Roadside Picnic (13 page)

He approached his own
garage
from the side of the radio and electronics store, and he had to wait while the workmen loaded a van with television sets. He made himself comfortable in the ragged lilac bushes by the windowless side of the neighboring houses, caught his breath and had a cigarette. He smoked greedily, crouching down and leaning against the rough fireproof wall, touching his cheek from time to time, trying to still the nervous tic. He thought and thought and thought. When the van with the workers pulled away honking into the driveway, he laughed and said softly after them: “Thanks, boys, you held up this fool ... and let me think.” He started moving quickly, but without rushing, cleverly and premeditatedly, like he worked in the Zone.

He entered his garage through the hidden passage, noiselessly lifted the old seat, carefully pulled the roll of paper from the bag in the basket, and slipped it inside his shirt. He took an old worn leather jacket from a hook, found a greasy cap in the corner, and pulled it down over his eyes. The cracks in the door let narrow rays of light with dancing dust into the gloomy garage, and kids were yelling and playing outside. As he was leaving, he heard his daughter’s voice. He put his eye against the widest crack and watched Monkey wave two balloons and run around the swings. Three old women with knitting in their laps were sitting on a nearby bench, watching her with pursed lips. Exchanging their lousy opinions, the dried-up hags. The kids were fine, playing with her as though she were just like them. It was worth all the bribery – he built them a slide, and a doll house, and the swings – and the bench that the old biddies were on. “All right,” he said, tore himself away from the crack, looked around the garage one more time, and crawled into the hole.

In the southwest part of town, near the abandoned gas station at the end of Miner Street, there was a phone booth. God only knew who used it nowadays – all the houses around it were boarded up and beyond it was the seemingly endless empty lot that used to be the town dump. Redrick sat down in the shade of the booth and stuck his hand into the crack below it. He felt the dusty wax paper and the handle of the gun wrapped in it; the lead box of bullets was there, too, as well as the bag with the bracelets and the old wallet with fake documents. His hiding place was in order. Then he took off his jacket and cap and felt inside his shirt. He sat for a minute or more, hefting in his hand the porcelain container and the invincible and inevitable death it contained. And he felt the nervous tic come back.

“Schuhart,” he muttered, not hearing his own voice, “what are you doing, you snake? You scum, they can kill us all with this thing.” He held his twitching cheek, but it didn’t help. “Bastards,” he said about the workers who had been loading the TV sets. “You got in my way. I would have thrown it back into the Zone, the bitch, and it would have been all over.”

He looked around sadly. The hot air was shimmering over the cracked cement, the boarded-up windows looked at him gloomily, and tumbleweed rolled around the lot. He was alone.

“All right,” he said decisively. “Every man for himself, only God takes care of everybody. I’ve had it.”

Hurrying, so as not to change his mind, he stuffed the container into the cap, and wrapped the cap in the jacket. Then he got on his knees, and leaned against the booth. It moved. The bulky package fit in the bottom of the pit under the booth, with room to spare. He carefully replaced the booth, shook it to see how steady it was, and got up, brushing off his hands.

“That’s it. It’s settled.”

He got into the heat of the phone booth, deposited a coin, and dialed.

“Guta,” he said. “Please, don’t worry. They caught me again.” He could hear her shuddering sigh. He quickly added: “It’s a minor offense, six to eight months, with visiting rights. We’ll manage. And you’ll have money, they’ll send it to you.” She was still silent. “Tomorrow morning they’ll call you down to the command post, we’ll see each other then. Bring Monkey.”

“Will there be a search?” she asked.

“Let them. The house is clean. Don’t worry, keep your tail up – you know, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You married a stalker, so don’t complain. See you tomorrow. And remember, I didn’t call. I kiss your little nose.”

He hung up abruptly and stood for a few seconds, eyes shut and teeth clenched so tightly there was a tingling in his ears. Then he deposited another coin and dialed another number.

“Listening,” said Throaty.

“It’s Schuhart. Listen carefully and don’t interrupt.”

“Schuhart? What Schuhart?” asked Throaty in a natural manner.

“Don’t interrupt, I said! They caught me, I ran, and I’m going to turn myself in now. I’m going to get two and a half or three years. My wife will be penniless. You take care of her. So that she needs nothing, understand? Understand, I said?”

