Out Like a Light

  X.

  By three o'clock, he was again among the living. Maybe his occupationshad had something to do with it; he'd spent about four hours supervisingOperation Dismemberment, and then listening to the reports on thedismantled Cadillacs. It was nice, peaceful, unimportant work, but therejust wasn't anything else to do. FBI work was ninety-five per centmarking time, anyway; Malone felt grateful that there was any action atall in what he was doing.

  Dr. Leibowitz had found all sorts of things in the commandeeredCaddies--everything from guns and narcotics to pornographic pictures inlots of three hundred, for shipment into New York City from the suburbswhere the processing plants probably were. Of course, there had beenpersonal effects, too--maps and lucky dolls and, just once, a singlecrutch.

  Malone wondered about that for quite a while. Who'd just walk off andleave one crutch in a car? But people did things like that all the time,he finally told himself heavily. There wasn't any explanation for it,and there probably never would be.

  But in spite of the majestic assortment of valuables found in the cars,there was no sign of anything remotely resembling an electro-psionicbrain. Dr. Leibowitz had found just about everything--except what he waslooking for.

  At a quarter of three, Malone gave up. The search wasn't quite finished,but he'd heard enough to last him for a long time. He grabbed a cabdownstairs and went over to Lynch's office to meet Kettleman.

  The "social worker or something" was a large, balding man about six feettall. Malone estimated his weight as close to two hundred and fiftypounds, and he looked every pound of it; his face was round withoutbeing chubby, and his body was stocky and hard. He wore black-rimmedglasses, and he was going bald in front. His face was like a mask: itwas held in a gentle, almost eager expression that Malone would havesworn had nothing to do with the way Kettleman felt underneath.

  Lynch performed the introductions, escorted the two of them to one ofthe interrogation rooms at the rear of the station, and left them there,with: "If either of you guys comes up with anything, let me know," for aparting shot.

  Kettleman blinked slowly behind his glasses. "Mr. Malone," he said, "Iunderstand that the FBI is interested in one of the ... ah ...adolescent social groups with which I work."

  "Well, the Silent Spooks," Malone said. "That's right."

  "The Spooks," Kettleman said. His voice was rather higher than Malonewould have expected, oddly breathy without much depth to it. "My, yes. Idid want to talk to somebody about it, and I thought you might be theman."

  "I'll be interested in anything you have to say," Malone saiddiplomatically. He was beginning to doubt whether he'd get any realinformation out of Kettleman. But it was impossible to tell. He sat backin a hard wooden chair and tried to look fascinated.

  "Well," Kettleman said tentatively, "the boys themselves have sort of aword for it. They'd say that there was something ... ah ... 'oddball'about the Spooks. Do you understand? Not just the fact that they neverdrink liquor, you understand, but--"

  "Something strange," Malone said. "Is that what you mean."

  "Ah," Kettleman said. "_Strange._ Of course." He acted, Malone thought,as if he had never heard the word before, and was both pleased andstartled by its sound. "Perhaps I had better explain my position alittle more clearly," he said. "That will give you an idea of just whereI ... ah ... 'fit in' to this picture."

  "Whatever you think best," Malone said, resigning himself to a very dullhour. He tried to picture Kettleman in the midst of a gang of juveniledelinquents. It was very hard to do.

  "I'm a social worker," Kettleman said, "working on an individual basiswith these--social groups that the adolescents have formed. It's my jobto make friends with them, become accepted by them, and try to turntheir hostile impulses toward society into more useful, more acceptablechannels."

  "I see," Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him."That's fine."

  "Oh, we don't expect praise, we social workers," Kettleman saidinstantly. "The worth of a good job well done, that's enough for us." Hesmiled. The effect was a little unsettling, as if a hippopotamus hadbegun to laugh like a hyena. "But to continue, Mr. Malone," he said.

  "Of course," Malone said. "Certainly."

  "I've worked with many of the organizations in this neighborhood,"Kettleman said. "And I've been quite successful in getting to knowthem, and in being accepted by them. Of course, the major part of my jobis more difficult, but ... well, I'm sure that's enough about my ownbackground. That isn't what you're interested in, now, is it?"

  He looked penitent. Malone said: "It's all right. I don't mind." Heshifted positions on the hard chair.

  "Well, then," Kettleman said, with the air of a man suddenly gettingdown to business. He leaned forward eagerly, his eyes big and brightbehind the lenses. "There's something very peculiar about those boys,"he said in a whisper.

  "Really?" Malone said.

  "Very peculiar indeed," Kettleman said. "My, yes. All of the other ...ah ... social groups are afraid of them."

