The Penny Ferry - Rick Boyer (20 page)

"God bless him— he saved me weeks of work."

"Uh-huh. He drops your box into the nearest
mailbox so you'll get it back. So then afterwards, when they've gone
through the Sacco and Vanzetti stuff real carefully, they realize
something's missing. So they think, where could this thing be? They
knew Robinson had it on his person. It turned up missing from the
bundle, so the first place they look is back in the pouch."

"But they never got to the pouch . . . or the
envelope. I think they thought Johnny hid the thing in my box to
throw people off if by chance they snagged the pouch. Right?"

"
Yeah. That's it. But you say somebody was
looking for the pouch too— tearing up that old wall. I think that
either there are two rival groups after this thing, or else the
original outfit is searching everywhere they can, covering all the
bases."

"Whatever it is, Brian, it's small."

"'Yep. Sounds like negatives to me. Either
microfilm, microfiche, or plain old thirty-five-mil. negs. They're
all small and potent."

We ambled over to the tiny lab and I produced the
cardboard box and the piece for them to examine. We watched them work
on it for half an hour, slicing away at it with scalpels, shining
bright lights through the cardboard, dipping shreds of the cardboard
in solutions and dyes. Nix. Plain cardboard box. Containerus
cardinarius.

We went back to Brian's office where I called the
Boss. She told me Joe was looking for me. I called him at his office
and found him in. He was glad to hear about my find in Lowell."Got
some interesting stuff from the lab. One: the cigarette butts'
snubbed ends contain residues of human flesh, burnt blood, epidermal
tissue, and fat."

"They did it up there. They tortured Andy up in
that room where nobody could hear him scream. The bastards."

"
Right. And what they did was, they tied him to
that big old desk. Remember the scrape marks? They dragged the desk
over to the wall so they could stand on it to reach the gash in the
wall. They went up there tippy-toe and dropped the pouch and the
envelope inside. Then they dragged it back and tied Andy to it. Get
this: fibers from the suit coat he was wearing were found on the
floor. Likewise, the old oil and dirt on the floor match the smudges
on his coat. No doubt about it then."

"Anything on the pouch or envelope?"

"Nothing. Pure blank."

"
Then they'll keep looking."

"
Think so?"

"
Know so. Whatever the hell it is, they want it
bad."

"You're right. Don't you see too how the
evidence proves that the pouch and the packet didn't yield what they
wanted? Because, see, if they moved the desk back from the wall to
torture Andy, it was done after they discarded the pouch."

"Yeah . . . they tortured him hoping he could
tell them where the thing was when it wasn't where it was supposed to
be. After all, it was impossible to ask Johnny; he was dead."

"I told you so . . . I told you so," sang
Brian as he swiveled in his chair, exhaling smoke. "Torture is
performed for three reasons: revenge, information, or verification.
They wanted information from Andy and the poor guy didn't have it."

"
Who's that?" asked Joe.

"Brian, in the background."

"Put him on a sec."

After they talked. Brian and I chatted a little. I
was hoping he'd get a call from a cruiser saying they'd snagged the
blue Olds, but none came in. This bunch was tough and slippery. I
didn't like it: I asked Brian how the bad guys didn't know that the
object wasn't in the hands of the police, now that we'd recovered the
pouch.

"They don't. They only know that Robinson had
the item when he left the library, and that sometime between then and
when he arrived home to meet his death it disappeared. Andy I must
have told them that before he died. Therefore they're desperately
concentrating their efforts to uncover every possibility within that
time gap. And one of the leading figures in that gap, Doc, is you."

"
So this poor slob who casually chucked my
little packet into the mailbox later regretted it."

"
Yeah, I'd say. He's probably got his boss all
over him like a fire blanket. Steer clear, Doc. Use your mental
faculties, limited though they might be."

I thanked him for the compliment and left. I went
home and told Mary about the auto chase. Needless to say she was not
pleased. She called me a meathead and a jerk. I was beginning to feel
just like my old self again.

