Page 74 - Tales Apocalyptic and Dystopian

Cannon’s Last Case

of a young woman’s hand. I have no idea about your trivial physical
characteristics; at least not from listening to you. What I heard was a
damsel in distress sufficiently intense to lead her to my door. What’s
left of my curiosity and chivalry led me to open it rather than tell you
to shove off. I have long been in retirement. You do realize that
Arkadin Manor caters to guests unlikely to leave alive, I trust.”
Mary Chase stepped back a pace, an embarrassed grin marring her
placid features.
“No, I’m not married. Gosh, that’s an awfully personal thing to
mention in public.”
“Didn’t used to be. You want my help, you’ll answer my questions.
Come on; let’s walk out to the Garden of Eden. It’s about time for
my constitutional, anyway. Anything we say here can be overheard
and I only have one chair in my unpadded cell.”
Cannon took her elbow and turned in the direction of the faintly
glowing emergency exit sign at the end of the hall. She shrank
involuntarily from his touch, unaccustomed to any physical
manifestation of courtliness. They walked in silence to the door
plastered with a notice warning against opening it except in case of
fire, flood, earthquake or terrorist attack. He pushed it open and
sickly gray sunlight streamed into their faces.
“I disabled the alarm long ago. No reason to go out of my way to
get out into the open. Just turn left at that trash-processing
building—the one with the chimney—and we’ll be in the garden. A
nice sunny day, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course. I hadn’t noticed, Spike. May I call you ‘Spike?’ I
know you’re an old guy, but I’ll feel more comfortable if I can be
informal.”
“Certainly, Miss Chase. I realize the seriousness of your concern is
not denied by such a mode of address. The culture has changed in so
many ways! You are a member of an educated elite in this country; I
am a detective from the poor side of town, a graduate of the school
of hard knocks. Status and manners have gone their separate ways.
Ah, here we are.”
They entered an outdoor storage area for discarded plumbing
fixtures, broken concrete and empty plastic containers, stacked high
on pallets in rows. It was surrounded by a chain-link fence, the gate
to which had been locked before Cannon produced a key. He

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