Way past the deadline
Title: Snow White and the Shawshank Redemption
Author: silver_u_glass
Fandoms: Fables/The Shawshank Redemption
Pairing: Snow White/Andy Dufresne
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, all used without permission.
Summary: There is a stranger in Fabletown, Bigby convinces Snow to help him look into it.
Word count: 8,435(eep!)
Spoilers: None for Fables, enough to completely ruin Shawshank for the uninitiated
Notes: For those unfamiliar with the Fables comics I’ve given a brief guide on my own journal fables guide
This story takes place ten years after the end of Shawshank. Depending on whether you’re going with the film or the short story that means between 15 and 19 years prior to the beginning of the Fables stories.
Oh and one other thing, physically I’ve used movie!andy because in my mind Andy looks like Tim Robbins.
Sorry it’s so over deadline, thanks for the extension Trollprincess.
Bigby Wolf perched on the desk of Fabletown’s Director of Operations, flicking ash at the Thank You For Not Smoking sign. He was waiting for a response from the woman sat in the ornate chair behind the desk. For a while, she stared at him, fingers steepled in front of blood red lips, her pale skin making her eyes seem vivid despite the dark mass of her hair.
“We get mundys passing through all the time,” she said eventually, “what’s so special about this one?”
“That’s just it, they pass through. Not this one though, every day for the last two weeks he’s spent a few hours in the Eggman, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.”
“So what, he sounds harmless. What do you want me to do about him?” her voice was refined but as cold as the weather that shared her name.
“Take a look, talk to him and see what you think. He might be harmless, he might not, we should find out.”
“Why ask me? You’re the Sheriff after all, isn’t this more your line?”
“You have a better chance of getting something out of him. For some reason he gets nervous if I even walk past, he hides it well but I can smell it on him. This way if he turns out to be harmless there’s less chance of making him curious.”
“I’m too busy for a cosy chat with some mundy, Mr Wolf, can’t someone else do it?”
“Who would you suggest? Boy Blue? Flycatcher? Bluebeard?”
Which was why on a warm June day, Snow White the Director of Operations and Deputy Mayor of Fabletown (basically the woman who ran the place) left the Woodlands building for a stroll down Bullfinch Street. It was a beautiful afternoon to be out of the office, walking down a remarkable (though un-remarked) street in a remarkable (but never remarked upon) corner of the upper west side.
The I am the Eggman diner sits on the corner of Bullfinch and Kipling streets. It is one of those traditional all-American places that only really exist in rose-tinted memory; clean white tables, red and white checked tiles on the floor and a jukebox in the corner. If Hopper had ever needed inspiration, he could have set up an easel across the street and just started painting.
The mundy was sat at a table next to one of the windows, his back to the door. He was pouring over his newspaper, a china cup sat near his hand. Snow paused for a moment, studying him from the other side of the street. He had the deep tan and sun-bleached hair of a man used to spending long hours outdoors. His skin was more wrinkled than the average sun-worshipper; around his temples the sun-bleaching gave way to truly silver hair, amongst the mundies, this man would be long past middle age.
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Snow sighed; she couldn’t prevaricate any longer, it was time to meet the mundy. She crossed the street and walked into the diner. Squire Vulco, (or was it one of his brothers? They looked so alike Snow had difficulty telling them apart), co-owner and chef of the Eggman started to hurry towards Snow. A stern look and a quick shake of her head was all it took to say “no special treatment.” The lunchtime rush was in, making her first introduction that little bit easier. The mundy was paying no attention to her, but just in case, she walked past him apparently looking for an empty table.
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“Excuse me.” The voice was polite and soft. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
Andy looked up and the breath caught in his throat. The woman in front of him was; well women like her just don’t exist. She was the sort of girl you picture in those long empty nights in the hole, when reality is locked on the other side of the door and there is nothing to hold back your imagination. Yet here she was, smiling at him and looking a little embarrassed.
“I’m sorry to bother you but there are no empty tables,” she looked around as if she might have missed a clear table somewhere in the packed diner, “so I was hoping…”
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“Please” the mundy seemed quiet; maybe even a little withdrawn but Bigby was right, if the man was nervous, he hid it well. Snow had been worried during that pause; sometimes joining another person’s table can remind them of all the other things they need to be doing. On the other hand, since he stayed seated, maybe the mundy just thought before he spoke; it would make a nice change. He returned to concentrating on his newspaper. The page was just a dense collection of acronyms and numbers, Snow couldn’t imagine choosing something like that for pleasure. Maybe understanding his reading material would give her an idea of why he spent so much time in Fabletown.
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“It’s a beautiful day, I’m glad I could make it out of the office.”
“I’m sorry?” Andy was surprised that the girl wanted to talk. His last conversation had been weeks ago and that had been banal small talk on a long flight, this woman didn’t seem the type for that somehow. Besides, he had spent far too long surrounded by men to give up the chance to talk with a smiling woman.
“No, I’m sorry, was I interrupting?”
“Not really,” He rested his hands on his newspaper, fingers linked together. “What were you saying?”
“Nothing really.” A pale blush turned the girl’s cheeks from white to a soft pink. “I was just saying I’m glad to be out of the office on such a nice day.”
“I know what you mean.” Andy smiled, twenty-five years in a cell helps you appreciate little things like a walk down the street on a sunny day. “So where do you work?”
“Oh there’s a building nearby, we’re involved with the local community, the businesses around here, that sort of thing.”
Andy could recognise an evasive answer when he heard one, but if the girl didn’t want to say more - well it was really none of his business. She sounded like some kind of administrator or senior secretary, not a bad job for someone in her middle twenties. Andy took a sip from his coffee and waited for the girl to break the silence. After a moment, she started staring out of the window.
“Can I get you anything Miss White?” The waitress’ arrival had been almost silent Andy hadn’t even noticed her refilling his coffee. Like many big girls, Agnes seemed to float as she moved.
“Just a coffee, thanks Agnes.”
“Sure thing Snow.” The waitress carefully turned around and bustled off to fetch another mug.
“Snow White?” It is hard not to smile when you hear something like that, Andy didn’t even try.
“It’s a nickname, I suppose every girl named White gets it at least once, with me it just stuck.” the woman replied, smiling in the long-suffering way of someone who has had to explain something far too often. “So, now you know who I am, what should I call you?”
“Of course, I’m sorry. I’m Randal. Randal Stevens.” It had been so long the lie came almost as smoothly as the truth.
