Smoke

rail, bent the knee more than he thought he could, shifted his weight to his left foot, pushed away from the drainpipe while still holding on to it, removed his extremely pained right foot from the sharp metal collar, went on holding to the drainpipe, turned on the railing, and saw Peg in profile, seated in that chair, arms on the chair arms, legs tied to the chair legs.

Freddie climbed down to the porch floor, braced himself against the wall of the house, and felt the bottom of the toes on his right foot. He was amazed to find that he wasn't cut or bleeding. He massaged the toes until they felt a little better, and then he moved.

He was sorry he couldn't whisper a word of encouragement to Peg on the way by, but he didn't want to risk her giving some sort of startled response that would alert the guys inside. So he just eased on by behind her, then went through the open doorway, and here was the cop, hunkered over next to the wall, gripping a blanket in both hands like the child-eating ogre in a fairy tale.

With the cop was the guy who had been with him that day in Bay Ridge, the guy Peg later had told him was a lawyer, though he didn't look or act much like a lawyer at the moment. He had a nice old antique quilt bunched in his fists and hanging down his front, and he looked like the evil brother in a fourth-rate touring company of Arsenic and Old Lace. And also present, also holding blankets at the ready, either to douse a fire or capture an invisible man, were two plug-uglies in suits and white shirts and neckties. They looked like pit bulls that had been made to wear fancy collars.

As Freddie walked in to study this diorama, the lawyer said, 'How long?'

The cop looked at his wrist. 'Fifteen minutes. We'll give him the twenty he asked for.'

Thanks, Freddie thought.

The lawyer said, 'What if he doesn't show?'

'Then it's Plan B.'

'Barney, I don't—'

Sounding almost sorry about it, but not really sorry, the cop said, 'Mr. Leethe, we got no choice. If we say we're gonna take her finger, and then we don't take the finger, we lose all credibility. Freddie wouldn't have any reason ever to believe us again. And I want Freddie to believe, to really know and believe, that when I tell him something is going to happen, that's what's gonna happen.'

Uh-huh. Freddie left them to their plans and stratagems, and went exploring, and the first thing he found was the chief, handcuffed to his own chair in his own office, with a third plug-ugly in suit and tie in another chair nearby, watching over him. The chief looked bitter, and the plug-ugly looked bored.

Freddie explored on. He found nobody else on the ground floor, and didn't expect there'd be anybody upstairs, so didn't look. He was going through the kitchen when he heard voices, arguing together, and in a minute realized there were some people in the basement and the basement door was locked.

Okay. Those are good guys, apparently, the chief's friends. For the moment, we'll leave them out of play.

Freddie went back to the chief's office, and nothing had happened, nobody had moved. He went over to the wall behind the plug-ugly, where all the hats were hung, and under the hats he found a lot of the chief's equipment. There was a very nice fire ax, but that seemed extreme. Oh, here was a nightstick.

Freddie picked up the nightstick, and the chief jumped a mile. Or he would have jumped a mile, if it hadn't been for the cuffs holding him to the chair.

The plug-ugly frowned at him. 'What's with you?'

'Mosquito,' the chief said. 'Could you wave a magazine around my head or something?'

'Don't worry,' the plug-ugly said. 'You won't itch for long. Just sit there and—'

The chief winced.

Freddie held the plug-ugly so he wouldn't crash to the floor, adjusted him in the chair, then went over behind the desk and whispered in the chief's ear, 'Key. Whisper.'

The chief was quite wide-eyed. 'Hook,' he whispered, and pointed with his nose and chin at a small board of hooks, most containing keys, on the opposite wall.

Freddie crossed the room, and the keys all had neatly lettered little cardboard tags attached to them with white string. He started to read the tags.

'He says the time is — hey!'

Freddie spun around, to see another of the plug-uglies in the doorway, staring at his unconscious friend. Hell and damn.

The guy turned and left the doorway at the run, yelling, 'He's here! He's here!'

'Later,' Freddie told the chief. Dropping the nightstick, he ran from the office before he could be trapped inside it, and got out just as the doorway filled with the whole crowd of them.

The cop was a fast thinker. 'Bosco!' he cried at one of the plug-uglies. 'Keep an eye on the broad! The rest of us, let's see if he's still in here. Freddie?'

They moved forward into the room, the three men, spreading out, holding hands. 'You here, Freddie?'

Freddie was not there. Freddie was approaching the guy who'd been left to watch the broad.

In the old days, when people knew what they were doing, plug-uglies did not wear neckties. Plug-uglies wore turtleneck sweaters, as you can see from looking at all the old photographs, and plug-uglies knew why they wore turtleneck sweaters. It was because turtleneck sweaters have nothing on them an enemy can hold on to.

A necktie is a handle. Freddie grabbed this clown by the handle, ran him full speed across the front hall, and drove his forehead into the stairway newel post with such force the wood cracked.

The clown kissed the carpet.

Immediately the cop was in the office doorway, looking up from the guy on the floor, glaring around the hall, saying, 'Freddie, Freddie, why be so unfriendly? Do you want the law to get you? Would you rather explain your life of crime to the chief in there?'

Too late, Freddie realized the cop wasn't just talking, he was also moving; suddenly he made a dash for the front door, Freddie scampering after him.

Too late. When Freddie got to the porch, the cop was crouched over Peg, and a long knife was pressed to Peg's throat, and Peg was looking very worried. 'Listen to me, Freddie,' the cop said, staring at the doorway. 'If I feel one thing, one touch, she's dead.'

'Then so are you,' Freddie said.

The cop swung his eyes to where Freddie had just left. 'Maybe,' he said. 'Second. But she goes first. Are you ready to talk?'

Why wouldn't somebody passing by see a man on a porch holding a knife to a woman's throat? Why weren't people more observant?

The cop was saying, 'Peg, untie those knots now, they're real easy, just pull the loops. Move slow, Peg, then we're all going back inside.'

Freddie was already back inside, where the lawyer and the last plug-ugly were standing around in the hall, blinking a lot. Freddie went around them and back into the office, and this time he found the right damn key and used it to undo the chief's right cuff. Pressing the key into the chief's hand, he whispered, 'Do something, okay?'

The chief nodded, and Freddie turned, and the lawyer was in the doorway. 'He's in the office, Barney!'

'That's it,' Freddie said, crossing the room toward the row of hats. 'I've had enough of you, pal.' He picked up the fire ax and headed for the lawyer.

Who screamed, and flung his hands in the air, and ran from the room. Freddie followed, the fire ax out in front of him, and in the front hall were the cop and Peg, he behind her, one arm around her waist, the other hand still holding the knife to her throat as he backed them both into the parlor.

'Leethe!' the cop yelled, forgetting to say 'mister,' as the lawyer ran right by him and out the front door and off the porch and down the walk and away, his shoes apparently having thick enough soles so the thumbtacks and pushpins didn't bother him. Or maybe they bothered him but he was too busy running away to be bothered by something bothering him — that was also possible.

'Leethe!' the cop yelled. 'Come back!'

But Leethe was long gone, and Peg was staring in shock at the ax in midair, and then she shouted, 'Freddie! Look out!'