although each salesman filling out the year-long purchase and use agreement asked Ricky whether he had any other cell accounts, none bothered to double-check after he told them he didn’t. Ricky took all the extras on each phone, with caller ID and call waiting and as many services as he could collect, which made the salesmen eager to complete the orders.
He also stopped at a strip mall, where, after a little searching, he was able to find a large office warehouse outlet. There he purchased himself a relatively cheap laptop computer and the necessary hardware to accompany it. He also bought a bag to place it in.
It was early evening, when he arrived at the first of the hotels. He left his rental car at an outdoor lot over by the Hudson River, in the West ’50s, then took a subway to the hotel, located in Chinatown. He checked in with a desk clerk named Ralph who had suffered from runaway acne as a child, and wore the pockmarked scars on his cheeks, giving him a sunken, nasty appearance. Ralph had little to say, other than to look mildly surprised when the credit card in Frederick Lazarus’s name actually worked. The word
He took another subway over to the last of the hotels on his list, where he had his efficiency apartment rented. Here, he became Richard Lively, although he was quiet and monosyllabic with the man behind that desk. He drew as little attention to himself as possible, as he headed up to the room.
He went out once that night to a deli for some sandwich makings and a couple of sodas. The rest of the night he spent in quiet, planning, except for a single sortie out at midnight.
A passing shower had left the street glistening. Yellow streetlamps threw arcs of wan light across the black macadam. There was a little heat in the nighttime air, a thickness that spoke of the summer to come. He stared down the sidewalk, and thought that he’d never really been aware how many shadows there were at midnight in Manhattan. Then he guessed that he was one, as well.
He crossed town, walking blocks rapidly, until he found an isolated pay telephone. It was time, he thought, to check his messages.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A siren creased the nighttime air perhaps a block away from the pay phone where Ricky stood. He couldn’t tell whether it was the police or an ambulance. Fire trucks, he knew, had a deeper, blaring sound, unmistakable in raucous energy. But police and ambulances sounded much the same. For a moment, he thought that there were few noises on the earth that spelled out the promise of trouble quite as much as siren sounds. Something unsettling and fierce, as if compromise and hope were being reduced by the harshness of the sound. He waited until the racket faded into the darkness, and the Manhattan standard quiet returned: just the steady noise of cars and buses working their way on the streets and the occasional rumble below the surface of a subway careening through the subterranean tunnels that crisscrossed the city.
He dialed the number at the
The majority were come-ons and promises of sexual adventure. Most of the respondents mentioned Ricky’s “… special fun and games” from his ad, which seemed to speak, as he suspected it would, in a particular direction. A number of people had concocted rhyming couplets to accompany his own, but, again, these promised sex and energy. He could hear unbridled eagerness in their voices.
The thirtieth, as he’d expected, was far different. The voice was cold, almost flat, filled with menace. It also had a metallic, tinny sound to it, making it seem nearly mechanical. Ricky guessed that the speaker was using an electronic masking device. But there was no concealing the psychological thrust of the reply.
Ricky listened to the response three times, until it was well printed on his memory. There was something additional about the sound of the voice that unsettled him, as if the words spoken weren’t enough, even the tones were filled with hatred. But, beyond that, it seemed to him that there was something recognizable in the voice, almost familiar, that seeped past the hollowness of the masking device. This thought pierced him, especially when he realized that this was the first time that he’d actually heard Rumplestiltskin speak. Every other bit of contact had been a step removed, on paper, or repeated by Merlin or Virgil. Hearing the man’s voice created nightmarish visions within him, and Ricky shuddered slightly. He told himself not to underestimate the depth of the challenge he’d created for himself.
He played the other message responses in the mailbox, knowing that there would eventually be another, far more familiar voice. He was not surprised to hear her speak. Immediately following the silence that accompanied the brief poem, Ricky heard Virgil’s voice on the recording. He listened carefully for the nuances that might tell him something.
“Ricky, Ricky, Ricky, how nice to hear from you. How truly special. And genuinely surprising, too, I might add…”
“Sure,” Ricky mumbled to himself. “I’ll bet it was.” He continued to listen, as the young woman went on. The tones she employed were the same as before, tough one instant, cajoling, teasing, then harsh and uncompromising. Virgil, Ricky thought, played this game just as hard as did her employer. Her danger lay in the chameleon colors she adopted; one minute trying to be helpful, the next, angry and direct. If Rumplestiltskin was singleness of purpose, cold and focused, Virgil was mercurial. And Merlin, whom he’d yet to hear from, was like an accountant, passionless, with all the iron danger that implied.
“… How you escaped, well, that certainly has some people in important circles reviewing their approach to things, I must say. A head to toe reexamination of what was thought to be the case. Shows just how elusive the truth can be, doesn’t it, Ricky? I warned them, you know. I really did. I told them, ‘Ricky’s a very clever sort. Intuitive and fast-thinking… ‘ but they didn’t want to believe me. They thought you would be as stupid and careless as all the others. And now look where it has landed us. Why, you are the very alpha and omega of loose ends, Ricky. The piece de resistance. Very dangerous for all connected, I would suspect…”
She sighed, deeply, as if her own words told her something. Then she continued:
“Well, personally, I can’t imagine why you want to go another round or two with Mr. R. I would have thought watching your deeply beloved summer home go up in flames-that was a genuinely nice touch, Ricky, a really smooth and wonderfully smart move. Burning up all that happiness along with all those memories, I mean, what other message could there have been for us? From a psychoanalyst, no less. Didn’t see that one coming, not in the slightest-but, I would have guessed that experience alone would have taught you that Mr. R. is a very difficult man to best in any contest, especially contests that he designs himself. You should have stayed where you were, Ricky, under whatever rock you found to hide yourself. Or perhaps you should run now. Run and hide forever. Start digging a hole someplace distant and far away and cold and dark and then keep on digging. Because my suspicion is that Mr. R. will need better proof of victory this time around. Very conclusive proof… He’s a very thorough individual. Or so I’m told…”
Virgil’s voice disappeared, as if she’d hung up her telephone abruptly. He listened to an