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Just as Snow was about to ask “and what do you do Mr Stevens?” a sudden violent crash silenced the restaurant. The moment of unnatural stillness was broken by a plaintive voice from somewhere behind Snow.
“Rose, please.”
A figure stormed past the booth, a blur of black, white and pink. It paused briefly at the exit to spit out:
“Asshole!”
Before slamming the door with such force that the window next to Snow shook.
“Poor girl,” Randal’s eyes tracked Rose as she stamped across the street, closely followed by a man Snow didn’t recognise.
“Hmm?” Snow raised an eyebrow,
“She was in here last week, she … lost her temper then as well.” His tone was measured, he seemed to be taking Rose’s latest little drama with equanimity. “Although I think it was with a different man.”
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As Andy was talking, the waitress arrived with Snow’s coffee.
“Thanks Agnes, I’m sorry about Rose.”
The waitress’ smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not your fault Miss White, you don’t get to choose your family.”
“Mmm, a pity sometimes. How are the auditions going?”
“Always the chorus, never the lead, just like home.” The girl replied with a little sigh.
“Keep at it, you’re talented, Agnes, it’s just a matter of time.”
“Hah!” The two women seemed to be sharing some private joke. “We’ve got plenty of that at any rate! Do you need anything else?”
Still smiling, Snow shook her head and Agnes left as quietly as she arrived. For a few moments, Andy continued staring out of the window.
“I’m sorry”
“What was that?” Snow sounded curious.
“I’m sorry.” He turned away from the window; the dark haired woman was staring at him with a puzzled smile. “I didn’t realise that you were related to the other girl. I hope I didn’t misspeak earlier.”
“I …” Her smile vanished; she closed her eyes briefly, before continuing. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong, I know my sister can be wild.”
Andy nodded; “wild,” well he had seen plenty of that over the years. Zihuatanejo might not be Tijuana but for some of his guests just being in Mexico was enough. Snow’s expression was a surprise; people Snow’s age tended to take this sort of thing in their stride. There was a history here, and not a happy one. Andy’s curiosity fought against an instinct not to pry.
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“She wasn’t always like this.” Snow had no idea why she started talking again. Randal didn’t seem to disapprove of Rose, a detached sadness for her relationship troubles perhaps, but nothing more.
“She … we …” Now that Snow had decided to talk she couldn’t find the right words. How do you express centuries of acrimony? “We haven’t been close for some time; we were once, we used to be inseparable. After I got married I even brought Rose in to live with us.”
Snow swallowed hard, these memories might be old but she examined them so rarely they felt fresh. She started to stare at the table, for some reason she couldn’t look at Randal and tell the rest of the story at the same time.
“It turns out that was a mistake. One day, not long after Rose moved in, I got home; I… hah, I can’t remember where I had been. My sister and my husband were both nowhere to be found, but we lived in a huge place so I didn’t think much of it.” The words were coming faster now, driving Snow towards the unavoidable conclusion. “I had to go to my room, I think I wanted to change my clothes, or… anyway. When I opened the door I found Rose in bed with my husband.”
“In bed with my husband,” thought Snow, just five words, is that enough? How can they explain what it’s like to see your sister’s legs wrapped around your husband’s body, her arms stroking his shoulders? Do they describe what it’s like to see the muscles in that bastard’s back rigid with exertion, or the way Rose’s triumphant expression changed to shock when she saw me?
Snow looked up, brushing some loose hair behind one ear and tried to meet Randal’s eyes. She couldn’t do it, he was looking over her shoulder with that thousand-mile stare people get when all they can see are the pictures in their heads.
He knows, she realised, he’s lived this or something close and now I’ve reminded him. Damn.
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“What happened next?” It took a lot of self-control and he couldn’t look at the girl opposite him while he was talking but somehow Andy managed kept his voice level and calm.
“I threw her out and divorced him.” She spoke as if it was all so simple. Andy knew it couldn’t have been, even in these more liberal times she must have gone through hell.
“Do you still see him?”
“Not for a while now, he’s been in Europe for the last few years. No doubt he’ll be back when he wears out his welcome.”
“But no reconciliation?” Andy forced himself to look at Snow.
“No.” Her chin was up, jaw jutting slightly forward as if challenging Andy to disapprove.
“If an old man can offer some advice,” Andy paused to see whether Snow was listening. Of all the lessons he had learnt, this had been the most painful. If he could, he would try to spare this near stranger some of that. “Make your peace while you can. No one is around forever, and some people are taken from us far sooner than we expect. It’s a terrible thing to have something to get off your chest and no way to do it.”
Snow nodded, she looked as if she was about to say something, but instead glanced at her watch.
“Is that the time? I have to get back to the office. It was good to meet you Mr Stevens, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Pausing to drop a few dollars onto the table, she left the Eggman.
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Snow was careful to walk calmly past the diner’s windows and turn the corner onto Bullfinch Street before giving in to her rage.
“The arrogance of that, that… damn him! If an old man can offer some advice” She mimicked. “I was an adult before your distant ancestors were even born! No one is around forever - hah! I might consider that in a few centuries you, you … Ugh!”
“Did you enjoy your lunch Miss White?” The voice was deep and mocking, its speaker hidden by the stone pillars supporting the gates of the Woodlands building.
“What do you want Mr Wolf?”
“I want to know what you found out, wasn’t that the point of the exercise?” Bigby answered, stepping into view.
“And you couldn’t wait until I got to my office?” Snow snapped.
“I wanted some fresh air.” Bigby replied, hidden by his ever-present cloud of smoke.
“Fine, you want to know?” Snow swept past the unshaven fable, nodding at Trusty John as she entered the Woodlands building, Bigby trailing in her wake. “OK he’s an interfering old mundy.”
When the elevator reached the administration floor Bigby muttered:
“Let’s use my office, I could do without Bufkin or Blue sitting in on this.”
Snow didn’t speak until they reached the Sheriff’s tiny and cluttered office. The dishevelled fable dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk.
“Interfering?”
“Poor choice of words on my part Bigby.” Snow replied sat in the visitor’s chair, calmer now. “He … said some things I didn’t appreciate. I don’t think he’s trouble.”
“Why not?”
“I … I suppose I just got that impression.”
“Well, did he tell you why he’s here?”
“Uh, no”
“Did he tell you what he does?”
