Chapter Twelve
Ralph and Pam drove up to the Fantago art gallery in Ralph's station wagon. Although the hours listed on the door indicated it should be open noon on Saturdays, the door was locked, the place deserted. Ralph undid his shirt buttons a little, letting the top of the suit show. They stood by the front door and, after looking up and down the street, and allowing a person to walk by, Ralph aimed his finger at the door in full concentration and they were rewarded with hearing the door unlock.
"That's nifty, Ralph," Pam said. "I should use you more trying to open the pickle jars."
"I'd probably crush them," Ralph said, as he opened up the door and they went inside. He put his hand out, keeping Pam from moving forward as he opened himself up to feel any sort of dangerous vibe. It didn't always happen that it just picked up random feelings, but he prayed that if another bomb was hidden in the art gallery, he'd be able to vibe it out.
He felt nothing of the sort even with his clothes off, and folded in a neat bundle on the floor.
"Okay, honey, let's walk around a little. Bill wants me to try to holograph in and see if we can track down Gerard or Culdero."
They wandered around, Pam seeing the risqué art for the first time. Ralph found himself drawn back to the bronze sculpture he and Bill had studied before. Pam walked up next to him. Her eyebrows climbed onto her forehead as she noticed the position of the man and woman.
"Is that possible?" she asked.
"Bill and I wondered that, too. Maybe if the couple is very limber. I suppose you and I could try it out…in a hotel…near a hospital…"
"I think I'd either wind up paralyzed or dead."
"That's what Bill and I thought." Pam felt herself intensely blushing as she stared at Ralph quizzically. Ralph noticed his gaff and grew flustered. "I mean, we didn't mention you specifically, just the, er, act, er, the position, seemed dangerous…for the woman…oh, forget it."
Suddenly, he had an idea, and crossed the gallery to the man/man statue, the one Gerard had pointed to. Pam tailed along beside him, a little wary of what he and Bill talked about when she wasn't there.
"Maybe this one might be good to vibe," he thought, picking up the bronze as Pam's brows knit together in consternation. "Gerard was…er…interested in it."
"They'd have to be boneless to do that," she mumbled.
Ralph turned to focus on the bare white wall of the room, as a holograph popped into view. The round shimmering circle enclosed a picture of Gerard, hurriedly packing a suitcase, a plane ticket lying on his bed. The vision pulled back to show the room number of his apartment, and then the name of the apartment building and the address. The image then faded.
"Pam, Gerard is leaving the country in a couple of hours. I've got to get to him now," he said, excitedly. "You take my clothes and go back home. I'll meet you there as soon as possible."
"Oh, Ralph, be careful," she said, scooping up his clothes.
"I will," he assured her with a quick peck on the lips.
He ran out the back of the gallery into the alley, took three steps then jumped and launched himself skywards. Luckily, he knew the area of town where Gerard's apartment was, and adjusting for shifts in the wind, a couple which made him cry out and flap his arms for balance, he arrived there twenty minutes later, by crashing into the side of the building right by Gerard's bedroom. Landing in a large creosote bush, he got his limbs twisted around some stout branches, and it took a minute for him to dissever his arms and legs from the bush, pull the leaves out of his hair, and get his orientation. Hopping up sixteen feet he popped over the balcony railing and approached the sliding door leading into the bedroom. The door was locked, so he pulled a little harder on it, and the door broke free of its locking mechanism and Ralph's grip. It slid forcefully open, crashing into the other side of the doorway, cracking the glass and metal frame to pieces.
"Damn," Ralph cursed softly, as he entered and faced an amazed Gerard. He was glad Bill wasn't there to criticize another destruction of a door.
"How did you—?" Gerard began.
Ralph walked up to him, lifted him by his suit lapels, ignoring his protestations, until his feet were off the floor and carried him further into the apartment, where there could be some privacy. "Remember me? You and I are going to do some talking, Gerard."
He plopped Gerard down on a chair in the living room and stood over him, glowering with anger. Bill was nearly killed because of this man sending them to Culdero's condo.
