The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(66)

What’s going on?

You’re not going to be happy.

What’s happened?

Somebody got into your room.

Where’s Billy Ray.

I dont know. I’ve been all over the neighborhood.

Western looked away.

I’m sorry Bobby. He could still turn up.

Did you see them?

No. Harold saw that the door was partly open and he knocked. I went up and it looked to me like somebody might have been through your stuff. We went all over looking for him. I been walking around the neighborhood every evening calling Billy Ray, Billy Ray. I know people think I’m nuts. I’m really sorry, Bobby.

Well. Let me go up.

It’s those guys that come in here, isnt it?

Yeah. I suppose.

She searched his face. He picked up his bag. I dont really know. I dont know what they want. I dont even know who they are.

You’re going to book, arent you?

I dont know, Janice. I really dont.



* * *



—

He wandered the streets tapping at Billy Ray’s bowl with a spoon. Like some wandering mendicant. He never saw him again.



* * *





When he came down to the bar two days later there were two men waiting at a table against the far wall. They wore white shirts and black knit ties and the sleeves of their shirts were rolled to the elbows. They appeared to be drinking water. They both saw him at the same time and turned and looked at each other. Western went to the bar and got a beer from Janice and crossed the room to where they sat and kicked back a chair and set his beer on the table. Good morning, he said.

They nodded. They waited for him to say something else but he didnt. He took a swig from the beer.

Do you want to go someplace else?

To do what?

We just want to ask you a few things. Did you want to see some identification?

No. Do you?

We’re just here to do our job, Mr Western.

All right.

You dont know who we are.

I dont care who you are.

And why is that?

Good guys, bad guys. You’re all the same guys.

Are we now.

You are now.

I think we should go someplace else.

I’m not going anywhere with you. I think you know that.

Are you some sort of fanatic, Mr Western?

Yes. I suppose you could say that. I actually believe that my person belongs to me. I doubt that sits well with chaps such as yourselves.

It doesnt sit one way or the other. We just want to ask you a few questions in connection with this case we’ve been assigned to. We wonder if you might look at a few photographs.

Western sipped his beer. All right. Friends of mine?

We’d be inclined to doubt it. But we dont know.

And while I look at the photographs you’ll be watching me look.

Is that all right with you?

Sure.

The first man took a brown envelope from his coat pocket and scrolled a rubber band off of it and placed the envelope on the table and slid out a packet of photographs and handed them to Western.

You want me to just look at these.

If you would.

Western began to thumb through the pack. The photos were prints. All the same stock and mat. He looked at the backs of them. Each had a four digit number in the upper left corner. He shuffled through them slowly. Young white males, mostly dressed in suits. Mostly they looked European. A few wore hats.

Are they in some particular order?

No.

The next one he turned up was his father. He held it out to one side. I guess we know who this is.

We do.

How many of them do you guys recognize?

We’d rather not say.

Me either.

You’re not going to look at the rest of them.

I’m just fucking with you.

Because we could always subpoena you.

Could but wont.

And why is that?

We’re big boys Walter. I dont know what this is about but I do know you dont want it in the papers.

My name’s not Walter.

Sorry I meant to say Fred.

It’s not Fred either. How about the photographs.

He went through the rest of them. There was one other face that was familiar to him but he couldnt put a name to it. He laid it on the table. This guy is familiar. He worked at the lab. Young guy. I dont know his name. If I ever did.

But that’s it.

Yes.

Western slid the photos together and squared them on the tabletop and split them and fanned and shuffled them and handed them across.

You’re a card player, Mr Western?

At one time. Not now.

Why is that?

I met some card players.

Good reason.

Who’s the guy?

What guy?

The missing guy. Forty-two twenty-six.

The man turned the cards over and he sorted through them until he came to the number. Missing guy, he said.

Yeah.

How did you happen to remember that number?

I dont happen to remember things.

We dont know that he’s anybody.

Yeah, right. Would you tell me if he was?

No.

Fair enough.

All right. Thank you for your time Mr Western.

You’re welcome. Will I be seeing you again?

Probably not.