“Not exactly”
“Not exactly? What did he tell you, Miss White?”
“I think he went through a nasty divorce some time ago.” She paused realising how little she had learnt. “Er, I think the newspaper he reads might be important.”
To his credit, Bigby had the sense not to say anything; content to stare at her, smoke curling past his face from the cigarette held just in front of his lips. After a pregnant pause he finally said:
“OK I’ll bite, which newspaper?”
“What?”
“You said the newspaper was important, fair enough - which one does he read?”
“Erm, it had lots of columns, letters followed by numbers. Don’t look at me like that Bigby, when was the last time you read a mundy newspaper?”
“Yesterday. What happens to the mundies happens to us, but forget that for now. We need to find out as much about him as we can before tomorrow. You should know as much as possible when you see him again.”
“WHAT?”
“Snow - sorry, Miss White, you spent almost an hour with him and we are hardly any better off than we were this morning. We need to know more and you’ve already made contact with him. Is there anything else you can tell me before we go see Jack?”
“Jack? Why him, he’s a scheming, untrustworthy trickster.”
Bigby’s expression was blank; he seemed to be waiting for Snow to make her point.
“There’s a mundy news-stand not far from here, if you can recognise the newspaper that might make life easier for us.”
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“It’s the Wall Street Journal.” Jack said looking at the newspaper the Director of Operations had dropped onto the desk in front of him. “So?”
“Who reads it Jack?” Snarled Fabletown’s sheriff from somewhere over Jack’s shoulder.
“Well, mundies obviously.” Jack replied, confused.
“Try to keep up, Jack” Bigby spoke more slowly, as if addressing a child, “what sort of mundies?”
“These days? All sorts, Sheriff.” Jack said, looking at Snow across the desk but addressing Bigby.
“Explain.”
“It’s the ‘eighties Sheriff, “greed is good” or hadn’t you heard?” Still staring into Snow’s eyes Jack continued. “Everyone and her dog has stock these days, and the Journal is the easiest way to keep track.”
“So all the mundies read this paper?”
“Not exactly, Miss White, first you need to be able to afford stock, that may not be the super-rich anymore but there are still people who can’t afford to gamble.”
“Not the poor, but not just the very rich, can’t you be more specific?” Bigby’s mouth was so close that Jack could smell the stink of stale smoke.
“Buyers, bankers and brokers, Sheriff, that’s it. Well, sellers too I suppose but it doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so well.”
“Brokers?”
“People who buy and sell stock on behalf of other people. They’re usually responsible for helping their clients get the biggest profit out of their portfolio.”
Jack watched as Snow’s eyes strayed to a point somewhere over his left shoulder. She nodded briefly.
“We’re done now Jack, goodbye.”
The abruptness of the dismissal surprised Jack; he glared at Snow for a moment before standing up.
“So how’s your sister, still causing trouble?”
“Stay away from her Jack” Snow’s voice was crisp with ice. “She has enough problems.”
Jack’s hand was on the door when a snarling voice seemed to vibrate straight up through his boots
“Jack? I don’t know why you know so much about stocks, but when I find out you’re in big trouble.”
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Snow waited until Jack had left and Bigby sat in the empty chair.
“I suppose this means tomorrow I have to take lunch with Randal again?”
“Randal?”
“The mundy.”
Bigby gaze was unblinking.
“So we know his name then?”
Snow was stunned, was it possible she left that detail out?
“Randal Stevens.”
“I know this sort of thing isn’t your normal line of work but little details like that can
be really useful.” Bigby was grinning as he spoke.
“Out!”
The next morning Snow found that she was having trouble concentrating on the everyday troubles of the close-knit community. As her watch ticked along its inexorable journey to midday Snow found herself thinking about yesterday’s meeting with Randal. She realised that she had lasted barely half an hour before loosing her temper. Even more disconcerting was that Snow had been the one doing most of the talking.
“Some interrogator I turned out to be”
“Sorry, Miss White?”
“Nothing, Blue. I’m going out for lunch, I should be back in an hour or so.”
As she left she could feel her assistant’s surprised stare on her back, like an itch between her shoulder blades.
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“May I join you again Mr Stevens?”
“Miss White!” Andy looked up when he heard the familiar voice. “Twice in as many days, if we keep this up you’re going to have to start calling me Randal.”
“Oh, I try to get away from my desk a couple of times a week.” The young woman sat almost exactly where she had been the day before. “I like this place; it’s close to where I work.”
Andy nodded, he was glad to see Snow again. Especially since she was in such a good mood, maybe her sudden departure on the previous day had not been because he offended her. Gratified, Andy smiled and returned to reading his newspaper.
“So are you a banker, Mr Stev- uh Randal?”
Andy’s mind started to race as he looked at the smiling face opposite him. First, the scruffy policeman who always seemed to be watching him, now this question coming out of the blue, was she trying to tell him something? Did they know? After all this time were they still looking for him? As Andy searched desperately for a casual reply, the girl waved a hand towards his newspaper.
“The stock market section of the Journal, not exactly light reading.”
“Oh, that” Andy took a sip of his coffee, hoping to give his heart time to drop out of his throat. “No, Miss White, I’ve just got a couple of investments I like to keep an eye on. Not for the money, you understand, it’s just a little fun.”
“You know if we’re going to be on first name terms you really ought to call me Snow.” She replied with a little smile. “So what do you do Randal?”
“Not much these days, I used to spend a lot of time looking at rocks.” One of the things Andy had picked up in the ‘Shank was you never know how much the other guy knows. If you’ve got to lie go with something you can believably fake.
Those perfect eyebrows shot up, Andy could see the question forming and smiled a little at the confusion he had caused.
“Geology? The study of the Earth.” He explained.
“If that’s what you used to do what brings you here, I mean here, here?”
“I like it, people don’t seem to rush around as much and there are hardly any tourists - both are unusual in New York.”
“I’m glad you’re happy but that wasn’t really my question.” She was smiling playfully. Andy wondered if maybe there was also some satisfaction at seeing through his half-answer.
She’s too smart for a straight out lie, Andy realised but how much can I tell her?
“Good point,” Andy tried to sound light-hearted, all the while carefully censoring himself. “As I said, I don’t actually do much anymore. I own a small hotel, we… I do enough business to keep me comfortable. These days the place pretty much runs itself, I… came here to get away from things for a while.”