“Go on,” said Throaty.

“Not far from the place where we first met, there’s a phone booth. It’s the only one, you won’t mistake it. The porcelain is under it. If you want it, take it, if you don’t, don’t. But my wife must be taken care of. We still have many years of playing together. If I come back and find out you double-crossed me ... I don’t suggest that you do. Understand?”

“I understand everything,” said Throaty. “Thanks.” After a pause, he asked: “Maybe you want a lawyer?”

“No,” said Redrick. “Every last cent goes to my wife. My regards.”

He hung up, looked around, dug his hands into his pants pockets, and slowly went up Miner Street between the empty, boarded-up houses.

RICHARD
H.
NOONAN
,
AGE
51,
SUPERVISOR
OF
ELECTRONIC
EQUIPMENT
SUPPLIES
FOR
THE
HARMONT
BRANCH
OF
THE
IIEC

Richard H. Noonan was sitting at the desk in his study doodling on the legal size pad. He was also smiling sympathetically, nodding his bald head, and not listening to his visitor. He was simply waiting for a telephone call, and his visitor, Dr. Pilman, was lazily lecturing him. Or imagining that he was lecturing him. Or trying to convince himself that he was lecturing him.

“We’ll keep all that in mind,” Noonan finally said, crossing out another group of five lines and flipping down the pad’s cover. “It really is shocking.”

Valentine’s slender hand neatly flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray.

“And what precisely will you keep in mind?” he inquired politely.

“Why, everything that you said,” Noonan answered cheerfully, leaning back in his armchair. “To the very last word.”

“And what did I say?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Noonan said. “We’ll keep whatever you say in mind.”

Valentine (Dr. Valentine Pilman, Nobel Prize winner) was sitting in front of him in a deep armchair. He was small, delicate, and neat. There wasn’t a stain on his suede jacket or a wrinkle in his trousers. A blindingly white shirt, a severe solid-colored tie, shining shoes. A malicious smile on his thin pale lips and enormous dark glasses over his eyes. His low broad forehead was topped with a bristly crewcut.

“In my opinion, you’re being paid a fantastic salary for nothing,” he said. “And on top of that, in my opinion, you’re a saboteur as well, Dick.”

“Shhhhhh!” Noonan whispered. “For God’s sake, not so loud.”

“Actually,” Valentine continued, “I’ve been watching you for a long time. In my opinion, you don’t work at all.”

“Just a minute here!” Noonan interrupted and waved his pink finger at him. “What do you mean I don’t work? Is there even one replacement order that hasn’t been handled?”

“I don’t know,” Valentine said and flicked his ash again. “We get good equipment and we get bad equipment. We get the good stuff more often, but what you have to do with it I’m sure I don’t know.” “Well, if it weren’t for me,” Noonan countered, “the good stuff would be much rarer. And besides, you scientists are always breaking the good equipment, and then calling for a replacement, and who covers for you then? For example ... ”

The phone rang and Noonan broke off and grabbed the receiver. “Mr. Noonan?” the secretary asked. “Mr. Lemchen again.” “Put him on.”

Valentine got up, brought two fingers to his forehead as a sign of farewell, and went out. Small, straight, and well-proportioned. “Mr. Noonan?” the familiar drawling voice spoke in the phone. “I’m listening.”

“You’re not easy to reach at work, Mr. Noonan.” “A new shipment has arrived.”

“Yes, I know about it already. Mr. Noonan, I’m here only for a short time. There are a few questions that must be discussed in person. I’m referring to the latest contracts with Mitsubishi Denshi. The legal side.”

“At your service.”

“Then, if you have no objection, be at our offices in a half hour. Is that convenient?”

“Perfect. In a half hour.”

Richard Noonan hung up, stood, and rubbing his plump hands, walked around the office. He even began singing some pop ditty, but broke off on a particularly sour note and jovially laughed at himself. He picked up his hat, tossed his raincoat over his arm, and went out into the reception area.

“Honey,” he said to the secretary, “I’m off to see some clients. You stay here, hold the fort, as they say, and I’ll bring you a present when I get back.”

She blossomed. Noonan blew her a kiss and rolled out into the corridors of the institute. Attempts were made to stop him a few times – he wangled out of conversations, joking, asking people to hold the fort without him, to keep their cool, and finally emerged unscathed and uncaught, waving his unopened pass under the nose of the sergeant on duty.

