Empties by George; Zebrowski Page A

to bring this up, but can you recall anything else about what happened at the church?”  
    She sat down carefully in the chair across from him, by the far window. “I was too far back to see much. What did happen?” She crossed her legs and leaned back, and he felt that despite her bouncy manner she was completely in control of herself.  
    “They say that someone threw something, and that the priest may have had a stroke or a heart attack. No one’s been able to describe the person who threw the... stuff over the altar rail.”  
    “Who could have done such a thing?”  
    “Looked like garbage from a butcher shop. Cow’s brains maybe.”  
    “I remember feeling dizzy.” She glanced at the cheese twists as if annoyed that he wasn’t having any.  
    He waited uneasily for her to continue. She smiled as if at his discomfort, then said, “Sounds as though you’re looking for a vandal. I didn’t think the NYPD had the resources to spend time on pranks.” She paused. “Of course, it is sad about the priest. I didn’t really see him become ill, but I wasn’t feeling all that well myself when I went in—I was looking for a place to sit down.” She smiled and looked away from him. “I’m not very religious.”  
    Benek found himself watching her as she spoke, admiring her straight, delicate nose and finely sculpted lips that were just full enough, and he felt like a boy of fourteen faced with a grown woman that he could never have. Finally, he stood up and said, “Thank you for your help. Here’s my card. Please call me if you recall anything more.” He looked at his watch. “I have to hurry to a lunch appointment.”  
    She uncrossed her legs and said, “Thank you for helping me,” then stood up to show him out.  
    “It was routine,” he said, glad that she had forgotten his rudeness to her at their first meeting.  
     
    He met Gibney on Fiftieth Street. They went into a place called the Ho-Ho Restaurant and were shown to a table under a picture of the Great Wall of China. The place was almost empty after the lunch hour and seemed to belong to another lost city. He tried to recall if this restaurant had once closed, but obviously it was still here; maybe it had closed and reopened.  
    “What you need,” Gibney said, “is a real vacation. On a boat, sailing around for at least a month or two.”  
    Benek smiled. “Is that what you have in mind for yourself?”  
    Gibney nodded. “Been saving up all my life. Sailing along the Florida coast, maybe in the Caribbean—that’s the plan.”  
    “Pirates will get you these days,” Benek replied.  
    Gibney shook his head. “There’s enough safe inland waterways to suit me just fine.”  
    “I can tell it’s your dream.”  
    Gibney nodded. “Just imagine. I’m on my boat, anchored in a cove, asleep below decks. The sun will still be up when I get up and go topside. Put a gun to my head and I’ll tell you it’s what I really want. And it’s not an impossible wish. It’s exactly what I’ll have when I retire about a month from now.”  
    Benek stared at him, thinking that this was the kind of man who should have been his father.  
    “You’re invited,” Gibney added, “to come visit me on the boat.”  
    Benek smiled. “Thanks.”  
    “Of course, I won’t be around when you catch our practical joker. Maybe there’s no one, and all this happens by itself, for reasons we’ll never discover.”  
    They were silent under the photomural of the Great Wall, and Benek thought that Gibney might lose patience with him.  
    “You think I’ll catch him?” Benek asked.  
    “Or them,” Gibney said. “Sure. I’m retiring, so I won’t disagree. You’ll just have to see for yourself. When you do, send me a postcard. Or better still, just come down for a visit.”  
    Benek sighed and nodded.  
    “The lemon chicken here is the best,” Gibney said.  
    “What—did you have it in China?” Benek asked.  
    “No.”