Footfall

“Let’s sing that song,” said Hairy Red.

“Dessert’s coming,” Tim Lewis protested. “-Oh, hell. Sure.’ They moved to the bandstand and opened guitar cases. Customers started to look around.

Bellingham. Linda’s not there to meet a lover. I’m the one lover she’s got. If she’s there, Ed Gillespie is there. Air Force general. On the President’s personal staff. In Bellingham. Why?

“Pe

“Shh. They’re going to sing.”

Ed Gillespie. Air Force general. Fighter pilot, but with administrative and science experience. Can’t fly now. There’s nothing to fly. No airport worth mentioning there anyway. Evelyn told us about Bellingham. Seaport town. Old. Decayed. University. Pacific Northwest, where it rained all the time even before Footfall…

Pacific Northwest. Rains all the time. Cloud cover. Railroad goes there. Old seaport. Goddam, it’s perfect. They’re building something there, something they want hidden under cloud cover. It flies, why else have an astronaut general there? Something that flies into space.

Something they want to hide, too big to hide in a factory building, something BIG that flies into space. God damn!

Carlotta had listened politely. “Harry’s a hero, not a bard.”

“Yeah,” Roger said. “He’s better than the writer, though. It could be improved with an axe… How’s Linda?”

“I haven’t seen her in months.”

“You said—”

“Harry! That was great.” Carlotta stood. “But it’s getting pretty late.”

“Max and Evelyn moved to Bellingham.” I’m pushing it. Maybe too hard. But I have to know. Is Linda with them?”

“Roger, it’s really late. Tim, it’s time-Lucille, you have work to do tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am-can’t I stay?”

“No. Come along.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Roger watched Carlotta lead Tim and Lucille out of the restaurant. “Hasn’t changed a bit. Still gives the orders.”

“Except to Wes,” Harry said.

“Yeah, guess so. Harry, you look like a man who could use another drink.”

“Reckon I could.”

“Dessert?”

“Roger, there’s only apple pie, and I have had enough of that to last me.”

“Good pie?”

“Not bad, if you don’t eat it every night for a month.”

“Getting tired of the Springs, Harry?”

“Not really-well, maybe.”

“You have gasoline. For what?”

“Motorcycle—”

“Harry, how would you like to be a reporter for the Capital Post?”

“Take you where?” Harry demanded.

“Can’t tell you. Long way,” Roger said. His head reeled. They’d had far too much corn whiskey.

Harry moved unsteadily to the men’s room.

“Where are you going?” Rosalee whispered fiercely. “I’m coming with you!”

“Not on a motorcycle.”

“But—”

“I’ll be back,” Roger said. “Rosie, this is a big one. I can feel it. Big. Maybe the biggest thing I ever got wind of.”

“What are you talking about-that Dawson woman! She told you something.”

“Rosie, do you love me?” “Why ask?”

“I love you. But—” “But you smell a story.” Roger nodded helplessly.

She took his hands in both of hers. “I can’t come?”

“It’s a long way, Rosie. I might get there on a motorcycle. No way in a car. Three on a motorcycle won’t work, even if Harry would try it, which he won’t—”

“What makes you think he’ll take you?”

“Come on. The role of retired hero isn’t a very attractive one. He’s getting fat again, and he hates it, and he doesn’t know what else to do. Too old for the Army. .

“Why him?”

“He probably knows the way. He has a gas ration card. Know anyone else who does?”

“But-Oh, God damn it, Roger. Come back? Please?”

“I will. I promise.”