Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 (7 page)

 
          
 
"How many of those damn aspirins did you
take?" he asked me.

 
          
 
"Maybe a dozen. Maybe more."

 
          
 
Jerry was a tall, gaunt man, who could have
been anywhere between thirty and fifty. He had sweated away everything but
sinews and calluses, leaving behind a lot of facial creases. He wore
steel-rimmed spectacles, and his lips grew thinner whenever he was angry.

 
          
 
"Don't you know what they do to the
clotting factor?"

 
          
 
"No."

 
          
 
"They screw it up. You bleed more. You
lost a lot of blood. You should probably have a transfusion."

 
          
 
"I'll live," I said. "I made it
this far without going into shock."

 
          
 
He nodded and his glasses flashed.

 
          
 
"Give me a horse any time," he said.
"Booze and aspirin. And nothing to eat all day."

 
          
 
I started a shrug, reconsidered immediately.

 
          
 
"I'd have chosen a better menu under
other circumstances—and if I were a horse, you might have shot me."

 
          
 
He chuckled, then sobered.

 
          
 
"You did pull it off, though. I wasn't
sure you'd make it away afterward."

 
          
 
"We figured it pretty carefully."

 
          
 
He nodded.

 
          
 
"How do you feel about it—now?"

 
          
 
"It had to be done."

 
          
 
"I guess so."

 
          
 
"You see any alternatives? We've got to
try and stop them. We're making ourselves felt. They will be treading a lot
more carefully after today."

 
          
 
"I see it," he said. "It is
just that I wish there was another way. I am still something of a lay preacher,
you know? But it is not just that. It is mainly that I don't like to see things
killed or hurt. One of the reasons I'm a vet. It's my feeling, not my thinking,
that goes against it."

 
          
 
"I know," I told him. "Don't
you think I thought about it for a long time? Maybe too much, even."

 
          
 
"I guess so. I think you ought to
reconsider moving on, and spend the night here. You need the rest."

 
          
 
I shook my head.

 
          
 
"I know I do. I wish I could. I have to
keep moving, though. I am still too close to where it happened to rest easy.
Besides, the new vehicle is a van. It has a mattress in the back. I can stretch
out there. Anyway, it's better for you if I move along as quickly as
possible."

 
          
 
"If I was worried about my own safety, I
would never have gotten involved in the first place. No. That's not it. It goes
back to my feeling about not liking to see things hurt or dead."

 
          
 
"Well, I stand a better chance of
avoiding both if I cloud the trail as much as I can."

 
          
 
He moved to the window, looked out.

 
          
 
"That may be your ride coming along the
road now. What color is it?"

 
          
 
"Red."

 
          
 
"Yep. It could be. Listen, I don't want
you taking any more aspirins."

 
          
 
"Okay. I’ll stick with the booze."

 
          
 
"Polluting your system."

 
          
 
"Better than polluting the Earth," I
said. "It's going to be around a lot longer. Care to join me?"

 
          
 
He gave a brief chuckle, followed by a
skeletal grin.

 
          
 
"One for the road? Well, why not?"

 
          
 
I fetched my bottle while he got a pair of
glasses from the cupboard. I let him pour.

 
          
 
"Safe journey," he said.

 
          
 
"Thanks. Good harvest."

 
          
 
I heard the van draw up. I crossed to the
window and looked out. Quick Smith, lithe and prematurely white-haired, who,
but for the flip of a coin, would have been in my place, moved to check it out.
I recognized the driver, though. So I finished my drink without haste, returned
the glass to the counter, retrieved my bottle.

 
          
 
I clasped Jerry's hand.

 
          
 
"Go light on that stuff just the same,
hear?"

 
          
 
I nodded vaguely, just as Quick came in to
announce the arrival.

 
          
 
"So long."

 
          
 
I followed him outside, got into the back of
the thing. The driver, a beefy lad named Fred, came around to see how I was and
to show me where things were. There was food, a water jug, a bottle of wine, a
.38 revolver and a box of cartridges. I wasn't sure what use the last might
prove—if someone caught up with me, I would go willingly enough—and I was not
in a position to load it too quickly anyhow. Seeing this, Fred loaded it for me
and stashed it under the mattress.