Tom Costello sputtered and lisped with ecstasy over
the phone when I told him that his mouthpiece was ready for
installation.

"Jameseeth! It'th about time. Now I can get
thtarted thelling again. Tomorrow?"

"Seven-thirty sharp."

I glanced at a brochure Mary had left on my study
desk explaining a new high-efficiency boiler and blower for our
furnace which was guaranteed to cut our heating bill by thirty
percent. If true, considering New England's climate and fuel prices,
that meant we could make an extra trip to Europe each year. I studied
the pamphlet carefully and called Mary in.

"
Didn't Patriot Oil install something like this
two years ago?"

"Uh-huh. But this guy said improvements had been
made since then. He said his company would reimburse us for our
present unit, so the net cost would be only nine hundred for the
whole thing."

"Oh bullshit," I said, and tossed the
packet into the circular file. "If it's not this, it's driveway
coatings or roof sealant. Then there are the lawn doctors, tuck
pointers, gutter rats, and chimney sweeps. Honey, if you listened to
all of 'em we'd be broke in a year." '

"Then just forget it; he said call him only if
we're interested. Janice called and asked us over for supper at
seven."

"During the week? Ha! A meal at DeGroot's calls
for a two-day recovery."

"No. They want to see us before they fly to the
coast. Janice said it would be a pretty dry evening."

"I'll bet. The last time we went we should've
worn Aqua-lungs."

But true to their word, the night held only moderate
supping and sipping, and pleasant cards and conversation afterward.
It was fun. Janice had on a pair of tight tennis shorts too. Her ass
is, like Fujiyama, the Bay of Naples, a Grant's gazelle, Sequoia
Sempervirens, a sable antelope, or other wonders of nature, awesome
to behold. I could watch it for hours. On a scale of one to ten it
rates a fourteen. Easy.

When I was dummy (my natural state, claims Mary) I
followed Janice into the kitchen to help make more coffee. She was
walking right in front of me.

"Janice, you have the nicest—"

"Ohhhh you!" she cooed, throwing a little
more twitch into it. "You and your thing about my butt. Hmmph!
Fat old thing; I just can't understand you, Doc. Here you're married
to the most gorgeous piece on earth and . . . well—"

"I know she is. But it's funny, you know,
sometimes you're attracted to somebody else just because they're
somebody else. Know what I mean?"

"
Yeah, I— now where is that thing?" she
said to herself, bending over to get in the cabinet. She was leaning
over right in front I of me, so I could see the outline of her
panties underneath the shorts. Planned. She filled the decanter and
poured the water into the machine.

"I do know what you mean, Doc," she said,
brushing my hair aside. "Gee I think you're just gorgeous— "

"Oh of course."

"
No, I really do, and you know it. You know
what's going to happen someday don't you? We're going to find
ourselves alone somewhere . . . sometime. Maybe after a party where
we've had a few drinks and our guards will be down . . . and we'll
hop into the sack."

"Oh no we won't."

"Yes we will."

"Oh no we won't."

I hoped we would.

"Listen, I think the best thing to do about this
thing you have for . . . for my ass, is to get it out of your system
a little."

"Janice, that's the dumbest— "

"I think if I give you a nice big feel, you'll
feel better."

"I might feel better but I don't think it's
going to—"

"Here," she said, taking my wrists in her
hands. She pulled them behind her until our tummies were touching.
Then she moved our hands around in back of her, fast, and wrapped my
hands around so they cupped her lovely, meaty hams. I had two
handfuls of luscious bun. It was a flagrant case of a 112-pound woman
sexually abusing a 174-pound man. Despicable.

"How's that, Doc?" she purred.

"Great," I said. I could not tell a lie.

"
Are you getting it out of your system a
little?" she whispered.

"
I'm getting it, but not out of my system."

"
Then I think we'll have to— whoopsie!"

