An Evil Guest (4 page)

“What would it take to get you to stay open later?”

The girl said nothing.

“Twenty bucks?”

The girl shook her head. “I got to go. My mom’ll be all upset. I’m closin’ in seven minutes.”

“Call your mom. I’ll talk to her.”

The girl shook her head.

“I’m a customer,” Cassie declared, “and you’ve got to wait on me.”

“I guess . . . .”

Cassie scanned the menu posted behind the counter. “I want a double sherbet papaya delight, and I’m staying until you make it and I eat it.”

The girl said nothing.

“Wait a second.” Cassie rummaged through her purse. “Here’s the twenty. See it? I’ll give it to you if you’ll just tell me what
would
make you stay open later.”

“I wouldn’t tell you,” the girl said deliberately, “even if I liked you. Ma’am.”

“You can’t close while I’m in here. What would you do? Lock me in?”

“You’ll see.” The girl had found a rather fanciful plastic dish and was scooping sherbet into it.

“One’s yellow,” Cassie commented, “and that other one looks like raspberry. I thought papaya would be pink.”

The girl said nothing.

“Has a man been in here? Maybe a man who said he was looking for somebody?”

The girl laid down her scoop and went to the door. A switch beside it darkened the outside lights.

“You’re two minutes fast,” Cassie told her.

“So sue me.” The girl locked the door and pulled down a shade.

Cassie sighed. “I wish we could be friends.”

“I’ve got three friends.” The girl drizzled cloudy syrup on the sherbet. “Rita, Amber, and Christabelle. I don’t like any of them very much, but I like every one of them fifty times more than I like you. Even Christabelle.”

“Puts me in my place. You got a spoon?”

A pink plastic spoon stabbed the raspberry sherbet. “I even like Rita’s little brother better than you.”

There was a knock at the door. The girl looked toward it, but did not move.

“I’ll get it,” Cassie said, and stood up.

“No you don’t!” The girl beat her to the door, pushing her back.

The knocking became pounding. Something as hard and heavy as a carpenter’s hammer was striking the door.

The girl pulled the green shade an inch and a half to one side and peeped out. After a moment she unlocked the door and stood aside.

The man who entered was both tall and wide, nearing middle age. Cassie gasped, “Scott . . . ?”

“Who’s that?” His voice was deep and a trifle raspy.

“A—a certain man I used to know. A gentleman. Or I thought he was.”

“Not my name, Miss Casey. You ready?”

The girl said, “She’s gotta pay for this.”

The man who looked so much like Scott leveled his left forefinger at her. It was an unusually large forefinger. “You shut the fuck up,” he told her.

His car was roomy, cheap, and new. A good portion of the dash taken up by what looked like a computer screen. A remote keyboard occupied the passenger seat until Cassie moved it.

“Fasten your belt, Miss Casey.”

She did. “You know my name. That’s the second time you’ve used it.”

He started the car.

“Since you know my name, I think I ought to know yours.”

“Scott.” There was little traffic this time of night, and “Scott” jammed down the accelerator.

“You’re not Scott. You look kind of like him, but you’re not him. It’s not really that close.” Cassie craned her neck for a look at the numbers flaming before him:
40, 50, 60
. . . She tightened her seat belt. “You’re a cop, Scott.”

He glanced at her.

“This car and the way you drive it. The whole bit. That girl wouldn’t have unlocked the door for Jacob, Jack Pot, and Joan of Arc; but she unlocked it for you because you showed her a badge.”

“You new in town?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re not a cop.” The car swerved right to pass a speeding cab. “I’d know you. If you’re a grifter, you’d have to be new. I know the local gals. High class. Red hair. Forty?”

“Not quite.” It was hard to smile, although she did.

“You’d be a bunco gal if you were a grifter. But I don’t think so.”

“You could check the police files, couldn’t you?”

He seemed not to have heard her.

“Where are you taking me, Scott?”

“Show you in a minute. Got a cigarette?”