Heavy clouds hung low over the city. It was muggy and the first hesitant drops of rain were scattering on the sidewalk like little black stars. Spreading his coat over his head and shoulders, Noonan trotted past the long row of cars to his Peugeot, dove in, and tossed the coat in the back seat. He took out the round black stick of the so-so from his suit pocket, put it in the jack in the dashboard, and pushed it in to the hilt with his thumb. He wriggled around, getting more comfortable behind the wheel, and pressed the accelerator pedal. The Peugeot silently drove out into the middle of the street and raced toward the exit from the Pre-Zone Area.

The rain came pouring down suddenly, as though a bucket had been overturned in the sky. The road got slippery and the car swerved at corners. Noonan turned on the wipers and slowed down. So, he thought, they got the report. Now they’ll be praising me. Well, I’m all for that. I like being praised. Especially by Mr. Lemchen himself. In spite of himself. Strange isn’t it? Why do we like being praised? It doesn’t get you any more money. Glory? What kind of glory can we have? “He’s famous: three people know about him now.” Well, let’s say four, counting Bayliss. What a funny creature man is! It seems we enjoy praise just for itself. The way children like ice cream. And it’s so stupid. How can I be better in my own eyes? As if I didn’t know myself? Good old fat Richard H. Noonan? By the way, what does that “H” stand for? What do you know about that? And there’s nobody to ask, either. I can’t ask Mr. Lemchen about it. Oh, I remember! Herbert! Richard Herbert Noonan. Boy, it’s pouring.

He turned onto Central and suddenly thought how the city had grown over the past few years. Huge skyscrapers. They’re building another one over there. What will it be? Oh, the Luna Complex – the world’s best jazz, and a variety show, and so on. Everything for our glorious troops and our brave tourists, especially the elderly ones, and for the noble knights of science. And the suburbs are being emptied.

Yes, I’d like to know how this will all end. Well, ten years ago, I was sure I knew. Impenetrable police lines.
DMZ
twenty miles wide. Scientists and soldiers, and no one else. The horrible sore on the face of the earth blocked off. And I wasn’t the only one who thought that way, either. All the speechifying, all the legislation they introduced! And now you can’t even remember how the universal steely resolve melted into a quivering pool of jelly. “On the one hand, you can’t not acknowledge it, and on the other, you can’t disagree.” It all began, I think, when the stalkers first brought out the so-so’s from the Zone. Little batteries. Yes, I think that’s when it happened. Particularly, when it was discovered that the batteries multiplied. The sore didn’t seem like such a sore any more. More like a treasure trove, Hell’s temptation, Pandora’s box, or the devil. They found ways to use it. Twenty years they’ve been puffing and huffing, wasting billions, and they still haven’t been able to organize their thievery. Everyone has his own little business, and the scientists furrow their brows significantly and portentously: on the one hand, you can’t not acknowledge it, and on the other, you can’t disagree. Since such and such object, when X-rayed at an angle of 18 degrees emits quasither-mal electrons at an angle of 22 degrees. The hell with it! I won’t live to see the end of it anyway.

The car was passing Buzzard Burbridge’s townhouse. Because of the pouring rain, all the lights in the house were on. He could see dancing couples in the second-floor rooms of the beautiful Dina. Either they had started very early, or they were still going strong from last night. That was the new fad in the city – to have parties that went on for several days. We sure are growing hardy kids, full of endurance and steadfast in the pursuit of their desires.

Noonan stopped the car in front of an unsightly building with a discreet sign: “Legal offices of Korsh, Korsh, and Simak.” He took out the so-so and put it in his pocket, pulled on his raincoat again, took his hat, and ran for the entrance. He ran past the doorman, buried in a newspaper, up the stairs covered with a worn carpet. His shoes clattered along the dark corridor of the second floor, which reeked of an odor that he had long ago given up trying to identify, and he threw open the door at the end of the corridor and went in. Instead of the secretary there was a very tan, unfamiliar young man at the desk. He was in shirtsleeves. He was digging around in the guts of some electronic device that was set up on the desk instead of the typewriter. Richard Noonan hung up his coat and hat, smoothed what was left of his hair with both hands, and looked inquiringly at the young man. He nodded. Noonan opened the door to the office.