999_ Twenty-Nine Original Tales of Horror and Suspense - Al Sarrantonio [338]
“What’s your pleasure, Mr. Dare?” Case inquired.
“A new body,” Dare answered, “and a brain that doesn’t know who I am.”
“I’ve got martinis all mixed.”
“No, no, no!” Dare pointed to the liquor bottles shelved behind Case. “Please just hand me the Chivas and a glass,” he requested.
Case reached for the bottle. “You look deathly,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”
Case set down the bottle and looked solicitous.
“The trouble? Well, I’ll tell you the trouble,” snapped Dare. About to speak, he caught sudden sight of Freeboard staring at him as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Dare shut his mouth and turned away. He said, “Nothing.” He picked up the bottle, poured out two fingers, put it back, and then set his glass down on the bar emphatically. “Nothing’s wrong whatsoever. Not a thing.”
Anna Trawley now entered the room. Visibly upset, she moved swiftly to the bar and sat beside Dare.
“Hello, Anna. Have a drink?” asked Case.
“Yes, a double,” said Trawley tightly.
“Then I gather nothing’s wrong,” said Case.
“Beg your pardon?” she asked. “I didn’t get that.”
Case stared at her innocently. “Just a comment.”
Dare turned to look at Trawley, examining her drawn and ashen face and then her shaking hands now clasped atop the counter. He looked back into her eyes.
“What did you see?” he asked her.
At this Freeboard roused herself.
She said, “What? What do you mean? Who saw what?”
“I saw nothing,” said Trawley, staring fixedly ahead.
“I saw less,” replied Dare.
“Well, that settles it,” said Case. He pulled a bottle off the shelf.
“Dry sherry with a twist?” he asked Trawley.
She stared at him oddly.
“Why, yes,” she said at last. “Exactly.”
She continued to stare.
Case saw Dare gulping down two more fingers of scotch.
“Your health,” said Case, looking over at the author.
“It isn’t funny,” growled Dare.
“I didn’t say it was funny.”
“It was nothing,” Dare insisted.
“I know.”
“What the fuck are you all talking about?” demanded Freeboard. She’d been glaring back and forth, her confusion and irritation mounting. Dare patted her hand. “Never mind.”
Case put the sherry in front of Trawley. “I notice you staring,” he said to her quietly. “Are you getting any sense of something yet?”
“Nothing new,” she said almost inaudibly.
“I didn’t get that,” said Case.
Her gaze bored into his eyes. “Nothing new,” she repeated.
“Oh.”
Case glanced to the television set. “Oh, I do wish these TVs and radios would work,” he bemoaned. “I’d so love to see the six o’clock news.”
“Yes, no doubt,” murmured Trawley. “So would I. But I certainly don’t want to see myself on it.”
“What was that?” asked Case.
She said, “Nothing.”
Trawley sipped at her sherry. Her hand was still trembling.
“Speaking of the news,” began Case. He turned back to the bar. Dare and Freeboard, he saw, were speaking quietly together. Case cleared his throat, and said, “And now what do we think about President Clinton’s handling of foreign policy?”
A sudden hush fell upon the room. Freeboard and Dare had abruptly stopped talking and mutely turned to stare at Case. Their expressions, like Trawley’s, were blank and numb. Not a breath, not a thought appeared to stir in the room.
Case looked from face to face, his eyes a question.
At last Dare frowned and asked, “Whose handling?”
Case paused, as if waiting for something, and then answered with a tinge of what could have been regret. “Oh, I meant to say President Bush. Awfully sorry. Yes, sorry. I misspoke.”
The trio continued to stare, still motionless, and then they all looked down into their drinks. Trawley took a sip of her sherry, then, and turned to look out a window at the blood-red massive ball of the sun slipping low upon the mud-brown waters of the river.
“Nearly dark,” she said softly. “Night’s coming.”
Case didn’t move. He was staring at the three of them.
He lowered his head and shook it.
In her room