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How Way Leads on to Way
By
Tedswife
It started with Kostmayer's simple, "Uh-oh."
McCall looked up from the paper he was reading as they walked together along Fifth Avenue and followed Kostmayer's gaze across the street to the Waldorf Astoria. It took a moment for him to refocus both his eyes and his mind. The paper was a rap sheet on a man McCall had been protecting a young woman from, a man McCall was just about ready to blackmail into changing his evil ways. He had been formulating an approach while he read and the direction his thoughts were traveling in was not across the street. And when he looked, he didn't see anything unusual. "What?" he asked and stopped with Kostmayer.
Kostmayer said, "The woman who got out of the cab that just pulled away, next to the bellman there."
McCall saw a thin, shapely woman with short, dark hair, exquisitely dressed. Someone's trophy wife, he figured. "What about her?"
Kostmayer looked away from her. "I can't remember her name – she's KGB."
"What?" McCall looked more closely as the woman went into the Waldorf. "How do you know that?"
"You remember last fall, when Control squirreled you away and the KGB grabbed you?"
McCall sighed. "No, thankfully, I don't remember much about it. I was shot in the back, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah. Dyson and Gage got you outta there, after we took Gage off the prison bus." Kostmayer sighed himself now. "First place we took Gage was to see that woman. She was his KGB superior in Moscow. His lover, too, apparently."
The wheels started turning for McCall, in a way that disturbed him but didn't really surprise him. It had been a few months now since that nightmare time. He'd been wondering why Gage's former KGB friends hadn't come for him. Now that they knew he was one of the men who raided their R&D facility and gotten McCall out, they had to know he'd been a double agent the entire time he was in Moscow. Gage ought to have been high on their list of unfriendlies. Had they really not known where he was, or had the right people not been around to pursue it? If it was the latter, well, now one of the right people was around.
"Maybe we ought to call Gage," Kostmayer said.
"Hmm," McCall said. "I haven't talked to him in a week or so. I don't see much of him since he moved out in December."
"He still at that fleabag hotel?"
McCall sighed again, remembering how Gage preferred that dive to his apartment, just because he didn't like feeling like "the out-of-work brother-in-law living in the spare room." He didn't even know what Gage had been doing for money. "Uh-oh," he suddenly said himself.
Kostmayer looked at him. "What?"
"I just had a very bad thought. How is Harley paying for that fleabag hotel?"
Kostmayer shrugged, not understanding yet. "I don't know. What do you mean?"
McCall didn't want to say what he was thinking out loud. Gage's skills were few. He could be muscle – as McCall himself had used him a few times while he recovered from those bullet wounds – or he could peddle information. His old KGB lover was in town, and Gage had some spending money from somewhere.
Kostmayer suddenly got it from the look on McCall's face. "Aw, no, McCall. Gage is a lot of shit, and he's mad as hell at the company, but he wouldn't sell us out. No way."
McCall had to admit to himself that he wasn't sure, but he quickly catalogued the other dangers in his mind. If Gage hadn't gone over to the Soviet side, they'd be after him, or they were already after him – or they already had him. Neither he nor Kostmayer had seen him for a week. "Where's your car, Mickey?"
"Farther away than I'd like."
"Then let's get a cab."
------
The hotel Gage had moved to wasn't as fleabag as a lot of others, but it was hardly the Waldorf. It was home to several families and individuals on welfare, but clean and with a no booze policy that was undoubtedly broken here and there but not overtly. There was no one at what passed for a desk unless you rang a bell. McCall and Kostmayer left the cab waiting and simply walked on by the desk, taking the elevator to Gage's room on the fourth floor. Only adults lived on this floor, and it was empty and quiet now. McCall knocked at Gage's door. There was no answer.
McCall and Kostmayer looked at each other. McCall moved aside, and Kostmayer quickly and quietly picked the lock.
They went in fast and closed the door behind them. McCall felt a wave of anxiety, half afraid they'd find Gage dead in here, but the unease faded right away. Gage was not here. He wasn't the slob you'd think him to be in his personal habits. The room was clean, neat, sparse. Just one room and a bathroom. There were no dirty clothes on the floor, no debris except a newspaper lying on the carefully made bed.
Kostmayer ducked into the bathroom and right back out, shaking his head. McCall picked up the newspaper. "Three days old," he said the tossed it back down.
McCall looked in the closet. Lots of Gage's clothes, no overcoat. Kostmayer nosed around the old dresser. No wallet, no keys. "Well," Kostmayer said, "looks pretty normal around here. If I had to guess, I'd say he's just out."
McCall nodded, bent over and scribbled a one-word note above the masthead of the newspaper – "Call – 42." He didn't need to say who Gage should call; Gage would know. If he came back, which McCall wasn't sure of right now. He motioned to Kostmayer, and they went back out to the cab.
They did not talk again until they got out of the cab, back in front of the Waldorf. As soon as they got out, McCall saw that the doorman who had helped the KGB woman out of her cab was the same one opening the door for them. While Kostmayer paid the cabbie, McCall quietly slipped the doorman a twenty-dollar bill.
"Thank you, sir," the man said happily.
McCall said, very confidentially, "Do you remember assisting a beautiful young woman about half an hour ago? Small, very beautiful, short dark hair?"
The man smiled. "She was nice, wasn't she?"
"Has she left yet?"
"Not through this door."
McCall gave him a knowing smile, intimating he was up to something nice and illicit, and then he motioned Kostmayer inside the Waldorf.
They went inside and up the steps toward the lobby. McCall said, "She may still be here. Where exactly is your car?"
"Garage about six blocks away," Kostmayer said.
"I'll stay here while you go get it, bring it to the Fifth Avenue entrance and pick me up. I walked over – you can drive me home. If I see this woman leave, I'll get the cab number and we can try to track her down."
"What if you don't see her leave?"
"Well, we'll just have to go about things differently. You go on. I'll meet you in about twenty minutes."
Kostmayer turned and went back out the way they came in. McCall went on up the steps and through the long hallway, past elevators, and into the busy lobby. There were people everywhere of every nationality, speaking a dozen languages, but none of them was the beautiful, small woman he had mistaken for a trophy wife. McCall found a comfortable chair where he could see the whole lobby and sat down.
