The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(4)

What letters?

Family letters. Letters from your mother.

You’re full of it. All the letters were stolen.

Yeah? Maybe. What are you going to do?

Go to sleep.

I mean long range.

I’m talking long range.

All right. Save the best for last. Of course.

Dont put yourself out.

It’s all right. It’s not like I didnt know where all this was going. Who knows? You might want to see how you’ll be spending your time. The past is the future. Close your eyes.

What if I dont want to close my eyes?

Humor me.

Yeah, sure.

All right. We’ll do it the oldfashioned way. What do I know? This should be rich.

He pulled a large silk square from somewhere about his person and fluffed it aloft and caught it and stretched it and turned it both sides for her to see. He held it out and shook it. Then he snatched it away. In a canebottomed chair sat an old man in a dusty black clawhammer coat. Striped trousers and gray waistcoat. Black kidskin ankletop shoes and moleskin spats with pearlydink buttons. The Kid took a bow and stepped back and looked him up and down. Well. Where did we dig him up at, hey? Yuk yuk yuk.

He slapped the old man on the back and a cloud of dust billowed. The old man bent forward coughing. The Kid stepped away and fanned at the dust with his flipper. Jesus. Been a while since this one’s seen the light of day, what? Well, Pops, how’s the world look to you? We could use an outside opinion.

The old man raised his head and looked around. Pale and sunken eyes. He adjusted his cravat with a lurching upward motion of the knot and squinted and peered.

That suit’s a classic, hey? said the Kid. A bit the worse for the ground damp. He was married in that outfit. Little wifey was sixteen. Of course he’d been banging her for a couple of years so that would put her at fourteen. Finally managed to knock her up and hey, here we all are. The dirty bugger was older than her father. Well the wedding bells did ring summarily. Eighteen and ninety-seven I believe was the year. A formal do. White shotguns. Anyway that’s pretty much it. I thought the old fart might have something to say but he seems somewhat confused. Isnt he sort of listing a bit to the starboard?

The Kid straightened the old man in his chair and stepped back and measured him with one eye for verticality. Holding up an oarlike flipper and squinting. Maybe we could use a spirit level, what do you think? Yuk yuk yuk. Well, what the hell. So he’s not a bundle of laughs. Wait a minute. It’s his teeth. He’s missing his goddamned teeth.

The old man had opened his leather mouth and was at pulling wads of stained cotton from his cheeks and stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. He cleared his throat and stared about bleakly.

What’s he doing now? said the Kid. Something in his waistcoat pocket. What is that, his watch? Jesus. Dont tell me he’s winding it? He’s listening to it? It cant be fucking running. Nope. He’s shaking it. Nicelooking watch actually. Half Hunter. Deadbeat escapement no doubt. Attaboy. Give it a shake. Nope. Nothing doing.

The old man clacked his gums. Wait for it, said the Kid. It’s coming. News from beyond the something. Damned little thanks I get for all this shit I do for you.

Where, wheezed the old man, is the toilet?

The Kid straightened up. What the fuck. Where’s the toilet? That’s it? I’m a son of a bitch. How about you get your cheesemold ass out of here? Where’s the toilet? Bloody Christ. It’s down the fucking hall. Just get the fuck out.

The old man rose from his chair and slouched toward the door. A fine dust sifted to the floor behind him. Some small creature fell out of his clothes and scurried away under the bed. He fumbled with the doorknob and got the door open and lurched out into the hallway and was gone. Christ, said the Kid. He went to the door and slapped it shut and turned and leaned against it. He shook his head. Well. What ya gonna do? Bad idea, okay? Fuck it. Some get rained out. Why dont we just bring in a few of the old gang. Maybe cheer us up a bit.

I dont want to bring in some of the old gang. I’m going to bed.

You said that.

Good. Watch me.

Look, Ducklet, I dont want to belabor anything here but you’re on fast forward to fuck-all.

And you’re here to torment me.

You all right? Not feverish? You want a glass of water?

She curled up in the bed and pulled the covers over herself. Douse the lights when you leave.

The Kid paced. Your name didnt get pulled out of a hat, you know. I dont know what it is that you’re supposed to know and what it is you aint. I just work here. I’m an operator? So I’m an operator. And maybe somebody knows what’s coming down the pike but it’s not yours truly. Come on. I cant talk to you with your head under the bloody covers. You’re not even going to say goodbye?

She pushed the covers back. Open the door and I’ll wave.

The Kid stepped to the door and opened it. They were all there. Peering in to see, waving, some on tiptoe. Goodbye, she called. Goodbye. The Kid ushered them away with a shooing motion. Like a nun with schoolchildren. He pushed the door shut. Okay, he said.

Are we done now?

I dont know, Sweets. You’re not making this easy. I’m not coming with you to the bin you know.

Good.

Concentrated populations of the deranged assume certain powers. It has an unsettling effect. You spend some time in a nuthouse and you’ll see.

I know. I have. I did.