  "Big, huh?" Malone said. "Big, strong boys who--"

  "Oh, my no," Kettleman said. "My goodness, no. All of the Spooks arerather slight, as a matter of fact. They've got _something,_ but itisn't strength."

  "My goodness," Malone said tiredly.

  "I doubt if--in the language of my own groups--any one of the Spookscould punch his way out of a paper bag," Kettleman said. "It's more thanthat."

  "Frankly," Malone said, "I'm inclined to agree with you. But what isthis something that frightens everyone else?"

  Kettleman leaned even closer. "I'm not sure," he said softly. "I can'tsay for certain, Mr. Malone. I've only heard rumors."

  "Well," Malone said, "rumors might--"

  "Rumors are a very powerful force among my groups, Mr. Malone,"Kettleman said. "I've learned, over the years, to keep my ear to theground, as it were, and pay very close attention to rumors."

  "I'm sure," Malone said patiently. "But what did this particular rumorsay?"

  "Well," Kettleman said, and stopped. "Well," he said again. And at lasthe gulped and got it out: "Magicians, Mr. Malone. They say the Spooksare magicians--that they can come and go at will. Make themselvesinvisible. All sorts of things. Of course, I don't believe that, but--"

  "Oh, it's quite true," Malone said, solemn-faced.

  "It's ... what?"

  "Perfectly true," Malone said. "We've known all that."

  "Oh, my," Kettleman said. His face took on a whitish cast. "Oh, mygoodness," he said. "Isn't that ... isn't that amazing?" He swallowedhard. "True all the time," he said. "Magicians. I--"

  "You see, this information isn't new to us," Malone said.

  "Oh," Kettleman said. "No. Of course not. My. It's ... ratherdisconcerting to think about, isn't it?"

  "There," Malone said, "I agree with you."

  * * * * *

  Kettleman fell silent. Malone offered him a cigarette, but the socialworker refused with a pale smile, and Malone lit one for himself. Hetook a couple of puffs in the silence, and then Kettleman said: "Well,Mr. Malone, Lieutenant Lynch did say that I was to tell you everything Icould about these boys."

  "I'm sure we all appreciate that," Malone said at random, wonderingexactly what he meant.

  "There is ... well, there is one more thing," Kettleman said."Ordinarily, of course, I wouldn't say anything about this to anyone. Inmy line of work, Mr. Malone, you learn the need for confidence. Forbeing able to keep one's word."

  "Certainly," Malone said, wondering what startling new fact was on itsway now.

  "And we certainly try to keep the confidence of the boys," Kettlemansaid maddeningly. "We wouldn't betray them to the police in any wayunless it were absolutely necessary."

  "Betray them--? Mr. Kettleman," Malone said, "just what are you tryingto tell me?"

  "It's about their meeting place," Kettleman said. "Oh, my. I'm not atall sure I ought to tell you this." He wrung his pale fat hands togetherand looked at Malone appealingly.
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  "Now, now," Malone said, feeling foolish. "It's perfectly all right. Wedon't want to hurt the Spooks. Not any more than we have to. You cantell me, Mr. Kettleman."

  "Oh," Kettleman said. "Well. I--The Spooks do have a sort of secretmeeting place, you know. And they meet there."

  He stopped. Malone said: "Where is it?"

  "Oh, it's a big empty warehouse," Kettleman said. "I really feelterrible about this. They're meeting there tonight some time, or that'swhat the rumors say. I shouldn't be telling you--"

  "Of course you should," Malone said, trying to sound reassuring. "Don'tworry about a thing, Mr. Kettleman. Tonight?"

  "That's right," Kettleman said eagerly. He grinned and then lookedmorosely down at his hands.

  "Do you know where this warehouse is?" Malone said. "If any of the otherlittle social groups use it--"

  "Oh, no, they don't," Kettleman said. "That's what makes it so funny.You see, the warehouse is deserted, but it's kept in good repair; thereare bars on the windows, and it's protected by all sorts of alarmsystems and things like that. So none of the others can use it. Only theSpooks. You can't get in without a key, not at all."

  "But do the Spooks--" Malone began.

  "Oh, no," Kettleman moaned. "They don't have a key. At least, that'swhat the other ... social groups say. The Spooks just ... just meltthrough the walls, or something like that."

  "Mr. Kettleman," Malone said, "where is this warehouse?"

  "I shouldn't be telling you this," Kettleman said.

  Malone sighed. "Please. Mr. Kettleman. You know we're working for thegood of those boys, don't you?"

