Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Out Like a Light by Randall Garrett and Laurence M. Janifer (easy books to read in english txt) 📖
Book online «Out Like a Light by Randall Garrett and Laurence M. Janifer (easy books to read in english txt) 📖». Author Randall Garrett and Laurence M. Janifer
But she didn't mind. Politeness, she held, was the act of being pleasant on the surface, no matter what a person really thought. People were polite to their bosses, she pointed out, even though they were perfectly sure that they could do a better job than the bosses were doing.
So she insisted on the surface pretense that Malone was going through, treating her like a Queen.
The psychiatrists had called her delusion a beautifully rationalized one. As far as Malone was concerned, it made more sense than most of real life.
"That's very nice of you, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "But I want to ask you again: what kind of detective are you? Haven't you got any common sense at all?"
Malone hated to admit it, but he had always had just that suspicion. After all, he wasn't a very good detective. He was just lucky. His luck had enabled him to break a lot of tough cases. But some day people would find out, and then—
"Well," the Queen said, "at the very least you ought to act like a detective." She sniffed audibly. "Sir Kenneth, I'm ashamed that a member of My Own FBI can't do any better than you're doing now."
Malone blinked into the screen. He did feel ashamed in a vague sort of way, and he was willing to admit it. But he did feel, wistfully, that it would be nice to know just what he was being ashamed of. "Have I been missing something?" he said.
"Outside of the obvious," the Queen said, "that you've been missing your notebook—or, rather, Mike Fueyo's notebook."
"Yes?" Malone said.
"You certainly have," the Queen said. "Don't you see what happened to that notebook? You've been missing the only possible explanation."
"All I can figure," Malone said, "is that Dorothy Francis picked my pocket."
"Exactly," the Queen said. "Now, if you'd only wear proper clothing, and a proper pouch at your belt—"
"I'd be stared at," Malone said. "In court clothing—"
"No one in New York would stare at you," the Queen said. "They'd think it was what they call an advertising stunt."
"Anyhow," Malone said, "I wasn't wearing court clothing. So that made it easy for her to steal the notebook."
Her Majesty gave him a bright smile. "There!" she said.
"There, what?" Malone said.
"I knew you could do it," the[Pg 91] Queen said. "All you had to do was apply your intelligence and you'd come up with just the fact you needed."
"What fact?" Malone said.
"That Miss Francis has your notebook," the Queen said. "You just told me."
"All right," Malone said, and stopped, and took a deep breath. After a pause he said: "What is that supposed to mean? What on Earth would she want with it? Just to look at all the pretty pictures?"
"Don't be silly," the Queen said, with some asperity. "She doesn't even want to look at the thing. She doesn't care what's in it."
Malone closed his eyes. "Riddle time," he murmured. "Great." Then he sighed. "O.K.," he said. "What does she want with it? She must have some use for it. She isn't just a kleptomaniac or something—is she?"
"Of course not," the Queen said.
"Then she has a reason," Malone said. "Fine. But what is it? Is she an auxiliary member of the Silent Spooks, or something like that? Don't tell me she's Mike Fueyo's girl friend. I don't think I could take that. It's too silly."
"Naturally it's silly! Sir Kenneth, I—" She stopped, and her face lit up suddenly with pleasure. "Now you're on the right track!" she said. "You just keep right on with that line of thought."
Malone blinked in awe. "You mean she's—"
He didn't want to say it. But the evidence was all there. Dorothy's appearance at the station. The remark Mrs. Fueyo had made when he went to the apartment.
It all fit.
"That's right," the Queen said, a little sadly. "She's Dorothea Francisca Fueyo—little Miguel Fueyo's older sister."[Pg 92]
[Pg 93]
XII.
alone put in a great deal of time, he imagined, just staring at the face of the little old lady in the screen. At last he said: "Her name is Fueyo!"
"I've told you so," the Queen said with some asperity.
"I know," Malone said. "But—"
"You're excited," the Queen said. "You're stunned. Goodness, you don't need to tell me that, Sir Kenneth. I know."
"But she's—" Malone discovered that he couldn't talk. He swallowed a couple of times and then went on. "She's Mike Fueyo's sister."
"That's exactly right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said.
"Then she ... swiped the book to protect her little brother," Malone said. "Oh, boy."
"Exactly, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said.
"And she doesn't care about me at all," Malone said. "I mean, she only went out with me because I was me. Malone. And she wanted the notebook. That was all there was to it."
"I wouldn't say that, if I were you," she went on. "Quite the contrary. She does like you, you know. And she thinks you're a very nice person." The Queen beamed. "You are, you know," she said.
"Oh," Malone said uncomfortably. "Sure."
"You don't have to think that she merely went out with you because of her brother's notebook," the Queen said. "But she does have a strong sense of loyalty—and he is her younger brother, after all."
"He sure is," Malone said. "He's a great kid, little Mike."
"You see," the Queen continued imperturbably, "Mike told her about losing the notebook the other night—when he struck you."
"When he struck me," Malone said. "Oh, yes. He struck me all right."
"He guessed that you must have it when you started asking questions about the Silent Spooks, you see," the Queen said. "That was the only way you could have found out about him—unless you were telepathic. Which, of course, you're not."
"No," Malone said.
"Now, understand me," the Queen said. "I do not think that his striking you was a very nice act."[Pg 94]
"I don't either," Malone said. "It hurt like ... it hurt quite a lot."
"Certainly," the Queen said. "But, then, he didn't hurt the car any, and he didn't want to. He just wanted to ride around in it for a while."