Kostmayer hustled back to the garage where he had left his car, a self-park place that smelled of stale urine but which was cheap for midtown. Along the way, he wondered how they were going to track down Gage and whether there really was anything to worry about. Just because he hadn't been around for a few days didn't mean he was in trouble. Gage could just be shacked up with some woman somewhere. But Kostmayer understood McCall's protective feelings toward the man, after the part he'd played in putting Gage away. McCall didn't wear guilt well.
Kostmayer found his car inside the garage and climbed in - and almost immediately the passenger door opened and someone else got in. Kostmayer started for his gun, but the intruder's hand landed on his wrist and stopped him.
Control said, "You need to remember to lock your car, Mickey."
Kostmayer relaxed a bit. At least it wasn't KGB beside him. But it wasn't so great that it was Control, either.
"You're not assigned to be watching the KGB," Control went on, "so you have to be freelancing with McCall again, am I right?"
Kostmayer debated what to say.
Control said, "Need I remind you you're still on probation?"
Kostmayer sighed. "No."
"You're working for McCall and you're looking for Gage," Control said.
"Yes," Kostmayer said to his boss. "McCall's worried about him."
"You need to tell him to bow out of this one, Mickey. This one is way too hot."
"Gage, hot? Why all of a sudden is Gage hot?"
"That's not anything you or McCall need to know."
"Control, maybe you ought to tell McCall that yourself."
Control sighed. "You know we haven't been on the best of terms since I grabbed him last fall. He'd never listen to me. He would listen to you."
"He would if I had something to say other than 'My boss wants us to leave this alone.' If that's all I can say, McCall's just going to get in deeper."
Control was silent for a moment, considering. Then he said, "The KGB has decided they want Gage. Whether it's because he liberated McCall and shot up their R&D facility, or because they figure they can get information out of him, I don't know, but they made a play for him a few days ago. He dodged them and disappeared."
"The company doesn't know where he is?"
"Not a clue. He could be in Iowa for all we know. But we have people keeping an eye on this Francesca, in case she makes a move toward Gage or leads us to him. They're the ones who called me when they spotted you."
Kostmayer thought about whether to ask the next few questions, not entirely sure that any answer was going to be what he really wanted to hear or one he even believed, but he decided he needed to try. "Why didn't Gage come to you when the KGB hit him?"
"Gage will never trust us again, especially not with his life," Control said.
"Then why didn't he come to McCall?"
"That's something only he knows the answer to."
Now, for the really hard question. "If our people find him – what have you told them to do with him?"
Control looked directly at Kostmayer. "You're asking me if I've put a hit on him. No. The KGB has a hit on him, and God knows who else, but the company doesn't."
Kostmayer didn't believe him, but you don't say such a thing to your boss. Instead, he asked, "What are you going to do with him if you find him?"
"Bring him in," Control said flatly. "And stash him away somewhere until this blows over."
Kostmayer chuckled. "Back in federal prison, huh? You might as well put the hit on him right now. He won't go back to jail."
Control sighed. "Mickey, just let me handle it. Call McCall off."
"McCall won't listen to me on this one, either, Control. He feels too responsible for why Gage is in the position he's in."
"Well, then, you listen to me. You drive out of here and tell McCall you're out, or I revoke your probation. Take your choice."
Kostmayer wasn't surprised it was coming to this, and he reasoned that "revoke your probation" didn't mean just losing his job. It might very well mean his own butt in federal prison, or worse. McCall wouldn't let him risk that. "Okay," he said, "but tell me this and tell me honestly, because McCall will want to know and so do I. Is Gage still alive?"
"As far as I know," Control said, "Gage is still alive."
Kostmayer did believe him this time. He nodded. "I'll go talk to McCall, and I'll back off, but I guarantee you he won't."
"Then he'll have to risk the consequences," Control said, and with that, he got out of the car and walked away.
Kostmayer knew he'd still be watching though. He started his car and drove off to pick up McCall.
-----
McCall was waiting on Fifth Avenue outside the Waldorf as he arranged to be, and Kostmayer pulled up beside him. As soon as McCall was in the car and closed the door, Kostmayer said, "We need to talk."
"What's going on?" McCall asked as Kostmayer pulled away.
"While I was getting my car, I had a visit from Control."
McCall made a resigned face. "Well, I was wondering when he was going to turn up."
"The company has people tailing Francesca – that's her name, Francesca," Kostmayer said. "According to Control, the KGB tried to hit Gage a few days ago, but he got away from them and went underground. Nobody knows where he is."
McCall shook his head. "He'd call me if that happened."
"I've been thinking about that. He wouldn't call if he thought the threat was bad enough that putting us in the way might get us hurt."
"You're sure of that?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. I know I'm not the biggest Harley Gage fan in the world, but I know he'd never put you in the line of fire. This is hot, McCall. Control called me off, and I have a feeling if I don't drop it I'm gonna find my ass in the same federal pen that Gage was in."
"Then you have to drop it," McCall said. "Has the company put a hit on Harley?"
"I don't know, but I've been thinking about that, too. If it were me in Control's seat, if I knew the Russians were after Gage and had a chance of grabbing him – I'd have Gage on my hit list. But then, I never could figure out why he wasn't on the company's hit list since we broke him out of jail. I know he wouldn't give us up to the KGB, but Control doesn't know that."
"No," McCall said, thinking. "And like you, I've been wondering why the company hasn't terminated Harley. And the fact that Harley hasn't contacted either of us makes me pretty sure Control does have the hit out on him." McCall huffed a sigh. "Well, Mickey, you have to sit this one out."
"McCall - "
"You have to. I'll not have you risk jail or worse. I'm planning to go on living for a very long time. You're more valuable to me in the company than out of it." McCall smiled at Kostmayer. "How's that for honesty?"
Kostmayer smiled. "Better than I'll ever get from Control. But Control told me that as far as he knows, Gage is still alive, and I believe him on that. I wish I could help you on this, McCall."
"You can. Go do your job and keep your ears open. You might find yourself in a better position to help Gage than you would be if you were working with me."
"What about Francesca? Gage could be with her."
"I doubt that, not if the KGB tried to grab him. No, she's here for some other reason. She might even be spearheading another attempt – but either she didn't come out or she left without us seeing her. I'll let her go for now."
