orange cloud shapes forming and stretching from the horizon toward me. Red, as ripe as apple, as sick as blood, began to grow in intensity in an angry bar beneath the cloud. It shot long bands of sparkle across the water-scoring furious grooves in the gray ocean. Perhaps that was why Tommy had chosen this place. Perhaps he had glimpsed the sunrise this way-the harsh sharp glory like a flag wrested from the hands of a dead soldier and waved over the battlefield. My perch was perfect for seeing this spectacle. Below me, the alien rays set fire to the mist that boiled through Greasetown's streets and peopled it with chromium sparks and embers. The streets followed the burning beams toward the sea. The asphalt glimmered for a moment, and then the clouds grew dark and dropped heavily on the red-snuffed out the light. An empty coffin boom of thunder fell. Darkness grew over Greasetown like scar tissue. Drizzle began tapping the plastic roof over my head.
I climbed to my feet and watched it all with keen interest because as the sky lightened the pieces had started to fall into place. I had plenty of motive. I had suspects. I even had culprits. I had only two problems left. I had to find someone I could tell my story to, and I had to find Van Reydner. She could clear away all of my doubts. She could prove my claims. I would find her soon, if my hunch was right. The first thing I had to do was get in touch with Richard Adrian.
Chapter 55
The telephone buzzed. I drummed my fingers on the desk. It buzzed again then, 'Hello, Simpson's Skin Tanning and Preservation for the Deceased.' A man's voice tired and bored.
'Hello, I'm Armando DeHavilland, proprietor of Nouveau Vogue, an art congregational in New Garden.' There really was such a person and place. I took a bit of artistic license and gave him a German accent. 'I'd like to know where I should send Mr. Adrian's Asia collection. He purchased it some months ago, and it only now cleared Authority red tape.'
'I'm sorry, any outstanding bills should be sent to his executor…'
'Dear me. This is paid for, Mr. Adrian bought it himself, for a friend, I believe. I heard about his sad demise and the circumstances surrounding it, and since he is now unable to appreciate the pieces, I'd like to know where to send them. They're paid for.'
'Well, you could send it to his uncle, Theodore Demarus. He has apartments at 1100 Galaxy Tower, 1000 Main Street North-New Garden. Mr. Demarus has been acting as executor of the will. Since Mr. Adrian cannot see to it himself.'
'Thank you, you've been a great help.' I looked across the desk at Elmo. We were in Grey's office again. I crossed another name off my checklist. I had already looked up Victor Davis' place of employment. A Speedy Prescriptions did exist, and they did indeed have record of a Victor Davis in their employ. He had disappeared without picking up his last check about two years ago. An interesting, and not wholly unexpected twist was that Speedy Prescriptions was a subsidiary of King Industries.
I called the operator and asked for the main office of King Industries. Another buzzing phone. Another secretary. This one a woman with a voluptuous voice.
'Hello, King Industries.'
'Hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. King.'
'Who's calling please?'
'Owen Grey.' I was going to try to light a fire.
'I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. I can put you in touch with one of his personal secretaries.'
'I want to speak to Mr. King.'
'Nobody speaks to Mr. King without an appointment.' Silence. 'What firm do you represent?'
'I represent Regenerics. It's the latest thing going. I'd really like to speak to him.'
'Mr. King does not handle calls without an appointment, Mr. Grey.'
'Funny,' I said. 'I don't think so. Just tell him I called. I'll get an appointment. Just tell him I'll call again.'
'Very well, Mr. Grey.' She hung up. She had sounded so curvy and officious, I could have listened to her all day-just smile and count the syllables.
I looked at Elmo. His eyes were round and his face held disbelief.
'Don't worry, Fatso.' I gave him my confident look, then sat very still for a while tossing the dice in my mind. I picked up the phone, dialed Authority.
'Authority, Crimdiv. Sergeant Yanik speaking.' This fellow sounded angry.
'Inspector Willieboy, please.' Silence.
A pause while Yanik matched fake names to real ones. 'Just a sec.' I was put on hold.
'Yeah, Crimdiv.' Willieboy sounded all business.
'Inspector… I just can't say Inspector Willieboy with a straight face. I'll have to stick to Willieboy. This is Wildclown. I've got my man.'
'Don't say anything on the phone. It's not clean.'
'Which phone, exactly. Yours or mine?'
He paused. 'Where have you been? You slipped us again.'
'My driver knows his job better than yours.'
'Can't argue that. Where can I meet you, I'd like to use another venue.'
'I'll decide that later. It's my turn to call a few shots. Just don't travel too far from your phone.'
'You bastard…' But I cut him off. I smiled. That felt good. I had half a mind to call him back, just to hang up on him again.
Now, the Twelve Stars Group. That was how they were listed in the phone book. They actually had an ad in the yellow pages. 'JOIN US FOR
EVERLASTING LIFE-HELP US MAKE WAY FOR THE HORSEMAN!'
I dialed the number. The phone made a faraway rattling sound.
'Hello, Twelve Stars Group. Your call is important to us. Please wait for a moment, all of our lines are busy.' I was entertained for a few minutes by an orchestral choir doing something like Handel's Messiah. Then a female operator answered-she sounded saved.
'Hello, Twelve Stars Group. How may we help you?'
'I'm curious. I recently found a little charm, just a wee little thing. It looks like a swastika cradled in the oval or circular part of an Egyptian ankh. A friend told me that it belonged to you people.'
'Why yes, sir. That is our Eternal Reich symbol…where?'
'Tell Brother Cane, or whatever he's called, he's an Authority Inspector in your group that chews brass toothpicks. Tell the ugly little prick, are you writing this down? Tell the ugly little prick that Wildclown has some information about a baby. Tell him I'll call him back.'
'If you could hold the line, sir, I'll…'
I hung up and leaned back in my chair. I smiled. I resisted the urge to call back and hang up out of spite. A wave of giddiness surged through me. I had the distinct feeling that I was playing with what remained of my life. I would have to move fast. The King would know where Grey's office was. After all he had paid rent on it. The finger of doom stroked my chest like an old girlfriend might, if she wanted to get back together. The safari was nearing its completion. The grass was full of tigers, the trees full of pythons and spiders. I was standing hip deep in brush with only one bullet left in my gun.
I grabbed the phone again, dialed the Gazette.
'Ms. Mary Redding, please.'
'Just a moment, sir.'
A second of Muzak. 'Mary Redding.' Her voice sounded as fresh and clean as a breeze in Eden.
'Hello, Mary. It's me.'
