A Borrowed Man (15 page)

I had a dream in there; I think it was just before I woke up. I was back in the stacks, and I pulled a book off a shelf and opened it. Arabella was in it and stepped from its pages as soon as I did. In real life, all her poetry books had been thin, but this was a thick, heavy book. I can still remember how heavy it felt. She kissed me, and we were on a beach. The little waves came up and washed our feet; and they were warm, really nice and warm. I put my arms around Arabella, and she was warm, too.

Then I reached out and got her book back and opened it again. She stepped back inside, and I shut it. The books were between palm trees, I think. In the shadows.

I got another book and opened that one, and Colette came out. She told me something I could not remember when I woke up, and I tried to make her go back into her book, but she kept struggling and struggling, sticking out arms and legs so I couldn't close it properly.

Then I woke up.

It was still dark in my little room, but it had been dark when they put me in there. I found the door and groped the wall beside it. There was a switch there, but no light came on when I touched it; so I sat still for a while and listened. Pretty soon I could hear the wind outside. It was really faint, but I could hear it. Twice, I think it was, I heard a refrigerator purr. It would go for thirty seconds, maybe, then stop and be quiet for a long time.

The way I figured it, it was probably after midnight. Payne and Fish had gone back to the station and punched out, or whatever it is policemen do. They were in bed with their wives now, and sound asleep. Probably they had told their wives what a tough day it had been.

And they figured I could not break down the door or break down a wall. After the beating I had suffered, I would probably just lie down and groan. That is what they thought.

The outside wall would be the best of all if I could get through it, but I found out pretty quick that it was really bad. It seemed like neocrete. The wall across from the bed felt rock-solid the first time I kicked it. By the fifth kick I was feeling it bow. Pretty soon it made funny noises every time. I felt around, and little chunks of grainy stuff were falling out and hitting the floor.

The back of that was some kind of wire net. That was the toughest thing in there. It had been stapled onto the ponticwood uprights, and my fingers were bleeding before I got it loose. Once it was down, I kicked a hole through the rest of the wall in half a minute or less.

The next room was as dark as mine, but I found another switch, and when I touched it what I saw was an ordinary bedroom with two windows and two beds, a bureau, and a dresser. Probably I should have scouted around in there for something useful, but I did not. I just wanted to get out, to get away from the house before the 'bot came or I set off some kind of alarm.

So out the door and down a little hallway and from there into the kitchen. That had a back door. I went out fast and circled around the house to get onto the street and started walking.

 

10

R
OAD
T
RIP

Let me say right off that when I got out I knew where I was going but at first I did not know why. It was the bus terminal, and as I walked, I figured it out. There were just two things I could do. I could go back to the library and tell the director how I had been mistreated. What would happen then, most likely, was the cops would send somebody new to take me out, probably a woman. She might say she was a cop, but probably not. Either way, I would have to go with her. It might not be as bad as before, but it might be worse, too.

The other way was for me to go overdue, find out who had Colette, and try to get her loose. Just thinking about that made me walk faster. As I saw it, that other way had a lot against it but a lot for it, too. Let me cover the against first.

It might get me killed. Murder is the most serious crime, and the people who do it are either pretty damned desperate or crazy; only killing me would not be murder, just destruction of property. They would probably have to pay for me; but maybe not, depending. None of which would help me one bit—I would be dead.

Here is the nasty one. I might get Colette killed. Back when the real me was still drinking coffee instead of kafe and writing mysteries, kidnappers did that sometimes. In a dirty way it made sense. The victim knew a lot about them by then, most likely. If they had to beat it, they would have to carry her with them, and she would be looking for help every chance she got. So smoke her.

Last one, and this one is easy. I might not be able to pull it off. Say they never got me, but I screwed up the whole thing. I would feel like shit and probably I would never get over it. I would doubt myself for the rest of my life, and I might even hate myself. I had never failed big-time up until now. Only I had never succeeded big-time either. Maybe I had been playing it safe, but what I really think is that I had never had a chance.

