Page 56 of Shadow Ticket

Somewhere out beyond the western edge of the Old World is said to stand a wonder of our time, a statue hundreds of meters high, of a masked woman draped in military gear less ceremonial than suited to action in the field.

Nothing else around for uncounted miles of ocean, only the lofty figure, wind, weather, ocean.

Her facial expression, hair and brow at their forbidding height undefined, an openwork visor of some darkly corroded metal protecting, some say hiding, her identity, though now and then aircraft at this altitude have reported glimpses of something like a face behind the mask, more specific and somehow more familiar than faces commonly found on public statuary, keeping a direct gaze at the viewer, as if she’s just about to speak.

Like somebody we knew once a long time ago.

“Statue of Liberty,” guesses Bruno.

“Nope,” Stuffy replies, “and we ain’t Gallagher and Shean either. There is no Statue of Liberty, Bruno, no such thing, not where you’re going.”

“You said you’re taking me back to the States.”

“We are, and then again we’re not.”

“Meaning what?”

“It’s the U.S. but not exactly the one you left. There’s exile and there’s exile.”

All night long, between watches, sleepless, not always sure what they’re dreaming and what they’ve drifted out of dreaming back into however briefly…

faces turning from time to time to gaze back down their wake, turning together and drifting upward as if for signs of intention from above, if not quite yet in terror or wonder, at least put on notice—their sight lines briefly converging at the same place in the sky where clouds invisible till dawn are towering toward an altitude still to be reached, a shape as yet untaken, unimagined.

Whatever counter-domain of exile this is they have wandered into, they will be headed not back into any sunrise but west, toward a frontier as yet only suspected, as the days sweep over them—

—

As Hicks begins to understand he’s not going back to the States right away, that what he thought mattered to him is now foreclosed and he’s stuck over here maybe forever, he has a moment of panic. “What’m I spoze to do, I can’t even speak the language.”

Terike zooms right in. “Time you started learning, isn’t it. Here, a tomato. Say ‘paradicsom.’ ”

“Which one, you or it?”

“Too difficult, let’s try ‘csókolj meg.’ Means ‘kiss me.’ Go ahead, try it.”

“Csókolj meg.”

“Oh all right, if you insist.” She kisses him. “Hmm, could use some work, let’s hear it again.”

“Wait, stick around, like to take a quick snort here—what is this now, ain’t Shalimar, ain’t Jungle Gardenia—”

“It’s called Mitsouko. You like it?”

“Can’t be sure till I know where you put it exactly, if you can just hold still a second—”

“Mi a kibaszott,” not entirely to herself, “what am I getting into now?”

—

Hicksie, it’s me—

This is what you call a “quick out and back in”? Hope you found that “big-time” payoff you were hoping for.

On the hop myself lately, somebody must be hiring extra truant officers, every time you turn around there’s another one. Paddy wagons, dogcatcher nets, arrest warrants, the works. Not so many places to hide as there were, not even safe under our old Viaduct anymore.

Riding the Beerline around town, thinking one of these days I should just stay on and keep going, all the way out west. You remember Zinnia, she gave me that glow-in-the-dark watch?

I’ve been teaching her how to get on and off slow freights, she has a natural gift for it, and it looks like things are getting serious.

She keeps throwing hints we should team up and go cross-country.

There’s supposed to be plenty of work out on the Coast, paying better than this burg.

I can’t be boosting cartons of Luckies all my life, and Zin, no big surprise, she wants to get into pictures.

They’re always looking for “us Ruby Keeler types,” she says.

How would I know. Too much else going on in movie theaters to be looking at the screen.

I wish you could meet her, wish you were around even just to talk to about this, everybody else’s got their own problems. Not complaining, but could really use some advice, even yours.

People up on Walnut Street send their regards. Otto and Hildegard say fish fry ain’t the same without you. Hoagie Hivnak turns out to be a regular Joe for an old guy, tries to pass me a free cone sometimes if nobody’s looking.

You said I should stay in touch with the U-Ops office. Honestly I tried to but soon as Mr. Crosstown saw it was me, he made a face and reached for the phone and not needing any more gangbusters in my life just then, it was on with the breeze machine and I haven’t been back since.

Luckily Lew Basnight saw what was going on and says he’ll lend me and Zin the fare out to California.

“God help you, kid,” he keeps muttering at me, “like a dope habit. You think you’re having fun, you’re really miserable but can’t let it go.

Meantime somebody just started shooting at you.

” So on—forks in the road, close shaves, mistakes he wished he didn’t make, another one of those pep talks you guys are so good at.

“You and every would-be private eye west of the Rockies drawn into that old L.A. vacuum cleaner, little offices opening up all over town, everybody hungry, still mostly divorce cases so far. Eternal youth, big Hollywood playpen, whatsoever—but someday they’ll lose that innocence. They’ll find out.”

“Maybe they’ll keep finding new ways to be innocent.”

Which got me a funny look. “Better if somebody tells you now—innocent and not guilty ain’t always the same.”

No idea what that means, but I have a feeling I’m about to get it.

Time to put them street kiddie days behind me, not so little and speedy no more, if life was a ballpark you’d say maybe time to move from shortstop out to where I can range around, keeping long ones from going into the stands. While I can still hit.

Your first question will be, have I shot anybody yet. Don’t argue, I know how you think by now. Sure would like to get into details on that, but like you always tell me, put anything in writing and it’s only buying trouble down the line.

Really wanted to say about Stuffy Keegan—I know what happened to him and so do you, we both saw the same thing under the ice but who’ll ever believe us?

Just to keep everything professional I went out and tried to track down everybody I remember Stuffy doing business with, which was plenty, talk about legwork, kept ringing up No Sales, and after enough of it, seemed like that U-boat was the best bet after all.

Don’t know how late you’ve been staying up, but if you can get next to a shortwave set nobody minds being on all night, keep it warm, tuned and biased, sometimes if you’re lucky you can pick up by skywave some news about the U-13, maybe a direct broadcast from the boat itself.

Frequencies keep changing, but it’ll be somewhere inside the 3- to 30-megacycle band.

Sometimes there’ll be a voice I’m pretty sure is Stuffy in person.

You’d have to listen and see what you think.

Meantime there’s the Santa Fe Chief whistling all aboard, so I’ll stop here and pick it up again when Zin and me get to California. Hope you’ll come out sometime and see us. Right now, we’ve got a couple of sunsets to chase.

Best pals always,

Skeet