section, you can hear the alpenhorns echoing off the purplish far walls of the Jungfrau… The only trouble with Wagner is that if you listen to too much of him, you get to actually believe it. And then it's not too difficult to imagine yourself walking out to the nearest aerodrome, climbing into your Stuka, and roaring off into the wild blue to strafe civilians.
Got to watch it with old Richard Wagner.
Halfway through the mail call I came across a government form bearing a U.S. Postal Service inscription. It was from the post office in Lowell, informing me that 'an item of personal property' had been found in one of their postal facilities, and that I could claim said item by appearing there in person, bearing the proper identification, within thirty days.
An item of personal property… found in a postal facility.. . It couldn't be. It was too good to be true. To hell with thirty days;'I hightailed it to the phone and dialed the Lowell P.O. It was after four; I had forty minutes to get there before they closed. After much runaround and holding, I finally got to the young lady who was familiar with the item.
'Well, we were wondering when you'd call back, Doctor Adams. You see, you gotta have the slip in your hand, as well as the I.D. It's just the rules.'
'I understand. Well, I'll be right up, so stay put. You want me to describe it?'
'No, not again. I'll be here. 'Bye.'
On the drive up I couldn't help thinking that part of her phone conversation had sounded funny. Did she have the correct item? Was she confusing me with someone else? It wouldn't seem likely in a town the size of Lowell.
I arrived just before closing, and soon was facing the young woman across the counter. I showed her the proper identification.
'Should I describe the package?'
She gave a little giggle, as if I were obviously kidding, then gave me a questioning sidelong glance with furrowed brow.
'Your voice change?'
'Hmm?'
'Your voice. It sounds different. Gotta cold, mistah?'
I stared around the building. I was beginning to think I was in a Franz Kafka novel. A fat man appeared next to the young lady and glared at me over his droopy glasses. He looked at me, looked at the slip, looked at me, looked at the slip, looked at me. Later on in the year he was going to try something really challenging, like toilet training.
'Whats a big idea?' he asked me.
'What big idea? I'm here to claim my personal item. I have furnished the required identification and am prepared to describe the item. It's a small package from Investment Alloy Laboratories in Cambridge, which is a dental lab. And the piece is valuable to me.'
'Must be, the way you been buggin' us about it,' he said.
Back into the Kafka novel again.
'Excuse me. I only called once.'
'Frank, he don't sound like the other guy,' said the girl. 'I asked him if his voice changed.'
'What other guy?' I asked.
'A guy named Charles Adams has been callin' us continual for the past two days, did we find a box, you know? But we ain't found no box, till yesterday. Then we send the note out, right?'
'Did he call you today?' I asked.
'Uh-huh. About forty minutes ago.'
'No dear, that was me.''
She giggled again. Frank looked at me, looked at the slip, looked at me, looked at the slip…
'That's just what he said each time: it's me.' She laughed.
'But I described the package.'
'Yeah,' said Frank, 'four times.'
I sighed, and swept my eyes around the place. Somebody else wanted the package. Somebody who knew what it looked like. And also somebody who knew the post office would have it. Who was it? Not the guys chipping at the factory wall, because he thought the package was still in there. Or maybe he was after the newsboy's pouch… the empty pouch…
They finally let me have the package because they knew I wasn't leaving without it, and it was closing time. The best way to win an argument with a government employee is to do it just before quitting time. I filled out another special form and departed with the box, which was only as big as a pack of cigarettes. It had been opened, and the post-office people had not opened it. The letter carrier had found it, as is, in a letter box near the old factory. It could have been there all weekend. The mouth-piece was there, in perfect condition. They had never seen the other caller at the post office, nor had he left any phone number or address. One thing for sure: he knew where to find me.
But he didn't even wait until I got home. At the third light I knew the dark-blue Olds behind me wasn't there by coincidence. I did a double cloverleaf on and off of 495 and he was still on my tail. He was following me, as Brian Hannon might say, like stink on a skunk.
South on Route 3 he sped up, swerved to the left-hand passing lane, and tried to come alongside. But I swerved left too and blocked him. He tried to pass on the right and I blocked him again. Then I pulled out the light switch while I tromped on the gas pedal. He braked hard when he saw the rear lights flash on, and I had the edge for a few seconds, but it didn't work and I wasn't surprised. An International Scout is no match for an Olds sedan on the highway. He tried the passing routine again and this time I let him. But as he passed me he tried to run me off onto the shoulder. And we weren't alone on the road, either. My mystery friend wanted that cardboard box pretty badly. When he tried to head me off I got a little belligerent and swerved right into him. Ka-whunk! Our fenders banged and shrieked, and I even saw sparks. A Scout may not be fast, but it's heavy-duty and good on the body punches… just like Dempsey. I had bloodied Blue Olds's nose a bit and he backed off.
I couldn't see the driver clearly at all. He had no front plate, either. I guess I was a little heated up by this time and didn't care what happened to the Scout's body. I wanted to put Mystery Man into the opposing lane, right smack into a Peterbilt or a Mack. But I think he sensed this, and stayed back. He got no closer than a hundred feet but stayed with me like an echo. We crossed the Bedford line, then on into Concord. I went along to the town and hit Walden Road. Half a mile along it I swerved into a parking lot and Mystery Man followed me in. But he did a three-sixty right away and barreled out of there on two wheels. And as it was, it was lucky for him he wasn't tagged right then and there. I went inside and told the desk sergeant to follow that car. Then I went upstairs to Brian Hannon's office.
'Smart thing, coming to the police station,' he said as he ignited a Lucky and waved out the match. 'Usually crooks feel unsafe around them.'
'Except for this one.'
'Your comedy is not appreciated, Doctor Adams. I'll have you know that the people of Concord, and of the Commonwealth, depend on me and my staff to-'
'Listen to this. I want to tell you what's been happening lately. Maybe you can help me figure it out.'
'Maybe I can, maybe not. I'm very busy right now.'
'So I see,' I said, pointing at the unfinished crossword puzzle on his desk.
He frowned and squinted at me and leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke rings. When I finished he scratched the side of his balding head. Then he spoke.
'What happened was, they went through the pouch in the room at the factory, okay? They not only opened it there; they went through the contents. The empty envelope from the Boston library proves this. They sorted through the papers and discarded the envelope. They opened your box from the lab and decided they didn't need it. So on their way home one of them, who decided to do his good turn for the day-'
'God bless him- he saved me weeks of work.'
'Uh-huh. He drops your box into the nearest mailbox so you'll get it back. So then afterwards, when they've gone through the Sacco and Vanzetti stuff real carefully, they realize something's missing. So they think, where could this thing be? They knew Robinson had it on his person. It turned up missing from the bundle, so the first