 
          
 
"Ready?" he said.

 
          
 
I nodded and he locked me in. I lay down and
closed my eyes.

 
          
 
Dr. Winchell had been unable to persuade
Lieutenant Martinez, but during a ten-minute phone call he had been able to
convince Richard Guise. Dick had required only a five-minute call across
Washington
to arouse federal interest to the extent
that Special Agent Robertson was at the Guise home that evening. Robertson,
thirty, clean, kempt, blue-eyed, gray-garbed and unsmiling, came to sit in the
living room across from Vicki and
Lydia
.

 
          
 
"There is no file on anyone named
Roderick Leish-man," he said.

 
          
 
"I cannot help that,"
Lydia
told him. "That is his name."

 
          
 
Vicki looked in her direction, surprised by
the tone of her voice.
Lydia
's chin was somewhat raised, her mouth
tight.

 
          
 
"Sorry," Robertson said. "No
offense. They are still checking. He might have used a different name in the
past. You were right about the COE connection. He did leave their sign."

 
          
 
She nodded.

 
          
 
"Tell me," she said. "What will
become of him?"

 
          
 
Robertson began a smile, suppressed it.

 
          
 
"The usual. Trial, conviction,
sentencing—if your information is correct. As to the details, they will depend
on his attorney, the jury, the judge. You know."

 
          
 
"That was not what I meant," she
said.

 
          
 
He cocked his head.

 
          
 
"I am afraid I do not understand."

 
          
 
"I was thinking of my patient," she
said. "His telepathic fixation on the fugitive amounts to total absorption.
I want some sort of assurance that if we assist you the man will be brought in
alive. I have no idea what effect his death would have on Dennis. I do not wish
to find out."

 
          
 
"I cannot give you any assurance—"

 
          
 
"Then I may not be able to give you any
assistance."

 
          
 
"Withholding evidence is a serious
matter. Especially in a case like this."

 
          
 
"My first duty, as I see it, is to my
patient. For that matter, though, I am not even certain this comes under the
heading of evidence. I do not believe there has ever been a case involving
anything of this sort."

 
          
 
Robertson sighed.

 
          
 
"Let's not quibble over the
legalities," he said. "The man has shot two governors. One is dead
and the other may not make it through the night. He is a member of a radical eco
group which includes violence as part of its program. He is running around
loose now and you admit Dennis can follow him. If you refuse to cooperate, we
can bring in a telepath of our own to monitor Dennis. You are not at all that
necess—"

 
          
 
"Mr. Robertson, there are very clear
legal precedents in that area. You would be invading his privacy in the highest
sense—"

 
          
 
"He is a minor. Parental consent is all
that is required, and you are not his parent."

 
          
 
He looked at Vicki, who clasped her hands very
tightly and turned toward
Lydia
.

 
          
 
"Dennis would be hurt if they hurt the
man?" she said.

 
          
 
"I think so."

 
          
 
"Then I do not give my consent," she
said. "I am sorry, Mr. Robertson."

 
          
 
"Inasmuch as your husband started this,
it is possible that he will give us the release."

 
          
 
Vicki's hands suddenly relaxed.

 
          
 
"If he does," she said, "I will
never speak to him again. I will leave and take Dennis with me."

 
          
 
Robertson bowed his head.

 
          
 
"I am not trying to be
unreasonable," he said. "Can you tell me how I could possibly
guarantee what you are asking? We want him alive. We want to question him. We
want to learn as much about his group as we can. We are going to try to take
him alive. But men will shoot in self-defense. Even then, they would try not to
kill him. But it is possible. He could be killed You try to be reasonable. If
you give us exact information concerning him, it will up our chances of landing
him whole. What else can I offer you?"

 
          
 
"Very well," said
Lydia
. "You make some sense. What you can do
then is communicate all this to whatever field agents get involved in the
pursuit."