damn near caught by the cops, just so we can find out that Ron Cole is mad as a hatter and his rocket never was any good. Now you tell us-—what in hell is it you want to tell us, Harry Czescu?"
"If you'll shut up for a minute, maybe he can say it," Jenny said.
Thor glared at her.
"Wade says-—"
"Wade says," Thor said. "Look, Wade Curtis hasn't been sober in ten years. Maybe he's not raving like Cole, but he sent us here! He believed in Cole's rocket, just like you did, and I did and-—Oh, God, Damn, It."
"Got a letter," Harry said.
Bruce asked, "Letter for whom?"
"Maybe you." Harry took off his left boot. "Wade said I should give it to-—I should give it to somebody I thought he'd trust." The inner lining wasn't properly sewn to the boot shell. Harry reached between the two leathers and took out a dirty envelope.
"What does it say."
Harry said, "It's sealed." The hurt barely showed. "Wade said I should burn this if nobody from Minicon showed up looking for Cole, but if anybody did, give it to somebody with judgment." He looked around the group. Finally he held the paper out to Oliver Brown. "Reckon he trusts you."
Oliver took the paper. "What Harry is carefully not saying is that Wade and I are still collaborating on a book. Harry brought me two new chapters yesterday."
He went over to his desk and got a letter opener. He was maddeningly slow, and Sherrine wanted to scream as he smoothed out the envelope's wrinkles, then carefully inserted the letter opener and slit the paper. There was a single sheet inside, and he took it out slowly.
I haven't seen Wade, haven't seen Wade for years," Oliver muttered. "Afraid it will cost Helga her job. If they knew. But they do know. They have to. May be they don't, though." He spread the paper out and began to read. "Ah. Hmm. Mmmh hmmmh.