Kostmayer eyed McCall very seriously. "I don't like the idea of you having to play this out on your own. Maybe you ought to – just let Gage take care of himself."
"Mickey," McCall said quietly, "I helped to throw Harley Gage to the wolves once already. In return, he saved my life. You know me better than to think I won't help him now if I can."
"You've already done a lot for him, McCall. You gave him a place to live and a leg up on starting his life over."
McCall nodded. "Harley and I go back farther than you know, Mickey. The ropes of our lives have become very tangled. If I can help him, I will. And don't worry about me having to play this out on my own. I know exactly who to go to for help."
McCall gave a wry grin, wry enough that Kostmayer thought he understood right away who McCall was going to ask to help him. And the thought made Kostmayer grin, too, and then out and out laugh.
-----
It took McCall longer than he wanted to find him. He first tried the phone number he had – no answer, no answering machine. Then he spent hours checking out the best vintage automobile dealers in town, but no one had seen Richard Dyson that day. One or two suggested he might be out of town, cruising in his recently acquired 1962 Corvette, in which case finding him would be very difficult, because for an old man he could cruise far and wide. Undaunted, McCall kept trying, until finally, late in the evening, he made his way to Stellas and found Dyson sitting alone at the bar.
Dyson saw him coming and gave him a slight smile as McCall sat down beside him. Dyson sipped on his scotch and said, "I was wondering when you'd turn up, McCall."
"Someone told you I was looking for you?"
"No. I just figured you would be when you found out about Gage."
"How long have you known?"
"Couple of days."
"Why didn't you call me?"
Dyson shrugged. "I didn't think it would take you this long to find out yourself."
McCall ordered a beer from the young man at the bar. "Why haven't you done anything about it?"
Dyson shrugged again. "I'm not sure there's anything I can do. Two things Harley Gage is really good at – protecting people and protecting himself. If he's gone underground, finding him is going to be nearly impossible. And besides – if I ever let him see me again, he's going to break my neck before I can say, 'Hello, Harley.'"
"That's exactly why you ought to be trying to find him."
"So he can kill me?"
"Because you owe him. Admit it, Richard. Gage wouldn't be in this position except that you had him take a fall two years ago."
Dyson sipped his drink. "If you want me to help you find him, Robert, you're not going about it the right way."
McCall looked straight at him. "Richard, I know you never wanted to sell Gage out back then. I know you considered all the angles and came to the only conclusion that you thought worked. And I know it hurt you, or you wouldn't have resigned as quickly as you did it."
Dyson looked away. McCall had hit the spot.
McCall's beer arrived. He took a sip. "Leaving the company was a great risk. No one knows that better than I do. You took it for the same reason I did. Some things are just wrong, and what happened to Harley Gage was just wrong."
Dyson sipped his scotch. "So you think I should want to help you right a wrong."
"I think you'd better, because if Harley Gage is killed, or taken by the KGB, and you haven't done anything to try to stop it – it will eat you up alive. I know, because if I don't try to help, it will eat me up alive."
Dyson took a deep breath. "Robert, if you find him, just what the hell are you going to do with him?"
"Talk to him. Give him enough money to get started again somewhere out of sight. Maybe just give him a soft place to land, I don't know. Something."
"And what if you're wrong? What if Gage gets taken by the KGB or just turns coat and goes to the KGB? What if he spills information that hurts the company, that hurts this country?"
"Gage won't spill."
"They will torture him, Robert. Have you ever seen the results of KGB torture?"
McCall swallowed. "Yes, I have," he said and took another sip of his beer.
"Then you know he will spill. And you know the company has a hit out on him."
McCall looked at Dyson. Of course he knew, despite Control's telling Kostmayer the opposite. "Richard, Harley Gage is a lot of things I don't really care for, but above all, he is a man who doesn't deserve what is happening to him. You and I are partly responsible for that, and I need someone to back me up."
"Where's Kostmayer?"
"Kostmayer works for the company. You know that."
"Sometimes it's hard to tell."
"So, are you telling me you have no interest in at least trying to make things right with Gage?"
Dyson looked back into his scotch. McCall had hit the spot again. He finished his drink with a large gulp. "Just how do you propose we go about finding him, McCall? Take an ad out in the paper?"
That took McCall by surprise – but on the other hand. "Actually, that might be a start."
-----
McCall had a connection who could get an ad in all the local papers very quickly and at any hour. McCall called from a phone at Stellas and had him place an ad the size of his "equalizer" ad that said simply, "Call – 42."
"Code you set up with Gage?" Dyson asked after McCall hung up.
McCall nodded.
"Why 42?"
McCall smiled at a memory. "According to Harley Gage, 42 is the funniest number in the English language."
Dyson shook his head. "That man must be the king of the loose screws. But you know if he was going to call you, he'd have done it already."
"Perhaps. Perhaps he hasn't been desperate enough. Perhaps he suspects the company or the KGB has my line tapped or is following me, hoping he will contact me."
"Or perhaps he didn't want to put you in a dangerous position."
"Perhaps. But there is at least one person he may contact, not so much for help as because he couldn't disappear without talking to him one more time. And there is someone else in particular who may be able to help us. We'll check on them in the morning."
"Who are these people?"
McCall saw two faces in his mind's eye, people he himself would never forget, people he had seen move Harley Gage in a way nothing else in this world did. He knew Gage had gotten in touch with these people at least once after his business with them was finished. He hoped Gage would not drop out of sight forever without seeing them one more time, and he hoped the person with the particular expertise he was thinking of would know more than anyone else. "A young woman and a small boy," McCall said.
"Well, the young woman I can see, but the small boy? Gage feeling the need to see a small boy?" Dyson asked.
McCall smiled. "The young woman isn't what you're thinking, and the small boy is quite a young man. Even if we don't find Harley Gage, Richard, I think you might learn a couple things about him you didn't know. Things I suspect even he didn't know."
Dyson cocked his eyebrows. "All right, McCall. You've roped me in. Where do you want to meet in the morning?"
"Lobby of the Essex House Hotel," McCall said. "About ten o'clock. And try to make sure you're not followed, all right?"
