Free The Long Twilight by Keith Laumer Page B

him with both arms locked behind his back.

    "Ready to surrender, Zabisky?"

    "Go to hell!" The cabbie tried to kick Falconer's shin. He gave his arms another twist of the cloth.

    "Ask me nicely, and I'll let you go."

    "Have your fun, mister," Zabisky grunted. "Break 'em off at the elbow. I ask you nothin'."

    Falconer released the man; he turned at bay, fists cocked. His thick black hair was plastered across his wide, low forehead. He licked rain off his lips, waiting.

    "Zabisky, do you have a family? Anyone who'll worry if you don't come home for a few days?"

    "What's it to you?"

    "I need a man who doesn't wilt under pressure. You'll do. I'll pay you a hundred dollars a day plus expenses."

    "Shove it, mister."

    "Two hundred."

    "You nuts or something?"

    "I'm offering you a job. I had to know something about you first. Don't feel badly about not being able to use that tire iron on me. I'm a professional fighter."

    Zabisky frowned. "What you want me to do? I don't go for the rough stuff."

    "I want you to drive my car."

    "Two cees a day for a chauffeur?"

    "It's my money." Falconer took out folded money, handed over two hundred-dollar bills. Zabisky looked at them.

    "Where to?"

    "Anywhere I tell you."

    Zabisky considered. "This on the level?"

    "Why would I waste your time and mine? Come inside and we'll talk about it." Falconer turned and went up the steps. After a moment Zabisky tucked the bills away and followed.

    3

    In the governor's office at Caine Island, Captain Brasher of the guard force stood before his chief's desk, looking uncomfortable.

    "The house belongs to a Mrs. Talbot," he was saying. "A widow, age about twenty-five. Not bad-looking—"

    "Never mind her looks. Where is she?"

    "We haven't found her yet. But—"

    "Any signs of violence in the house?"

    "Not unless you want to include two men stretched on the floor," Brasher snapped.

    "Did they see who attacked them?"

    "They haven't been able to tell us anything useful. You know how these concussion cases are, Governor. Harmon says he didn't see who hit him. Weinert has no memory of anything since yesterday's ball game."

    "What about the woman's car?"

    "A fifty-nine Rambler, pale tan with white top, license number 40 D 657, dent in right-front fender."

    "Has it been seen?"

    "It went through the north causeway roadblock at twelve-thirteen. The woman was driving. She was alone."

    "Are you sure of that?"

    "The sheriff's boys went over the car with a fine-tooth comb, naturally. It was clean."

    "Any other cars pass the roadblock?"

    "Not a one. Most people know enough to stay home in this weather."

    "What else do you know about the woman?"

    "She's lived in the shack for the past couple of years. She had a brother who was an inmate here; he died last March. She used to visit him. I don't know why she hung around afterward—"

    "Tell me more about the car. Was there anything unusual about it? Any bundles on the back seat, rug on the floor, anything at all?"

    "My boys would have caught anything like that. The car was clean. At the time, we had no reason to hold the woman—"

    "Where was she going at that hour, in this weather?"

    "She was on her way to relatives in the northern part of the state; she was worried about flooding—"

    "Where in the northern part of the state?"

    "Gainesville, she said."

    "Get the names of these relatives?"

    "Well . . . no."

    "Does she have any relatives in Gainesville?"

    "Well—"

    "Find out, Brasher. And put out a general alert on the car. I want it found fast. And when it's found, I want it gone over with magnifying glasses; over, in, and under!"

    "Naturally I've alerted the State Highway Patrol," Brasher said. "But frankly, Governor, I don't understand all this emphasis on the car. The woman obviously left the house before Grayle arrived. He found the house empty and broke in—"

    "Any signs of that?"

    "Well, the locks weren't broken. But—" He broke off, looking astounded. "By God! It's