  "Well, I--"

  "Sure we are," Malone said. "So you can tell me."

  Kettleman blinked behind his glasses, and moaned a little. Malone waitedwith his hands tense in his lap. At last Kettleman said: "It's on WestStreet, near Chambers. That's downtown." He gave Malone an address."That's where it is," he said. "But you won't ... do anything to theboys, will you? They're basically good boys. No matter what. And they--"

  "Don't worry about it, Mr. Kettleman," Malone said. "We'll take care ofthe Spooks."

  "Oh," Kettleman said. "Yes. Sure."

  He got up. Malone said: "There's just one more thing, Mr. Kettleman."

  "Yes?" The big man's voice had reached the high, breathy pitch of afife.

  "Do you have any idea what time the Spooks usually meet?"

  "Well, now," Kettleman said, "I don't really know. You see, the reason Iwanted to tell you all this was because Lieutenant Lynch was checking upon all those boys yesterday, and I thought--" He stopped and cleared histhroat, and when he began again his voice had dropped almost to awhisper: "Well, Mr. Malone, I thought, after all, that since he wasasking me questions ... you know, questions about where they were, theSpooks I mean, and all of that ... since he was asking me questions--"

  "Yes?" Malone said.

  "I thought perhaps I ought to tell you about them," Kettleman said."Where they were, and all of that."

  Malone stood up. "Mr. Kettleman," he said in his most official voice, "Iwant you to know that the FBI appreciates what you've done. Yourinformation will probably be very helpful to us, and the FBI certainlycommends you for being public-spirited enough to come to us and tell uswhat you know." He thought for a second, and then added: "In the name ofthe FBI, Mr. Kettleman--well done!"

  Kettleman stared, smiled and gulped. "My goodness," he said "Well." Hesmiled again, a little more broadly. "One has one's duty, you know. My,yes. Duty." He nodded to Malone.

  "Of course," Malone said, going to the door and opening it. "Thanksagain, Mr. Kettleman."

  Kettleman saw the open door and headed for it blindly. As he left heflashed one last smile after Malone, who sighed, shut the door andleaned against it for a second.

  The things an FBI agent had to go through!

  * * * * *

  When he had recovered, he opened the door again and peered carefullydown the hallway to make sure Kettleman had gone. Then he left theinterrogation room and went down the hall, past the desk sergeant, andup the stairs to Lieutenant Lynch's office. He was still breathing alittle hard when he opened Lynch's door, and Lynch didn't seem to beexpecting him at all. He was very busy with a veritable snow flurry ofpapers, and he looked as if he had been involved with them steadily eversince he had left Malone and Kettleman alone downstairs.

  "Well," Malone said. "Hello there, lieutenant."

  Lynch looked up, his face a mask of surprise. "Oh," he said. "It's you.Through with Kettleman?"

  "I'm through," Malone said. "As if you didn't know." He looked at Lynchfor a long minute, and then said: "Lieutenant--"

  Lynch had gone right back to his papers. He looked up again with a blandexpression. "Yes?"

  "Lieutenant, how reliable is Kettleman?" Malone said.

  Lynch shrugged. "He's always been pretty good with the kids, if that'swhat you mean. You know these social workers--I've never got muchinformation out of him. He feels it's his duty to the kids ... I don'tknow. Some such thing. Why do you ask?"

  "Well," Malone said, "what he told me. Was he kidding me? Or does heknow what he's talking about? Was what he said reasonably accurate?"

  "How would I know?" Lynch said. "After all, you were down there alone,weren't you? I was up here, working. If you'll tell me what he said,maybe I'll be able to tell you whether or not I think he was kidding.But--"

  Malone placed both his palms on the lieutenant's desk, mashing a coupleof piles of papers. He leaned forward slowly, his eyes on Lynch's bland,innocent face. "Now look, Lynch," he said. "I like you. I really do.You're a good cop. You get things done."

  "Well, thanks," Lynch said. "But I don't see what this has to do with--"

  "I just don't want you trying to kid your buddy-boy," Malone said.

  "Kid you?" Lynch said. "I don't get it."

  "Come on, now," Malone said. "I know that room was bugged, just as wellas you do. It was the sensible thing for you to pull, and you pulled it.You've got the whole thing recorded, haven't you?"

  "Me?" Lynch said. "Why would I--"

  "Oh, cut it out," Malone said impatiently. "Let's not play games, O.K.?"

  There was a second of silence.

  "All right," Lynch said. "So I recorded the conversation. Kill me.Crucify me. I'm stealing FBI secrets. I'm a spy secretly working for aforeign power. Take me out and electrocute me."

