the Neighborhood National Bank in Denver?”
“Yes.” Ben felt the hairs on his neck rise.
“Did you take from that bank certain ledgers or other documents belonging to the bank?” The Chief Inspector was careful to avoid sounding accusatory.
“I didn’t take anything,” Ben said forcefully, “not even a paper clip, that wasn’t mine.”
“Do you have bank documents in your possession?”
“Only the stub from my severance pay draft.” His anger started to rise. “I’ve stolen nothing from the bank.”
The Chief Inspector continued with a conciliatory tone in his voice. “A Lieutenant Frank Lee of the Denver PD telephoned me. He has asked me to arrest you pending investigation. He’s forgotten to forward a warrant.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Ben said defensively.
“Will you voluntarily come along with me to the precinct? We’ll get Lieutenant Lee on the phone and see if we can clear this up.” The policeman was careful to frame his sentence as a request.
“To ‘assist the police with their inquiries?’ Chief Inspector?” Ben spoke with irony.
Chief Inspector Pryor smiled. “Something like that,” he said.
“Let me get dressed.” Ben dropped his towel and began putting his clothes on. Since the Chief Inspector didn’t seem inclined to leave, Ben decided to let him watch.
Chief Inspector Pryor said, “Thank you,” and sat on a bench while Ben drew on his briefs and trousers, pulled his shirt over his head, sat to put on his socks, and laced up his shoes. Then he preceded the policeman out the door and into the City where the early evening played pearlescent fingers across the cracked facades of buildings.
Ben sat beside Chief Inspector Pryor’s desk while the policeman telephoned the Denver Police Department. He asked several questions of the person who answered. From his frown Ben could see he was frustrated. When he was put on hold, he turned to Ben and said, “Sorry, Mr. Soul, about the delay. They’re trying to find Lieutenant Lee.
“Okay,” Ben said.
“He’ll be back when?” Pryor said into the phone. “That’s Denver time? Okay, I’ll call back.”
“This Lieutenant Lee’s not around?”
“No. Sorry for the delay. They don’t seem to be very professional back there. You can wait by the Information Desk, if you’d like. I can get you some coffee, if you want.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t drink coffee. Water would be nice, though.”
“Water fountain’s by the Information Desk.” Ben walked over to the Information Desk and used the water fountain. Then he sat on a bench along the wall. A woman came in, a narrow-faced woman with eyes that frightened Ben. Frozen fury glittered in them like coiled rattlesnakes. Ben turned away from her glance. She went to the Information Desk.
“I need to speak with someone in charge,” she said.
“About what, Ma’am?” the desk policeman asked.
“I’ve found evidence of criminal activity,” she snapped. “I think it’s my duty to bring it to the attention of the authorities.”
“Let me see what you have.” The woman handed him a little black book. He glanced at several pages.
“I think it’s a record of illicit transactions,” the woman said.
The desk policeman leaned over to the intercom on his desk. “Chief Inspector Pryor, please come to the Information Desk,” he said. The Chief Inspector came at once.
“Sir, this lady has brought us some evidence of possible criminal activity.”
“It looks like a ledger of drug transactions. Where did you get this, Ms—I didn’t get your name?”
“I’m Vanna Shayne. I got the book from my employer’s desk. It was in a locked drawer that broke open when a filing cabinet fell on his desk.”
“During the temblor?”
“Yes.”
“That was three days ago. Why have you delayed coming in?”
“I didn’t realize what I had until today,” she said with great dignity.
“You are quite right to bring this to us,” Chief Inspector Pryor said. “Who is your employer?”
“Mr. Quigley Drye, Private Eye.”
“Are you aware Mr. Drye is deceased?”
“No,” she said. Ben saw no emotion on her face or skating over the ice of her eyes.
“His brother identified his body earlier today. But thank you for bringing this to us. Please leave your name and a place where we can reach you with the Information Desk here.”
“Yes, Chief Inspector,” Vanna said.
The desk policeman said, “Call for you, Chief Inspector. I see your phone’s blinking.”
“Thank you, Ms. Shayne. This officer will take your information. I’m sure someone from narcotics will get in touch with you, soon.” Vanna nodded, and began giving the details of her address to the desk policeman.
