with me. You also mentioned you had job security, which didn't wash." I tried another go at a cigarette. It worked this time. "Still, that could have been explained. You could have been the editor's girlfriend, or you could have come from a prestigious magazine. No, I wasn't positive." I squeaked my chair. "But the things that sold me were the things that happened here."
"I didn't walk properly for a week…" She smirked, and then surprised me by blushing.
"Beside that, which I'm not knocking. The fact that you were at the scene of the Adrian murder so quickly. The fact that you would come home with me in the first place. The fact that you happened to be the only reporter to discover both the murders at the Morocco. And when we were here, talking murder, you kept mentioning justice, as though it was really important to you. Reporters can be interested in justice, but any that truly believe it can be found wouldn't work for the Greasetown Gazette. You talked about it, as though you believed it existed out there. And you asked me about it enough to give me the feeling that you were checking me out for reasons other than simply to determine whether or not I would be a good lay." Mary Redding blushed again, and crossed her legs. "There is also this," I said pointing to my face. "The clown makeup doesn't do a lot for me. Any woman that is turned on by it is suspicious in my books."