Footfall

Gotcha! Heroes need publicity. “I hear you have some good stories to tell. I’m collecting war stories. Drink?”

“Sure, but I gotta run. My ride leaves in five minutes.” Reddington turned to the bar. “Watney’s, Millie.”

“Money, Harry.”

“On me,” Roger called. “Things are tough, eh?”

“Toward the end of the month,” Harry admitted. “The Arms gives me a little something, but I had a bad run at poker—”

“Sure—”

“I get gasoline, too,” Harry said. “But I can’t sell that. Use it or lose it.”

Roger let Harry lead him to a table. They sat, and Roger studied Harry while opening his notebook. Beard and hair trimmed. Corn. Patiently but not artistically. Clothes are clean and almost new and don’t quite fit. Supplied by the Army? “Harry, we have a lot to talk about. I’d like to buy you dinner.” He took out the gold Amec card and handed it to the barmaid.

Reddington hesitated a bare instant. “May I bring a friend?”

“Sure. What time do you like?”

“Call it seven-thirty.”

The Friendly Snout was more crowded now, with citizens and Army and Navy personnel.

The civilians had dinner. The service people drank.

“I like it,” Rosalee said. “But where do they get the food?”

“Mess sergeants making a bit on the side,” Roger said. “That’s why the service types won’t eat here.”

“You know that for sure?”

“Don’t have to.”

She drew away from him in mock horror. “But Roger, it’s news, and you’re not digging it out—”

“Now just a damn minute—”

“Gotcha!”

“Yeah, okay. Look, Rosalee, it would only be a little story. No prizes. And I’d get half the Army on my case, and I don’t need—”

“Roger, I’m the one who keeps telling you to relax!”

Roger let thick sarcasm creep into his voice. “By their standard there were no menus. Prices were listed on a blackboard, mostly too high.

“The drinks are dependable,” Roger said.

“Dependable?”

“You can depend on them to take the lining out of your throat. Harry was drinking a brand-name beer, but I noticed there was yeast in the bottom of the bottle… Anyway, they take plastic.”

“Oh, goody. Is that him?” She glanced toward the doorway. “Hairy and red. But he’s with three people.”

“Hardly surprising-Carlotta!” Roger bounded across the room.

Carlotta Dawson grinned widely and came to meet him. “I thought it had to be you from what Harry told me. I saw your column—”

“You knew I was out here and you didn’t come find me?”

“We’re busy in there, Roger.” She lowered her voice so no one else could hear. “They have me sitting in for Wes. Roger, that’s off the record. Really off the record.”

Shit. “Carlotta, I’m glad to see you. Hell, I’ve lost track of everybody. All my girls—”

“Everyone’s all right. I just heard from Linda. She says Evelyn’s fine.”

“Great.” Say what? But Evelyn lives in… later. “Harry, you sure know some famous people.”

“Didn’t know you knew her…”

“Roger and I are old friends,” Carlotta said.

“Carlotta, have you heard anything about Wes?”

“Not since his speech. Roger, what are they saying about him? Do they call him a traitor?”

Roger gestured helplessly. “Not around me—”

“Or me,” Harry said.

“But they do.”

“Some do. Not the doctors. Not the farmers and grocers. Just damn fools.”

“There are always damn fools,” Harry said.

And then there are the ones who say Dawson was insufficiently persuasive, because we ought to give up before they kill us all. “Lots of fools,” Roger said.

“Harpanet-the alien Harry captured-says that Wes told the truth, they do treat captives well—”

Wes did that well, Carlotta. Anybody who knew him would know that.”

“I guess I worry too much.” Her mood changed. “Harry, thanks for inviting me out. I’ve been inside far too long. Time to have a little fun. Roger, it’s really good to see you again.”

“This is Rosalee. I picked her up in Lauren-ah, hell, it sounds wrong. We’ve been together since—”

“Never heard you run out of words.” Carlotta laughed. “Rosalee.”

Good. She doesn’t know she told me something. “Let’s down. Harry’s promised us a song.” Roger led the way to the table. Millie had already pulled up another table to accommodate the extra guests, and brought out a new pitcher of beer.

“What did you get?” Rosalee whispered.

“Mind your own business.”

“You expected that woman.”

“Shhh. I hoped. You told me Harry knew her. Now just listen.” They sat. “Rosalee, I’ve known Carlotta since she was in high school.”

“Pleased to meet you, Rosalee.” Hairy Red bowed as he shook her hand. “This is Tim Lewis… Lucille Battaglia.” Lewis was the man who had been teaching Harry to sing. Lucille was small and dark and pretty, and in uniform.

Spec. 4. Adjutant General corps. Personnel. Probably shuffling papers, when she isn’t mooning over every word Reddington says.

“When does it stop raining?” Roger asked.

“The Colonel says in about six months,” Lucille said. “If we’re lucky.”

“Colonel?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Crichton. I work for her—”

“Jenny?” Roger demanded.

“Right.” Carlotta smiled. “That’s why I brought Lucille. Jenn couldn’t come.”

“Hey. Lieutenant Colonel. She must have done something important…”

Carlotta smiled but she didn’t say anything.