“Heck no.” Cassie looked as if she wanted to spit. “How long have they had a cure for cancer? Eighteen months? Something like that. Just eighteen months, and everybody smokes.”

“Never mind. I’ll buy some soon as I drop you off up here.”

“Where’s up here?”

To her surprise, he pointed. “Right there. In the parking lot.”

“You’re going to leave me there and drive away? It’ll take me twenty minutes just to hike someplace where I can catch a cab.”

The car slowed.

“In heels!” She hoped that it sounded as bitter as she felt.

“You see that black car over there? The dead black one. It doesn’t shine.”

She nodded.

“Sweet. You get out of this car and get in that one, and that’s
all
you do. It’s unlocked on the passenger’s side. Get in. Right side, front. Wait.”

“Suppose I don’t?”

“I kick your ass out of my car and after that you’re on your own. Twenty minutes? That what you said? Get in the black car and you probably won’t have to wait that long. So which is it?” He grinned. “I’m a good kicker, Miss Casey. Try me.”

“I’ve got a gun in my purse.”

He held out his hand. “Right here. Fork it over.”

“You want me to take it out and give it to you?” She was incredulous. “I could shoot you.”

“But you won’t. Fork it over.”

She opened her door and slid off the seat. “I was lying. Fibbing, all right? I haven’t really got one.”

She had thought her purse out of reach. It was not. He snatched it from her and straightened up.

“Hey!”

“Shut up,” he muttered. He was fumbling with the catch.

“I could call the police. I could have you arrested.”

That brought a smile. “Well, for one thing, Miss Casey, I’ve got your cell phone.”

“And for another, you’re a cop yourself. What do they call you, a plainclothesman?”

“Stupid, usually.” He looked at her. “There’s no gun in here.”

“I was lying. I told you.”

“Sure. Cell phone, compact, nail file, lipstick.” He pulled the cap off. “Hard to tell in this light. What do they call it?”

“Ultra-natural ash rose.”

“Got to watch that one. It’ll put you to sleep.” He dropped lipstick and cap back into her purse. “Billfold. Looks like about three hundred bucks. Driver’s license. Union card. Another union card—I guess the second one’s for vid. Visa, MasterCard, and Discover.” He closed her billfold, dropped it into her purse, and shut it. “Plus Kleenex and chewing gum.”

“Is that still in there?”

“Most women carry a lot more.”

“So do I. There should be a pen in there.”

“You left it someplace. Catch.” He tossed the purse to her. “Shut the door, and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

She shut it.

The black car was low and oddly angled, of a make she failed to recognize.
The front door on the passenger’s side opened easily; she slid in and found the upholstery delightfully soft and luxurious.

W
HEN
she woke, the car was speeding along a highway. She coughed, swore, and blinked half a dozen times before she remembered how she had come to be there.

“I let you sleep,” the driver told her. “You’re not going to get a great deal of sleep tonight, and I thought it wise to let you sleep as long as you could. If you’d like coffee, we can ask for some.”

She was staring. “You’re him. You’re Gideon Chase.”

“I am.”

“You were in my apartment tonight.”

“I was.”

“You broke in.”

He nodded. “I did. And did some damage, by the way, in the process. I would think that building management would pay for the repairs, if the matter were put to them in the right way.”

“Besides, you’re going to make me rich.”

He glanced at her, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “I suppose I said that in my note. It was hastily written. I’m going to show you how you can become rich, yes. Not easily. And not safely. But quite quickly, if you have the fortitude for it.”

To her surprise, she found that she was warming to him. “Does this involve murder, Dr. Chase?”

“That,” he said, “depends on how you mean it. I do not plan to kill anyone. Is that what you’re asking?”

“I suppose.”

“Then you have your answer. Nor do I intend that you should kill anyone. If you did, however, it wouldn’t be murder. You’d be acting in defense of your country, and would thus avoid blood-guilt. Morally.”

“You’re telling me that America’s in danger.”

“Every country is always in danger. All the time.”

She sensed that he was smiling.

