Death of a Citizen

CHAPTER 17

IN front of the restaurant, I put the truck into a slot next to a small, blue foreign sedan that I recognized, from the sticker on the back, the Texas plates, and other peculiarities, as the one I'd already passed on the road. It was a Morris. I'd read somewhere that they'd jacked up the horsepower from twenty-seven to a sizzling thirty-eight, but it still wasn't exactly what the sports-car boys like to call a bomb; you wouldn't have to worry about tearing up the pavement with the frantic acceleration when you let in the clutch. Glancing inside, I saw that the damn little heap, not much bigger than a perambulator, had a ducky little miniature airconditioning unit mounted under the dash. Well, that's Texas for you.

"It's a Morris," I said to Tina as I opened the truck door for her. "Remember the one we managed to promote in London, quite illegally, that I was always having to get out my Boy Scout knife on and dismantle that ridiculous electric fuel pump they must have got direct from the Tinker-Toy people."

"I remember," she said. "I was very impressed by your cleverness."

"You were supposed to be," I said. I gestured towards the public phone booth at the corner of the building. "Go ahead and do your stuff where everybody can see you. I'll wait for you inside. Got a dime?"

''Yes."

"Do you need more, or will Mac let you reverse the charges?" I grinned. "This peacetime operation must be the nuts. I can remember a few times in Germany when I'd have loved to pick up a phone and ask the boss what the hell to do next. Where do you get hold of him these days? Does he still have that hole in the wall just off 12th Street in Washington?"

I was just talking casually as we walked toward the building, to make us look bright and carefree. I didn't mean a thing by the questions, but Tina glanced at me sharply, and hesitated a long moment before she said in a half-embarrassed way: "I'm sorry, chйri. You know I can't give you information like that. I mean, you're not really… I mean, you've been outside a long time."

It was a little like being kicked in the teeth, although it shouldn't have been. After all, there would be quite a few of us alumni of Mac's unique institution of higher learning by this time. We couldn't all expect to be kept posted on developments back at the old alma mater.

"Yes," I said. "Sure, kid."

She put her hand on my arm and said quickly, "I'll ask him what… what your status is."

I shrugged. "Don't bother. You shoot 'em, I bury 'em. Unskilled labor, that's me."

She said, "Don't be silly, darling. Order me a hamburger and a Coca-Cola. By all means a Coca-Cola. One must drink the wine of the country, nicht wahr?"

"Jawohi," I said. "Si, si. Oui, oui. Roger."

"Eric."

"Yes."

Her eyes were apologetic. "I'm sorry. But you wouldn't tell me, if our situations were reversed. Not without instructions. Would you?"

I grinned. "Go make your call, and stop worrying about the morale of the troops."

Starting through the door, I drew back to make way for a young couple just coming out-a skinny young man in a sport jacket and the kind of checked cap that was once reserved for golfers, and a big horse of a girl in fiat shoes, a tweed skirt, and a cashmere sweater. She damn well had to wear fiat shoes. In high heels, she'd start having my trouble with low doorways.

For my courtesy, she smiled at me nicely, showing big, white, very even teeth. On second look, she was kind of attractive in a healthy and long-legged way. She reminded me of somebody, and I paused to watch her climb into the little blue car, fitting herself quite gracefully into the limited space. The man climbed in, and they drove off together, with the proud and self-conscious look of people who've found themselves something unique in the way of transportation.

It wasn't until I was inside the building that I realized who the girl reminded my of-my wife. Beth had once had that nice, young, well-bred, under-dressed, Eastern-girls-school look, just like this female Texas beanpole. Perhaps she still had it. It's a little hard to tell just how a girl looks after you've lived with her a dozen years or so. Well, Beth's looks weren't something I wanted to spend a lot of thought on, at the moment.

I picked up a Santa Fe paper from a stack of assorted news publications by the door and went on into the restaurant proper. It was done in chrome and formica with plywood paneling, and it had all the warm and homelike atmosphere and authentic local color of a filling station, except that the waitresses wore full-skirted pseudo-Spanish costumes that reminded me a little of Barbara Herrera. I seemed to be in a reminiscent mood.

