Read Online The Comedy is Finished by Donald E. Westlake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donald E. Westlake
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of those names, we’re not even sure yet they’re all in prison. If they are, it’ll be up to Washington to make a decision about their release. I don’t know if the kidnappers are watching—”
“We are,” Peter said. Joyce giggled, this time not repressing it.
“—but I hope they realize their time limit just isn’t realistic. I want to get Koo Davis back as much as anybody, but they’re asking for a decision that I just don’t think can be made in twenty-four hours.”
“Send them a finger,” Mark said.
Joyce shivered, not looking toward Mark, trying to make believe to herself that she hadn’t heard him. Mark frightened her whenever she was incautious enough to think about him; he was in the group but not of it, a cold separate presence, an anti-body. As much as possible, Joyce pretended that Mark didn’t exist.
On the screen, Agent Wiskiel was saying, “In the meantime, from the sound of that tape they haven’t up to this point actually harmed Koo Davis, and I’m very hopeful we’ll be able to negotiate some sort of agreement with these people. I’ll have to wait for word from Washington on the details, but it’s my guess we’ll have Koo Davis home and safe in a very short period of time.”
“In a box,” Mark said.
“ Hush ,” Peter told him, and Joyce flashed Peter a grateful smile, which he apparently didn’t see.
The television scene switched to the news-set in the studio, where the announcer spent some time telling the audience howmany famous people had publicly expressed their shock and outrage that a “great entertainer” like Koo Davis had been treated in such a barbarous fashion. An ex-President was quoted as referring to “this man who has brought the gift of laughter to millions.”
Next, the announcer went on to a description of the four people so far identified by the media out of the ten whose release had been demanded, and a picture of each of the four in turn was shown on the screen while a biased inaccurate brief biography was given. One was Eric Mallock, and it was during his biography that Liz’s name was mentioned:
“Eric Mallock, thirty-two, is currently in the Federal Penitentiary at Lewisburg in Kentucky, serving an indeterminate sentence on a number of convictions, including destruction of property and attempted murder. A member of a splinter group from the Weathermen, Mallock was captured in August of 1972 in Chicago when a building apparently being used as a bomb factory blew up, killing two people outright and severely wounding Mallock. Two associates of Mallock’s believed also to have been in the building at the time, Elizabeth Knight and Frances Steffalo, disappeared and have not been seen since, though Federal warrants are out for both women.”
“You’re in the news!” Peter cried, with his sardonic bark of laughter.
Liz made no answer. Looking at her profile, Joyce saw her as expressionless as ever. Joyce envied Liz that coolness. What was Liz thinking, seeing her lover’s face on the television screen after all these years? Nothing showed; and when the picture changed to another face, there was still not the slightest flicker from Liz.
Then, at the very end of the news story, Joyce had her own opportunity to react to a face on the screen; her own. Or was it herown? “The police sketch of the woman calling herself Janet Grey” was plain, glum, anonymous. Peter made another mocking remark, which Joyce was too agitated to hear. Appalled, she thought, Is that what I look like? Gazing at that pale sketch, she felt the heat in her own face as she blushed, and was afraid to look away, lest she meet someone’s eye. If only she had some of Liz’s unconcern.
The blank-faced sketch seemed to stay on the screen forever; then at last it disappeared, replaced by the mobile face of the announcer, moving on to other stories. Rising, Peter switched on a floor lamp and turned off the TV. Obviously pleased with himself, facing the others with his back
“We are,” Peter said. Joyce giggled, this time not repressing it.
“—but I hope they realize their time limit just isn’t realistic. I want to get Koo Davis back as much as anybody, but they’re asking for a decision that I just don’t think can be made in twenty-four hours.”
“Send them a finger,” Mark said.
Joyce shivered, not looking toward Mark, trying to make believe to herself that she hadn’t heard him. Mark frightened her whenever she was incautious enough to think about him; he was in the group but not of it, a cold separate presence, an anti-body. As much as possible, Joyce pretended that Mark didn’t exist.
On the screen, Agent Wiskiel was saying, “In the meantime, from the sound of that tape they haven’t up to this point actually harmed Koo Davis, and I’m very hopeful we’ll be able to negotiate some sort of agreement with these people. I’ll have to wait for word from Washington on the details, but it’s my guess we’ll have Koo Davis home and safe in a very short period of time.”
“In a box,” Mark said.
“ Hush ,” Peter told him, and Joyce flashed Peter a grateful smile, which he apparently didn’t see.
The television scene switched to the news-set in the studio, where the announcer spent some time telling the audience howmany famous people had publicly expressed their shock and outrage that a “great entertainer” like Koo Davis had been treated in such a barbarous fashion. An ex-President was quoted as referring to “this man who has brought the gift of laughter to millions.”
Next, the announcer went on to a description of the four people so far identified by the media out of the ten whose release had been demanded, and a picture of each of the four in turn was shown on the screen while a biased inaccurate brief biography was given. One was Eric Mallock, and it was during his biography that Liz’s name was mentioned:
“Eric Mallock, thirty-two, is currently in the Federal Penitentiary at Lewisburg in Kentucky, serving an indeterminate sentence on a number of convictions, including destruction of property and attempted murder. A member of a splinter group from the Weathermen, Mallock was captured in August of 1972 in Chicago when a building apparently being used as a bomb factory blew up, killing two people outright and severely wounding Mallock. Two associates of Mallock’s believed also to have been in the building at the time, Elizabeth Knight and Frances Steffalo, disappeared and have not been seen since, though Federal warrants are out for both women.”
“You’re in the news!” Peter cried, with his sardonic bark of laughter.
Liz made no answer. Looking at her profile, Joyce saw her as expressionless as ever. Joyce envied Liz that coolness. What was Liz thinking, seeing her lover’s face on the television screen after all these years? Nothing showed; and when the picture changed to another face, there was still not the slightest flicker from Liz.
Then, at the very end of the news story, Joyce had her own opportunity to react to a face on the screen; her own. Or was it herown? “The police sketch of the woman calling herself Janet Grey” was plain, glum, anonymous. Peter made another mocking remark, which Joyce was too agitated to hear. Appalled, she thought, Is that what I look like? Gazing at that pale sketch, she felt the heat in her own face as she blushed, and was afraid to look away, lest she meet someone’s eye. If only she had some of Liz’s unconcern.
The blank-faced sketch seemed to stay on the screen forever; then at last it disappeared, replaced by the mobile face of the announcer, moving on to other stories. Rising, Peter switched on a floor lamp and turned off the TV. Obviously pleased with himself, facing the others with his back
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