  "I don't want to fight you," Malone said wearily. "So you've got thestuff recorded. That's your business."

  "My business?"

  "Sure," Malone said cheerfully, "as long as you don't try to use it."

  "Now, Malone--" Lynch began.

  "This is touchy stuff," Malone said. "We're going to have to take a lotof care in handling it. And I don't want you throwing raids all over theplace and mixing everything up."

  "Malone, I--"

  "Eventually," Malone said, "I'm going to need your help with these kids.But for right now, I want to handle this my way, without anyinterference."

  "I wouldn't think of--"

  "You wanted information," Malone said. "Fine. That's all right with me.You got the information, and that's O.K., too. But if you try to use itbefore I say the word, I'll ... I'll talk to good old Uncle John HenryFernack. And he'll help me out: he'll give you a refresher course on_How To Be A Beat Cop_. In Kew Gardens. It's nice and lonely out therenow, Lynch. You'd love it."

  "Malone," Lynch said tiredly.

  "Don't give me any arguments," Malone said. "I don't want anyarguments."

  "I won't argue with you, Malone," Lynch said. "I've been trying to tellyou something."

  Malone stepped away from the desk. "All right," he said. "Go ahead."

  * * * * *

  Lynch took a deep breath. "Malone, I'm not trying to queer your pitch,"he said. "If I were going to pull a raid, here's what I'd have to do:get my own cops together, then call the precinct that covers that oldwarehouse. We don't cover the
warehouse from here, Malone, and we'd needthe responsible precinct's aid in anything we did down there."

  Malone said: "Well, all I--"

  "Not only that," Lynch said. "I'd have to call Safe and Loft, and getthem in on it. A warehouse raid would probably be their baby first ofall. That means this precinct, the warehouse precinct, and the Safe andLoft Squad, all together to raid that warehouse. Malone, would I pull araid at this stage, if I had to go through all that, without knowingwhat I was going to find down there?"

  "Oh," Malone said.

  "If those kids can just appear and disappear at will," Lynch said, "I'mnot going to pull a raid on them, and end up looking like a fool, untilI've got some way of making sure they're there when the raid goesthrough."

  Malone coughed gently. "O.K.," he said at last. "Sorry."

  "There's only one thing I want," Lynch said. "I want to be able to moveas soon as possible."

  "Well, sure," Malone said apologetically.

  "And that means I'm going to have to be informed," Lynch said. "I wantto know what's going on, as fast as possible."

  Malone nodded gently. "Sure," he said. "I'll tell you everything thathappens--as soon as I know myself. But right now, I haven't got a thingfor you. All I have is a kind of theory, and it's pretty screwy."

  He stopped. Lynch looked up at him. "Just how screwy can it get?" hesaid. "The facts are nutty enough."

  "You have absolutely no idea," Malone assured him. "I'm not even sayinga word about this, not until I prove it out one way or another. I'm noteven thinking about it. I don't even want me to know about it, until itstops sounding so nutty to me."

  "O.K., Malone," Lynch said. "I can see a piece of it, if no more. TheFueyo kid vanishes mysteriously--never mind all that about you gettinghim out of the interrogation room by some kind of confidential method.There isn't any confidential method. I know that better than you do."

  "I had to say something, didn't I?" Malone asked apologetically.

  "So the kid disappears," Lynch said, brushing Malone's question awaywith a wave of his hand. "So now I hear all this stuff from Kettleman.And it begins to add up. The kids can disappear somehow, and re-appearsome place else. Walk through walls?" He shrugged. "How should I know?But they can sure do something like it."

  "Something," Malone said. "Like I said, it sounds screwy."

  "I don't like it," Lynch said.

  Malone nodded. "Nobody likes it," he said. "But keep it under your hat.I'll give you everything I have--whenever I have anything. And ... bythe way--"

  "Yes?" Lynch said.

  "Thanks for giving me and Kettleman a chance to talk," Malone said."Even if you had reasons of your own."

  "Oh," Lynch said. "You mean the recording."

  "I was a little suspicious," Malone said. "I didn't think you'd giveKettleman to me without getting _something_ for yourself."

  "Would you?" Lynch said.

  Malone shrugged. "I'm not crazy either," he said.

  Lynch picked up a handful of papers. "I've got all this work to do," hesaid. "So I'll see you later."

  "O.K.," Malone said.

  "And if you need my help, buddy-boy," Lynch said, "just yell--right?"

  "I'll yell," Malone said. "Don't worry about that. I'll yell loud enoughto get myself heard in Space Station One."