All right, this was it, my big chance. It was hero time.

So let's get on to the good stuff. If you have been paying attention, you have seen the first one coming already. I would feel great about myself. Sure, I would still be a reclone, but I would know I was every bit as good as the original. Maybe better.

Second, Colette would be safe. I have put that one second, but it had to be the main thing, the grand prize. Maybe she would think I shit ice cream and maybe she would not; but we had been friends, Colette and me, this lovely fully human woman and a reclone; and I was the reclone. Heck, fully humans can be friends with a cat or a dog, right? Cool, I was the cat. She had fed me and taken care of me and one time put her arms around me, and even told me how great I was and how glad she was she had checked me out. Now it was Puss in Boots time, and Colette was the Marquis of Carabas. If I was half as good as she thought I was, I could pull it off.

Third, it would get Payne and Fish off my back. They were like the drunk looking under the streetlight for his wallet because the light was better there. Colette had been kidnapped in Owenbright and they were Spice Grove cops and could not look around in Owenbright. All they could do was work in Spice Grove and hope that she was there or they could turn up something that would help the Owenbright cops and turn the heat off. If you asked me, it was more likely she was in Owenbright. Only then a hunch hit me, and it hit me hard: she was in New Delphi!

Had to be! No wonder I had known I had to get to the bus station.

I mean, look at it. What was all this about, really? A whole lot of money Colette's father had gotten from who knows where. Where was he when he did it? In New Delphi. That is where he and the family were living before he bought the big house outside town, and the big house was really in New Delphi, too. Where had the bad guys showed up first? In that big house outside New Delphi! That's where they had murdered Colette's brother. (All this is the way I was thinking then.) Where were the mystery rooms? In that same house, the big Coldbrook house in the country outside New Delphi!

So where was Colette now? Well, of course. Somewhere in New Delphi.

About then I caught sight of the bus terminal. I walked faster, you know I did, and the first thing I did when I got there was check on the next bus for New Delphi. There was a screen three times the size of a bedsheet with the schedule; and there was a 'bot waiting beside it to answer questions. I told it I did not necessarily want the next bus that would take me to New Delphi; what I wanted was the one that would get me there fastest.

“They are the same, sir, number one-oh-nine leaving at five. That will be in two hours and thirty-four minutes precisely, sir. I shall be delighted to vend you a ticket, if you wish.”

I said how much and could I reserve a good seat, and all that stuff. The answers were a lot, no, it was first come gets the seat, five a.m. sharp and no waiting for anybody for any reason ever, and a bunch more including the suggestion that I go into the men's room and freshen up before time got tight. Which I did as soon as I had my ticket, or anyway as much as I could. My face was beat up and I had a cut under my left eye. Also my clothes were a mess; in the men's room I did the best I could, which was not a whole heck of a lot.

So I waited. There were screens spotted around the station with shows on them, most of them pretty raunchy. I watched one for a while, but that stuff is only interesting the first time you see it. Here are things a guy can do if he can get her to hold still for it. Here is what three women can do with one guy. (Try and find them.) Two girls with three guys, only I had guessed most of that one before it happened. After a while I wondered if the people were reclones and started watching for that. Finally I decided the women were and the guys weren't. I don't really know, it was just my guess, something about the way the women acted and something else about the way the men did; and after that I quit paying attention.

I do not think I really fell asleep, or anyway not completely; but pretty soon my watch struck five and a lady driver was walking around shaking shoulders and telling people that trip 109 was boarding. I got up and yawned, and then hustled over to the bus to claim a good seat because a bunch of other people were already getting on.

You will think that I am stretching it, but this is the stone truth. I got the best seat there was anyway. It was for one person, right behind the driver; and that one person business is why I got it. The ten or fifteen people who had gotten on before me were all couples or families, plus three guys who were traveling together. That seemed to be some kind of a sales crew, but I never did find out what they were selling.

