Free The Hidden Man by Anthony Flacco Page A

out.”
    “No, that can’t be right,” Vignette said. “They already knew, early this morning. The officers came to put in the telephone, first thing. They told the Eastern…Miss Freshell. She waited around until I got up, just so she could tell me that I’d been caught. She’s so sweet, mmm?”
    “You’re saying that the officers who installed the telephone were also messengers, and they had a message for you about all this, but they left the message with her instead?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Early this morning.”
    He sighed and shook his head, rubbing both hands over his face. “I’m tired. Why don’t you go on ahead to bed? I’m going to have a brandy before I turn in.”
    She quietly agreed and left the room, chastised. But he called out to her, “You sure it was this morning? When they told her?”
    Vignette stuck her head back in the doorway. “Told you, I wasn’t even up yet.”
    “Okay,” he replied with a tired smile.
    After she left again, Blackburn sat for a long time, staring into the gas flames. His mood was darker than usual. The gas fire and concrete logs reminded him of the flaming leaks that burned in the broken rubble after the Great Earthquake.
    He still hoped that there would turn out to be a plausible explanation for why Miss Freshell already knew about Vignette early that morning, before the department found out. He needed time to think it through, but first he had to get some sleep. A faint sensation of dread was just beginning to throb beneath his stomach.

THE FOLLOWING DAY
    THE PANAMA-PACIFIC INTERNATIONAL EXPOSITION
    T HE LATE AFTERNOON LIGHT from a cloudless sky made for perfect visibility; there was no way for the nondescript man to keep any potential mistakes from being seen. Even though he was more filled with rage now than he had ever been back when he thought God was on his side, he remained alert enough to wisely avoid passing in front of the Japanese Pavilion. It would be too easy to attract notice from there. The place was already surrounded by watchful guards because the damn industrious Japanese had to go and make the other construction teams look bad by being the first to complete their hall.
    The shopgirl walked stiffly beside him, an arm linked through his. She trembled in fear, with his pistol surreptitiously tucked into her ribs. He could sense the weakness in her knees and feared that if he allowed her to stop or even to slow down, her legs might give out, drawing attention.
    All six hundred and twenty-five acres of the exposition site were alive with last-minute construction. Any of the workers would sound an alarm if they saw a young lady collapse, perhaps even heard an attempt to scream.
    The tension of his situation was so high that it briefly penetrated his sense of purpose. At first, the awful danger of snatching up this charming girl and forcibly walking her across the fairgrounds filled him with an erotic sensation.
    Halfway to their destination, that feeling had decomposed into a more pragmatic state of fear. Caution kept him moving briskly along. He bruised her ribs with the pistol barrel to make sure that she followed like a good girl. It took all his concentration, because even though he had no desire to be caught, her growing terror and confusion warmed him inside.
    The simple goal was to keep moving, giving the impression that they were a couple leaving work together. Nobody would pay any attention. His presence made it almost certain, because he had always moved within a curious sort of empty space. It traveled everywhere with him. The empty space cloaked him so well—whether he liked it or not—that in most situations he could arrive, stay, eventually leave, and as far as most other people knew, he had never been there at all.
    The anonymity was neither entirely reliable nor as good as actual invisibility. Because there were always those occasional
noticers,
coming out of nowhere and having to
notice
every damned thing. They