"Robert, was anyone ever as good as I was at spotting a tail?" Dyson asked.
McCall had to shrug. "No, Richard, no one was."
"Then worry about your own butt," Dyson said and walked out the door of the bar, leaving McCall chuckling all by himself.
-----
Dyson was already there when McCall walked into the Essex House the next morning. He was seated comfortably, reading a newspaper, and looked over the top of it just as McCall spied him. When Dyson gave a signal glance to the door behind McCall, McCall understood that he'd spotted someone following him and he nodded. He was well aware he had at least one tail and wouldn't have been surprised to have at least one more, but he didn't worry about them seeing him with Dyson.
Dyson wasn't particularly worried either. He folded his paper, got up, and came across the room to meet McCall smack in the middle of the lobby.
McCall said, "I picked up one or two leaving my house this morning."
"Well, I didn't have any," Dyson said, "but I'm sure I will when I go home tonight. So, what are we doing here?"
"We're going up to room 512, but we'll go without my friends there. So, shall we?"
McCall and Dyson walked over to the elevator bank, where McCall pushed the up button and they waited for a car to come down from the upper floors. McCall's shadow had put himself in the line waiting for a clerk at the desk to become available, but McCall knew as soon as he and Dyson stepped onto the elevator, the young man would be watching to see where they got off. The car came. McCall and Dyson stepped in and the doors closed, leaving them alone.
McCall pushed the button for every odd numbered floor and smiled at Dyson. "That will keep him guessing long enough for us to get to 512."
Dyson asked, "Who are we meeting?"
McCall said, "A young woman named Karen Alden. I called her from a pay phone last night after I arranged this room for her, and she checked in early this morning."
Dyson made a face. "Karen Alden. Why is that name familiar?"
"She was instrumental in catching the scrapbook killer a couple months ago," McCall said.
Dyson's expression changed to one of surprise and incredulity. "The psychic? You're going to consult a psychic about Gage?"
"We didn't let too much get into the papers, but Harley was helping her with that."
The doors opened on the third floor, and McCall looked out into the hallway. No one was there. The doors closed again.
McCall went on. "She and Harley developed a good rapport. I'm hoping it was enough of a bond that she might be able to help us now."
"You really believe that psychic stuff, McCall?"
"I do this one. She has a remarkable gift – or curse, as she calls it."
The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, and again McCall checked to be sure that no one was out there. It was clear. He and Dyson got off and quickly went to room 512, only steps away from the elevator. McCall knocked, and in a moment, the door opened and Karen Alden let them in.
She and McCall immediately smiled and embraced. "Robert, it's so good to see you."
McCall pulled back, holding her hands, and looked at her. "It's been far too long, and I apologize for that. You are looking – beautiful."
Karen laughed. "Thank you. I'm doing very, very well."
McCall said, "Karen Alden, I'd like you to meet Richard Dyson."
Dyson offered his hand, and Karen shook it. "Mr. Dyson."
"Richard," he said.
Karen nodded. "You're a cohort of Robert's? Back from his days of being a spy?"
McCall smiled at Dyson. "I never told her I was a spy, Richard."
"I'm sorry," Karen apologized quickly. "Sometimes I forget whether someone actually told me something or I just knew it. I'm not supposed to know that, am I?"
"Don't worry," McCall said. "You'd have known it after today anyway. Let's sit down."
There was a small sitting area with a loveseat and chair near the window. McCall ushered Karen to the loveseat and sat down beside her while Dyson took the chair.
"Karen," McCall said, "I wouldn't have had you run over here, but we have some people following us that we don't want following you. They did not see us come in, and we will be careful arranging how we go out."
Karen nodded. "I understand. And I think this is about Harley, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I'm happy to help if I can, but if you're asking me if I know where he is, I'm afraid I don't."
McCall nodded. "He is missing, and he is in danger, we're certain of that. When did you see him last?"
"Several weeks ago," Karen said. "He asked me to lunch and we met at a deli on Fifth Avenue."
Dyson took this all in with a vague curiosity. Gage, asking a young woman as nice as this to lunch? To a bar and to bed was more his style, but this was clearly not a woman for that approach. Which made it all the more ridiculous that Gage asked her out.
"Did you get anything at all from him then?" McCall asked. "Any sense that – anything was happening?"
"No," Karen said and began to look upset. "I wish I had. He's in very deep trouble, isn't he?"
"Yes," McCall said quietly and took something out of the inner breast pocket of his jacket. He handed a comb to Karen and said, "Harley left this behind at my apartment."
Karen took it and handled it carefully, closing her eyes.
McCall looked at Dyson, who gave him a look very similar to the one Gage had given him the first time they met Karen Alden and Gage thought she was nuts. Gage changed his tune radically when what she saw began to come true. Right now, though, McCall didn't give a damn if Dyson changed his tune or not.
Karen sighed and opened her eyes. "Robert, I'm not getting anything."
McCall thought for a moment about how to ask the question he wanted to ask. He took hold of her hands that still held Gage's comb. "Karen – there is a chance that Harley is dead. Does the fact that you're getting nothing – "
"No," she said quickly, not needing to be psychic to know what his question was going to be. "It doesn't mean anything at all. I'm just not seeing him. It's like when you go onto a crowded street and an old friend of yours is just across the way. Just because you don't see him doesn't mean he isn't there."
McCall nodded. "Are you getting anything at all – whether it's about Harley or not – that you think might help us?"
Karen closed her eyes again. Soon, she shook her head. "The only think I'm seeing that seems like it could be anything is – a closed door."
"What door?"
"I don't know. It's – a door, with frosted glass. It's closed."
"Locked?" Dyson asked, and oddly, he wasn't even sure why he asked it.
His speaking for the first time almost made Karen jump. She and McCall both looked over at him – but Karen looked at him very curiously. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I can't tell. But it is very firmly closed. Forgive me for this, Richard – but are you the man who put Harley in prison?"
Dyson's eyebrows went up. "Did he tell you that?"
"No," she said. "He didn't even tell me he'd been in prison. That just sort of – radiated out of him. You did put him in prison, didn't you? But – wasn't it partly to protect him?" She looked back at McCall again. "And that's what you're both trying to do now, protect him from the same people, and maybe that's why I'm seeing the closed door, because the two of you want to keep him safe behind it. I don't know. I'm sorry, Robert. I really want to help, but I'm just not getting anything else."
