Read Online Tales of Natural and Unnatural Catastrophes by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Highsmith
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basements” in the afternoon, and “Operation Balsam” produced no glimmer of recognition. The NCC, if such they were, should get in touch with the Frank Marlucci they were asking about tomorrow, and he could verify matters and take care of their requests.
“What on earth is the matter?” asked Benny’s wife Beatrice, coming into the living-room at 2 in the morning.
“Doug Ferguson—as I said—he hasn’t got all the info he needs for tomorrow and I can’t find what hotel he’s at.”
When Benny telephoned Well-Bilt at 9:30 the same morning, he learned that Mr. Marlucci was not coming to work that day. “Mr.Siegman then, please.” Benny had a short list of names of the Well-Bilt people.
“Mr. Siegman’s in conference now, sir. Everyone’s in conference, because the press is due this afternoon to look at the stadium.”
“Who’s in charge of the container rooms— now ?” Benny asked.
Silence. “We’ve only got a skeleton staff here, sir. No one person’s in charge.”
“Someone like Marlucci. Look, this is urgent. I have reason to think one of our party may be locked in one of the container rooms—since yesterday and he’s got to be let out!”
“Wh-which room, sir?”
“Can’t tell you exactly. On the other side from where the trucks roll down. On the left side as you go along what I think is the main corridor to the other side.” Benny had the plans before him, but the passages and rooms had no numbers or letters on them. The passages radiated from the center but were crossed by circles of passages that intersected them, making the plan look rather like a spider’s web, but he thought the corridor they had been in was central, so he called it the main corridor.
“There’s a delivery entrance for trucks both sides, sir.”
“It’s not too much trouble for you to open those rooms and have a look, is it? It’s one of the half-full rooms. Do that and call me back, would you?” Benny made sure the man had his number correct.
The man did not ring back.
Doug Ferguson did not arrive on the morning plane from Indianapolis. Benny had begun chewing his minty pills, the only pain-reliever he had until he renewed his prescriptions. Gerald McWhirty was at work with a team on the NCC’s “Preliminary Report on Operation Balsam.” This was for EWA and it had to be favorable and at least sixty pages long. Marlucci had given them a sheaf of papers, which could be organized and copied. Evelyn Ferguson rang the office twice to ask if Doug were back or had communicated.
“It’s not like him not to phone,” Evelyn said. “He can phone me at any hour day or night, and he always does.”
“I know it’s a heavy assignment he’s got out there,” Benny said. “He probably hasn’t a minute free.”
From 2 p.m. onward that afternoon, the two Well-Bilt numbers simply didn’t answer. Benny imagined the sub-basement, where the phones perhaps were, sealed off from the journalists, with no trucks rolling today, not a soul down there except Doug maybe, shouting unheard in a container room. Had the last man he had spoken to believed him about a man maybe locked in a container room?
Benny Jackson and Gerry McWhirty lingered in the NCC building after everyone else had gone home. McWhirty looked haggard, and admitted that he hadn’t slept the night before. They decided to try again to reach Marlucci. Benny got busy with information on one telephone and McWhirty on another, trying to get the home number of Marlucci, who must live in the area, though it was conceivable that he had rented an apartment for the duration of the Well-Bilt job, and wouldn’t be listed yet. He’d still have a telephone, Benny reasoned. Neither Indianapolis nor any town in the area had a number for Frank Marlucci. Was that really his name, Benny wondered?
It was Benny’s turn to have a sleepless night. Benny had said to McWhirty that he would go to the stadium on the plane tomorrow Thursday, and McWhirty had said no,
“What on earth is the matter?” asked Benny’s wife Beatrice, coming into the living-room at 2 in the morning.
“Doug Ferguson—as I said—he hasn’t got all the info he needs for tomorrow and I can’t find what hotel he’s at.”
When Benny telephoned Well-Bilt at 9:30 the same morning, he learned that Mr. Marlucci was not coming to work that day. “Mr.Siegman then, please.” Benny had a short list of names of the Well-Bilt people.
“Mr. Siegman’s in conference now, sir. Everyone’s in conference, because the press is due this afternoon to look at the stadium.”
“Who’s in charge of the container rooms— now ?” Benny asked.
Silence. “We’ve only got a skeleton staff here, sir. No one person’s in charge.”
“Someone like Marlucci. Look, this is urgent. I have reason to think one of our party may be locked in one of the container rooms—since yesterday and he’s got to be let out!”
“Wh-which room, sir?”
“Can’t tell you exactly. On the other side from where the trucks roll down. On the left side as you go along what I think is the main corridor to the other side.” Benny had the plans before him, but the passages and rooms had no numbers or letters on them. The passages radiated from the center but were crossed by circles of passages that intersected them, making the plan look rather like a spider’s web, but he thought the corridor they had been in was central, so he called it the main corridor.
“There’s a delivery entrance for trucks both sides, sir.”
“It’s not too much trouble for you to open those rooms and have a look, is it? It’s one of the half-full rooms. Do that and call me back, would you?” Benny made sure the man had his number correct.
The man did not ring back.
Doug Ferguson did not arrive on the morning plane from Indianapolis. Benny had begun chewing his minty pills, the only pain-reliever he had until he renewed his prescriptions. Gerald McWhirty was at work with a team on the NCC’s “Preliminary Report on Operation Balsam.” This was for EWA and it had to be favorable and at least sixty pages long. Marlucci had given them a sheaf of papers, which could be organized and copied. Evelyn Ferguson rang the office twice to ask if Doug were back or had communicated.
“It’s not like him not to phone,” Evelyn said. “He can phone me at any hour day or night, and he always does.”
“I know it’s a heavy assignment he’s got out there,” Benny said. “He probably hasn’t a minute free.”
From 2 p.m. onward that afternoon, the two Well-Bilt numbers simply didn’t answer. Benny imagined the sub-basement, where the phones perhaps were, sealed off from the journalists, with no trucks rolling today, not a soul down there except Doug maybe, shouting unheard in a container room. Had the last man he had spoken to believed him about a man maybe locked in a container room?
Benny Jackson and Gerry McWhirty lingered in the NCC building after everyone else had gone home. McWhirty looked haggard, and admitted that he hadn’t slept the night before. They decided to try again to reach Marlucci. Benny got busy with information on one telephone and McWhirty on another, trying to get the home number of Marlucci, who must live in the area, though it was conceivable that he had rented an apartment for the duration of the Well-Bilt job, and wouldn’t be listed yet. He’d still have a telephone, Benny reasoned. Neither Indianapolis nor any town in the area had a number for Frank Marlucci. Was that really his name, Benny wondered?
It was Benny’s turn to have a sleepless night. Benny had said to McWhirty that he would go to the stadium on the plane tomorrow Thursday, and McWhirty had said no,
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