Part 71 (1/2)
”What do you mean: half-witted?”
”He only got a piece of the thing, not the whole solution.”
”I don't follow.”
”Even Kissoon didn't know what the Art was. He had clues, but only clues. It's vast. It collapses time and place. It makes everything one again. The past, the future and the dreaming moment between...one immortal day...”
”Beautiful,” Grillo said.
”Would Swift approve?”
”f.u.c.k Swift.”
”Somebody should have.”
”So...Omaha?”
”That's where we start. That's where all the lost mail of America ends up, and it may have some clues for us. People know stuff, Grillo. Even without realizing it, they know. That's what makes us wonderful.”
”And they write it down?”
”Yes. Then they send the letters out.”
”And they end up in Omaha.”
”Some of them. Pay for the cheeseburger. I'll be waiting outside.”
He did, and she was.
”I should have eaten,” he said. ”I'm suddenly hungry.”
D'Amour didn't leave until late in the evening, and when he did he left two exhausted storytellers behind him. He took copious notes, flipping the pages of his pad back and forth as he tried to make sense of the way fragments of information related to one another.
When Howie and Jo-Beth were talked out, he gave them his card with a New York address and number on it, scrawling another, private number on the back.
”Move as soon as you can,” he advised. ”Tell n.o.body where you're going. n.o.body at all. And when you get there- wherever it is-change your names. Pretend you're married.”
Jo-Beth laughed.
”Old-fas.h.i.+oned, but why not?” D'Amour said. ”People don't gossip about married folks. And as soon as you've arrived, call me and tell me where I'll be able to find you. I'll be in contact from then on. I can't promise guardian angels, but there are forces that can watch out for you. I've got a friend called Norma I'd like you to meet. She's good at finding watchdogs.”
”We can buy a dog for ourselves,” Howie said.
”Not her kind you can't. Thank you for all you've told me. I have to get going. It's a long drive.”
”You driving to New York?”
”I hate flying,” he said. ”I had a bad experience in the air one time, minus plane. Remind me to tell you about it. You should know the dirt on me now I know it about you.”
He went to the door, and let himself out, leaving the small apartment reeking of European cigarettes.
”I need some fresh air,” Howie said to Jo-Beth once he'd gone. ”Want to walk with me?”