She held the comb very tightly in both hands. McCall squeezed those hands before he let go. "I want you to keep this. If you get something, I want you to call me, but do it from a pay phone and leave me only the message that you're calling from Con Edison about my bill, all right? I will return the call to your home within the hour."
"You're worried the people after Harley might latch onto me?"
"Yes, but I think we've taken the proper precautions to keep that from happening."
Karen nodded. "I don't feel threatened at all. And I will keep my mind open to anything."
"Whatever you do, don't go anywhere near my apartment or anywhere you might be associated with Harley. Go about your regular day."
"All right."
"Richard and I are going to leave. I want you to stay here in this room for another hour, and when you leave, don't go through the lobby. Take the stairs to the left as you leave the room and go out the back way. No one should be following you, but if you think someone is, go to the Waldorf Astoria and wait in the lobby by the clock. We will check there at one o'clock, and if you are there, we will deal with it. If no one is following you, go home. I will call you there from a pay phone at one o'clock to verify that you arrived safely."
Karen nodded, but then shook her head. "I don't know how you live like this, dealing with all this – suspicion and danger."
McCall smiled. "I don't know how you live with your psychic knowledge. We all manage, don't we?"
Karen smiled and nodded again, and then she looked at Dyson. "One thing I do know about Harley, and this isn't psychic, this is just from talking to him. He doesn't hold any ill feelings anymore against anyone who put him in prison. He's let that go, really."
Dyson gave half a crooked smile. "Well, that's nice to know. After all, he is younger and bigger than I am."
McCall and Dyson bid Karen good-bye and, after checking to see the hallway was clear, left, going down the elevator. They did not speak to each other until they had gone through the lobby together, making sure McCall's shadows were with them. There were clearly two of them now, two young men who were acting separately but who may have been together in reality, and as soon as they were out the front door, they picked up another one.
"Three of them now," McCall said. "I wonder if one of them is yours?"
Dyson started looking around. "Tell you what. Let's try an old trick I learned in the movies."
McCall looked at him with raised eyebrows, but Dyson just motioned him to the curb and to the cab stand in front of the hotel. He and McCall climbed into the back seat of the first cab in line, and thirty seconds or so later, the cab took off.
But it was without McCall and Dyson, who had simply gotten out of the other door of the cab, ducked down and crossed the street to huddle quietly behind a couple of poles. From there they watched their three followers board two separate cabs and take off after the cab they thought McCall and Dyson were in.
Dyson shook his head. "I can't believe that worked. I'll have to have a chat with Control. He needs to take a hard look at the company training program."
-----
McCall and Dyson hailed another cab, and within half an hour they exited it at the corner of 27th and Prospect in Brooklyn. It was a drab neighborhood unfamiliar to Dyson, but for McCall it held sweet and painful memories from last Christmas, not very long ago, one of the best Christmases he could remember. He smiled as he looked up at the buildings.
"A little boy named Mickey Burton and his grandmother, Mrs. Robertson, live here," McCall said. "Mickey has AIDS."
Dyson raised an eyebrow. "AIDS?"
McCall looked at him, then back at the buildings. "Last Christmas, Harley helped me rid them of some troublemakers trying to drive them out of the neighborhood, and Harley found Mickey's estranged father because that was what Mickey wanted for Christmas. Harley had actually become a bit of a father to Mickey. It hurt him to give up that role to Mickey's real father."
Dyson gave a "Hmph," reluctant to believe that anything would genuinely hurt Harley Gage.
"They had become very close," McCall said. "Harley stayed in touch. He wouldn't go underground for good without coming here to say good-bye."
"Wouldn't a phone call have gotten us what we need to know?"
"Don't tell me you're worried about catching AIDS, Richard."
"No, I'm not worried about catching AIDS, but the telephone is a more efficient use of time and spares them the risk associated with the good fellows who've been following us."
McCall looked around. "I think your little ploy has rid us of them, at least for now, and there are many people who live in these buildings. It's like meeting them in a hotel. And these people are very poor. They don't have a telephone."
Dyson said, "And you wanted to see the boy again yourself."
McCall smiled, a wistful smile. "He's a very sick little boy. I don't know how many more opportunities I'll get."
Dyson nodded an understanding. "Okay. Let's go in."
One of the entrances was in a round-about way, through a passage into an inner courtyard and up some metal steps where not so long ago McCall and Mickey Burton had confronted a lost but dangerous man. Mickey had won him over with a few words that McCall would never in his life forget. Up the steps and to the right were doors to several tiny apartments. McCall and Dyson climbed the steps, and McCall knocked at one of the doors.
The older woman who answered looked curious and concerned at first, but as soon as she saw McCall, she burst into a smile like the sun coming out after a storm. "Robert!"
McCall matched her smile and the two of them fell together in an embrace that almost made Dyson smile. "How are you, my love?"
They pulled apart and Mrs. Robertson ushered them in. "We're just fine," she said. "Come in, come in. I'll call Mickey."
"Not just yet," McCall said. "I'd like a word with you first, or with Mickey's father. Is he here?"
"No, he's gotten a good job with the city," Mrs. Robertson said with a bigger smile. "He's doing very, very well."
"That's wonderful," McCall said sincerely. "Things are looking up, then."
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Robertson said, and looked curiously at Dyson.
"This is Richard Dyson," McCall said. "He is an associate of mine."
"Hello," Mrs. Robertson said, and Dyson nodded politely, but they did not shake hands.
"We're looking for Harley Gage," McCall said. "Has he been here in the past few days?"
"No," Mrs. Robertson said, looking surprised. "He was here last week, brought us a bucket of chicken for dinner, but he hasn't been by since. Is something wrong?"
"We just need to find him," McCall said. "Mickey's home?"
Her smile faded a little. "He has a cold. The doctor wants us to keep him home for even the slightest thing. He's afraid of pneumonia."
"How is he doing?"
"Pretty well. I think he'll beat this cold, too."
"But he's been to school this week?"
"Until today."
McCall and Dyson glanced at each other, thinking the same thing. Maybe Gage hadn't come here, but there was always the schoolyard.
