Mercury Man (9 page)

The diner was actually an old place from the forties, looking a bit like a shabby boxcar but fixed up enough to pass the health and fire regulations, if only just. It had air conditioning, after a fashion, and an unflappable waitress named Hester, who never let a coffee cup get less than three-quarters full.

Nobody seemed to know who owned the restaurant — it certainly wasn't anybody named Damato — and nobody much cared. It was located on the edge of Mechanicstown, near the Greyhound bus station, and populated by old men who complained about enlarging prostates and shrinking horizons, a few tight-lipped Vietnam vets, various winos and ex-acidheads, non-fastidious cleaning ladies, slick men who ran pawnshops, busted policemen, and small-time delivery drivers.

Tom was good with most of these people because he knew how to listen. Only rarely did any of the patrons ask him embarrassing questions, such as: “Are you gonna spend your whole life pouring coffee?” “What's your dad do, anyway?” “What's the name of your girlfriend?”

That morning he had woken early and he and his grandfather had gone together to the apartment so he could change his clothes and check things out. His mother, already at work, had left a note that said, “Maybe we could have a pizza together tonight? Love you.”

There had been nothing suspicious around the building. No sign of Fabricon. No man in black watching.
Tom was beginning to feel more easy. Yesterday was receding a bit, like a bad dream.

Around nine-thirty the diner crowd thinned out. A few of the old codgers hung around and talked to his grandfather. Hester the waitress had settled down at her time-out table to do a crossword and have a smoke. One or two messengers came in for takeouts.

Then a police car stopped by, and Tom, suddenly fearful, ducked into the back — but the cop, a bulky, red-faced man whom he knew as a regular, only wanted donuts.

It was all right then, it seemed. Nothing was going to happen. Relaxed, Tom was drinking a juice and trying to read the sports pages when he looked up and saw Estella and Pete coming through the diner door.

This was crazy! The kids never came over here!

Tom watched them, mustering a wan smile, wondering what in hell they wanted with him.

“Hey, Tom! How's the hangover?” Pete Halloran greeted him loudly and jokingly as he plumped down on a counter stool right beside the cash. He waved to Estella, who had seemed to hang back, and she too sat down, giving Tom a gentle once-over.

They ordered coffee, and Pete began the conversation on a noncommittal note.

“So how's it going?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. He was trying not to stare. These were his friends — but were they? Hadn't he seen them hustling into Fabricon to be
given Dr. Tarn's brainwashing treatment? Could he trust them now?

“OK,” he said. “Everything's just fine.”

A couple of years ago, he remembered, he and Pete used to sit in coffee shops and talk about UFOs, portholes, extraterrestrial life, and the fate of the galaxy. In those days Pete was fat and eager and a bit naive, but he had changed. He'd been working out and had developed some muscle. Now he was dressing in cool clothes, had his driver's licence, and was dropping in on the local gambling places with his girlfriends.

There was a kind of bluster about Pete these days that seemed to go down well with most people, but Tom didn't like it. Still, they played pool sometimes, and Tom had decided he really wasn't such a bad guy at heart.

“How come you showed up here? You guys never come here.”

Tom looked from one to the other, then at his grandfather, who was watching from the corner. Was that slight nod of his head a signal of encouragement? Tom had promised to keep his cool no matter what happened and to take his cue from Jack.

“We wanted to see you,” Estella said. “To have a talk with you.”

That sounded innocuous enough, but then Pete said, with a kind of smirk, “You been doing a little exploring, Tom?”

Tom looked at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“We were getting a briefing at Fabricon last night,” Estella told him. “We heard that some kid broke into
the place. He was recorded on the security cameras. Dr. Tarn asked Pete and me to come in and look at the tapes and we had to identify you.”

“Thanks a lot!”

Tom felt sick. They knew who he was and they were going to go after him!

“It isn't our fault,” Estella protested. “We had to tell him! Somebody else would have recognized you. Besides, they're going to be nice about it. They're not going to prosecute.”

“Dr. Tarn's a cool guy. He's not going to go after you, Tom. He just wants to talk to you.”

