“Cassie?”
“I was just thinking. I may do it, Sharon. I just might. I’d have to know a lot more before I’d tell him to get lost. If I do, I mean. I guess I’d rather not have to. You said he was a wizard.”
“Yeah. What I meant was he’s somebody that people and companies with lots and lots of money go to when they’ve got something bad they absolutely can’t handle themselves. I’ve talked to a couple of them. They both said he costs the world, but he delivers the goods.”
Cassie took a deep breath. “Tell me. As much as you can, all right?”
“Promise you won’t try to find out who these people are?” Sharon was wide awake now, and sounded nervous.
“Okay.”
“You won’t even try to find out. And if you do — if he tells you, for example — you won’t brace them with it.”
“You’ve got my word.”
“Swell. I trust you. How was the show tonight?”
“It was all right. House about half full. Everybody a little teary. You know. We close tomorrow. Final performance and see you around. Break a leg, you were great. All that stuff. Are you stalling, Sharon?”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I need time to think. Or maybe not. You got a new gig lined up?”
“Huh uh. I may vegetate awhile. My agent’s been talking to Hollywood, but there’s nothing definite yet. Now tell me.”
“Before I do, has it hit you that he might have picked you because of how things are right now? Because you’ll be loose and he knows it?”
“No... Well, by gosh! I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks. You’re sharp, Sharon.”
“And a good friend?”
“Yes. A very good friend.”
“Swell. I’m going to be a good friend some more. One was this very rich woman. She wasn’t married anymore, but she had a little kid. A leftover kid that hardly anybody knew about.”
“And?”
“She loved him — she still does as far as I know. The kid is her whole life. He was a little piece of a man she loved and lost.”
“A boy.” Cassie nodded to herself.
“Did I say that? Yeah, I guess I did. Okay, it’s a boy, only he was — wasn’t right. Birth defect like. You know?”
“Deformed or mental?”
“It doesn’t matter. He wasn’t right, and it broke her heart. Nobody could cure him. She went to Chase, and her son’s just fine. Smart, good-looking. Maybe a little too brave, but normal for sure.”
Cassie made a mental note. “How about the other one?”
“This was a company — a big corporation. They owned oil fields in a country where the government didn’t like them much. It was going to nationalize. Take everything and tell them to take a hike.”
“He fixed it?” Cassie shook out the folded note. “Gideon Chase fixed it?”
“They’re big buddies now. That government loves the company, and the company loves that government. Hey, you ought to be interested in this. There’s a national theater there, funded by the company. They’re going to — well, never mind. They’ve done a lot of things for the country, and they’re planning a lot more. Why not? They’ve still got the oil.”
“I understand. Is he gay?”
“I don’t know, but three women I know don’t think so.”
Cassie took a minute to digest that. “When he comes on vid, being interviewed on a cable news show or whatever, they always say he’s a philosopher.”
“Right. He is. Sort of quasi-irreligious. God’s quit on us because we quit on Him. He’s written books.”
“I ought to have a look at them,” Cassie said.
She could almost hear Sharon’s shrug. “I don’t think they’ll tell you much about him.”
“Talking to him might tell me a lot.” Cassie glanced at her clock radio.
“I doubt it. Not beyond what I’ve told you. He’s smart, and he’s smart in funny ways. Maybe he’s smart in ways that just about everybody else is as dumb as a box of rocks about. If it tells you more than that, you let me know. Okay?”
BASKIN-ROBBINS was deserted except for the teenager behind the counter. There were a few high stools in front of it, and Cassie sat down. “How late are you open?”
“Midnight.” The girl sounded sleepy and bored.
“It’s almost that now.”
The girl nodded. “I know, ma’am. Just seven more minutes.”
“What would it take to get you to stay open later?”
The girl said nothing.
“Twenty bucks?”
The girl shook her head. “I got to go. My mom’ll be all upset. I’m closin’ in seven minutes.”
“Call your mom. I’ll talk to her.”
The girl shook her head.
“I’m a customer,” Cassie declared, “and you’ve got to wait on me.”
“I guess... .”
Cassie scanned the menu posted behind the counter. “I want a double sherbet papaya delight, and I’m staying until you make it and I eat it.”
The girl said nothing.
“Wait a second.” Cassie rummaged through her purse. “Here’s the twenty. See it? I’ll give it to you if you’ll just tell me what would make you stay open later.”
“I wouldn’t tell you,” the girl said deliberately, “even if I liked you. Ma’am.”
“You can’t close while I’m in here. What would you do? Lock me in?”
“You’ll see.” The girl had found a rather fanciful plastic dish and was scooping sherbet into it.
“One’s yellow,” Cassie commented, “and that other one looks like raspberry. I thought papaya would be pink.”
The girl said nothing.
“Has a man been in here? Maybe a man who said he was looking for somebody?”
The girl laid down her scoop and went to the door. A switch beside it darkened the outside lights.
“You’re two minutes fast,” Cassie told her.
“So sue me.” The girl locked the door and pulled down a shade.
Cassie sighed. “I wish we could be friends.”
“I’ve got three friends.” The girl drizzled cloudy syrup on the sherbet. “Rita, Amber, and Christabelle. I don’t like any of them very much, but I like every one of them fifty times more than I like you. Even Christabelle.”
“Puts me in my place. You got a spoon?”
A pink plastic spoon stabbed the raspberry sherbet. “I even like Rita’s little brother better than you.”
There was a knock at the door. The girl looked toward it, but did not move.
“I’ll get it,” Cassie said, and stood up.
“No you don’t!” The girl beat her to the door, pushing her back.
The knocking became pounding. Something as hard and heavy as a carpenter’s hammer was striking the door.
The girl pulled the green shade an inch and a half to one side and peeped out. After a moment she unlocked the door and stood aside.
The man who entered was both tall and wide, nearing middle age. Cassie gasped, “Scott... ?”
“Who’s that?” His voice was deep and a trifle raspy.
“A—a certain man I used to know. A gentleman. Or I thought he was.”
“Not my name, Miss Casey. You ready?”
The girl said, “She’s gotta pay for this.”
The man who looked so much like Scott leveled his left forefinger at her. It was an unusually large forefinger. “You shut the fuck up,” he told her.
His car was roomy, cheap, and new. A good portion of the dash taken up by what looked like a computer screen. A remote keyboard occupied the passenger seat until Cassie moved it.
“Fasten your belt, Miss Casey.”
She did. “You know my name. That’s the second time you’ve used it.”
He started the car.
“Since you know my name, I think I ought to know yours.”
“Scott.” There was little traffic this time of night, and “Scott” jammed down the accelerator.
“You’re not Scott. You look kind of like him, but you’re not him. It’s not really that close.” Cassie craned her neck for a look at the numbers flaming before him: 40, 50, 60... She tightened her seat belt. “You’re a cop, Scott.”