Free Dover Beach by Richard Bowker Page B

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..."
    He was not a bad whistler. "The Sandman is upset," he said when he had finished.
    "The Sandman wishes his soup were thicker," I said.
    Linc whistled a few more notes. "The Sandman apparently doesn't want to bare his soul, even to his good buddy Linc," he observed.
    "He wishes his soup were thicker and his case were solved," I said, baring my soul. "The Sandman spent a good part of the day at his office, staring at the walls. He wishes he could think of some way to solve the case besides asking his friends for help. He wishes he knew what his life was all about."
    Linc slid down in his chair and scratched at his beard. "I thought," he said, "that private eyes had self-confidence coming out their ears. Nothing bothers them; they're always in control."
    I stirred. "The Sandman perhaps wonders if he's really a private eye."
    "The Sandman can be whatever he wants to be."
    "Yes, indeed. Maybe that's why the Sandman is upset." I stirred and stirred. Eventually Linc started whistling again.
    * * *
    Later, while we all ate the watery soup, I quizzed Stretch. "Have you come up with anything yet?"
    "Well, no, not really, Walter. I've got a call in to a guy I know in Atlanta, but he hasn't got back to me. I've checked around with some people locally, but they don't know anything."
    "Don't they even remember the British taking people?"
    "Sure, vaguely. But as for names..." He shrugged.
    "Well, keep trying. Maybe Bobby'll have better luck."
    Stretch was miffed. "You've got Bobby looking too?"
    "Why not? He knows people. He owes me a favor. People owe him favors."
    "If what you want exists, I'll be able to find it," Stretch said defensively.
    "Great. Maybe Bobby'll find it too."
    "You know," Linc said, "if you got one case, you're bound to get another. It's just a matter of time."
    "Yeah. This is the one I've got, though, and this is the one I want to solve."
    "I thought," Gwen said, "that you were pretty sure you had solved it—that this fellow was dead."
    "But I don't have any proof. And my client would prefer it, obviously, if the guy was still alive."
    "But what you're after is the truth, isn't it?" she asked.
    I shrugged and looked at Linc's bowl. "Eat your soup," I said to him. "You need it."
    "You didn't stir it enough," he replied.
    * * *
    I think I should explain how I met Gwen.
    It was during the Frenzy, that awful time when we all teetered on the brink of barbarism, and some fell in. The youth camp where I had been living had pretty much fallen apart, so I wandered back to the city with a kid named Miguel. We lived in the North End and spent our days scrounging for food—fishing on the waterfront, trapping pigeons, stealing whenever we had the chance. Nights, we stayed inside. The barbarians came out at night, and we had no desire to meet up with them. Miguel found a guitar and taught himself to play. I read books. There have been worse times in my life.
    One day we split up as usual to scour the city for food. I returned at dusk; Miguel didn't. I never saw him again.
    What happened to him? Who knows? People come and go, and life continues. I lived by myself, lonely and afraid—emotions I was all too familiar with.
    The Frenzy got worse, and even daytime wasn't safe. I was walking along Atlantic Avenue one sunny afternoon carrying a fishing rod and a bucket with one lousy bluefish in it, when the biggest man I had ever seen came out from behind one of the girders supporting the Central Artery. He had a bushy black beard and a scar on his forehead that extended from temple to temple. He was pointing a submachine gun at me.
    I thought the submachine gun was a bit much.
    "Gimme," he said.
    I gave him the bucket.
    "Gimme," he repeated.
    I gave him the rod.
    He looked me over and apparently decided there was nothing else worth taking, including my life. He stomped off.
    I took out my gun and aimed it at him. Then I put it away. Even when I was fifteen I didn't kill people.
    That's