Strangers

listeners heard about the photographs, they would know they had a traitor in their midst, and they would surely find him, and there would be no more notes or photos forthcoming.
        "I've got news, too," Parker said. "Ms. Wycombe, your editor, left a message on your answering machine. Twilight in Babylon had another printing, and there are now a hundred thousand copies in the stores."
        "Good God, I'd forgotten the book! Since Lomack's house four days ago, I haven't thought about anything but this crazy situation."
        "Ms. Wycombe has more good news she wants to share, so you're to call her as soon as you get a chance."
        "I'll do that. Meanwhile… seen any interesting pictures?" Dom asked, indirectly inquiring if any more Polaroids had been received.
        "Nope. No amusing notes, either." When the headlights of passing cars swept across the booth, the thin skin of flowing water on the transparent walls flared briefly with a rippling-shimmering brilliance. Parker said, "But something came in the mail that'll knock your socks off, buddy. You've identified three of the names on those moon posters at Lomack's. So how'd you like to hear who the fourth one is?"
        "Ginger? I forgot to tell you. I think her name's on the motel registry. Dr. Ginger Weiss of Boston. I intend to call her tomorrow."
        "You've stolen some of my thunder. But you'll be surprised to hear you got a letter today from Dr. Weiss. She sent it to Random House on December twenty-sixth, but it got caught in their bureaucracy. Anyway, she's at the end of her rope, see, and then she gets hold of a copy of your book, gloms your photo, and she gets this feeling she's met you before, and that you are a part of what's been happening to her."
        "Do you have the letter with you?" Dom asked excitedly.
        Parker had it in his hand, waiting. He read it, glancing now and then at the night beyond the booth.
        "I've got to call her right away," Dom said when Parker finished the letter. "Can't wait till morning now. I'll talk to you again tomorrow night. Nine o'clock."
        "If you'll be calling from the motel, where the phones are likely to be tapped, there's no point in my running out to a phone booth."
        "You're right. I'll call you at home. Take care," Dom said.
        "You, too." With mixed feelings, Parker put the receiver on the hook, relieved that these inconvenient nightly journeys to a pay phone were at an end, but also certain that he would miss the intrigue.
        He stepped out of the phone booth, into the rain, and he was almost disappointed when no one took a shot at him.
        
        Boston, Massachusetts.
        Pablo Jackson had been buried that morning, but he was with Ginger Weiss throughout the afternoon and evening. Like a ghost, his memory haunted her, a smiling revenant in the chambers of her mind.
        Keeping to herself in the guestroom at Baywatch, she tried to read, could not concentrate. When not preoccupied with memories of the old magician, she was eaten up by worry, wondering what would become of her.
        She got into bed at a quarter past midnight and was reaching for the switch to turn off the lamp when Rita Hannaby came to tell her that Dominick Corvaisis was on the phone and that she could take the call in George's study, down the hall, adjacent to the master bedroom. Excited and trepidatious, Ginger put on a robe over her pajamas.
        The study was warm and shadowy with dark oak paneling. The Chinese carpet was beige and forest-green, and the stained-glass lamp on the desk was either a genuine Tiffany or a superb reproduction.
        George's puffy eyes made it clear that the call woke him. He began surgery early most mornings and was usually in bed by nine-thirty.
        "I'm sorry," Ginger told him.
        "No need," George said. "Isn't this what we've been hoping for?"
        "Maybe," she said, unwilling to raise her hopes.
        Rita said, "We'll give you privacy."
        "No," Ginger said. "Stay. Please." She went to the desk, sat down, picked up the uncradled handset. "Hello? Mr. Corvaisis?"
        "Dr. Weiss?" His voice was strong yet melodic. "Writing to me was the best thing you could've done. I don't think you're nuts. Because you're not alone, Doctor. There are more of us with strange problems."
        Ginger tried to respond, but her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "I… I'm sorry… I'm not… I