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I haven’t heard someone sound like that since we got away from The Adversary. Snow realised with the shock of the familiar. He’s hiding from something, maybe a few things, but I don’t think there is any in him. I’ve been married to a selfish son of a bitch and have to kiss up to a psychotic one. I don’t care what the amnesty says I’ve known most kinds of evil; Randal is nothing like any of them.
“What were you getting away from, Randal?” Snow asked, trying to drag as many memories of the invasion and exile to the surface as she could.
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Andy looked at Snow’s expression and the blithe change of subject slipped from his mind.
How can someone so young look like that? On their worst days not even Brooks or Red looked that jaded.
“I…” when he started talking again it was not to a naive girl three times his junior, but to a sympathetic peer. “For a long time I had a really close friend. Honestly, you can’t imagine what we went through together, I was there and I have a hard time believing it. We went through hell together. Until I left, I got out early and I couldn’t bring him with me, I wanted to but I couldn’t. Eventually he made it out, it took years but he made it out and tracked me down.”
He took a deep breath and put his coffee mug onto the table with a shaking hand.
“I… he… It was good to see him again. We didn’t pick up where we had left off, that would have meant stepping backwards. We started somewhere else; somewhere we’d only ever talked about. It was good but…”
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“But he died.” Snow knew the end of this story, she wouldn’t try to count the times she’d seen it in the old countries, or heard it since coming here.
Randal started to nod. “Yes, when he got out Red wasn’t that much older than I am now but… the things he had been through had stolen years from him. I was there at the end - well in a way. I suppose it should say I was the last to see him and the first to find him; I wasn’t there when he… passed.”
Snow stayed silent, shooting a pointed look at the approaching form of Agnes to keep her away. She reached across the table to squeeze Randal’s fingers.
“You don’t-”
“No, I’m fine it’s been over a month since it happened.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “I miss him but I think he was happy at the end. We found him with his back to a tree and his toes in the ocean. He was smiling.”
Snow didn’t let go of Randal’s hand; a month was hardly enough time to get over loosing a friend like this man “Red,” no matter how peacefully he passed.
Snow decided to lighten the conversation and at the same time tried to move to something Bigby might find useful. “Toes in the ocean, that doesn’t sound like New York.”
“Hah!” Randal smiled. “No, we were a lot further south. A little place in Mexico no-one’s ever heard of called Zihuatanejo.”
“You know, you’re right. I’ve never heard of it.” Snow said; pleased when Randal’s responding laugh sounded genuine. “So was that why you left because of your friend?”
“Well in a way, I stayed for a while, carrying on as if nothing had happened; but I started to realise that the whole place reminded me of Red.” Randal’s eyes started to develop that far away look again, his fingers slipped out of Snow’s grasp. “When I built the hotel it was on the assumption that my friend would join me. Now he was gone and all I could think about were the conversations we would never have, that sort of thing. I had to get away.”
“So now you’re here.” It was more of a statement than a question and seemed to snap Randal back to the here-and-now.
He blinked and nodded “Now I’m here.”
The conversation moved to small talk, and stayed there. Snow let Randal persuade her to order some food. Eventually he was the one to notice the time:
“I don’t want to chase you away Snow, but I think your lunch hour has been over for the past ten minutes. I hope won’t have problems when you get back?”
“No… I have a certain amount of discretion, I should be fine.” Snow said as she stood up. “Thank you Randal, I hope we can do this again.”
“I’d say it went better this time.” Bigby had been loitering in the lobby of the Woodlands building when Snow returned.
“Do you really have nothing better to do than lurk around Sheriff?”
Bigby pointed his thumb at a gangling figure dressed in a bright orange boiler suit who was setting up a colossal floor waxing machine.
“Fly has community service again, I just came down to make sure he was doing his job.” Bigby grinned, displaying altogether too many teeth for Snow’s liking. “Not everything I do revolves around you, Princess. Since you are back why don’t we go have a chat in my office?”
“You’re right, he does sound like an ex-soldier.” Snow had just finished describing her conversation with Randal to Bigby. For the most part, he had seemed relaxed, scribbling the occasional note on a pad on his desk. When Snow reached the part about Randal’s friend Red and what they had been through together, Bigby became very still and attentive. “But it doesn’t add up. Literally, the numbers don’t make sense. He would have been too young for World War Two, besides if Red was Randal’s current age in, what? Nineteen fifty-six, he would be long gone by now. You get similar problems with Korea. Vietnam would make far more sense but by then this “Red” should have been too old to see combat.
I just don’t know Snow, but we have enough now for me to do some checking. You said that he didn’t seem too curious about us so I doubt we need to do anything hasty. If you could look in on him occasionally, at least until we know something for certain, that would probably be a good idea.”
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And so it went on, at first Snow would only allow herself a weekly trip to the Eggman and never for longer than an hour. By the time the trees around the Woodlands building started turning brown, Snow and Andy had become daily sight in the diner. It came to point that people started talking about “Snow and Randal’s booth.” As the meetings became more frequent, Snow found that she started to build her day around that hour. That table became a sanctuary. The most basic rule of Fabletown insisted that mundies could not learn the true nature of the community, so while she was with Andy no one would drag Snow away to solve some minor crisis.
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Their first game of chess had been a revelation. One day, Randal had mentioned that he missed the occasional games he used to play with his guests (apparently despite Randal’s best efforts Red found chess a total mystery). The look on his face when she produced a board the next day made Snow smile whenever she pictured it. It took a week to finish that first game. Patience was rare enough in a Fable, people for whom decades could pass unnoticed still seemed be incapable of taking time to breathe. Mundies were different though. Their time is limited; every second brings them closer to the end but somehow despite it all Randal found time to wait. That was refreshing.
It had reached that annoying almost-there point of the morning. Too early to justify leaving for lunch but close enough that starting anything big didn’t seem worthwhile. In the old days Snow would have just started something and grabbed some food if she got time. The old days were gone and now Snow was glaring at the clock and trying to find some of Randal’s patience. She was on the verge of admitting defeat and leaving early, when Bigby walked into the office without even a cursory knock at the door.
“What is it Sheriff? I’m busy.” She saw him glance around and became acutely aware of her empty desk.
“So I see. Where are Bufkin and Blue?”
“Blue is running some errands; he’ll come back after he has had something to eat. I sent Bufkin for something from the back of the office about twenty minutes ago. I doubt he will be back for a few hours.”
