CHAPTER FIFTEEN Mrs. Goudeket tottered into the marble lobby of the schoolhouse. A flaring pressure lamp threw grotesque shadows against the polished walls and the room was almost empty. Some men dozed over their card tables and desks. Outside the last of the ambulance-fitted six-by-sixes was rolling noisily away with the last of the casualties. Chief Brayer's head snapped up from a nodding doze as she cleared her throat. "Chief?" Mrs. Goudeket said timidly. "Just a few hours since I asked, but I think things have changed a lot, hah?" He focused on her with difficulty and said at last, "Oh. The lady from the hotel." "Goudeket's Green Acres," she said automatically, with pride. "I was thinking that now maybe things are more under control, hah? So maybe you could spare me a car, some gas. I have to get back, look over my property--" If it still is my property, the thought came, unwelcome. "A car?" Mrs. Goudeket was exasperated. "You heard. A car! Look, if it makes you feel better, I could take some people with me. You need shelter? I have room. Believe me, by now I bet I have more room than you can imagine. We have food, too." Food for the booked-solid week, which would now be a week of hundred-per-cent cancellations and empty tables. Chief Brayer looked wearily interested. "Yes," he said absently, "you would have food. All right. I yelled at you before, didn't I? I'm sorry--" She shrugged. "No apologies, please. Your language--But you meant well. You were busy." "We needed the cars," he said doggedly. "We had to keep them for an emergency, you see. That's all that counted. In case there was a fire or a burglary, the cars had to be here." "Don't explain. Please, do I get a car? I'll be careful. I could write out a check, leave a deposit--" She had almost said five hundred dollars. "A hundred dollars?" "Don't have to." Like a man in a slow-motion movie he hauled a memo pad across the desk, hoisted a pen from his uniform coat pocket. He wrote painfully. "Give this to Mr. Cioni--you know where the cars are? Across the street? All right. How far do you have to go?" She threw up her hands. "Who knows? Always before it was seventeen miles. Now we have to go around and around--who knows?" There was an edge to her voice. "Tell him I said to give you a half a tank of gas." "Thank you," said Mrs. Goudeket. Across the street, three trucks and four pleasure cars, one of them with the tires flat. The motor pool. A civilian in charge, and in the back a national guardsman with a gun. The man in charge of the motor pool studied the note with a flashlight whose beam was fading to orange. He looked at her doubtfully. "You going to drive it?" "Don't worry, mister," she snapped. "Do you want to see my license?" "Me? Nah." He pottered over to a '47 Dodge sedan and copied the plate number on the chief's note. "Give me your address, lady?"