The Boy Who Could Draw Tomorrow by Quinn Sinclair Read Free Book Online

and moved across the cool, irregular surface of the Mexican tiles.
    She'd had a wall phone installed, white to go with the dominant color in the room. She lifted the receiver. She felt grateful and generous. She was in a great hurry to share her good fortune. What had Hal said? A man with sad eyes who thought her family worth complimenting? What a good person this cab-driver must be. Imagine, in this day and age, in New York, going to all that trouble to return someone's property. Who knows, the poor man might have even gotten a ticket while he went inside to check with the airline. Certainly a little after nine on a Sunday night wasn't too late to call, to thank the man and let him know that at least one person appreciated an act of such old-fashioned decency.
    Twenty-five? She'd send him fifty! It was worth it. He needed it more than they did. Just look at how comfortably they were living! Fifty—she'd make the check out for fifty, and she'd tell the man it was on the way.
    She dialed information, gave the name, the address in Queens—and then she dialed the number.
    The phone had rung so many times that Peggy was just about ready to give up, when a gruff and breathless voice on the other end answered, "Max Tauber speaking."
    "Mr. Tauber," Peggy exclaimed, concerned that she'd awakened him, despite the early hour. "Mr. Tauber," she repeated, "I hope I'm not disturbing you. My name is Peggy Cooper. I'm the woman whose pocketbook you rescued from your cab a week or so ago. I'm calling to thank you, and to let you know I'd like to send you a reward for all the trouble you took."
    The silence that greeted these remarks was so prolonged that Peggy began to wonder if she even had the right person at the other end of the line. But then the man cleared his throat and said.
    "Oh shit, now I remember you! Yeah, you have that cute little blond-haired kid and the nice old man. I'm afraid I'm not really playing with a full deck these days—it took me a minute to place you. But I had a pretty spectacular car accident a while back, and it's kind of pushed everything else to the side."
    "Accident?" Peggy said weakly. "When? What happened?"
    He named a date, but Peggy hardly heard it as her heart had begun to knock against her ribs so violently she could feel it. An accident, and that very day Sam had . . . "What? What were you saying, Mr. Tauber? I'm sorry I couldn't hear you."
    "... almost went to meet my Maker flying off the 59th Street Bridge on my way back to the city," he was saying. "I'm in a wheelchair—the doctor says it'll be at least six weeks before I can walk again. But hell—it's a complete miracle I'm even alive, so I'm not complaining!"
    Peggy felt something go funny in her legs. The muscles up and down the backs of her thighs buzzed as if electrodes had been attached to the fibers and were firing off in some kind of infernal pattern.
    "Forgive me," she breathed, "but are you saying your cab went off a bridge?"
    "Damn right it did, lady. Some maniac driving about a hundred miles an hour—probably tear-assing out to Kennedy to get a plane—came at me in my lane. All I could do was try to avoid a head-on collision and swerve to the right. Well, I did, but the car skidded, and the next thing I knew I was bound for glory over the side. Only God's grace could have seen to it that there was a police patrol boat practically on top of me when I hit the water. I got out of the cab somehow, and they picked me up. Nobody can believe I survived. Kind of makes you think there might be a Santa Claus after all, you know what I mean?"
    By now Peggy was so strangled with foreboding she could scarcely breath. God in heaven, what did all this mean ? "Mr. Tauber,"  she finally managed to stammer, "I'm profoundly glad to hear that you're going to be all right. I'll send you the reward tomorrow. You take care now!" And without waiting for him to say another word, she sent the receiver clattering back down on the phone.
    ***
    It wasn't