“Good.” Bigby draped his trench coat over one of the chairs in front of Snow’s desk before dropping into the other seat. “We need to talk about the Mundy.”
“Randal.” The correction had become automatic, Snow had grown tired of hearing about her mundy as if Randal was some pet.
“Well that’s where things get interesting.” Bigby was smiling, there was something about his expression that Snow disliked, but she could not quite place it. Not gloating but perhaps a little triumphant?
“Randal Stevens is a remarkable man, but you already know that, right Princess?”
“Save the insinuations Sheriff, just get on with it.”
“It’s hard to know where to start” Bigby paused to light another of his seemingly endless cigarettes. Snow tried to remain calm. Her left hand, resting in her lap, curled so tightly into a fist that her fingernails almost drew blood from her palm. “You’re a busy woman so I’ll just give you the big picture shall I?”
It was clear that Bigby was enjoying himself; milking every moment for all that it was worth.
“Absolutely,” Snow managed to keep her voice level and dispassionate. “Why don’t we start there?”
“Randal Stevens does not exist.” He was so offhanded he could have been discussing the cost of groceries or whether he would need a coat for his afternoon walk.
“What?” Snow could not have been more astounded if Bigby had walked into her office claiming to be vegetarian. Stunned out of full sentences she snapped. “Explain.”
“So now you want the little picture?” Bigby began, but he seemed to realise he was pushing his luck. “OK from the beginning then. Do you remember the second meeting you had with… well let’s keep on calling him Randal for now, shall we?”
When Snow nodded he continued, “Well that was enough for me to start looking. The world seems to run on paper these days; I imagine you know that better than I do.”
Snow’s grimace at the thought of her overflowing intray must have been enough Bigby hardly paused.
“All of that paper leaves a trail, with enough patience and a hint or two you can track a mundy all the way back to birth. If you know the right doctor, you can go even further.”
He raised a hand, anticipating Snow’s objection.
“This is important Miss White. You have to know this because you have to understand what it means when I say that Randal Stevens does not have that paper chain.”
“None at all?” It had been Bigby’s tone of voice that drove home the magnitude of what he was saying.
“No, he has the important things. Enough to get by if no-one actually looks at his past. What’s missing are all of the incidental things that make a story true. It’s as if he just appeared as an adult. No, actually it’s more like he was born and disappeared until adulthood. He has a birth certificate but no childhood, no records of enrolment at any school. A geologist must have graduated from university, but where did he go?”
Snow’s heart had climbed into her throat. She had sworn it would never happen, how could she let herself be taken in again?
“So is that it Sheriff? Are we back to square one?”
Bigby exhaled a colossal plume of smoke before shaking his head.
“I thought you had more faith in me than that, Princess. It didn’t take me this long just to get to a dead end. Like I said Randal Stevens might not have a childhood but he does have a past, around nineteen sixty-five he opened up a few bank accounts. Individually they were small but added together-” Bigby raised his eyebrows and whistled. “A little while ago I took a trip to Maine where those accounts had been opened and a few years later closed. I spent some time in the local public library and I noticed a surprising coincidence.”
Yet again Bigby stopped talking to grind out his spent cigarette. It wasn’t until he had lit another and started talking again that Snow realised she had been holding her breath.
“The big story, front page news on all the local newspapers around the time that Mr Stevens decided to close his accounts, was of a prison break. Apparently sometime during previous night a double murderer made a miraculous escape, the next morning the warden shot himself and one of the senior guards was arrested for murder.”
“That’s quite a story, but it doesn’t mean anything.” Snow was not sure whether she was disagreeing with Bigby or the spiteful little voice that had started whispering in the back of her head. “Those things could be completely unconnected. That they occurred together, well that’s just happenstance.”
Bigby stared at her, waiting for the interruption to finish and then he continued as if Snow had not spoken.
“Prison records can be tricky to get hold of but I know a few people, who know some people, who - well you get the idea. The man who escaped, an “Andy Dufresne” was in a cell on the same tier and block as a man named “Ellis Boyd Redding” also known as “Red.” Redding was released a couple of years after the escape and within months jumped his parole. Are we still dealing with happenstance, Miss White?”
Snow shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
“I didn’t think so either. So, in summary, we have an escaped double murderer who has lunch every day with the deputy mayor of a secret community that has managed to keep a low profile for centuries. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“He’s harmless Bigby,” Even Snow thought she sounded small and defeated. “I know him now and I just can’t believe he killed anyone.”
“Can’t or won’t, Miss White?” All of the earlier mockery had left his voice. Bigby’s tone was professional but touched by a little sadness. “Besides it doesn’t matter whether he actually killed anyone, he’s still an escaped prisoner. If someone recognises him they’ll arrest him. When that happens the police are going to start trying to find out who has been protecting him for so long and they’ll start by looking here and questioning you.”
“I realise that Bigby but it’s been nearly twenty years I doubt they are still looking for him.” Snow felt her temper start to rise. “Besides this is Fabletown, who is going to recognise him here?”
“Does it matter?” Bigby barked back. “You know the rules as well as I do, probably better. We can’t take any risk that might expose us to the mundies. Besides what are you going to do, keep him around and run the risk that he notices something?”
Snow knew he was right and she hated him for it.
“You are asking me to convince him to leave aren’t you? You want me to chase my friend away!” She was on her feet, palms flat to the desk, glaring at the impassive sheriff.
“Yes.” Bigby stood up and took his coat from the chair next to him. “It really is that simple Snow, but if you don’t think you can do it I’ll have to. Goodbye, Miss White.”
It was raining when Snow left the Woodlands building, the fat kind of rain where each drop seems to splash as it hits the sidewalk. Despite quickly becoming saturated Snow refused to hurry or turn back for an umbrella. A little rain was a fair exchange for the time to plan what she would say to the first person to fool her so completely since her divorce.
In the end it was Andy who spoke first. He had turned around when he heard the door open. In moments he was on his feet.
“Snow you’re soaked! What’s wrong?” Without waiting for a response he hurried Snow over to their table and sat her down. “Stay here I’ll find you a towel or something.”
As she watched him rush away Snow was surprised to realise that this was the first time she had seen Andy on his feet. He was taller than she had expected and lean under the well tailored suit. From the way he moved, Snow would guess that he wasn’t suffering from the aches and stiffness that start to visit the mundies around his age.
In moments he was back, with Agnes the waitress in tow.
