Free Unknown Man No 89 (1977) by Elmore - Jack Ryan 02 Leonard Page B

up. The place smelled musty. The only light, a bare fifty-watt bulb, hung from the ceiling in the kitchenette part of the room. The faucet was dripping in the sink. There were dirty dishes, a milk carton, an open loaf of bread on the counter. A jar of peanut butter with the top off. Three half-gallon wine bottles, empty, on the floor. The only window in the room, next to the bed, showed a bare, dark-wood frame, no curtains. A shade with brown stains was pulled below the sill. He could see her in here during the day, on a good day, the room dim, silent, the shade drawn against the sunlight and whatever was outside that frightened her. Alone with her wine bottle, feeling secure as long as there was wine in it, sitting in the rocking chair smoking cigarettes and forgetting them and burning stains in the wooden table.
    She could use three weeks at Brighton Hospital. If she had the money, or Blue Cross. She probably didn't have either one. It would cost about nine hundred. He had almost three thousand in the bank drawing 51/2 percent. How much did he want to help her?
    Ryan went into the bathroom, felt for the light switch, and turned it on. They all looked alike. The rust stain in the washbasin. The dirty towel on the floor, from some hotel. The hissing toilet tank. A comb with matted strands of hair. One toothbrush. One twisted tube of toothpaste. He looked in the medicine cabinet. No prescriptions, no tranquilizers. Good. An almost empty bottle of Excedrin. He'd check the refrigerator before he left.
    He had forgotten about the black guy and didn't look for him in the room or by the open door. But as he knelt down next to the daybed, looking at the girl, he was aware of the rocking chair creaking with a faint, steady sound.
    The black guy was sitting there watching him, the hat slanting down over one eye.
    He turned to the girl again and brushed the hair away from her cheek. Her eyes were open and she was looking at him.
    "You all right?"
    "Fine." Her eyes closed and opened again. She was a long way from fine, whatever that meant to her.
    "I want to ask you a couple of questions before you go to sleep," Ryan said. "You have any Valium? Anything like that?"
    "I have some . . . Librium, I think."
    "Where? It's not in the bathroom."
    "I don't know." Her voice was drowsy; she barely moved her mouth.
    "Come on, Lee? 'Where do you keep it?"
    "I don't know. Someplace."
    "Don't take any," Ryan said. "You hear me? You'll probably wake up, you won't be able to sleep, but don't take any pills, any kind, except the Excedrin's all right. Lee?" He touched her shoulder and waited for her eyes to open. "You have any family here? How about your mother and dad, where're they?"
    "No, I don't have-they don't live around here. They're home."
    "Where's home, Lee?"
    "Christ, you tell me. Home . . . shit, I don't know."
    "How about friends?"
    "What?"
    "You know some people, don't you? You have friends?"
    "Fuck no, I don't have any fucking friends. My friends disappeared." She seemed awake now.
    "You know people who live here, don't you? In Detroit, around here somewhere?"
    But she wasn't awake. She was here and she was spinning around somewhere in her mind. Ryan remembered it, like falling backward and looking up at nothing, feeling a dizziness. He could hear the faint sound of the rocking chair creaking.
    "Lee, try to think of somebody. People you used to know."
    "I don't know any-no, hey, I know Art."
    "Who's Art?"
    "He's a prick. No, he's all right, he can't help it."
    "Who's Art, Lee?"
    "The innkeeper. Don't you know Art? Arty? Don't call him that, though. He'll fuck up your drink."
    "How about Bobby Lear?" Ryan said. "You know him, don't you?"
    There was a silence. The creaking sound of the rocker stopped, then started again, slowly.
    "You said he called you. Lee, what'd he call you for? Tell me."
    She laughed then. "Man, that's great. I said now you're asking me. Man, you got a lot of fucking nerve."
    "What'd he want you to do?"
    "He wanted me to