The Taking of Libbie, SD Read Online Free PDF

to see them. You are the mushiest person I know , my inner voice told me. It also reminded me that Libbie’s problem wasn’t my problem. Your problem is getting home .
    “What do you expect me to do?” I said.
    “Chief Gustafson said the only way to catch Rush, to catch the Imposter, is by finding out who he really is, where he really lives. We can do that, he said, by investigating the things the Imposter said that were true that might have slipped through all the lies he told us. Rush was here a long time and spoke to a lot of people, and the chief thinks he might have divulged information that he didn’t mean to. The problem is, we have no way of knowing what was a lie he told about you and what was the truth he might have told about himself. Only you would know the difference.”
    It was a realistic plan, probably the only plan. We are all creatures of habit and of our own experiences. Over time, even the best-trained actor will slip out of character to reveal something of himself. He’ll start ad-libbing, remembering when he did this, or when he went there, or when he saw that. It’s only breadcrumbs of information, and we all know what happened to Hansel and Gretel when they tried to rely on them. Still, a guy could get lucky. It would probably take an enormous amount of work, yet I had to admit, I found the prospect challenging.
    On the other hand, they kidnapped me from my home and chained me to a table—my head had been aching for hours. I could sue them for everything they had. ’Course, if the Imposter looted the city’s coffers, they probably didn’t have much …
    I stared into Tracie’s eyes for a good long time, and then I beat on the metal table with both hands—shave and a haircut, two bits.
    “What does that mean?” she said.
    “Let me go.”
    “Will you help us?”
    “I’ll think about it. Now let me go.”
    Tracie spun in her chair and looked at the one-way mirror. A few moments later, the interrogation door opened, and Chief Gustafson walked in. He was followed by the desk officer who had chained me to the table and the old man who had slugged me. Behind them was a teenaged girl with a mature body and a child’s face.
    I stood as the chief walked to the table and uncuffed my hands.
    “I’m sorry about this,” he said.
    I flexed my shoulders and swung my arms about the way people sometimes do when they’re cold and want to warm themselves. My wrist was chafed and sore, and I wanted to rub it, but I refused, not unlike a professional baseball player who jogs nonchalantly to first base after being plunked with a fastball—I didn’t want the chief to know I was hurt. I didn’t want any of them to know how vulnerable I felt. I had no real idea where I was, but I knew it was too far from home.
    I tried to make my voice sound tough. “Where are the bounty hunters?” I said.
    “The two men who brought you in?” the chief said.
    “Where are they?”
    “They’re gone.”
    “Gone where?”
    “I don’t know. They left before I arrived.”
    “Who are they? Where can I find them?”
    The chief shrugged a reply.
    “Who hired them?”
    The old man stepped deeper into the interrogation room. The desk officer sidled up next to him, ready to step between us if necessary.
    “I hired them,” the old man said. There wasn’t a trace of regret in his voice.
    “Well, I hope you at least stopped payment on the check.”
    He snickered at that and stepped closer. “I’m Dewey Miller. I own most of what’s worth owning around here.”
    I recognized the look in his eye. He believed in the privileges of power. He had the most, so he demanded the most. Something else, there’s an old movie that you can catch on TCM— She Wore a Yellow Ribbon . Whenever one of his subordinates would say he was sorry for screwing up, Captain John Wayne would tell him, “Don’t apologize, mister. It’s a sign of weakness.” Miller was from that school.
    “Excuse me if I appear less than conciliatory,”