Chief Inspector Pryor called loudly to Ben and waved at him. “Mr. Soul, please come here,” he said. Ben got up and went to the Chief Inspector’s desk.
“Yes, Chief Inspector?”
“Mr. Soul, I’ve just got off the phone with Lieutenant Lee. You’re off the hook. It seems another bank officer stole the missing documents. He pointed the finger at you. He wanted to hold the documents for ransom from the bank.”
“Did the Lieutenant say who it was?” Ben asked.
“Somebody named King.”
“Joe King. He was my boss.” Ben shook his head.
“Lieutenant Lee asked me to apologize to you.” The Chief Inspector spoke with asperity. “Cheap so-and-so couldn’t stay on the line long enough to do it himself. You might have a lawsuit, if you want to pursue it.” He looked up at Ben.
“Why make an attorney richer?” Ben asked.
The Chief Inspector smiled at him. “Good attitude. You’re free to go. With my apologies, as well.”
Ben smiled and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you, Chief Inspector. You’ve been a gentleman in doing your duty.” Ben walked out the station house door and went “home” to the Dancing Pixie. He had a life to prepare for.
Post Temblor
Vanna was more distressed by the temblor than she realized. She stumbled along the street, not quite sure whether it was the ground or her legs that were shaking. At a corner she did not recognize, she saw a lighted bar, the Clown’s Closet. A large neon clown bobbed and weaved with laughter like the cowboy sign in Las Vegas. For long moments Vanna stood on the street swaying in synchronous mirror image with the clown. Dizziness forced her to stop. Sudden clarity struck her brain. She needed a drink. Perhaps, also, they had a telephone where she could call Dickon. Surely an earthquake was reason enough to get a night away from home and husband. Vanna went through the grubby door into the smoky room.
She stopped just inside long enough to let her eyes adjust. The bartender and the patrons silently observed her. Vanna felt like she’d just wandered into a new church for the first time. Both places offered the same silent, staring group. Only the background music was different. Vanna almost turned and left. She’d had enough of churches in her recent past to more than satisfy her. Then the bartender nodded, as if to welcome her, and the three older men at the bar turned back to their drinks. Vanna took a seat by a small table. When the bartender came over, she ordered a gin and tonic.
“Do you have a public phone?” she asked the man.
“Not working, at least not a while ago. You can try it again, if you want. By the men’s room.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general vicinity of the bar’s back shadows.
“Thanks,” Vanna said. “I’ll try later.” Let Dickon mumble prayers for a while, she thought. He was better at that than at most things.
The bartender brought her gin and tonic to her table. A man came in and sat at a nearby table. The bartender brought him a drink, and chatted with him a moment. Vanna overheard enough to realize the man lived in the neighborhood
and managed an apartment complex, or something, with rooms in it. She smiled at him when his eyes turned toward her. He smiled back. He was handsome in a dark-haired, sharp-nosed way. He had green eyes, a noticeable tan, and broad shoulders. His shirt was casual, open at the throat, and dark curls dark peeped out like mischievous children. He was drinking something brown.
“Quite a shaker,” she said. “Worst I’ve ever been through.”
“Survive intact?” he half asked, half said.
“Yes.”
“Your first quake?”
“No, just my first big one, up close. The building where I was working is half-collapsed, may be crumbled rubble by now. I was lucky to get out alive.” Vanna shuddered.
“I’ve been through quakes before,” the man said. “They always leave me feeling like the world’s rules have been suspended.”
“Interesting—I hadn’t thought of that.” Vanna leaned forward a little. “How do you mean, the world’s rules have been suspended?”
“You know. Almost dying, being helpless, all that. Makes you think. What about all the stuff you never got around to trying? What if it’s too late to try things?” The man sipped his drink. His green eyes watched her over the rim of his glass. It was almost empty.
“Would you like another drink?” he asked her.
“Yes,” Vanna said. “I would. My nerves are still wobbly.”
“Gin and tonic or something new?”
“Gin and tonic. Mixing drinks makes me very loose.” The man signaled the bartender. “Two more, Morrie,” he said. “On me.”
“What kind of new things did you mean,” Vanna asked. “Do you mean food you never tried,