Free 01 - Goblins by Charles Grant - (ebook by Undead) Page B

take offense.
    “Miss,” Hawks answered with a lazy smile, “you maybe have noticed we’re not
exactly the metropolitan Washington area around here. And this time of year,
Babs out there at the motel doesn’t get hardly any business except on weekends,
and not much even then. Hell, if you want, I’ll even tell you what you had for
breakfast.”
    “What?” Webber asked, as if the chief were a magician about to reveal an
ancient secret.
    Hawks looked at Mulder—Is this one for real?—and stood. “You’re the redhead,
so you had more pancakes than you ought to, gonna need a new notch on that belt, son, before long. Agent Scully had toast and
coffee, bran cereal, orange juice. Agent Andrews had tea, toast, corn flakes.
And you, Agent Mulder, had toast, bacon, two eggs over medium, coffee, orange
juice, and blueberry jam.”
    Mulder grinned his appreciation as the chief came around the desk and ushered
them to the door.
    “And I suppose you know what side of the bed I slept on?” Andrews asked
coldly.
    “Beats the shit out of me, Miss,” he said. “Damn drapes were closed too
tight.”
    Mulder couldn’t help it; he turned away and laughed as the chief asked them
to wait outside while he cleared a couple of things up before taking them down
to the first crime scene. Although it looked as if Andrews was about to object,
Mulder agreed immediately and shook the man’s hand, thanking him again for his
cooperation. Then he herded the team into the outer office, nodded to the
sergeant—the dispatcher was gone, replaced by a man who stared at them,
bewildered—and didn’t stop again until he was on the front walk, but
unfortunately, not before Andrews made a deliberately loud comment to Hank about
the “insufferable hicks in this damn burg.” Mulder, hands in his open topcoat
pockets, looked up the street, seeking patience and inspiration, and a way to
heed Scully’s silent warning not to lose his temper.
    “Look,” he finally told them, “we have to work with these people, you
understand? We need them on our side so we can do our job and get back to
Washington as quickly as we can. I don’t care what you think of them
personally,” he said to Licia, “but you keep your comments to yourself from now
on, understood?”
    She hesitated before nodding, and he made a note to have Scully Dutch uncle
her later.
    Webber, chastened even though he hadn’t been the one scolded, cleared his
throat. “Uh, Mulder? Who’s Babs?”
    Mulder nodded toward the far end of town. “Babs Radnor. She’s the owner of
the motel.”
    Webber frowned. “How did you know that?”
    Without looking at Scully, he said, “Spooky, Hank. I’m just damn spooky,”
turned and pointed to a brick-faced diner across the street. “We’ll meet there
about one for lunch, okay?” He told Hank and Andrews to canvass the area around
Barney’s, talk to everyone they could find about the dead men, the bar’s
reputation, the night of the murder, anything at all that might yield them
information the reports hadn’t told them.
    Webber almost saluted as he led his partner off, leaning close, whispering
urgently.
    “Hello,” Mulder said quietly as Scully came up beside him. “My name is Agent
Webber, FBI. Tell me all you know or I’ll smile you to death.”
    She slapped his arm lightly. “Give him a break, Mulder, okay? He’s not all
that bad.”
    He agreed. “But it’s not him I’m worried about.”
    He looked at the sky, at the lowering clouds, and smelled the first hint of
rain as the wind strengthened, snapping the tired banner, scattering debris in
the gutters. At that moment, nothing moved on the street.
    No pedestrians, no cars, not even a stray dog or cat.
    “Ghost town,” Scully said.
    “Graveyard,” he answered.

 
 
NINE
     
     
    They walked east along Main Street, Mulder on the outside. The deserted
moment had passed, and shoppers, not many, drifted in and out of stores, while
automobiles and pickups made