For a minute or two I sat there looking back and forth between my watch and the bright red numbers changing on the dash. Both told me that five o'clock had come and gone, but the driver was still outside telling people. Twelve past five, and she got on and woke up her bus.

Fifteen after five, and it rose about half a meter and began to glide forward. As soon as it moved it said, “Trip one-oh-nine now departing for Rapid Rivers, Hapigarden, New Delphi, and Quinoafield. All abound! All abound! Don't be left!” I heard it because the doors were still open and there were speakers on the roof.

After that there were ten or twelve people yelling and trying to climb on. We were barely crawling there in the terminal, so most of them made it. Then when our bus was halfway out into the street, it had to wait for a break in traffic; and when it did the last ones got on, even the old couple that I had figured did not have a prayer. All right, I went over and grabbed the old lady's hands; her husband pushed her from in back, and the two of us were enough. So sue me.

Before I go any further, let me say that as soon as I had seen the other passengers I stopped feeling bad about my messed-up clothes. Some were clean and some were dirty, but even the clean ones were wearing cheap stuff, and a lot of it had been mended and patched and probably ought to have been thrown away. There was even one who looked like Payne and Fish had worked him over; if he had won his fight, the loser must have been a real mess. The world having a lot fewer people is supposed to mean that nobody's poor. Right. The politicians who peddle that stuff never rode 109.

Except for making a couple of friends I am not going to say a whole lot about the bus trip, what I saw and what I thought about it, because those things do not really have much of anything to do with the emeralds or cutting Colette loose from the guy that had taken her. Or anyway, not much of it does. We sailed on out of the city, gliding down an endless hill of air. Those ground cars and trucks we had to wait for before we could get out onto the street were the early birds, plus a few that had been up all night. There are always people working the night shift here and there. Nobody likes it, but there are certain things that have got to be done twenty-four seven. So somebody stays awake to watch the screens in the firehouse, or else they have a 'bot do it. Cops walk beats and ride around in ground cars and fly overhead in hovercraft. Burglars are night workers, too; and nurses go from bed to bed all night giving pills or shots to people who have trouble getting to sleep. We passed an all-night deli on our way out, and a bunch of businesses that were opening up or else getting ready to open.

Then we were out on the high road, with the turbine purring and the wind whistling and the bus on autodrive. The close-packed buildings got smaller and smaller, and farther and farther apart. Most of them became houses, and there were evergreens and rosebushes. I will say this for our airbus, it went a lot faster and a lot smoother than the truck had on ten rubbery wheels.

In back of me, people were talking without making a whole lot of noise, and one man who must have been pretty close was singing softly, just singing to himself.
“Where has she gone, and why should I care? A woman's a snake, a woman's a snare; today it's a kiss, and come into my bed; tomorrow's a hiss, and you're better off dead. Where has she gone?”
It wasn't loud enough to bother anybody much, and I kind of liked it.

After a while I found out my armrest opened up. There were a pair of listening plugs in there, and the credits rolled for me as soon as I took them out. So I watched various shows for an hour or so, mostly a romantic comedy. One was a writer and one was an editor, only neither of them ever seemed to do any work. Pretty soon I caught on to the ending. The editor would confess he was really a woman in disguise and the writer would confess she was really a man in disguise. Did Shakespeare write one like that? If he did not, he should have—the girls in his plays are always pretending to be boys.

When it was over, I just looked out at the scenery. Silent woods and peaceful fields now. Old ruined towns, and starved-looking children in rags who just stood beside the road and stared. Once in a while you might see a 'bot doing some work, only not often. Pretty soon I went to sleep.

A little before noon we stopped at Rapid Rivers. Our driver got out to use the women's room and her bus told us we could get out, too, if we wanted to buy something to eat or view, or just to stretch our legs. I had missed dinner the night before. (When you check out a reclone, you're supposed to feed it if you keep it overnight. Right, please tell that to Payne and Fish.) Nothing in the morning while I waited for the bus either. I suppose I was too sleepy then to be hungry, or too tired, or hurting too much. Heck, the burns still hurt.