"I wanted to move in, but there's no room."
"I told her," said Mrs. Costigan. "I'd be pleased to have her, but there you are."
"Too bad." Krill was still showing teeth. "You'd be an adornment around here."
Mrs. Cotigan said, "Barney?"
"Right." He winked at Snake. "This place would fall apart without me." He went down the hall.
"Always willing to help," said Mrs. Costigan. "Not like some these days."
"Your son?"
"Lord, no, that's Barney Krill, one of the roomers. He just calls me Mom, that's his way. Well, if there's nothing else I can do for you…" Her voice trailed off, waiting.
Snake nodded, and said goodby. She went out on the porch and stood there, trying to figure her next move. The door opened behind her, and Barney came out. He stood next to her. He was cat-quick in the way that he moved.
"That didn't take long," said Snake.
"Just a bed to shift. I wanted to catch you before you left."
"Why?"
"Why not? Pretty girl like you."
Snake stared at him.
"Well, you know… I thought I could give you a hand, help you find a place. I know most of the cheap places, and if you came here you must be looking for cheap."
He looked down at her confidently, the smile still fixed on his face. The flesh along his pectorals jumped.
Snake said, "You flex them like that, you might break one."
"No problem, I've got spares. Listen, why don't we go get a drink, or something, and then we can find you that room."
"A drink at ten in the morning?"
"Okay, coffee."
Snake looked at him, considering the idea. He was obnoxious. His smile was insincere, and his flattery was clumsy, but there was the off chance that he might turn out to be useful. She was still debating with herself, when he said, "A penny for your thoughts."
"No, thanks." She reached into a pocket, and came up with some coins. She found a penny, and handed it to him. "That's my line. A penny for yours."
"Huh?"
She jumped into his head. She rummaged around, working her way past the blatant sexuality and self-esteem. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew it at once when she found it. She almost laughed, and when she came out of his head, she was smiling. She didn't smile often, but when she did she could light up a room.
Krill thought the smile was for him, and his own smile rose to his eyes. "Let's go," he said. "There's a place down the street for coffee."
Snake shook her head. She was still smiling. "No thanks. I don't think I'll have any trouble finding a room."
"Might not be so easy."
"I'll manage."
The smile disappeared. "Suit yourself."
"I always do."
She went down the steps to her car, leaving him to stare at her back. She drove around until she found a telephone. She called Sammy at the Center, and told him what she needed.
"He calls himself Barney Krill, but his real name is Barry Kagen," she said. "He's wanted in Akron, two counts of grand theft auto."
Sammy said, "So what?"
"So I want you to pull a wire in Akron, get the police there to call the county people down here. I want this guy picked up by tomorrow morning, the latest."
"You sound sore. What the hell did he do to you?"
"Not a damn thing. I just want his room."
Late the next night, installed as the newest roomer at the Southern Manor, Snake sat by herself on the sagging porch in a rickety glider, rocking back and forth as she went over the events of the day just past. It was a dark night, the street was unlit, and the only light on the porch came from a single yellow bulb. The air was light now, almost pleasant. The inside of the house was quiet with the silence of sleep, and the only outside noises came from insects, from a yapping dog, and from the faint rumble of trucks along the interstate, half a mile away. It was a time for reflection, and, under different circumstances, it would have been time for a daily report. But there wouldn't be any daily reports on a job like this, only a final summary at the end of the time frame. Still, she formed the report in her mind as she rocked back and forth.
Sammy:
Thanks for pulling the wire in Akron. The state police picked up Kagan, aka Barney Krill, about ten this morning. I was parked across the street, and saw them take him. I waited a decent interval, then went into the house and found Mrs. Costigan collapsed in a blubbering heap. Just couldn't believe that sweet, friendly Barney was a car thief. I told her that the world is filled with evil, and asked if I could have his room. She brightened up when she realized that she wasn't going to lose even one day's rent. She practically fell all over me. I made sure she changed the sheets.
Once I was inside, my first job was to check the physical layout for fire risk. What I found was part good, and part bad. First, the bad.
The building is stucco, which doesn't burn easily, but there is enough of a frame construction involved to make the place flammable. Just about anything will burn if you crank the temperature high enough, and the way that the professional torches are using accelerants these days, the house could go up in a flash. Am I assuming that Gemstone is a torch? I think I have to. Ogden picked him (her) specifically for this job, and I can't get it out of my mind that his instructions to him (her) referred to a burning villa in Nam, and the smile on his (her) lips when he (she) smelled the burning rose bushes. So I have to figure Gemstone for a pro who will know how to use an accelerant, maybe gasoline and maybe something more sophisticated, and probably placed at the bottom of the stairwell to create the maximum draft. So that's my key area of observation, but I can't defend it twenty-four hours a day, and that's the bad part.
Here's the good. Almost nobody parks on the streets here. Cars are kept in driveways or carports, and, in the case of the Southern Manor, in a small area around at the side of the house. This means that I have a clear field of observation for any strange vehicles entering the street or parking there.
Also good. The house is filled with smoke alarms, well placed, and all functioning if those little red lights mean what they say.
Even better. About fifteen years ago a local ordinance was passed here that requires all hotels, nursing homes, and rooming houses to install a direct-wire alarm to the nearest fire station. The alarm here is in the parlor, a red button behind a glass panel. Break the glass, push the button, and the alarm is transmitted over the wire. A number pops up on the dispatcher's board, and he knows where to send the equipment. No delay in dialing 911, or anything else like that. If I need the troops, I can have them here in minutes.
So that's the physical situation. I figure to keep an all-night watch during the time frame, and grab whatever sleep I can during the day. When the job is over, you and I will take about a week off.
After I checked the physical layout, I spent the rest of the day tapping the residents of the Southern Manor. I realize how unlikely it is that Gemstone is one of them, but it had to be done, and how I wish I could have skipped it. Sammy, you and I both know how much like a sewer the human mind can be, which is why every ace I know avoids tapping heads unless it's for business. Or, of course, for love. Okay, sex. But not casually, not for the fun of seeing what someone is thinking, because it isn't worth it. Too much like diving for pearls in a cesspool. But today it was business, and it had to be done. First I checked out the two hired girls who help around the house, nothing there, and then
I went to work on the residents. Sammy, you've got to see this collection yourself to believe it. So far I've got myself one pussycat, a piano-playing psychopath, an elderly grifter, a pair of thieves, and a woman who iced her husband. I tell you, Barney Krill is an angel compared to some of these people. I haven't gotten to Mr. Ramirez yet. He's the Cuban, he's off somewhere in the barrio today, and considering what I've found so far, I can hardly wait to meet him.