"What's going on? Where's Culdero?" Ralph asked.
"How did you do that?" Gerard asked, pointing back to the bedroom. "How did you carry me? You're so deliciously scrawny."
Ralph was definitely glad Bill wasn't there. "I'm not scrawny. And, I'm not the subject of this conversation. You are." He thrust his finger into Gerard's chest, perhaps a little too hard; Gerard shot backwards, bouncing off the back of his chair, grimacing as he rubbed where Ralph had touched him. "Ow!" he complained.
Ralph got a grip on himself, taking a few deep breaths. No one could deny that anger was a familiar expression of his; it seethed just under the surface of his otherwise reasonable personality. Bill, for all his gun-waving, bullet-shooting tendencies, followed the letter of the law when it came to interacting with criminals, and was always against any type of violence directed against perpetrators without due, defensive cause. Ralph remembered Bill's disapproving face when Ralph had mentioned he wanted just a minute all suited up in an alley with Bigsby the IRS accountant, and he also recalled Bill's censure when he found Ralph being a little too rough with Phillip Kaballa.
Perhaps if Gerard didn't talk willingly, he'd fly him around and fake dropping him. That always worked. But he committed himself to no more physical attacks.
"Talk," he said, leaning over Gerard. "Where's Culdero?"
"I don't know. I tap phones and rooms, forge papers. I don't like working for Culdero, anymore. Killing so many people, and asking me to help! I want to return to France."
"You almost killed my friend and me."
"I know. I'm sorry. Culdero is not, how do you say, 'right in the head.' He is obsessed. Talks about broken vows and promises, how Americans are despicable, his old Fraternity brothers sadly unreliable. He threatened me if I did not direct you two to the condo."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. He set up the art gallery for us to use a front, and put me in charge of it. I knew about his condo hideaway, but I don't know where he lives. He is very guarded. Very cunning. It is how he has survived so long with all of Europe searching for him."
Ralph reached the end of his questions. He was back to wishing Bill was with him, as Bill had experience questioning suspects, and knew which tactics to take to uncover hidden data. However, Gerard did seem to be spilling all the beans he was aware of. Was there anything else to ask? Ralph didn't know.
"Sit. Stay," he warned Gerard, as he crossed the room to the phone and called Bill's hospital room. When it kept ringing unanswered, Ralph figured Bill's morphine dose may have knocked out his more injured than he'd admit friend.
Strangely, Ralph got a vibe through the phone. Narrowing his eyes, he saw the familiar circle of vision come into view. There was something on the bottom of Bill's phone, something someone had placed there…Ralph recalled finding those devices in the hated O'Neil's apartment—listening devices. Someone had planted a bug in Bill's hospital room!
Ralph hung up the phone, tapping his finger on the little table, slowly getting his mind to come up with a new line of questions for Gerard. Behind him, the front door to the apartment opened just an inch, unbeknownst to either Gerard or Ralph. A grenade was flung in and the door closed as the weapon hopped twice on the carpeted floor before coming to rest at Gerard's feet. Gerard had heard the soft bouncing sounds and turned to see the grenade on the floor. He screamed out "NO!", terrifying Ralph who turned in time to get the blast full in his chest. The force knocked him over a sofa, and into a bookcase, from which he fell to the floor but the suit fully protected him. Standing up he saw the bloody disintegration of Gerard's dead body, and covering his retching mouth, he closed his eyes and turned away. It was horrible.
Is that what Bill had seen for years in Korea? Ralph doubted he could have handled such graphically violent scenes of human destruction. He couldn't get near Gerard to try to holograph off of him and learn who did this, and where he was. He just couldn't.
With voices in the hallway pounding on the door of the apartment, Ralph regrouped and pulled his mind together. Clasping his hands tightly into fists, he turned invisible and flew out the broken sliding door.
He had learned nothing really valuable and Gerard was dead.
The point went to the bomb maniac, not the guy with the magic jammies.