Free All The Bells on Earth by James P. Blaylock Page A

tonight, but if we can’t—what shall I say—
clean it out
, are we absolutely certain … ?”
    “And it rained fire and brimstone out of heaven and destroyed them all,” Argyle said, interrupting him.
    “That’s just your style, Bob, to dismiss something like this with an irrelevant quote. It’s easier than thinking, isn’t it?”
    Argyle laughed then. “Relax, George. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Just have your people take care of things over at LeRoy’s and let me know. They won’t be bothered over there tonight. When we’ve got what we want, we can
all
dismiss it. It’ll
be
an irrelevancy. And have them look around good—crawl spaces, secret panels, throw rugs. Don’t rush it. LeRoy had his own way with things, if you follow me. He went in for all the trappings. Leave the place clean.”
    The rain let up abruptly, and Walt watched through the branches, hearing them descend the porch steps now, their shadows jutting out across the lawn. Something told him that he didn’t want to know anything more than he already knew—which was virtually nothing—but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering who the two men were. One of the cars was visible from where he was hidden, and when the door swung open the driver was illuminated for a moment by the dome light. Walt recognized him, from downtown. He was one of the Watson’s morning regulars, which meant he probably worked in one of the buildings around the Plaza. He usually wore a suit, too; so he was likely a professional of some sort—lawyer, maybe, or chiropractor.
    The engines started up and the cars moved off. He heard footsteps crossing the porch, and then a moment later the house door shut and the light went out. Walt peeked past the edge of the house, making sure the porch was empty. He saw immediately that there was no carton beneath the wicker chair; Argyle had retrieved it, probably wondering right now how long it had lain there, gathering dust. He hurried out to the sidewalk and headed home, his jacket soaked and his hair plastered to his forehead with rainwater.

12
     
    U NCLE H ENRY STOOD IN the garage, eating a doughnut out of the box on the bench. He held out the box. “I helped myself. Hope you don’t mind.”
    “They’re probably a little dry by now.” There was only one left, so Henry must have eaten two of them. That didn’t surprise Walt any; last winter Henry had developed a habit, and he was probably anxious to take it up again.
    “They’re just right,” Henry said. “Dryness improves the roughage.” He winked.
    Walt took the last doughnut, realizing that he was famished.
    “Been out for a walk?”
    “Yes,” Walt replied. “I had to run something over to a neighbor’s house, and the rain started up on me. Caught me on the way home.” He noticed that the sleeve of his jacket was streaked with dirt from leaning against the wet wall of Argyle’s house. He’d leave it in the garage when he went in. There was no use trying to explain it to Ivy.
    “Quite a setup you’ve got here,” Henry said, looking around.
    “It’s cramped,” Walt said, “but it’ll have to do till I can find a bigger place.”
    Henry shrugged. “There’s a lot of overhead in a bigger place. You can deduct overhead from your profits. Pretty soon you’re hiring help, buying trucks. Insurance goes through the roof. What’s wrong with this?”
    “Nothing,” Walt said. “It’s a little small-time, that’s all. And I’m not zoned commercial either. I get away with it because there’s no customers coming around—just UPS trucks, and they come through the neighborhood twice a day anyway.”
    Henry nodded, looking around at the stacked cartons, ordered and numbered, their contents listed on the sides in felt pen—rubber chickens, false noses, glow-in-the-dark fish, garden elves…. “Quite an inventory.”
    “Yeah, I’m cramped for storage. I just bought a jumbo tin shed from Sears and Roebuck for overflow. It’s all set