“You want to tell me exactly what happened, sir?”
Two grim-faced policemen stood on the back porch. Simon rubbed his wrist, grimacing at the pain. He had tried to rough himself up and had overdone it. Maura paced back and forth near the railing, a cigarette smoldering in her fingers.
“Um,” said Simon, wincing. “I went out the back door, on my way to the driveway. I wanted to go get some fast food for supper.”
Maura shook her head and ground out the cigarette. “You should have had the stroganoff for supper, boy. None of this would have happened if you had just eaten my stroganoff for supper…”
“Ma’am,” said the officer. “Please.” Maura fell silent. “Show us what happened, sir.”
Simon pointed. “The van was locked, and I was digging for my keys. I thought I heard someone coming up the slope from the woods. When I turned around this man in a black uniform was there. He pushed me, I hit my head on the driveway, and blacked out. When I woke up, he was gone, and so was my van.”
“And so were your car keys and wallet,” said the officer.
“No. Well, not quite. My keys were gone. I found my wallet,” Simon pointed, “lying over there, against the garage door. All the money was gone, though.”
“How much did you have?” said the officer.
“About a hundred and twenty dollars,” said Simon.
“Did he take any credit cards, your driver’s license, things like that?”
Simon shook his head. “No. Just the money.”
The cops were buying the story. Simon felt a twinge of hope, and he tried to keep it off his face.
“You look a bit ragged,” said the officer with the notepad. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No. I’m fine, considering,” said Simon. “I just have some scrapes.”
“Mmm,” said the officer. “This man. What did he look like?”
“Um,” said Simon. “He…was short, and kind of fat. Caucasian. He had slicked-back hair and a big jaw.” Simon realized he had just described Senator Wycliffe. “Um…brown hair, and…blue eyes, I think. They might have been green. I wasn’t really sure.”
“That seems pretty thorough, considering you only saw the man for a few seconds,” said the officer. “Is it possible you’ve seen him before?”
Simon blinked. “I…you know, I have. I saw him outside work.”
“Where do you work?”
“Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping,” said Simon. “He asked me for some change.”
“Splendid,” said Maura. She lit another cigarette. “Just splendid. My son has a stalker.”
“Well,” said the officer. “We have what we need. We’ll put out a description with your vehicle’s make and license plate number. It’s a bit weird, frankly. Considering you drove an old Aerostar van with almost two hundred thousand miles on it, it would make no sense for someone to follow you and steal it. A crime of opportunity. The guy saw his chance and took it.”
“Will you be able to catch this hoodlum?” said Maura.
The officer with the notepad shrugged. “We’ll probably find the van someplace in a few weeks. Or it’ll be stripped for parts. The money’s as good as gone. As for the perpetrator himself, we’ll do our best.”
“Thanks,” said Simon.
“We’ll send a car past a few times tonight. Call if you have any more trouble. Sir. Ma’am.” The officers turned and walked back to their cruiser.
Simon watched them drive away and sighed in relief.
They had bought it
He looked at his mother. “How was bingo?”
Maura scowled. “Don’t give me that smart talk, boy!” She paced back and forth as much as her stiff legs would allow, a fresh cigarette smoldering in her fingers. “I come back home and find out that you’ve been mugged. Mugged!”
He felt bad for deceiving her, but the truth would have upset her even more. “I’m fine.”
“You should have called me right away,” said Maura.
“And what good would that have done?” said Simon. “You would have driven straight home and worried the entire way. You don’t drive well when you’re worried.”
“I should have been here…”
“I’m twenty-six years old, Mom!” said Simon, his temper flaring. “I can take care of myself!”
Maura stomped towards him. “So well that you go to work for that Wycliffe villain in that horrible neighborhood, so well that some drifter tracks you home and steals your van and money! Yes, boy, you take care of yourself very well.” Her smoke-scented breath washed over Simon.
Simon snatched the cigarette from her hands and ground it out beneath his shoe. “Don’t blow that thing in my face!” Maura blanched and stepped back. Simon turned away, his hands curling into fists. “You’ve had four since the cops showed up. You don’t need any more. And I’m fine. It could have been worse.” He thought of the winged creature. “But…but at least he has what he wants. He won’t came back.”
They stood in silence for a while.
Maura touched his shoulder. “Do you want some eggs?”
Simon turned. “I should have had the stroganoff.”
Maura snorted. “Right you are, boy. Well. I’ll fry up some eggs. I’ll call you when they’re ready.” She turned and walked back into the house.
Simon leaned against the porch railing and blew out a long breath. The sun had almost gone down, and shadows cloaked the woods. Soon the bugs would come out in force. And perhaps other winged things would take to the air under the cover of darkness.
“Godspeed, Conmager,” muttered Simon. He hoped the strange man eluded his pursuers. Perhaps Simon could put this whole thing behind him. He wanted to forget Conmager and the doubts he had raised.
Most of all, he wanted to forget the winged thing with its iron claws and burning eyes.
Simon walked into the kitchen. Maura stood at the stove, a frying pan sizzling on the burner. She laid out strips of raw bacon on a metal rack.
“It’s hot in here, boy,” said Maura. “Why don’t you go wait in the living room? I’ll bring in the TV trays when supper’s ready.”
“You really don’t have to do all this, Mom,” said Simon.
Maura pointed an imperious finger. “Nonsense. My only son gets mugged, I can do something nice for him. Go.”
Simon went.
He shut the living room door, enjoying the air conditioned cool. A stack of his books sat besides the couch. He could study down here tonight, he supposed, and keep his mother company. He sat down on the couch, put his feet up, and reached for his notes.
The phone rang. Simon reached over and picked it up. “Hello?”
“Simon Wester.” The voice rasped with static.
Simon stiffened. “Conmager?”
“I have escaped. But do not go outside tonight. Not for any reason. They will be looking for me.”
The line went dead.
Simon got to his feet, closed all the curtains, and did his best to pretend the phone call had never happened.
The phone rang again. Simon hesitated, shrugged, and picked it up. “What?”
“Well, good to hear from you too, college boy.”
Simon blinked. “Katrina?”
“So you do remember me?” She did not sound happy. “How nice. Pity you couldn’t remember our date tonight.”
“What…oh, no. I forgot,” said Simon. His encounter with Conmager and the winged creature had pushed Katrina from his mind.
“Very perceptive,” said Katrina. “I don’t like being stood up, college boy.”
“It’s not my fault,” said Simon.
“Oh, this ought to be original,” said Katrina. “Let’s see if you can think up something new.”
“I was mugged,” said Simon.
“And then you were held for ransom?” said Katrina. “Right?”
“No,” said Simon. “He jumped me in my driveway, took my keys, my money, and then took off with my van. The police just left.”
There was a pause.
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“Oh my God,” said Katrina. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“Yup,” said Simon. “I’m going to have to take my mom's car to work tomorrow.”
“My God,” said Katrina. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Some bumps and bruises.” He forced a laugh. “You know, I always thought I’d get mugged outside work or your apartment building. Never in my own driveway.”
“I'm coming over," said Katrina.
“You don’t have to…”
“Yes, I do,” said Katrina. “And I’m taking you out, for once, tomorrow night. Got a problem with that, college boy?”
“Um…no,” said Simon.
“Good. See you in about twenty minutes.” Katrina hung up.
Simon went to the kitchen. “Mom? We’re having a guest.”
###