"Would you like me to get him? I've been keeping him in bed."
McCall asked, "May we just go in and talk to him?"
"Of course."
Mrs. Robertson moved toward the closed door of Mickey's bedroom – and Dyson stopped. "Robert – " he said quietly and pointed.
McCall looked. He had forgotten. The door to Mickey's bedroom was a door with frosted glass – a closed door with frosted glass. McCall smiled at Dyson as Mrs. Robertson opened the door and poked her head in. "Mickey?"
A little "Huh?" came out from the bedroom.
"Someone's here to see you."
She opened the door wide and let McCall and Dyson in.
The tiny little blond boy sitting on the bed reading a book lit up, wide-eyed when he saw McCall come in. Dyson, never one for kids, felt an immediately rush of warmth that almost embarrassed him. This was about the cutest little kid he'd ever seen. "The Equalizer!" Mickey gasped with a scratchy voice and a clogged nose.
"Hello, Mickey," McCall said, approached and sat down on the bed beside him. "I hear you have a cold."
"Yeah," Mickey said in a hoarse whisper. "I can't talk very well."
"Well, I won't make you talk for long," McCall said.
Dyson noticed the Mister Manhattan poster on the wall, a strong man in a trench coat, just like McCall.
McCall said, "This is Mr. Dyson. He's a friend of mine and Harley's."
"Hello," Mickey said, but there was a note of caution in his voice.
Dyson smiled. "Hello, Mickey. I'm glad to meet you."
"Mickey," McCall said, "do you remember last Christmas when I asked you to help me with Mr. Stigman?"
Mickey smiled a big smile again. "Yeah. We were a great team."
Dyson chuckled quietly.
"Well, I need your help again," McCall said, "and this is very, very important. You see, we're looking for Harley and we can't find him."
Mickey's face fell.
McCall said, "Mickey, we're afraid that some people may be trying to hurt Harley and he may be hiding from everybody, even us. Now, we know he hasn't come here since last week, but have you seen him in the past few days?"
Mickey hung his head and said nothing.
"Maybe at school?" McCall said.
Mickey's gaze wandered off to his poster of Mister Manhattan for a moment, then down at the floor.
"Mickey," McCall said, "I realize that Harley is your friend. You know he's my friend too, and Mr. Dyson's. We're very worried about him. And I realize that – if you have seen Harley, he might have told you not to tell anybody about it. Am I right?"
Mickey's head drooped further, but then he nodded solemnly.
"So, you have seen Harley in the past few days?"
Mickey nodded and quietly said, "Yesterday, when I was walking to school."
"What did he say to you?"
Mickey took a deep breath, looked up at McCall and said firmly, "He said I shouldn't tell anybody, especially you."
McCall sighed. "Mickey, Harley is my friend, and I think he's trying to protect me from the people who might hurt him, but you know I can protect myself, don't you? If anybody in the world knows the Equalizer can protect himself, you're the one, aren't you?"
Mickey nodded.
"Please, Mickey, I know you love Harley and would do whatever he wanted you to, but it's very, very important that we find him and help him or those people might hurt him. Will you help me again, like you did last Christmas? What did Harley say to you?"
Mickey took another deep breath and hung his head. "He said he was going away for a long time. He said he might not be able to come back for a long time."
McCall saw Mickey's eyes were getting wet. He took the boy by the hand and held on tight. "We want to bring him home and make sure he's safe, Mickey. Did he tell you where he was going to go?"
Mickey shook his head. "He just said – that he knew my Dad and my Grandma would take good care of me – and that he'd always be my friend – and when he could come back he'd find me – but – "
"But what?"
Mickey took another deep breath. "He said he wished he could stay here and be with me when I don't feel well. He knows how sick I am. I think he was afraid he couldn't come back in time to see me again."
McCall swallowed, and now Dyson looked down at the floor.
"Mickey," McCall said, "do you have any idea where Harley might be?"
Mickey looked up, in tears now, "No."
"Can you remember anything else he said?"
Mickey thought hard. "I wanted to give him my lunch money so he could take the subway. He said he had plenty of money."
McCall had very mixed feelings about that. He smiled at the thought of Mickey offering his lunch money, but his stomach churned at the thought of Gage having plenty of money. Where did he get it?
Then Mickey said, "He said somebody who owed him gave him the money."
Somebody who owed him? McCall wondered, who would have owed him?
Control?
Mickey said, "I want to help you find him, but I can't."
McCall pulled Mickey close to him. "You have helped, Mickey. You told us you saw him yesterday, and you told us he had plenty of money. That is a great help to us."
Mickey pulled away and looked at his grandmother. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you yesterday, Grandma, but Harley said not to."
Mrs. Robertson said, "It's all right, Mickey. You've told us now."
McCall said, "Now, if you see him again, you will tell us, right?"
Mickey nodded.
"And if you see him again, will you tell him that Mr. Dyson and I are looking for him and we want to bring him home?"
Mickey nodded again, and then he said, "Please don't let those people hurt Harley."
McCall read between the lines. "Mickey, Harley is very good at taking care of people and taking care of himself. If anything were to happen to Harley, it would not in any way be your fault. Do you understand?"
Mickey nodded, but it was unconvincing.
"And Harley would be very upset if you blamed yourself just because you did what he asked you to."
Mickey nodded again.
McCall said, "And you have helped us very much. We will do everything we can to keep those people from hurting Harley."
Mickey nodded one more time, but McCall realized there was nothing he could do to ease the boy's conscience, which made it even worse when he thought about the possibility that they would not be finding Harley Gage, at least not alive.
McCall said, "Is it all right if I come and see you again?"
Mickey brightened a little and nodded one more time.
"Remember," McCall said, "we're a team."
Mickey brightened more and said, "I remember."
They said good-bye. Outside, they made sure that no one was waiting for them and then called a cab from a phone booth. They waited in the doorway of Kelly's pool hall across the street, where McCall finally started thinking out loud. "Who would have given Harley money?"
"KGB," Dyson said.
"I don't think so," McCall replied. "I thought of the KGB as a possibility at first, but after the two of you rescued me, the only thing the KGB would believe it owed him was a bullet in the head."
Dyson said, "Well, you tell me that I owe him."