“Here, use this,” he was offering her what looked like a towel used for drying dishes.
“Is everything alright, Miss White?” Agnes was hovering just behind Andy, wringing her hands together. Snow looked around and realised that half of the diner was straining to hear what was going on.
“I’m fine, Agnes,” she lied, her voice just loud enough to carry. “I was caught out by the rain and splashed by a taxi, that’s all.”
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Once the waitress was gone Andy gave Snow a hard look.
“Come now Snow, honestly. You’re soaked to the skin, no run through the rain does that, taxis and puddles not withstanding.”
Snow was rubbing her hair dry; Andy couldn’t see her face when she replied.
“Well, if we’re being honest I’m wet because I walked very slowly.” Snow’s tone was conversational. “I’d learnt something surprising about a friend of mine and to be honest I didn’t mind getting a little wet if it gave me time to think. That is if we’re being honest Mr Dufresne.”
Snow stopped drying her hair and looked at Andy. Her expression was as mild as her tone had been, but Andy could see her temper was only held in check by iron self-control. Those flawless blue eyes pinned him to his seat. For a short time Andy did nothing. His mind flew through his thoughts like a hummingbird, hovering briefly at each but never landing for long enough to reach a conclusion. After a moment he drew a shuddering breath and offered his hand to the motionless woman opposite him.
“Andy Dufresne, Miss White. Do I have time to tell you a very long story?”
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No-one on Bullfinch Street that afternoon took the time to look through the windows of the Eggman. So no-one saw the table where a man was staring intently at an unfinished game of chess apparently unaware of the tears on the cheeks of the woman opposite him.
By the time Andy finished talking the wind had died and the rain had stopped. The people walking past the window had stopped scurrying between patches of shelter, but were still moving with at the strange half-run of people waiting for the clouds to remember why they had come to New York.
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“So what happens now?” Andy asked, staring at the dregs of his coffee. Snow wondered why he had not asked her how she knew who he was.
“You can’t stay here Andy. I believe you when you say you didn’t kill your wife.” She saw his shoulders slump. “No really Andy, Red was right. Blame yourself for her being in the wrong place at the wrong time if you have to but that’s all you can claim. The other things that happened that night were not your fault. But you can’t prove you didn’t do it any more, so if someone recognises you you’re going straight back to jail.”
“I doubt anyone is still looking, it’s been too long. There must be more urgent cases to take up their time, cases people actually care about.”
She knew he was right, by now his case was probably in the bottom of some filing cabinet in a drawer marked not worth the effort. If he was really unlucky there might still be a policeman somewhere in Maine who remembered the name Andy Dufresne, but that would be about it. He could probably walk down the sidewalk in New York every day for the rest of his life and be perfectly safe; it would be Fabletown’s secrets at risk.
“If I can find out that means other people can.” Snow argued, although she couldn’t imagine why anyone else would bother. “Go home Andy, go back to Zihuatanejo.”
He looked up; Snow didn’t give him time to interrupt.
“You gave me some advice once, now take some of mine. Painful memories or not you love the place; you can’t even say its name without smiling. I know what it’s like to miss somewhere that much, all you have to do is get on a plane. After all that you went through to get there giving up on it now would be tragic.”
“Is that it?” His voice was flat. “Or are you just trying to get rid of the criminal?”
“If that were the case,” Snow replied matching Andy’s tone exactly, “do you think you would be talking to me or the police?”
Andy stared out of the window at the rain-slick streets before he nodded and stood up.
“No time like the present. I can probably get a flight into Mexico today.” He sounded bleak but resigned. “I’ll hire a car once I’m there.”
“I’ll see if I can get us a cab.”
“Us? Are you coming to make sure I get on the plane?”
“I was going to see my friend to the airport and wish him a safe journey.” Snow said, hurt. “If you don’t want that I have plenty of work to get back to at the office.”
They were silent for most of the taxi ride. Snow stared out of the window, watching the traffic pass and trying to sort through a maelstrom of emotions. When they reached the hotel he had been living in Snow stayed with the cab while Andy went inside to pack and check out. This distance gave Snow time to come to terms with herself. She didn’t feel angry at Andy lying to her for so long, if anything she felt guilty that she had forced him to reveal his big secret but wasn’t able to reciprocate. There was more than that, since leaving the Eggman there had been a dull, leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was not until Andy reappeared from the hotel that Snow realised that feeling was because she was loosing the only person who just treated her as Snow, not Director of Operations White. Andy accepted her without the complications of position or authority. In all the conversations they’d had over the last few months he had always respected Snow’s need to keep things to herself. In that moment she realised how bitterly she was going to miss his company.
“There’s still one thing I have to ask. Why New York? Why my neighbourhood?”
“No one knew me here, the biggest mistake when you are running is to go somewhere familiar, people will look for you there. Your neighbourhood is quite a long way from my hotel, you would have to actually make an effort to find both where I was staying and where I spend my day. Besides you hardly ever see any policemen there, just some scruffy plain clothes guy and he was so obviously a cop it wasn’t hard to avoid him.”
“There must be plenty of places where no-one knows you, why specifically New York?” Snow said, smiling as she imagined Bigby’s expression when she told him about that last comment.
“I… I don’t know. When I decided to leave Zihuatanejo it was more about getting away from somewhere than going anywhere in particular, I suppose I could have gone to California or Mississippi or even Hong Kong, I just didn’t. Now that I think about it though it’s easier to be unnoticed when you’re just one of the crowd instead of “the American” or “that guy from New England.” New York has to be one of the easiest places to be anonymous, they get so many tourists and people on business they seem to pride themselves on not being impressed at that sort of thing. I didn’t worry about that when I first went to Mexico, fortunately back then enough money bought you a lot of looking the other way.”
The cab pulled up in JFK’s central terminal area. After thanking the driver neither Snow nor Andy spoke again for a while, walking through the terminal in a companionable silence. Snow knew they had done all of the talking they needed to for a while. Since entering the airport Andy had become Randal again and the tension that had been hanging between them for most of the day evaporated into the easy relationship of the past few months.
Eventually they were sat in the departure lounge, Andy’s carry-on luggage at their feet. Small groups of people were sitting watching the departure screens, most looked like families trying to escape the cold, if only for a while. Annoying tinny music was playing from somewhere nearby, just loudly enough to hear but not to make out the lyrics or follow the tune. For a while Andy and Snow sat elbow-to-elbow, staring into the middle distance. An announcement declaring Andy’s flight ready for boarding interrupted the music. Andy picked up his bags and started walking towards the people showing boarding passes to the waiting attendant. Just before he reached the queue he turned back to Snow.