“Let’s get back to murder. The man we’re after has committed several. Thus he might murder you or me. In that sense, murder is certainly involved.”

“How risky is it?”

“Very risky. Mathematically? Let me think.” Gideon paused. “I’d say
there’s about one chance in fifty that you’ll be killed if you do what I ask. I should tell you however that your present risk is at least equally grave. As things are right now, there’s about one chance in fifty that this man will kill you.”

“That is going to take some digesting. And coffee.”

He nodded. “Com Pu Ter, please fill the thermos under the instrument panel with coffee.”

Gurgling and hissing followed a brief silence. When they stopped, Gideon said, “It’s ready now.”

Cassie groped under the instrument panel, found the thermos, and brought it out. “Only one cup. Want to drink from the other side?”

Gideon nodded. “I do. Thank you.”

She poured. “Cream. I usually take it black, but tonight I’ll make an exception.”

“And sugar.”

“Here you go. It’s only half full.”

“Wise, I’m sure.” He accepted the cup and sipped.

“I—Dr. Chase, I just saw how fast we’re going.”

He sipped again, seeming not to have heard her.

“A hundred and forty? Is that right?”

He took the cup from his lips. “About that. We have to reach Canada and travel another hundred miles or more before sunrise. Or so I think. You see, I believe that you’ll agree to what I’m proposing. At this point you have nothing to lose, after all. And much to gain.”

Cassie drew breath, let it out, and filled her lungs again. “I’ve been looking out the window. Everything’s whizzing past. I feel like I’m in a low-flying plane.”

Gideon nodded, smiling. “I wish I had one. But if I did, there’d be no place to land it where we’re going. A hopper would be better, but the Mounties are on the lookout for smugglers. Are you up to some hiking?”

“In these heels? Absolutely not!”

“No. You’ll have to take them off. You know, I ought to have thought of that.”

“Brought shoes for me?”

He shook his head. “Told you to take off whatever shoes you might be wearing and put on walking shoes.”

“You know, I like you. But if I weren’t crazy, I’d be demanding that you turn this—this hot rod of yours around immediately.”

“And yet you are not.”

“No. And you haven’t told me anything. Not anything beyond the less than charming fact that I may have to hike for miles barefoot.”

“I will try to tell you whatever you want to learn,” Gideon said, “provided I know the answers myself. Ask a question.”

“How will you make me a star?”

“Ah!” He turned his head and looked at her so long that she felt a thrill of terror.

“Drive! Please drive! If we hit something at this speed . . .”

“We won’t.” Gideon looked ahead again. “There’s some slight danger, though, that we might buzz right through the checkpoint. It must be close.”

“We’ll have to stop? Thank God!”

“It’s to be hoped that God won’t keep us long. We’ve very little time. You were slow coming to that ice cream shop, which made me think I might have misjudged you.”

“I’m glad you said that. Now I know what my next question will be, if you ever answer my first one.”

“How I’ll make you a star? It’s almost easier to do than it is to explain. Every human being contains a whole grab bag of qualities. Some are inactive, others active. You have the quality that makes stars, but it is latent. The old mesmerists called it personal magnetism. We who think ourselves so much wiser have no better term for it.”

He sipped more coffee and handed her the cup. “One of my own qualities is the ability to manipulate qualities in others. With difficulty, and only to a limited degree, but I can do it. Tonight I’ll try to awaken your star quality. To change it from a latent quality to an active one. As active as I can make it. My mind will reach into yours, find that quality there, and drag it into the light.”

After that Cassie was quiet for a good three minutes. At last she said, “Why do I believe you?”

“Because you sense my honesty. Honesty is a powerful force.”

“You mean that.”

Gideon nodded. “With all my heart.”

“All right. I’d walk barefoot all night and all day if it would make me a star. If there’s a ghost of a chance that it will.”

“There’s an excellent chance,” he told her, “and it’s not a terribly high mountain. A couple of hours should be more than sufficient.”

“We’ll drive up as far as we can?”

“Correct.” He braked, seeing the lights of the checkpoint ahead.