The corporal, looking phlegmatic, almost bored, levelled a small tube at a spot on the wall over Alec’s head. Dave heard a soft pop!, and a thin tinkle. Alec stood motionless for a few seconds, his face even more strained, as if he were exerting the limit of his will against some unseen force, then slid quietly to the floor. The tonic spasm in his face relaxed, and his features smoothed into those of a tired and petulant, and very bewildered, little boy.
‘Two of you birds carry him,’ directed the corporal. ‘Let’s get going.’
The sergeant was the last to leave. He turned at the door and spoke to Mother Johnston. ‘Have you seen the Fader lately?’
‘The Fader?’ She seemed puzzled. ‘Why, he’s in jail.’
‘Ah, yes.. . so he is.’ He went out.
Magee refused the drink that Mother Johnston offered him.
Dave was surprised to see that he appeared worried for the first time. ‘I don’t understand it,’ Magee muttered, half to himself, then addressed the one-handed man. ‘Ed-bring me up to date.’
‘Not much news since they tagged you, Fader. The armistice was before that. I thought from the papers that things were going to be straightened out for once.’
‘So did I. But the government must expect war if they are going in for general conscription.’ He stood up. ‘I’ve got to have more data. Al!’ The kitchen boy stuck his head into the room.
‘What ‘cha want, Fader?’
‘Go out and make palaver with five or six of the beggars. Look up their “king”. You know where he makes his pitch?’
‘Sure-over by the auditorium.’
‘Find out what’s stirring, but don’t let them know I sent you.,
‘Right, Fader. It’s in the bag.’ The boy swaggered out.
‘Molly.’
‘Yes, Fader?’
‘Will you go out, and do the same thing with some of the business girls? I want to know what they hear from their customers.’ She nodded agreement. He went on, ‘Better look up that little redhead that has her beat up on Union Square. She can get secrets out of a dead man. Here-‘ He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and handed her several. ‘You better take this grease . . . You might have to pay off a cop to get back out of the district.’
Magee was not disposed to talk, and insisted that Dave get some sleep. He was easily persuaded, not having slept since he entered Coventry. That seemed like a lifetime past; he was exhausted. Mother Johnston fixed him a shakedown in a dark, stuffy room on the same underground level. It had none of the hygienic comforts to which he was accustomed-air-conditioning, restful music, hydraulic mattress, nor soundproofing-and he missed his usual relaxing soak and auto-massage, but he was too tired to care. He slept in clothing and under covers for the first time in his life.
He woke up with a headache, a taste in his mouth like tired sin, and a sense of impending disaster. At first he could not remember where he was-he thought he was still in detention Outside. His surrounds were inexplicably sordid; he was about to ring for the attendant and complain, when his memory pieced in the events of the day before. Then he got up and discovered that his bones and muscles were painfully sore, and-which was worse-that he was, by his standards, filthy dirty. He itched.
He entered the common room, and found Magee sitting at the table. He greeted Dave. ‘Hi, kid. I was about to wake you. You’ve slept almost all day. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
‘Okay-shortly. Where’s the ‘fresher?’
‘Over there.’
It was not Dave’s idea of a refreshing chamber, but he managed to take a sketchy shower in spite of the slimy floor. Then he discovered that there was no air blast installed, and he was forced to dry himself unsatisfactorily with his handkerchief. He had no choice in clothes. He must put back on the ones he had taken off, or go naked. He recalled that he had seen no nudity anywhere in Coventry, even at sports-a difference in customs, no doubt.
He put his clothes back on, though his skin crawled at the touch of the once-used linen.