“Thanks for coming along Snow; you were right New York just isn’t for me. I think the only thing I’m going to miss will be meeting you for lunch every day.” He smiled at her and held out his hand for her to shake. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you Miss White.”
On an impulse Snow stepped towards Andy, raised herself onto her toes and brushed her lips gently across his. To anyone watching, anyone failing to notice Andy’s expression of utter shock, it would have looked entirely chaste. An observer might have assumed Snow was saying goodbye to her father. But as Snow stepped back she knew better. If she was honest Snow was almost as surprised as Andy. She had only meant to say goodbye to her friend, but the sensation of that feather-light touch was still on her lips and she could still smell a hint of Andy’s aftershave. Now she had to fight not to ask him to stay.
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“I’m owed some vacation time Mr Stevens.”
Andy heard Snow’s voice and tried to pull himself together. It wasn’t easy; he kept seeing those perfect, deep red lips and wondering if the last few seconds had really happened.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said I have some vacation coming up and I’ve never been to Mexico.” She was smiling now, with a look in her eyes that Andy had not seen in a very long time. “I was hoping we might be able to finish that game of chess we started yesterday; I really think I’m going to beat you this time.”
“I hope I’ll see you soon then, Miss White.” He glanced back, smiling as the attendant took his boarding pass. “Oh and Snow?”
“Yes?”
“No chance, checkmate in ten.”
Author: silver_u_glass
Fandoms: Fables/The Shawshank Redemption
Pairing: Snow White/Andy Dufresne
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, all used without permission.
Summary: There is a stranger in Fabletown, Bigby convinces Snow to help him look into it.
Word count: 8,435(eep!)
Spoilers: None for Fables, enough to completely ruin Shawshank for the uninitiated
Notes: For those unfamiliar with the Fables comics I’ve given a brief guide on my own journal fables guide
This story takes place ten years after the end of Shawshank. Depending on whether you’re going with the film or the short story that means between 15 and 19 years prior to the beginning of the Fables stories.
Oh and one other thing, physically I’ve used movie!andy because in my mind Andy looks like Tim Robbins.
Sorry it’s so over deadline, thanks for the extension Trollprincess.
Bigby Wolf perched on the desk of Fabletown’s Director of Operations, flicking ash at the Thank You For Not Smoking sign. He was waiting for a response from the woman sat in the ornate chair behind the desk. For a while, she stared at him, fingers steepled in front of blood red lips, her pale skin making her eyes seem vivid despite the dark mass of her hair.
“We get mundys passing through all the time,” she said eventually, “what’s so special about this one?”
“That’s just it, they pass through. Not this one though, every day for the last two weeks he’s spent a few hours in the Eggman, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.”
“So what, he sounds harmless. What do you want me to do about him?” her voice was refined but as cold as the weather that shared her name.
“Take a look, talk to him and see what you think. He might be harmless, he might not, we should find out.”
“Why ask me? You’re the Sheriff after all, isn’t this more your line?”
“You have a better chance of getting something out of him. For some reason he gets nervous if I even walk past, he hides it well but I can smell it on him. This way if he turns out to be harmless there’s less chance of making him curious.”
“I’m too busy for a cosy chat with some mundy, Mr Wolf, can’t someone else do it?”
“Who would you suggest? Boy Blue? Flycatcher? Bluebeard?”
Which was why on a warm June day, Snow White the Director of Operations and Deputy Mayor of Fabletown (basically the woman who ran the place) left the Woodlands building for a stroll down Bullfinch Street. It was a beautiful afternoon to be out of the office, walking down a remarkable (though un-remarked) street in a remarkable (but never remarked upon) corner of the upper west side.
The I am the Eggman diner sits on the corner of Bullfinch and Kipling streets. It is one of those traditional all-American places that only really exist in rose-tinted memory; clean white tables, red and white checked tiles on the floor and a jukebox in the corner. If Hopper had ever needed inspiration, he could have set up an easel across the street and just started painting.
The mundy was sat at a table next to one of the windows, his back to the door. He was pouring over his newspaper, a china cup sat near his hand. Snow paused for a moment, studying him from the other side of the street. He had the deep tan and sun-bleached hair of a man used to spending long hours outdoors. His skin was more wrinkled than the average sun-worshipper; around his temples the sun-bleaching gave way to truly silver hair, amongst the mundies, this man would be long past middle age.
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Snow sighed; she couldn’t prevaricate any longer, it was time to meet the mundy. She crossed the street and walked into the diner. Squire Vulco, (or was it one of his brothers? They looked so alike Snow had difficulty telling them apart), co-owner and chef of the Eggman started to hurry towards Snow. A stern look and a quick shake of her head was all it took to say “no special treatment.” The lunchtime rush was in, making her first introduction that little bit easier. The mundy was paying no attention to her, but just in case, she walked past him apparently looking for an empty table.
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“Excuse me.” The voice was polite and soft. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
Andy looked up and the breath caught in his throat. The woman in front of him was; well women like her just don’t exist. She was the sort of girl you picture in those long empty nights in the hole, when reality is locked on the other side of the door and there is nothing to hold back your imagination. Yet here she was, smiling at him and looking a little embarrassed.
“I’m sorry to bother you but there are no empty tables,” she looked around as if she might have missed a clear table somewhere in the packed diner, “so I was hoping…”
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“Please” the mundy seemed quiet; maybe even a little withdrawn but Bigby was right, if the man was nervous, he hid it well. Snow had been worried during that pause; sometimes joining another person’s table can remind them of all the other things they need to be doing. On the other hand, since he stayed seated, maybe the mundy just thought before he spoke; it would make a nice change. He returned to concentrating on his newspaper. The page was just a dense collection of acronyms and numbers, Snow couldn’t imagine choosing something like that for pleasure. Maybe understanding his reading material would give her an idea of why he spent so much time in Fabletown.
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“It’s a beautiful day, I’m glad I could make it out of the office.”
“I’m sorry?” Andy was surprised that the girl wanted to talk. His last conversation had been weeks ago and that had been banal small talk on a long flight, this woman didn’t seem the type for that somehow. Besides, he had spent far too long surrounded by men to give up the chance to talk with a smiling woman.
