Free Live Free

The doors slid open, and they crossed the lobby to the bell captain’s desk.

“Joe’s looking for you,” Fuentes said. “I get him.”

Barnes said, “I wonder what she wants?”

“Who?”

“That chicky at the desk. Tam. Tweed skirt.”

“What do you care?”

“When you find out what this Joe’s after, whistle.” Barnes straightened his tie and pulled down his jacket.

“I know she’s here,” the young woman in the tweed skirt was saying. “I phoned, and you connected me.”

“She doesn’t wish to see you,” the clerk said. He used the world-weary tone of one who drops a polite pretense. “She called and said we weren’t to give out her room number, and she’s not taking calls. If you went up there—if you found out the room number—you might make a scene, but you wouldn’t be admitted.”

“But this is Serpentina! She’s got to see somebody!”

Barnes cleared his throat. “You’re looking for Madame Serpentina? As it happens, I’m a friend of hers.”

The young woman looked around at him. Her face was lively rather than lovely, but it was a very attractive liveliness, reminiscent of blindman’s buff played at a fifteenth birthday party. “Can you take me to her? Will you?” The sub-assistant manager seized the opportunity to move away.

“Not so fast,” Barnes said. “I don’t want to inconvenience her, not unless there’s a reason for it. But I might be able to talk her into seeing you. Let’s go over there,” he gestured toward one of the vinyl couches, “and discuss it. Who are you?”

“I’ve got a card,” the young woman said. She opened a purse nearly as big as Candy’s and jerked out a compact, a glasses case, and a package of nonnutritive gum. “Here they are!”

The card read:

ALEXANDRA DUCK

Associate Editor

Hidden Science/Natural Supernaturalism

with the usual address, telephone number, and so on.

“Miss Duck?” Barnes murmured uncertainly, returning the card.

“That’s Ms. Duck,” the young woman said, “and no quacks. Sandy Duck. If you’re really a friend of Madame Serpentina’s, call me Sandy.”

“Call me Ozzie,” Barnes told her. “Madame Serpentina does.”

“Swell.” Sandy Duck held out a hand in a knit acrylic glove.

Barnes shook it solemnly. “Is that a magazine or a newspaper? Hidden Science and Natural Whatever It Was?”

“It’s magazines. Or I should say they are. We publish them in alternate months. Hidden Science in January, March, May, and so on, and Natural Supernaturalism in February, April, June, and like that. It has to do with shelf life. The supermarket kids will leave the January-February issue of HS standing right next to the February-March issue of NS. Or anyway, we hope they do, and sometimes it works.”

“Supermarket kids?”

“The ones that straighten the magazine racks in the supermarkets. That’s where we sell, mostly. To women in the supermarkets. What’s she like?”

For a moment, Barnes thought wildly that he was being asked about his ex-wife.

“Madame Serpentina,” Sandy explained. “She’s getting to be quite famous, you know. I’ve met a dozen people who’ve met her, but you’re the first who claimed to know her well.”

“Well, she’s very beautiful … .”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Black hair, dark complexion, dark eyes, and she has a wonderful figure. You think of her as tall, but she isn’t really. Just medium height, maybe two or three inches taller than you are.” He paused to reflect. “She doesn’t exactly have an accent, but I don’t think English is her native language.”

“Don’t you know?”

Barnes shook his head. “It isn’t something you can ask somebody right out, now is it? She doesn’t talk about herself—or only once in a while. Sometimes she doesn’t talk at all. She’s imperious, very queenly.”

“Do you—” Sandy broke off to look at the fat girl looming beside her.

“Seventh floor, room seventy-seven, Ozzie. We’re off to see the wizard.”

“Who was Joe, and what did he want?”

“It’s Jim, I thought it was. He’s up there. He phoned down, and we’re supposed to come up. Say bye-bye to your little friend.”

Sandy jumped up. “Is that where she is? Madame Serpentina? Seven seventy-seven?”

“Ozzie, who is this?”