McCall looked at him. "Did you give him money?"
"No," Dyson said. "Did you?"
"Would I be looking so hard for him if I did?"
"That just leaves Control."
"Yes," McCall said thoughtfully, and he started to wonder if that was the answer. It would be just like Control to put out a hit on Gage with one hand and give him money to get far away with the other. "But Control has never felt he owed Gage anything at all."
"Well, at least that's what he's said," Dyson said. "You know as well as I do that when the man's mouth is open, he's lying."
McCall looked up and down the street. No cab was coming yet, no out-of-place men lurked. "Hold the cab if it comes while I make a phone call."
McCall went back to the phone booth and made a call to Kostmayer's home phone.
----
Kostmayer was pissed because Control had assigned him to a stinking stakeout in New Jersey. It was disgustingly obvious Control was keeping him far away from the Gage issue. That irritated him more than he wanted to admit to himself, and not just because it left McCall without him. Dammit, Gage was a pain in the ass, but to his astonishment, Kostmayer was actually worried about him. He wanted to do something about finding him. He wanted him to be all right. Damn, there were a couple things about the guy he actually liked.
How the hell did that happen?
Kostmayer spent his waiting time devising ways to get back to Manhattan and into the company workings so he could find out something, anything, that would help McCall find Gage. Nothing seemed to work very plausibly. Even calling in sick would be so obvious it would get him locked up in a hurry. More and more it looked like he'd just have to sit this out until he was relieved, which wasn't due until his 24-hour shift was over at 6 p.m. this evening. Twenty-four hours of delay, and then he was supposed to keep his nose out of everything anyway.
Kostmayer checked his watch – noon. Nothing was happening at the apartment he was watching, and there was a phone booth on the corner. Kostmayer got out of his car and went over to the phone booth. He called his home to check the answering machine. Maybe there was some news.
He had only one message. It was only a series of telephone tone beeps, the last beep being the sound of the "one." It was enough. Kostmayer hung up, put another coin in, called McCall's home phone and beeped back – just a long-held "one." They both knew that meant Kostmayer would call a certain pay phone number at one o'clock and speak to McCall. Control would never find out – and if he did, so be it.
Kostmayer always liked McCall better than he liked Control anyway.
-----
At a few minutes before one o'clock, McCall and Dyson were at the Waldorf Astoria, heading for the lobby and the large old clock in the center. They scanned the crowded place and were both relieved that Karen Alden was not there.
"I need to make a couple calls," McCall said and headed for the side hall where the pay phones were located.
Dyson went with him, saying "I'd better check my machine, too. I got a life other than this one, you know."
As they walked together, McCall said, "I do appreciate your help, Richard."
"Yes, it's almost like old times, isn't it?" Dyson said with a faint smile. "Do you ever miss the company, Robert?"
"No," McCall said flatly.
"Me, either," Dyson said, just as flatly.
There were a couple private booths that were empty. McCall headed for one, Dyson took the other. Before he made his call, Dyson glanced over to be sure McCall was safely out of sight – because he wasn't calling his home phone.
McCall phoned his machine first and got Kostmayer's acknowledgement of his message. He was at the proper phone, and he checked his watch. It was only a minute or so before Kostmayer was due to call.
He heard Dyson's muffled voice from the next booth. He couldn't hear words, but Dyson was talking to someone. Why would he be talking to someone if he was calling his machine? Well, maybe there was a call to return. So why did McCall feel the back of his neck itch?
The pay phone rang. McCall answered. "McCall."
"It's Kostmayer."
"We haven't had a lot of luck, Mickey, but there's one possibility. Gage got money from somewhere. It might have been from Control."
"You gotta be kidding," Kostmayer said.
"Where are you?" McCall asked.
"Hoboken."
McCall sighed. "When will you be back in Manhattan?"
"I get relieved at six. But then I can check in at the company office. It won't look funny. But Control isn't going to tell me anything."
"I know. That's far too late anyway. We'll have to go talk to Control ourselves."
"Do you know where he is? I haven't seen him since I saw him at the company office yesterday when he sent me over here."
McCall smiled to himself. "I'm not sure, of course, but being at the Waldorf should help me connect with Control fairly quickly."
"Ahhh," Kostmayer said with a smile in his voice. "Do you think our company boys there have spotted you again?"
"I'm hoping they have. It'll save me a lot of trouble."
"Do you want me to call you later?"
McCall thought quickly. "Yes, at a bar called Stellas at six o'clock. If I haven't had any luck getting hold of Control, I will ask you to go to the office and see if you can find him and worm anything out of him, but do be very careful, Mickey. I don't want you putting yourself in trouble."
"Got it."
McCall hung up and waited a moment, thinking, listening. He didn't hear Dyson's voice. He was wondering whether to take a look to see if he was still in the booth beside his when Dyson ambled by, going for his cigarettes. McCall felt his head begin to hurt. Trying to figure out who he could trust and who he couldn't, what was going on and what wasn't, was getting to his blood pressure.
He made one more call, to Karen Alden. She answered.
"It's Robert McCall, Karen, I'm just checking to see that you made it home all right."
"Just fine, Robert," she said. "No one was following me, I'm sure."
"Good. We found your door, by the way, and there was some help behind it."
"But you still haven't found Harley."
"No."
"Robert, you must be very careful. You can't trust Richard Dyson."
Hearing Karen say that was not a surprise, and remarkably, made McCall feel better. At least now he knew. "Can you be any more specific, Karen?"
"No, I'm not getting anything other than he's not telling you everything he knows. I'm getting a picture of him clouded in smoke."
"And to you that means he's being dishonest?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure it's sinister. It's funny, I don't really get that he's going to injure you in anyway. He's just not being totally honest."
McCall considered that. "What do you think? Should I confront him?"
"Oh, I don't know. I wish I could tell you more."
McCall sighed. "All right. May I call you back later to see if you've seen anything else?"
"Yes, please do. Is there any way I can reach you?"
"Only by calling my phone and leaving only a message that you're calling about my electric bill. Anything else may be very dangerous."
"I understand. Your phone is tapped."
"Is that psychic knowledge?"
"No. Just common sense."
