Free Gideon by Russell Andrews

time Carl didn’t hesitate. The phone was immediately down on the table.
    “And now let me explain something to you, ” Harry continued. His words had no emotion behind them. He sounded like a high-school teacher giving instructions for a pop quiz to a group of not overly bright students. “I’m every sensitive about my clothes,” he said. “I know you thought you were probably being a smartass, and usually I don’t mind. I appreciate wit, in its proper place.”
    “That’s good to know,” Carl said, but when he felt Harry’s hand squeeze even tighter, he decided it was probably better to keep quiet.
    “I don’t like people making fun of what I wear. I take great pride in my outfits. They’re quite expensive, and many of them are made to order. I realize that you’re an artistic type; that’s why you’ve been hired. And I will give extra leeway for your artistic temperament. However, and I meant this with all due respect for your talent and abilities, if you ever again make fun of anything I’m wearing, I’ll hurt you. And not like I’m hurting you now. I’ll hurt you very badly. Permanently. Now pick up the phone and finish your conversation.”
    Harry released Carl from his grip. Carl felt no need to say anything in response. Harry Wagner had made his point most effectively.
    Trying not to rub his red wrist, Carl picked up the phone.
    “What are you two assholes doing over there?” Maggie Peterson asked.
    “Nothing,” Carl answered.
    “Then what’s the problem? I said you’d be receiving material.”
    “I’ve received it.”
    “Then everything is satisfactory.”
    “More than satisfactory,” Carl said. “My compliments on your messenger service.”
    “Don’t call me again unless it’s important,” she said. And then she hung up on him.”
    “Thank you for the kind word. I appreciate it,” Wagner said, swirling a puff of cigar smoke in the air.
    “May I say something?”
    “You may now and always say anything you’d like. Well, almost anything.”
    “We’ve established that you can hurt me. And you can probably shoot me if you want.” Carl was suddenly very angry. And suddenly, no matter what this asshole could do to him, he didn’t care if that anger showed. “But this is still my home and I don’t like people smoking big fat smelly cigars in it. So put that goddamn thing out. Now .”
    Wagner sighed, thought about the request, and nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. He took a final, wistful puff, rolling the cigar around in his fingers. Then he put it out in the kitchen sink. Moving to Carl’s closet, he opened the door and rooted around until he found a wooden hanger. “Wire hangers,” he said, “are your wardrobe’s worst enemy.” He took off his jacket and carefully placed it on the wooden hanger, then hung the coat on the hat rack by the front door. Next, Harrison Wagner undid his belt, unzipped his trousers, and dropped them.
    A nine-by-twelve manila envelope was wrapped around his bulging left thigh.
    Surgical tape held it tightly in place. Wagner bent down and roughly yanked the tape off, wincing as the hairs on his leg came off with it. “I hate this part,” he said. Then he zipped himself back up and opened the envelope.
    Inside were what seemed to be photocopied pages of an old diary, along with copies of old newspaper clippings and more photocopies of stamped documents that looked like birth and marriage records. There were a half-dozen hand-written letters, also photocopied.
    “Here’s the drill, Carl. You are going to study this material until you have fully and completely absorbed every single detail. Don’t even try to find out the real names. That will be far worse than insulting my tie. Don’t think about who these people really are, don’t think about where these events really took place.”
    “If I can’t know the real people and places, how do I—”
    “Be creative. Make them up. That’s why you’re being paid the medium-to-fairly-large