A Spaceship Named: 45 Sci-Fi Novels & Stories in One Volume. Randall Garrett

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СКАЧАТЬ sure we all appreciate that," Malone said at random, wondering exactly 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. In my line of work, Mr. Malone, you learn the need for confidence. For being able to keep one's word."

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

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

      "Betray them—? Mr. Kettleman," Malone said, "just what are you trying to tell me?"

      "It's about their meeting place," Kettleman said. "Oh, my. I'm not at all sure I ought to tell you this." He wrung his pale fat hands together and looked at Malone appealingly.

      "Now, now," Malone said, feeling foolish. "It's perfectly all right. We don't want to hurt the Spooks. Not any more than we have to. You can tell me, Mr. Kettleman."

      "Oh," Kettleman said. "Well. I—The Spooks do have a sort of secret meeting 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 feel terrible about this. They're meeting there tonight some time, or that's what the rumors say. I shouldn't be telling you—"

      "Of course you should," Malone said, trying to sound reassuring. "Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Kettleman. Tonight?"

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

      "Do you know where this warehouse is?" Malone said. "If any of the other little 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; there are bars on the windows, and it's protected by all sorts of alarm systems and things like that. So none of the others can use it. Only the Spooks. 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's what the other ... social groups say. The Spooks just ... just melt through 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 the good 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 waited with his hands tense in his lap. At last Kettleman said: "It's on West Street, near Chambers. That's downtown." He gave Malone an address. "That's where it is," he said. "But you won't ... do anything to the boys, 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 of the 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 a fife.

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

      "Well, now," Kettleman said, "I don't really know. You see, the reason I wanted to tell you all this was because Lieutenant Lynch was checking up on all those boys yesterday, and I thought—" He stopped and cleared his throat, and when he began again his voice had dropped almost to a whisper: "Well, Mr. Malone, I thought, after all, that since he was asking me questions ... you know, questions about where they were, the Spooks 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, "I want you to know that the FBI appreciates what you've done. Your information will probably be very helpful to us, and the FBI certainly commends you for being public-spirited enough to come to us and tell us what you know." He thought for a second, and then added: "In the name of the FBI, Mr. Kettleman—well done!"

      Kettleman stared, smiled and gulped. "My goodness," he said "Well." He smiled 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. "Thanks again, Mr. Kettleman."

      Kettleman saw the open door and headed for it blindly. As he left he flashed one last smile after Malone, who sighed, shut the door and leaned 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 carefully down the hallway to make sure Kettleman had gone. Then he left the interrogation room and went down the hall, past the desk sergeant, and up the stairs to Lieutenant Lynch's office. He was still breathing a little hard when he opened Lynch's door, and Lynch didn't seem to be expecting him at all. He was very busy with a veritable snow flurry of papers, and he looked as if he had been involved with them steadily ever since 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 Lynch for a long minute, and then said: "Lieutenant—"

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

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

      Lynch shrugged. "He's always been pretty good with the kids, if that's what you mean. You know these social workers—I've never got much information out of him. He feels it's his duty to the kids ... I don't know. Some such thing. Why do you ask?"

      "Well," Malone said, "what he told me. Was he kidding me? Or does he know 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 couple of 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 СКАЧАТЬ