McCall bid Karen good-bye, left the booth, and approached Dyson, who was smoking at the end of the hall. Dyson put the cigarette out when he saw McCall coming. McCall tried hard not to show that he no longer trusted Dyson – he wasn't quite sure yet that he wanted Dyson to know that.
"Well, what do you want to do now?" Dyson asked.
"Are you still in this with me?" McCall asked.
"In for a penny, in for a pound."
"I heard you talking on the phone. I thought something else might have come up."
Dyson shook his head. "Just somebody about trading one of my cars for his. It can wait."
McCall was beginning to think he saw a cloud around Dyson, too, but he kept it to himself. "Then let's see if we can find Control. Maybe the direct way is the best way after all."
Dyson raised an eyebrow. "Do you know where he is?"
McCall smiled. "I'm hoping he's around here somewhere."
Both Dyson's eyebrows went up. "Here?"
"Company people have been watching this place for KGB activity. Yesterday, they spotted me and Kostmayer, and Control wasn't far behind. I'm banking on his knowing that you and I are here today." And McCall thought to himself that Dyson probably knew that, too, since it was probably Control that Dyson had been talking to on the phone in the next booth.
McCall turned and walked back toward the lobby. Dyson followed.
It would take Control a few minutes to get here. McCall turned toward Dyson and pointed to the bar. "Let's have a drink, shall we?"
Before Dyson could reply, McCall headed for the bar and sat down at a small table. Dyson sat down with him, and in a moment a waitress had their drink orders. By the time the drinks came, McCall spotted Control trying to look inconspicuous in the lobby.
"He's here," McCall said.
Dyson did not turn to look.
McCall waved a hand high in the air, and Control spotted it. McCall smiled and waved him in. Control looked glum, but resigned, and came in and sat down with him.
"Robert, what the hell are you doing?" Control asked quietly. "First you drag Kostmayer into this, now Dyson. Why don't you just let us handle it?"
"Hello to you too, Control," Dyson said.
Control gave Dyson a look, then looked away.
What a lovely little dance, McCall thought. How sincere they were in their disdain for each other, and how obvious a great lie. He looked at Control, then at Dyson, then back at Control. "Why don't we skip all the charades and get straight to the truth here? You both know what's happened to Gage and for some reason you are leading me around by the nose so I don't find out about it."
Dyson feigned looking shocked, but then he smiled. "Ah, Robert, you phoned your psychic, didn't you?"
"Psychic?" Control said incredulously.
McCall waved his hand impatiently and spoke very crisp words. "Cut the crap and tell me where Harley is. Is he dead?"
Control sighed. "I don't think so. At least I haven't gotten any such report."
"Did you give him money?" McCall asked.
"No. I did," Dyson said.
McCall looked over at Dyson, not really surprised at what he heard. "Then you know where Harley is."
"No," Dyson said. "I don't know where Harley is."
Control said, "Look, Robert, I'm sorry about the way we've dragged you around, but we knew when you found out about the Russians trying to grab Gage and the company putting a hit on him, you'd get your nose into finding him and we couldn't have that."
"Who is 'we'?" McCall asked, but he was sure he knew the answer.
"Dyson and I," Control said.
"Harley got hold of me on the phone after he got away from the Russians," Dyson said. "I couldn't get him to come in, to me or to the company or to you. All he wanted was money to get himself underground with."
"And you gave it to him," McCall said.
Dyson nodded. "I met him at my bank yesterday morning. Like you said, I owed him."
"Then Dyson called me," Control said. "The hit was already on by then, I couldn't stop it, but I could stop Kostmayer from helping you find Gage."
"Why don't you want me finding Gage?"
"Because Gage doesn't want you finding Gage."
"After all that time blaming you for his going to prison, and after you helped him after he got out, he figured he owed you," Dyson said. "He didn't want to get you or Kostmayer in the middle. All he wanted was to get as far away as fast as he could."
"Dyson gave him the money," Control said, "and between the two of us, we snarled you up and gave him the time."
"So, what you're telling me is that Gage has put himself underground and neither of you has any idea where he's gone," McCall said.
"Not a clue," Dyson said. "The way Gage wants it."
McCall looked at Control. "The hit is still out on him."
Control nodded. "I can't stop it, Robert. We can't let the Russians get him. I know he won't go over voluntarily, but the company can't risk that. But you know Gage. With some money in his pocket, he can take care of himself as well as anyone can, and if luck is with him, we'll never see or hear from him again."
McCall swallowed. He was surprised to find himself choking up. At the thought of not being able to help Gage? At the thought of never knowing what would happen to him? At the thought of Gage out there alone, running from everybody, trusting nobody for the rest of his life? Was that any way to live? But then, was there really any other way for Harley Gage to survive? Hadn't it always been leading to this? McCall shook his head. "The three of us ought to be shot for what we did to that man," he said. "We're all to blame for this. All of us."
Control looked away, but Dyson didn't. "I'm sure we'll all go to hell together," Dyson said.
-----
They drank together for a very short while, and then Control left. McCall and Dyson were not far behind him and walked out onto Fifth Avenue together. The sky was starting to cloud over, making the dirty city air seem even dirtier.
"Robert," Dyson said when they were outside, "Gage did ask me to tell you something."
McCall had been looking at the darkening clouds, but he turned to look at Dyson.
Dyson said, "He said to tell you 'thanks' and he was sorry he was such a pain in the ass."
McCall chuckled. "A pain in the ass? Maybe more of an – irritation. I actually think I might miss him."
"There was something else, too," Dyson said, took something small out of his pocket and held it out to McCall.
McCall took it. The spare key to his apartment, the one he'd given Gage. McCall turned it in his fingers, looking at it, remembering how he'd tossed it to Gage across the room only a handful of months ago.
"You want to share a cab?" Dyson asked.
McCall shook his head. "I'll walk home."
Dyson said, "I'm sorry I had to give you the runaround."
Before McCall could respond, Dyson got into one of the cabs waiting there and was gone.
McCall looked at the key in his hand again, wondering for just a second if he ought to keep looking for Harley after all, and then deciding not to. God alone knew where he was by now. And what was it Gage himself said once? Something like, "some things just can't be equalized." It was bitter to think that, because it was so damned true.
McCall put the key in his pocket and headed home.
THE END