“Really hard,” he said, looking back at his shoes.
“Who do you talk to when you’re upset?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, but he finally said, “My grandmother, sometimes.”
“Maybe you should call her a little more often. Maybe talk to your dad about visiting her for a while.”
“Okay.”
We picked up our trash — including the smashed orange — and left the park. Before taking him home, Jack stopped at a hardware store to buy a length of wire. Next he drove us to an Italian restaurant where he was apparently well known. Although the dining room was empty at this late afternoon hour, we were welcomed back into the kitchen, where Jack talked the busy cook into giving him the other essentials for a tin can telephone. The cook even washed out the cans, and added supervision to Jason’s efforts to assemble the parts.
When it was finished, the cook urged Jason to take one end into the dining room while he held the other end in the kitchen. What they whispered back and forth, I’ll never know, but it caused a great deal of amusement on both sides.
With some difficulty, and only with promises to return soon, were we able to leave without eating a meal. Jason was quiet on the way home, and when we pulled up in front of the house, he said, “Don’t tell Gilly what I said about her, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, relieved to see some sign of brotherly affection in him after all.
Jack told him that he’d ask Giles if Jason could go with him to the Italian restaurant some time.
“That would be fun,” he said, but he seemed subdued, perhaps not believing Jack would follow through.
He thanked us and said good-bye, taking the tin can phone with him. As he walked into the house, I saw him speaking into one end, while holding the other to his ear, absorbed in some private conversation with himself.
46
FRIDAY AFTERNOON, SEPTEMBER 15
Las Piernas
Nicholas Parrish surveyed his new workroom with pride. A vast improvement over the last one.
Again, he had to give his little Moth credit. His Moth had seen that he was hampered in his work, and had suggested this alternative. This was infinitely more suitable to his needs. The workbench was larger, there was a sink nearby, and even — to his delight — a freezer.
The dwelling itself was more comfortable than his last, but that was of little matter to him. He was not a soft man, after all. Like any other artist, he was most concerned with the space in which he would do his creative work. He had spent several days getting this place shaped up to his satisfaction — emptying the freezer of its previous contents and so on — and now — voila! Perhaps it was not a studio worthy of his masterpieces — Alas, could there ever be such a place? — but he would be able to carry on very well here.
He could not help feeling a sense of pride in the way things were going lately. Irene was actually seeing a shrink! Obviously, he had her on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Delightful! What good were shrinks when one’s terrors were real? She was terrified, all right! Just as he had promised.
Witness the woman’s reaction to those bones! It made him wish he had stayed around to see what had happened when she got the roses.
He frowned, remembering Jack Fremont’s arm around her. She was too free with her favors, to say the least. The woman was a real whore. Ben Sheridan, Jack Fremont, and God knows who else. Probably her own cousin.
He sat musing over what he might have to do in order to purify her of such defilement.
He stopped himself before the richness of those imaginings caused him to become overly excited. There was a great deal of work to do.
He studied his maps, mentally going over the routes he had already driven, considered once more all the possible hazards along the way.
He changed the plates on the Honda, and chose a blond wig for today’s disguise. He had already called the newspaper, had already filled out the vacation hold form for the post office. The tools he would need for the first phase of his work were already in the trunk of the car.
He looked again at the small piece of paper the Moth had given him and felt a frisson. How had this information been obtained? The Moth was up to something. He did not believe the story the Moth had given him about this.
He disliked having to expend energy thinking about the Moth, especially at a time like this. He must stay focused.
He looked again at the markings on his map. Most were in blue. His eye was drawn to the single red mark.
He knew its exact address: 600 Broadway.
The Wrigley Building.
Home of the
47
SUNDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 17
Las Piernas
I hesitated outside the front door of the Wrigley Building. The arrangements Jo Robinson had made were not even close to what I had in mind when I had asked for a “return to work,” and my pride was smarting. I knew Frank was watching from the Volvo, waiting to make sure I got safely inside. For a good ten minutes or so, I seriously contemplated going back to the car and asking him to drive me straight back home. Then I’d get Jo Robinson and Wrigley on a conference call, and tell them both to shove it.
Wrigley gave me twenty hours back at the paper, all right. He scheduled me to work a part-time graveyard shift, from ten at night until two in the morning on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday — after deadline. To add a little additional punishment, I was also scheduled to work Saturday and Sunday from seven to eleven in the morning.
