Picking the Ballad's Bones by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough Page B

American
embassy understands that you are not to leave Britain. We'll
require your testimony against the terrorist."
    "You mean, you know I ain't
him?"
    "That's right, sir. He surrendered in
London a few moments ago. We received a telephone call and shortly
after the embassy's attorney arrived demanding your release. If you
get in touch with your friends, we would appreciate it if you
enlisted their cooperation as well."
    "Uh-huh," Brose said.
"Sure."
    As he collected his belongings, he
spied a strangely familiar blonde, all done up in a little gray
suit with a white blouse and a pussycat bow. She smiled a cold,
prissy smile at him as the barred door clanged behind him and
followed him when he stepped once more onto the street.
    "How do you do," she said in a
la-di-da accent, extending her hand. "I'm Miss Firestone, the
solicitor from the embassy
    "Uh-huh," Brose said, ambling away
from the police station. "Thanks a lot. See ya 'round—"
    Miss Firestone caught up with him,
hooking her arm through his and bumping her gray-suited hip against
him. "Whatsa matter, Yank? Don't you want to buy a girl a drink?"
she asked, sounding very familiar indeed now. "You could be a
little friendlier, surely, after I've gone and done one of me best
impersonations for your benefit?"
    "Torchy?" he asked.
    She tipped her blond Princess Di wig
at him and several long red tendrils of her own hair snaked around
her face. "At yer service," she said.
    He looked from her back to
the police station, expecting pursuit. "How did you get them to buy
it?"
    "Easy, ducks. I told you. I'm an
actress. And some of my best friends are lawyers. Now come along,
why don't you, and I'll show you a real English pub."
    Since he didn't have a clue where the
others had gone, Brose figured Torchy's idea was as good as
any.
    "So—did that Irish guy turn himself in
really?" he asked loudly when they were sitting in front of a
couple of pints. The rock music was so loud it hurt his stomach but
the place wasn't crowded. Torchy had explained that the older,
quainter places would be full of London yuppies at this hour so she
took him to a newer pub, a former petrol station called The Plastic
Card.
    "Yes, he did. Very sorry he was, once
he'd been given time to think about it," she said.
     
     

CHAPTER 7
     
    Anna Mae Gunn was not one to stay lost
for long. As an activist, she knew the value of connections. As an
organizer of several now-defunct folk festivals, she knew at least
a few people in most parts of the world, including an American
woman, Terry Pruitt, one of the friendlier members of a British
folk-rock group, who lived in Carlisle and made a point of singing
about it and who had invited Anna Mae to visit her if she had the
chance. Anna Mae found the number in the phone book
easily.
    "Terry?"
    "No, this is Dan," said a warm male
voice. "Terry's in the shower. You're not another lady from
America, are you?"
    "Another?"
    "Yeah, two of Terry's other—" and in
the background Anna Mae heard a voice that sounded like Ellie's say
urgently, "Shh, Dan. Careful."
    "Oops, sorry. I mean, who may I say is
calling?"
    "Tell Terry and Ellie—that is who I
hear, isn't it?—that this is Anna Mae Gunn."
    "Anna Mae? Didn't you help Sam Hawkins
organize—"
    But at that moment, Ellie
Randolph came on the line. "Where are you?"
    "In a phone booth outside what appears
to be a bar. Have you seen any of the others?"
    "We saw Brose Fairchild being hauled
away by the cops. We never saw where Willie or the others
went."
    "Can you meet me here? And ask Terry
if she knows of any good lawyers."
    "Terry and Dan are getting ready to
take a train to Heathrow to fly to Norway for an African Music
Conference."
    "Oh, great."
    "But they say if we'll drive the van
back from the train station we can borrow their van."
    A sudden chill ran down Anna Mae's
back, as if someone was watching her, which, of course, someone
could be. "Look, I'd better get off the street. I'll meet you
inside this bar. Here's