She disengaged, spun a pirouette like a dancer, took
two fast steps sideways, and was demurely fiddling with the coffee
machine as Jim strode through the doorway.

"
What's goin' on? Where's that coffee? Oh,
there. Well come— on then." He was gone faster than he
arrived.

A deep smear of crimson had invaded Janice's neck and
cheek. She grinned at me and giggled.

"Whew!" she whispered, then frowned.
"Sorry, Doc."

"Let's get out of here," I said, taking the
tray of cups, cream, and sugar. "And we should never do that
again?

"It's going to happen at the lake I bet,"
she whispered as she walked steadily beside me, holding the tray of
coffee and spoons. "Up at the lake. We'll be having a party at
the dock, and the others will all leave for Wolfsboro to buy food and
booze and there'll just be us on the dock . . . in only our bathing
suits . . ."

"
Nope. Never happen."

She half-closed her eyes and grinned.

"Oh I can just see it. We'll be rubbing oil on
each other, then go into the boathouse and—"

"
Never happen."

"Gonna happen, Doc. Gonna haaaaaaapen . . ."

"No. No. A thousand times no," I said,
trying to convince myself. Trying not to imagine her skinning out of
her wet tank suit in the shadows of the boathouse.

"Well it's a pleasant fantasy anyway. Now here
we are; stop smiling."

I put the tray down and poured coffee for everyone.
Mary was frowning at the cards on the table. She sipped coffee and
looked up.

"You're still dummy, Charlie," she said.

"You're not kidding,"
I said.

* * *

I felt the eyes on me. The dreaded mal'occhio— the
Evil Eye— of southern Italy.

"Why are you staring?" I asked.

"I think you know."

Ha. A bluff. How could she know what I knew? I
gripped the wheel a bit tighter and swung around the curve back to
Old Stone Mill Road.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't kid around. You grabbed Janice's ass in
the kitchen, didn't you? I can tell because you've been smiling. You
don't know you're smiling, but you are. It's the smile of Charles
Adams the ass grabber. Not Doctor C. Adams after he's performed a
beautiful operation, but Charles Adams the lech. And you're going to
get it, buddy. Just you wait."

I didn't say anything.

"Oh I'll give you some credit; I bet it wasn't
your idea. She probably set you up for it. I sort of like Janice, but
she's going to have to be taught a lesson."

"What's going to happen to her?"

"I'm going to hit her on that behind of hers, so
the punishment will fit the crime. I'll use an implement."

"Belt? Paddle?"

"No. Chain saw. A Homelite will also render her
anatomy less attractive to you. Thus I'll kill two birds with one
stone. And as for you—"

"Hmm?" I gulped, feeling a damp flush on my
brow.

"
I haven't decided. But it will be exquisite. I
promise you."

I didn't like the cold smile she was wearing. In the
dim light her swarthy features and high cheekbones gave her the
appearance of an Indian squaw. I remembered that the Indians, when
they captured the lone white man after a battle, handed the poor guy
over to their women. Of course he would beg to be killed, but they'd
refuse and tie him to an old wagon wheel and invite the squaws out.
Then he'd sit there, tied to the wheel, while the womenfolk assembled
a gruesome array of equipment: rawhide thongs soaking in water,
glowing brands, sharp flint shards, smoked hornets' nests . . . and
so on. I'm sure the poor guy didn't know exactly what was on the
agenda, but he would have a vague hunch that it wasn't Dinner at the
Ritz.

At home we exited from the car and walked up the
flagstone steps. I put my arm around her shoulder.

"Nothing bad happened," I said. "And
Janice is okay."

"Sometimes I just get mad—"

But she didn't finish her sentence, because I had
opened the front door and we were staring inside at our living room.
Chairs were overturned. The sofa was shredded and hanging open like a
disemboweled cow. Pictures were off the walls. Mary's desk was apart
and all its contents spread over the room.