Armageddon Rag by George R.R. Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

anchovies,” the voice said.
    “You’re too fat for pizza, Jared,” Sandy said wearily. He pulled over his notepad. “You got the addresses?”
    “Yeah,” Patterson replied. He sounded grumpy. “You have a lot of ground to cover. John Slozewski lives in Camden, New Jersey, of all the goddamned places. Maggio is in Chicago. And Peter Faxon owns a big house out in Santa Fe, New Mexico. You want us to make airline reservations for you?”
    “No,” said Sandy. “I’ll drive.”
    “Drive? It’ll take you
forever
.”
    “I have as much time as I need, remember? Don’t complain. I’m saving you money. Now, give me those addresses. Phone numbers too, if you’ve got them.” He copied them down carefully, promised Jared that he’d never phone at that ridiculous hour of the morning again, no sir, and said goodbye.
    Down the road a bit, he found an International House of Pancakes, where he put away an order of bacon and eggs and a couple of gallons of coffee. It left him feeling vaguely human, even if he did slosh a little as he drove back to the motel. He packed quickly, then sat down on the edge of the bed and phoned Sharon at work.
    “I’m kind of busy right now,” she said. “Can’t it wait?”
    “No, it can’t,” Sandy said. “I’m about to check out of this place and drive down to New Jersey, and I don’t know when I’ll be free to call you again.” Briefly, he gave her his itinerary, but when he started telling her about Lynch she cut him off.
    “Look, Sandy,” she said, “it’s not as though I’m not interested. I am. But this is a bad time. I’ve got a client with me, and I’m already late for a showing. Call me tonight. Oh, and by the way, Alan phoned.” Alan was his literary agent. “He’s not thrilled about your new career as a private eye either. You’re supposed to call.”
    “Great,” Sandy said.
    “Which one of your idols was it who kept saying, ‘You knew the job was dangerous when you took it’?” Sharon asked.
    “Superchicken,” Sandy muttered.
    “Ah. I figured it was either him or Gene McCarthy.”
    “All right, I’ll call Alan. Lay off. Thanks for the message.”
    Alan Vanderbeck was on another line when Sandy phoned. Alan Vanderbeck was almost always on another line. Sandy held patiently, soothed by the knowledge that it was Jared Patterson’s money he was burning up. Finally Alan came on. “So,” he said. “The prodigal idiot. Sander, just what in the name of creation are you thinking about?”
    “Good to talk to you too, Alan. Did you get all of Patterson’s promises in writing? I left a message on your machine.”
    “Sure, I got them. You’re going to get the cover, and no cuts, and as much time as you like, and
Hedgehog
’s top rate. You care to know what that is? Five hundred bucks, Sander. That’s fifty for me. I’ve got better things to do with my time. And so do you, for that matter. I’m not thrilled by the way you leave me a message and duck out of town. I’m not thrilled by this whole thing. I told Sharon.”
    “Yeah, she told me. You’re not thrilled and she’s not thrilled. I’m the only one that’s thrilled. Good for me.”
    Alan sighed a very put-upon sigh. “How long is this going to take?”
    “I don’t know. It’s mutating in some interesting ways. Maybe a month, maybe two.”
    “Perhaps you recall having lunch with me just a few days ago? Perhaps you also recall that I reminded you that the deadline on the new novel is barely three months off? You can
not
afford to use two of those three months for some quixotic four-hundred-fifty-dollar gesture to your lost youth, Sander. Haven’t I stressed that?”
    “Damn it, Alan, don’t tell me what to do!” Sandy said, feeling a bit peevish. “I’m tired of people telling me what to do. Look, things weren’t going too well on the novel. Taking off and doing this story ought to be good for me. Maybe it will get me past my block. So I miss the deadline. Big deal. I haven’t