Free Live Free

There was a telephone booth on the corner; he remembered going into it when he had left the post office earlier. He went again now, fishing for dimes in his pocket, but there were already coins in the return, and he used those instead.

“Bureau of Indian Affairs. Good Morning.”

It was a switchboard operator, of course. Barnes hesitated, then tried to sound like an old friend calling. “Let me talk to Robin.”

The telephone buzzed and clicked.

“Hello, this is Robin Valor.”

“Robin, this is Osgood—Ozzie—Barnes. You said it would be all right to call you at work. How about lunch?”

She gasped. “Mr. Barnes! I didn’t think you’d call.”

“Make it Ozzie, will you? A minute ago I called you Robin. I don’t want to have to go to Ms. Valor. It seems like a step backwards.”

“You really called! I can’t believe it.”

“After seeing that letter and that picture? Listen, Robin, any man on earth would have.”

“Tell me—No, I won’t ask. You said in your letter. If you’d lie in the letter, you’d lie right now.”

“Anything I put in my letter is true.”

“You’re not married?”

“I’m divorced. That was the truth when I wrote the letter, and it’s the truth now, okay? I’ve been divorced for two—hell, now it’s almost three years.”

“All right.”

She said nothing for a moment, but he sensed it was not the time to talk.

“Mr. Barnes—Ozzie—I’d love to have lunch with you, but I have some things I really absolutely have to do, and I only get forty-five minutes for lunch anyway.”

He laughed. “Would you believe I’ve already had lunch? A crazy business contact—he was going out of the city and wanted to get a bite before he left. I was planning just to drink coffee and look at you.”

“Is that true? You’ve already eaten lunch?”

“I swear.”

“You’re a salesman, aren’t you? That’s what you said when you wrote my friend.”

“That’s right.”

“You still live at that address? I suppose you must—you got my letter.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve moved. I’m at the Consort temporarily. I had the post office hold my mail. Are you free tonight?”

“Yes … Mr. Barnes—Ozzie—I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you. But I live way out in the suburbs. Do you have a car?”

“I’ll get there, don’t worry. All you have to do is give me the address.”

“You don’t. I was afraid of that.”

“Not right now. I’m having it worked on. Transmission. I can rent one.”

“No. There’s no reason for you to drive way out there. I get off at five, but I’ll need a little time to pretty up. I’ll pick you up in front of your hotel at eight. We’ll have dinner someplace, then I’ll drop you off and drive myself home. You don’t mind?”

“Mind? It sounds fantastic!”

“That’s wonderful, Ozzie. I’m really looking forward to meeting you. Now, how will I know you? You’re medium height and have a mustache—isn’t that right?”

“Right. Tan topcoat, check suit.”

“I’ll be driving a gray Buick, Ozzie, and you’ve seen my picture. I think I’ll wear my red knit dress. See you at eight.”

She hung up, and after a moment so did he, rubbing his jaw. He picked up the handset again and dropped two dimes in the slot, then pushed buttons for the Consort. The telephone in Room 777 rang eight times, but no one answered it.

* * *

The wreck of Free’s house seemed unchanged. As on the previous night, a part of the facade still stood, though so much of it had been smashed that the whole structure looked like a huge dollhouse, both floors and the interiors of several rooms visible through the gaping hole. A little fresh snow had obscured the tracks the four of them had left. Barnes stared at it for a moment, then went into the ruined house, leaving his sample case in what had been the hall. For almost an hour he walked through the rooms and up and down the stair, often running his hands over the cold walls.

When at last he picked up his sample case and left, it was to walk diagonally across the street, where an old house of grimy stone, narrower and more decrepit even than Free’s, seemed to stand with shoulders hunched. A tarnished plate on the door read Dr. Makee. Barnes knocked.