The Impossibles Read online

away from the cops, anda sure method of taking anything they wanted. No wonder they had somuch money.

  Malone got up, feeling slightly dazed, and left the hotel room.

  8

  By three o'clock, he was again among the living. Maybe his occupationshad had something to do with it; he'd spent about four hourssupervising Operation Dismemberment, and then listening to the reportson the dismantled Cadillacs. It was nice, peaceful, unimportant work,but there just wasn't anything else to do. FBI work was ninety-fiveper cent marking time, anyway. Malone felt grateful that there was anyaction at all in what he was doing.

  Dr. Leibowitz had found all sort of things in the commandeeredCaddies--everything from guns and narcotics to pornographic picturesin lots of three hundred, for shipment into New York City from thesuburbs where the processing plant probably was. Of course, there hadbeen personal effects, too--maps and lucky dolls and, just once, asingle crutch.

  Malone wondered about that for quite a while. Who'd just walk off andleave one crutch in a car? But people did things like that all thetime, he finally told himself heavily. There wasn't any explanationfor it, and there probably never would be.

  But in spite of the majestic assortment of valuables found in thecars, there was no sign of anything remotely resembling anelectro-psionic brain. Dr. Leibowitz had found just about everything--except what he was looking for.

  At a quarter to three, Malone gave up. The search wasn't quitefinished, but he'd heard enough to last him for a long time. Hegrabbed a cab downstairs and went over to Lynch's office to meetKettleman.

  The "social worker or something" was a large, balding man about sixfeet tall. Malone estimated his weight as close to two hundred andfifty pounds, and he looked every pound of it; his face was roundwithout being chubby, and his body was stocky and hard. He woreblack-rimmed glasses, and he was going bald in front. His face waslike a mask; it was held in a gentle, almost eager expression thatMalone would have sworn had nothing to do with the way Kettleman feltunderneath.

  Lynch performed the introductions, escorted the two of them to one ofthe interrogation rooms at the rear of the station, and left themthere, with, "If either of you guys comes up with anything, let meknow," for a parting shot.

  Kettleman blinked slowly behind his glasses. "Mr. Malone," he said, "Iunderstand that the FBI is interested in one of the--ah--adolescentsocial groups with which I work."

  "Well, the Silent Spooks," Malone said. "That's right."

  "The Spooks," Kettleman said. His voice was rather higher than Malonewould have expected, oddly breathy without much depth to it. "My, yes.I did want to talk to somebody about it, and I thought you might bethe man."

  "I'll be interested in anything you have to say," Malone saiddiplomatically. He was beginning to doubt whether he'd get any realinformation out of Kettleman. But it was impossible to tell. He satback in a hard wooden chair and tried to look fascinated.

  "Well," Kettleman said tentatively, "the boys themselves have sort ofa word for it. They'd say that there was something oddball about theSpooks. Do you understand? Not just the fact that they never drinkliquor, but--"

  "Something strange," Malone said. "Is that what you mean?"

  "Ah," Kettleman said. "_Strange._ Of course." He acted, Malonethought, as if he had never heard the word before, and was bothpleased and startled by its sound. "Perhaps I had better explain myposition a little more clearly," he said. "That will give you an ideaof just where I 'fit into' this picture."

  "Whatever you think best," Malone said, resigning himself to a verydull hour. He tried to picture Kettleman in the midst of a gang ofjuvenile delinquents. It was very hard to do.

  "I'm a social worker," Kettleman said, "working on an individual basiswith these--social groups that the adolescents have formed. It's myjob to make friends with them, become accepted by them, and try toturn their hostile impulses toward society into more useful, moreacceptable channels."

  "I see," Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him."That's fine."

  "Oh, we don't expect praise, we social workers," Kettleman saidinstantly. "The worth of a good job well done, that's enough for us."He smiled. The effect was a little unsettling, as if a hippopotamushad begun to laugh like a hyena. "But to continue, Mr. Malone," hesaid.

  "Of course," Malone said. "Certainly."

  "I've worked with many of the organizations in this neighborhood,"Kettleman said. "And I've been quite successful in getting to knowthem, and in being accepted by them. Of course, the major part of myjob is more difficult, but--well, I'm sure that's enough about my ownbackground. That isn't what you're interested in, now, is it?"

  He looked penitent. Malone said, "It's all right. I don't mind." Heshifted positions on the hard chair.

  "Well, then," Kettleman said, with the air of a man suddenly gettingdown to business. He leaned forward eagerly, his eyes big and brightbehind the lenses. "There's something very peculiar about those boys,"he said in a whisper.

  "Really?" Malone said.

  "Very peculiar indeed," Kettleman said. "My, yes. All of the othersocial groups are afraid of them."

  "Big, huh?" Malone said. "Big strong boys who--"

  "Oh, my, no," Kettleman said. "My goodness, no. All of the Spooks arerather slight, as a matter of fact. They've got _something_, but itisn't strength."

  "My goodness," Malone said tiredly.

  "I doubt if--in the language of my own groups--any one of the Spookscould punch his way out of a paper bag," Kettleman said. "It's morethan that."

  "Frankly," Malone said, "I'm inclined to agree with you. But what isthis something that frightens everyone else?"

  Kettleman leaned even closer. "I'm not sure," he said softly. "I can'tsay for certain, Mr. Malone. I've only heard rumors."

  "Well," Malone said, "rumors might--"

  "Rumors are a very powerful force among my groups, Mr. Malone,"Kettleman said. "I've learned, over the years, to keep my ear to theground, as it were, and pay very close attention to rumors."

  "I'm sure," Malone said patiently. "But what did this particular rumorsay?"

  "Well," Kettleman said, and stopped. "Well," he said again. And atlast he gulped and got it out. "Magicians, Mr. Malone. They say theSpooks are magicians--that they can come and go at will. Makethemselves invisible. All sorts of things. Of course, I don't believethat, but--"

  "Oh, it's quite true," Malone said, solemn faced.

  "It's what?"

  "Perfectly true," Malone said. "We know all that."

  "Oh, my," Kettleman said. His face took on a whitish cast. "Oh, mygoodness," he said. "Isn't that--isn't that amazing." He swallowedhard. "True all the time," he said.

  "Magicians. I--"

  "You see, this information isn't new to us," Malone said.

  "Oh," Kettleman said. "No. Of course not. My. It's--ratherdisconcerting to think about, isn't it?"

  "There," Malone said, "I agree with you."

  Kettleman fell silent. Malone offered him a cigarette, but the socialworker refused with a pale smile, and Malone lit one for himself. Hetook a couple of puffs in the silence, and then Kettleman said, "Well,Mr. Malone, Lieutenant Lynch did say that I was to tell you everythingI could about these boys."

  "I'm sure we all appreciate that," Malone said at random, wonderingexactly what he meant.

  "There is--well, there is one more thing," Kettleman said."Ordinarily, of course, I wouldn't say anything about this to anyone.In my line of work, Mr. Malone, you learn the need for confidence. Forbeing able to keep one's word."

  "Certainly," Malone said, wondering what startling new fact was on itsway now.

  "And we certainly try to keep the confidence of the boys," Kettlemansaid maddeningly. "We wouldn't betray them to the police in any wayunless it were absolutely necessary."

  "Betray them? Mr. Kettleman," Malone said, "just what are you tryingto tell me?"

  "It's about their meeting place," Kettleman said. "Oh, my. I'm not atall sure I ought to
tell you this." He wrung his pale fat handstogether and looked at Malone appealingly.

  "Now, now," Malone said, feeling foolish. "It's perfectly all right.We don't want to hurt the Spooks. Not any more than we