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“Yes, sir. Ghosts. Just drawn to it like bees to honey.”
“Aw, hell. That fool was prob’ly drunk. Don’t pay it no mind.”
“Well. That’s what he said, anyway.”
Bill swiped a newspaper from a bench, and they pored over its pages. The manhunt was still on. And there were rumors that Jake Marlowe was putting the finishing touches on a machine that would change everything. ANOTHER AMERICAN REVOLUTION! the headline promised.
“We’ve got to get to Bountiful,” Henry said.
“How?” Memphis asked.
Henry looked out at the sea of automobiles. “I’ve got an idea.”
In the lobby of a small hotel, Henry found a telephone booth. He placed a collect call to David. He felt lousy about it, but it was the only way.
“Whom shall I say is calling, sir?” the operator asked.
“Mr. Henry.”
The operator placed the call. In a moment, David’s voice came over the line, all the way from New York, and Henry hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear it until now. It was as if he’d been carrying a heavy load for miles and had only just put it down.
“Mister Henry?”
Henry wanted to rush in. To say everything. To profess his love in a hundred ways. But anybody could be listening. The operator, the folks just outside the booth. Privacy was a myth. And there was a bounty, if not on his head, then on the heads of his friends.
“Is this Mr. David Cohn? I have a message to relay to him from a Miss Vanessi,” Henry said, using their private code name, an old joke.
“Ah, yes. I was very worried about Miss Vanessi. I hoped she hadn’t fallen into the shadows, or something worse.”
“Not yet. Though she has had her share of frightening adventures during her travels. It seems that Miss Vanessi is in need of a small transfer of funds. In particular, the money marked ‘piano fund.’ She wondered if you might be able to send it to her Western Union? The office is in Borger, Texas.” Henry gave the information.
“My. Miss Vanessi sure does get around,” David said, writing down Henry’s instructions.
“She’s a real swell, that girl. Loves the grit of the land beneath her nails.”
“Does she?”
“No. Not one bit. But here she is.”
“I’ll see to that wire immediately,” David promised.
“She thanks you, sir. And she hopes that you’re keeping your wits about you.”
“I am keeping alert, yes.”
“Good. Good. Miss Vanessi would be bereft if harm were to come to you. As a matter of fact, she wanted me to express to you how very much she misses you, and to let you know that the thought of seeing you once more keeps her from giving up when all seems lost.”
David’s voice was full of emotion. “Well. Please do let Miss Vanessi know that I think of her and only her night and day.”
“I’m sure she knows and feels likewise, though she might not be able to tell you so very
often given the difficulty of her present circumstances. Speaking of, what is the news in New York these days?”
“Oh, you know, this and that. I did read that this nosy reporter, Mr. Wood-something-or-other, has been printing the most inflammatory articles about Fitter Families tents being fronts for some devious eugenics program responsible for the mysterious disappearance of several Diviners. He’s also been publishing poems from some outfit named the Voice of Tomorrow. Oh, and there’s been quite a lot of rain.”
“Ah, rain in New York. Unavoidable. I do thank you for the weather report.”
“Don’t mention it.”