“Why didn't you come with us, Tom? I don't understand it!” Estella said. “They would have hired you like a shot. You're good with computers.”

“I don't want to talk to Tarn at all,” Tom protested. He was frightened. If he let Fabricon come near him, there was no telling what they'd do!

His grandfather had picked up on his agitation. The old man watched closely and stirred in his seat, but he didn't get up.

“Dr. Tarn's doing you a real favour,” Pete insisted. “What in heck were you doing over there anyway?”

The door of the diner opened and a man came in. A tall man in a white T-shirt, shorts, and dark sunglasses. Tom could see his fancy silver racing bike where he'd locked it up by the fire hydrant. Hester took his order and Tom had to get some juice and coffee. Fast-Fry Willy, who was having a smoke in the back, got up to do an order of eggs and scrapple.

“I just wanted to check the place out,” Tom said. “You guys were talking like it was paradise or something. Then somebody started to chase me and I panicked. I'll pay for any damage, but I don't want to go to Fabricon.”

Pete's broad smirk turned into laughter.

“Tarn said you were in a disguise, that you broke into a private room. You been reading the Hardy Boys or something?”

Tom gritted his teeth. “Let me ask you this: what were you guys doing at Fabricon last night?”

“We all went over in a company van,” Estella said. “They treated us great. We got a tour of some of the advanced labs and met some of the marketing people.”

“Fabricon's all over the world,” Pete said. “They've got incredible plans for the future, too.”

“Yeah? You saw a film, didn't you. They showed you some kind of film.”

“That was the boring part,” Estella said.

“The film was nothing,” Pete insisted. “It was just some stuff they were testing. Soothing sounds and weird pictures, like some of those modern paintings. They wanted to try it out on us. I can't even remember it, really.”

“Why are you asking us this?” Estella cradled her coffee cup, staring at Tom intently with her dark eyes. Then she turned suddenly and noticed Jack Sandalls, who was by this time shifting uneasily in the corner. She waved and the old man nodded. “How come you're getting so standoffish, Tom?” Estella continued. “And so suspicious? You used to be upfront about everything.”

“I just don't like the feel of Fabricon,” he said. Then he remembered the mysterious phone calls to his home. “Did you guys try to call me last night?”

“No,” said Estella. “Of course not. Tarn asked us not to.” This was not the answer Tom had hoped for. He was still uneasy about the calls.

His concern was interrupted when he suddenly became aware of the tall man in the sunglasses standing beside him.

“If you're not reading that paper, kid, I wouldn't mind a look.” The man's voice was deep and almost sullen.

Tom handed him the newspaper. As the man retreated, he stared absent-mindedly after him. All of a sudden he caught his breath.

Had he seen that walk and manner before? He couldn't be sure. Not here, anyway. Last night?

He cast a desperate look in the direction of his grandfather, but Jack was talking to one of his cronies, not looking in Tom's direction.

Why didn't Grandfather see him? Why didn't he react? I must be imagining things. Why should the man in black come here? Tarn's sent word already, through the kids. Besides, it doesn't look like him. The man last night was slimmer. But maybe it was the running suit. God! I can't remember exactly …

“What's the matter with you, Tom, are you going weird?” Pete asked him. “All of sudden you look sick. Must be the smoke in this place. Jeez! You've got to get it together or you're going to lose out on all your
chances. Stuff is happening around this city and you're just missing the boat.”

“Give Doc Tarn a call,” Estella told him. “He told us to pass along his card to you. Said everything would be cool, so long as he hears from you right away.”

“You know Tarn personally?”

Pete laughed. “Sure we do, Tom. Hell, he's a good guy. Looks like you nearly struck out with the company, though.”

Fast-Fry Willy, a slender, wrinkled apparition, coffee-coloured and wearing a white apron, deposited a plate of scrapple, bacon, and eggs on the counter.

“One eggs and scrapple, Hester. Can I get you kids something?” he asked.

Pete made a wry face. “No thanks.”