There was a big jukebox in the corner, on the democratic theory, I suppose, that a couple of dozen diners yearning for peace and quiet must not be allowed to frustrate the one minority screwball with a coin and a yen for noise. A beefy character in a gaudy shirt, highheeled boots, and tight jeans that came up just high enough to cover his rump was feeding it some change, and as I wandered towards an empty table, the speaker let out a few weird sounds, and a man began to sing in an eerie, breathless voice about something coming out of the sky that had one big horn and one big eye.

I sat down and opened the paper and discovered that it was yesterday's, as might have been expected. Santa Fe has only an afternoon paper, and today's probably wouldn't get this far from home until supper time or later. It gave me a funny feeling to look at it, the same edition, to all appearances, as the one I'd picked up by the front door, glanced at, and tossed back into the house as we were leaving for the Darrels'-yesterday evening; before anything at all had happened. It seemed as if enough time had passed since then for them to print up a three-volume history of the era, let alone a new daily paper.

I folded the paper and looked around the room. A waitress sneaked up, stuck a menu and a glass of water in front of me, and escaped before I could trap her into taking the order. The jukebox was still going strong: the one-eyed, one-horned thing coming out of the sky had turned out to be a Purple People Eater, naturally.

Everybody in the place looked strange to me, all the peaceful people. I guess I was the thing coming out of the sky, with a. knife in my pocket and a pistol under my belt and the dust of a secret grave still on my boots. I saw Tina come in, glance around, and start towards me, looking lean and competent in her jeans. She was another one, a carnivore among all the comfortable domestic animals. It was in her eyes and the way she walked, so obvious for a moment that I wanted to look around to see if anybody was staring at her with fear and horror.

I watched her come to the table, and it occurred to me that she wasn't a person in whom one could safely place one's childlike and innocent trust. None of us was. It occurred to me, also, that I'd have liked very much to talk with Mac myself, to get some idea where I stood. Not that I thought Tina might try to deceive me-I didn't think she might, I knew it. If the job required it, she'd lie unblushingly and ditch me without a qualm. Well, I'd have done the same to her. I'd done it to others when the occasion demanded; I had no kick coming.

She sat down opposite me, grimaced, and put her hands to her ears. "It should be illegal, to so torment innocent people."

I grinned. "What the hell do you know about innocent people?" She made a face at me, and I said, "At least they ought to let you buy five minutes of silence at the going rate. Did you get hold of Mac?"

"Yes," she said. "He says it's too bad we've been spotted. He says you were foolish to take a route you had already talked about."

"He does?" I said. "The next time, suppose he figures it out and sends me a routing in advance."

She shrugged. "Anyway, it's done. He's arranging for extra precautions to be taken in Santa Fe. Amos

Darrel will be protected night and day until Herrera's replacement is identified and disposed of. Meanwhile, Mac agrees that your plan is the best, under the circumstances. We are to proceed happily on our way, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but nevertheless making an effort to identify those who follow us, so that they can be picked up when the time is ripe."

"We're to act as bait, eh?"

"Precisely, my love. And as for you," she said, "he asks are you planning to come back to us permanently? If so, he will tell you everything you need to hear when he sees you, which will be soon enough. If not, the less you know the better."

"I see."

She watched me across the table. "You must make up your mind, first. That is logical, is it not? Mac says there is a place for you, if you want it. You would have to take a refresher course of training, you understand, and you would not, at first, have quite the position of seniority you occupied at the end of the war. After all, there are people with us who have worked steadily for all the years the organization has been in existence… In the meantime, do not be hurt if I tell you nothing that is not essential to our present work. That will make it simpler for everybody, if you should decide to go back to your peaceful vegetable existence after all."

I said, "Yes. Of course, it depends a little on whether my peaceful vegetable existence will take me back."

Tina smiled. "Oh, she will take you back, my dear, if you are suitably humble and remorseful. After all, it is a very well-known situation: the old wartime love affair flaming into sudden life years later, flaming briefly and dying and leaving only the bitter ashes of disillusionment and regret. She will understand; secretly she will value you more for knowing that another woman has found you attractive-although she will never admit that, of course. But I do not think she will send you away, if you return humbly, asking forgiveness. So the decision is still entirely yours."

I shook my head. "Not entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there are a few people around who aren't very fond of us, remember? There's a death to be paid for, and, as I recall, we used to make a point of paying those debts whenever possible, as a matter of principle. It seems unlikely they'll be more lenient. Anyway, we're bait, kid, and bait is always expendable. Let's not worry about my future until we're sure I've got one."