"He likes red Cadillacs," Malone said.
"Oh, yes," the Queen said. "He thinks they're wonderful."
"Good for him," Malone said sourly.
"Well, now," the Queen said. "You just go right on over to her house. Of course, she doesn't live with an aunt."
"No," Malone said. "She lives with Mike and his mother."
"Why not?" the Queen said. "She's part of the family."
Malone nodded silently.
"She'll give you the book, Sir Kenneth. I just know that she will. And I want you to be very nice to her when you ask for it. She's a very nice girl, you know."
"She's a swell girl," Malone said morosely. "And I'll ... hey. Wait a minute."
"Yes, Sir Kenneth?"
"How come you can read her thoughts?" Malone said. "And Mike's? I thought you had to know somebody pretty well before you could read them at a distance like this. Do you? Know them, I mean."
"Oh, no," the Queen said. "But I can read you, of course." Malone could see that the Queen was trying very hard not to look proud of herself. "And last night," she went on, "you two were ... well, Sir Ken[Pg 95]neth, you had a real rapport with each other. My goodness, yes."
"Well," Malone said, "we—"
"Don't explain, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "It really isn't necessary; I thought it was very sweet. And—in any case—I can pick her up now. Because of that rapport. Not quite as well as I can pick you up, but enough to get the strong surface thoughts."
"Oh," Malone said. "But Mike—"
"I can't pick him up at all, this far away," the Queen said. "There is just a faint touch of him, though, through the girl. But all I know about him is what she thinks." She smiled gently. "He's a nice boy, basically," she said.
"Sure he is," Malone said. "He's got a nice blackjack, too—basically." He grimaced. "Were you reading my mind all last night?" he said.
"Well," the Queen said, "no. Toward morning you were getting so fuzzy I just didn't bother."
"I can understand that," Malone said. "I nearly didn't bother myself."
The Queen nodded. "But toward afternoon," she said, "I didn't have anything to do, so I just listened in. You do have such a nice mind, Sir Kenneth—so refreshing and different. Especially when you're in love."
Malone blushed quietly.
"Oh, I know," the Queen said. "You'd much rather think of yourself as a sort of apprentice lecher, a kind of cynical Don Juan, but—"
"I know," Malone said. "Don't tell me about it. All right?"
"Of course, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said, "if you wish it."
"Basically, I'm a nice boy," Malone said. "Sure I am." He paused. "Do you have any more pertinent information, Your Majesty?"
"Not right now," the Queen admitted. "But if I do, I'll let you know." She giggled. "You know, I had to argue awfully hard with Dr. Hatterer to get to use the telephone," she said.
"I'll bet," Malone said.
"But I did manage," she said, and winked. "I won't have that sort of trouble again."
Malone wondered briefly what dark secret Dr. Hatterer had, that Her Majesty had discovered in his mind and used to blackmail him with. At last he decided that it was probably none of his business, and didn't matter too much anyway.
"Quite right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "And good-bye for now."
"Good-bye, Your Majesty," Malone said. He bowed again, and flipped off the phone. Bowing in a phone booth wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, he thought to himself. But somehow he had managed it.
He reached into his pocket—half-convinced, for one second, that it was an Elizabethan belt-pouch. Talks with Her Majesty always had that effect; after a time, Malone came to believe in her strange, bright world. But he shook off the lingering effects of her psychosis, fished out some coins and thought for a minute.
So Dorothy—Dorothea—had lifted the notebook. That was some help,[Pg 96] certainly. It let him know something more about the enemy he was facing. But it wasn't really a lot of help.
What did he do now?
Her Majesty had suggested going to the Fueyo house, collaring the girl—but treating her nicely, Malone reminded himself—and demanding the book back. She'd even said he would get the book back—and, since she knew some of what went on in Dorothea Fueyo's mind, she was probably right.
But what good was that going to do him?
He knew what was in the book. Getting it back was something that could wait. It didn't sound particularly profitable and it didn't even sound like fun.
What he needed was a next move. He thought for a minute, dropped the coins into the phone and dialed the number of the police commissioner's office. After a brief argument with a secretary, he had Fernack on the phone. And this time, Malone told himself, he was going to be polite.
If possible.
"Good afternoon, John Henry," he said sunnily, when the commissioner's face was finally on the screen. "Can you get me some more information?"
Fernack stared at him sourly. "Depends," he said.
"On what?" Malone said, telling himself he wasn't going to get irritated, and knowing perfectly well that he was lying.
"On what kind of information you want," Fernack said.
"Well," Malone said, "there's a warehouse I want to know some more about. Who the owner is, for one thing, and—"
Fernack nodded. "I've got it," he said. He fished, apparently on his desk, and brought up a sheet of paper. He held it up to the screen while Malone copied off the name and address. "Lieutenant Lynch told me all about it."
"Lynch?" Malone said. "But he—"
"Lynch works for me, Malone," Fernack said. "Remember that."
"But he said he'd—"
"He said he wouldn't do anything, and he won't," Fernack said. "He just reported it to me for my action. He knew I was working with you, Malone. And I am his boss, remember."
"Great." Malone said. "Now, John Henry—"
"Hold it, Malone," Fernack said. "I'd like a little information, too, you know. I'd like to know just what is going on, if it isn't too much trouble."
"It's not that. John Henry," Malone said earnestly. "Really. It's just that I—"
"All this about vanishing boys," Fernack said. "Disappearing into thin air. All this nonsense."
"It isn't nonsense," Malone said.
"All right," Fernack said indulgently.
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