The Girl in the Glass

BREAK A LEG

It was midday and Antony and I sat at a table by the front window of a coffee shop that faced out on that main street that ran through the little town we now knew to be Fort Solanga. We were on a third cup of coffee each, silent as statues both, waiting for a sign. The street was empty save for an ancient Negro with a cane, sitting on a bench on the corner across from us, near the general store. We'd been there more than an hour, and the waitress was looking at us a little suspiciously.

"Here we go," Antony whispered.

I turned just in time to see a pigeon flutter down out of the sky and land directly on the head of the old man on the bench. It stayed perched there for nearly a minute before lifting off again. Then the man got up and headed west on the sidewalk. He was nearly out of sight when he passed a small shop. At that instant, an exceedingly heavyset woman, filling nearly the entire sidewalk, exited the place. She moved slowly eastward, stopping often for lingering looks in the shop windows.

A black Model A Ford appeared, heading west down the street. It stopped just past our coffee shop, turned around in the middle of the road so as to be heading east, and pulled up at the curb in front of the general store. Two men dressed in black suits got out of the car and went into the store.

The fat woman proceeded down the street toward the corner, still taking her time. There then appeared, passing by our window, a small disfigured fellow, a legless cripple. He was atop a makeshift dolly and pulled himself along the sidewalk, using his hands, heading west. Another man, with a scrawny physique and a bobbing Adam's apple, hat pulled down to cover his eyes, left a shop across the street from us, and passed the fat woman, heading east, his hands in his pockets, his lips pursed, whistling.

By the time the black-suited men exited the general store the heavy woman had reached it and was looking in its window. The two men got in the car, and the motor came to life. The thin man with the pulled-down hat turned around as if he'd forgotten something and began heading back toward the general store. As the Ford pulled away, the woman turned with a speed that belied her girth, took three steps, the last off the curb, and walked right into the front fender of the car. She went down with a thud that might possibly have cracked the asphalt. The car stopped, and the two men got out. The woman was lying in the road, writhing and screaming.

The woman's cries covered the rattling of the cripple's wheeled board as he crossed the street and headed for the scene of the accident. The two men in black, with a show of great exertion, helped the heavy woman to her feet. The thin man, who'd also come to the woman's assistance, reached down and picked up her pocketbook and hat. She put her hat on, took her pocketbook, and then, as if in answer to a question one of the men had asked her, nodded her head, drying her tears with the handkerchief she'd pulled from her purse. The thin man, seemingly satisfied that his help was no longer needed, broke away from the group and continued down the street.

By this time, the cripple had positioned his rolling board directly behind the Model A and lay down flat upon it. As the heavy woman stepped back onto the sidewalk, the thin man stepped down off the curb into the street as if to cross it, turned quickly, and with his right foot shoved the cripple on the dolly under the car.

The two men in black suits got back in the car. The thin man crossed the street. The Model A pulled away, revealing beneath it an empty board with wheels. Entering the coffee shop, Peewee took a seat at our table, "We're in," he whispered.

"Let's just hope the heat under the car doesn't set the dynamite off on the little guy," said Antony.

Late that afternoon, I sat by the phone in the office at the house, waiting for the call from Agarias. I'd already dispatched two cars, each with a ladder tied to its roof, to the street that the kid Jimmie lived on. From there, Isabel and most of our army would make their way to Agarias's compound, through the woods, past the sand dunes, and the ponds, carrying the ladders and a box full of gasoline bombs.

The minute the sun went down, the phone rang. I answered it, knowing it would be Agarias.

"Do you have her?" he said.

"I've got her, but she's reluctant to join you. I had to tie her up," I said.

"As long as she's not injured," said Agarias. "I knew I could count on you."

"I want to talk to Schell," I said.

"That's not necessary," he said. "I'm a man of my word."

"Either I talk to him first or the deal is off," I said.

There was silence on the other end. "Schell's a very tricky customer, as you well know," he finally said. "He's nearly escaped twice. I've had to chain him and sedate him."

"Sedate him?" I said, anger creeping into my voice. I'd decided I'd be as cold as ice, but my resolve was already breaking.

"Okay," said Agarias. "You've got thirty seconds."

Schell came on the line. "Don't bring her here," he said, his voice weak, the words slurred.

"We're coming to get you," I said. "The hell with her, she's been nothing but trouble. You don't know the whole story on her."

"Don't," he repeated. "You're not chained to this deal. I don't want you to lift a pinky to help me."

"It's going to be smooth," I told him. "Just like McLaren and the red balloon."

"Smooth," said Agarias's voice. I knew he'd be listening in.

"That wasn't thirty seconds," I said.

"You've got one hour to get here," he said. "Get ready to write down the directions."

I prayed the directions he gave would be to the place we'd staked out. If not, all would be lost. As he recited them, I was so nervous I missed the first part, but then the words Fort Solanga sounded, and after that the turns and street names fell into place.

When Agarias finished, I told him, "I want to be able to see Schell the entire time. An even exchange. I'll bring Morgan out of the car, you bring Schell to meet me."

"Of course," he said. "But you'd better hurry, because if you're a minute late, I'll start the transfusion, and I don't think Mr. Schell is in any shape to receive the pure blood of Merlin."

I hung up. Antony was standing in the doorway.

"We're on," I said.

"Did you talk to Schell?" he asked.

"He told me he's got a pin he can use as a key on whatever chains they have him in," I said.

I meant to get up then, but my determined cool broke like a dam, and I started to cry. My memory filled to bursting with thoughts of Schell, a swirl of scenes from my years with him. I owed him my life, and now his was in my hands. It took quite a few minutes for me to regain control of myself, and I was surprised that Antony didn't say a word. When I was done, I dried my eyes and stood up.

The big man put his hand on my shoulder. "Okay, you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Let's go plug these fucks," he said.

Marge, who'd already risked life and limb for us and was going to stay behind and man the fort, grabbed me and gave me a spine-bending hug as we stepped out into the living room. "Break a leg, hon," she said.

I took Morgan's shoulders, Antony took her legs, and we lifted her bound, gagged, and squirming form off the floor. We followed Hal, who was dressed for battle in a baggy old suit and packing Peewee's derringer, as he led the way out to the car. Bringing up the rear was Captain Pierce, who was nearly knocked over as the rug covering the doorway fell back after we passed through.

"She's sure making a racket," said Hal as Antony and I laid her across his and the Captain's legs in the backseat.

"At least she's not singing," I said.