Willy disappeared, and as Hester waddled across to get the plate, Pete leaned over and whispered to Tom. “Man, what's that stuff with the eggs and bacon? I just hope you don't eat it yourself. You should try the cafeteria at Fabricon. Best fast food in the city.”

“Screw you. Willy's a great cook. His scrapple is terrific.”

Pete shrugged his shoulders.

“I think it's time to take off, Estella. Give Tommy the card and let's get back to Fabricon. He likes to hang out with the rummies and the downbeats.”

Tom was trying to get his grandfather's attention. He took the calling card from Estella without even looking at it. The tall man had his back to him, busy over his breakfast.
I must be mistaken. It couldn't be the same man.

“Why don't you come over to Fabricon with us?” Estella asked. “We'll stick by you and make it OK with Dr. Tarn.”

“We'll even hold your hand,” Pete added. “Of course if they decide to prosecute, we'll forget we ever knew you.”

He laughed and Estella turned and shoved at him.

“Lay off, will you? … What about it, can you get away right now, Tom?”

“I can't.” Tom had managed to signal his grandfather. Jack was coming slowly toward him, his coffee cup held out carefully like a chalice. “I've got the card. I'll think about calling him, don't worry.”

“We're off, then,” Pete announced. He started to retreat in the direction of the door. Estella followed slowly, waving to Pete's grandfather as she took off.

“Bye, Mr. Sandalls.”

Jack waved to her. He came straight up to the counter, set his coffee cup down, and said in a loud voice, “So we're gonna put a little bet on the baseball game, are we, kid?”

Tom gaped at him, and the old man said under his breath, “That guy sitting over there with the breakfast … I'm wondering if he's the man who was following you last night. Did you have a feeling about him, maybe?”

“Maybe … but I just don't know!”

Jack winked, turned around, and took a turn around the room. In one corner three women were having coffee. Nearby, a messenger was chewing on a sandwich. Jack's cronies sat in another corner. They had begun a
game of cards and were joking about some woman they knew. The tall man sat at a table near the door. He seemed to be devoting all his attention to his breakfast, which he had already almost disposed of.

Jack strolled past him, stopped, and turned back casually to the table.

“Excuse me,” he said, “you wouldn't be old Jess Hiram's nephew, now, would you? The one that went off to study engineering in Chicago?”

The man raised his head very slowly. He gave Jack a moment's searching look, then turned back to his food. His look and manner reminded Tom of one of those silent strangers in a western.

“Never heard of him,” the man said in his deep monotone voice. Then he simply ignored Jack — it was as if he had made him disappear.

The old sea captain, however, was not going to be put off so easily.

“Oh, I just wondered. Haven't seen you in here before, you know. Most of us are regulars, like. Guess you know a good place when you see it.”

“The
breakfast
is very good,” the man said. “But as a matter of fact, I'm on my way.”

He stood up so suddenly that Jack saw his grandfather startle back.

The man smiled and picked up the newspaper. He drank the remains of his coffee. Hester lumbered over with his check and he brought it straight to the counter, where Tom stood watching him with pounding heart.

A man, slender and muscular, thirty-five years old, maybe forty. With dark eyebrows and dark eyes, thin lips, high cheekbones, and a strong Roman nose.

The man counted out the $3.50 for the breakfast, picked up a toothpick from the holder, and turned away.

Then he stopped, turned back, and laid the folded newspaper on the counter.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, and walked back to get his sunglasses, then straight out the door, not looking at Jack at all, although the latter managed a faint “So long” as the stranger passed him.

Tom's grandfather, shaking his head, wandered back to the counter.

“I don't think that was him, Grandpa,” Tom said. “There was something about this guy that was different. Anyway — I've got to tell you! Dr. Tarn wants to see me. They spotted me on the video cameras. You've got to help me! I just don't know what to do.”

Jack started to speak, unconsciously folding back the newspaper as he did so. He and Tom looked down at the same time and saw the small torn sheet fluttering out of it. The man, who had already climbed on his bicycle and disappeared, must have slipped it in there.

Tom snatched at the paper and saw that there was writing on it, one sentence, printed neatly in pencil. He held it up and read it to his grandfather.