“No, I’m sorry, was I interrupting?”
“Not really,” He rested his hands on his newspaper, fingers linked together. “What were you saying?”
“Nothing really.” A pale blush turned the girl’s cheeks from white to a soft pink. “I was just saying I’m glad to be out of the office on such a nice day.”
“I know what you mean.” Andy smiled, twenty-five years in a cell helps you appreciate little things like a walk down the street on a sunny day. “So where do you work?”
“Oh there’s a building nearby, we’re involved with the local community, the businesses around here, that sort of thing.”
Andy could recognise an evasive answer when he heard one, but if the girl didn’t want to say more - well it was really none of his business. She sounded like some kind of administrator or senior secretary, not a bad job for someone in her middle twenties. Andy took a sip from his coffee and waited for the girl to break the silence. After a moment, she started staring out of the window.
“Can I get you anything Miss White?” The waitress’ arrival had been almost silent Andy hadn’t even noticed her refilling his coffee. Like many big girls, Agnes seemed to float as she moved.
“Just a coffee, thanks Agnes.”
“Sure thing Snow.” The waitress carefully turned around and bustled off to fetch another mug.
“Snow White?” It is hard not to smile when you hear something like that, Andy didn’t even try.
“It’s a nickname, I suppose every girl named White gets it at least once, with me it just stuck.” the woman replied, smiling in the long-suffering way of someone who has had to explain something far too often. “So, now you know who I am, what should I call you?”
“Of course, I’m sorry. I’m Randal. Randal Stevens.” It had been so long the lie came almost as smoothly as the truth.
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Just as Snow was about to ask “and what do you do Mr Stevens?” a sudden violent crash silenced the restaurant. The moment of unnatural stillness was broken by a plaintive voice from somewhere behind Snow.
“Rose, please.”
A figure stormed past the booth, a blur of black, white and pink. It paused briefly at the exit to spit out:
“Asshole!”
Before slamming the door with such force that the window next to Snow shook.
“Poor girl,” Randal’s eyes tracked Rose as she stamped across the street, closely followed by a man Snow didn’t recognise.
“Hmm?” Snow raised an eyebrow,
“She was in here last week, she … lost her temper then as well.” His tone was measured, he seemed to be taking Rose’s latest little drama with equanimity. “Although I think it was with a different man.”
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As Andy was talking, the waitress arrived with Snow’s coffee.
“Thanks Agnes, I’m sorry about Rose.”
The waitress’ smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not your fault Miss White, you don’t get to choose your family.”
“Mmm, a pity sometimes. How are the auditions going?”
“Always the chorus, never the lead, just like home.” The girl replied with a little sigh.
“Keep at it, you’re talented, Agnes, it’s just a matter of time.”
“Hah!” The two women seemed to be sharing some private joke. “We’ve got plenty of that at any rate! Do you need anything else?”
Still smiling, Snow shook her head and Agnes left as quietly as she arrived. For a few moments, Andy continued staring out of the window.
“I’m sorry”
“What was that?” Snow sounded curious.
“I’m sorry.” He turned away from the window; the dark haired woman was staring at him with a puzzled smile. “I didn’t realise that you were related to the other girl. I hope I didn’t misspeak earlier.”
“I …” Her smile vanished; she closed her eyes briefly, before continuing. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong, I know my sister can be wild.”
Andy nodded; “wild,” well he had seen plenty of that over the years. Zihuatanejo might not be Tijuana but for some of his guests just being in Mexico was enough. Snow’s expression was a surprise; people Snow’s age tended to take this sort of thing in their stride. There was a history here, and not a happy one. Andy’s curiosity fought against an instinct not to pry.
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“She wasn’t always like this.” Snow had no idea why she started talking again. Randal didn’t seem to disapprove of Rose, a detached sadness for her relationship troubles perhaps, but nothing more.
“She … we …” Now that Snow had decided to talk she couldn’t find the right words. How do you express centuries of acrimony? “We haven’t been close for some time; we were once, we used to be inseparable. After I got married I even brought Rose in to live with us.”
Snow swallowed hard, these memories might be old but she examined them so rarely they felt fresh. She started to stare at the table, for some reason she couldn’t look at Randal and tell the rest of the story at the same time.
“It turns out that was a mistake. One day, not long after Rose moved in, I got home; I… hah, I can’t remember where I had been. My sister and my husband were both nowhere to be found, but we lived in a huge place so I didn’t think much of it.” The words were coming faster now, driving Snow towards the unavoidable conclusion. “I had to go to my room, I think I wanted to change my clothes, or… anyway. When I opened the door I found Rose in bed with my husband.”
“In bed with my husband,” thought Snow, just five words, is that enough? How can they explain what it’s like to see your sister’s legs wrapped around your husband’s body, her arms stroking his shoulders? Do they describe what it’s like to see the muscles in that bastard’s back rigid with exertion, or the way Rose’s triumphant expression changed to shock when she saw me?
Snow looked up, brushing some loose hair behind one ear and tried to meet Randal’s eyes. She couldn’t do it, he was looking over her shoulder with that thousand-mile stare people get when all they can see are the pictures in their heads.
He knows, she realised, he’s lived this or something close and now I’ve reminded him. Damn.
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“What happened next?” It took a lot of self-control and he couldn’t look at the girl opposite him while he was talking but somehow Andy managed kept his voice level and calm.
“I threw her out and divorced him.” She spoke as if it was all so simple. Andy knew it couldn’t have been, even in these more liberal times she must have gone through hell.
“Do you still see him?”
“Not for a while now, he’s been in Europe for the last few years. No doubt he’ll be back when he wears out his welcome.”
“But no reconciliation?” Andy forced himself to look at Snow.
“No.” Her chin was up, jaw jutting slightly forward as if challenging Andy to disapprove.
“If an old man can offer some advice,” Andy paused to see whether Snow was listening. Of all the lessons he had learnt, this had been the most painful. If he could, he would try to spare this near stranger some of that. “Make your peace while you can. No one is around forever, and some people are taken from us far sooner than we expect. It’s a terrible thing to have something to get off your chest and no way to do it.”
Snow nodded, she looked as if she was about to say something, but instead glanced at her watch.
“Is that the time? I have to get back to the office. It was good to meet you Mr Stevens, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Pausing to drop a few dollars onto the table, she left the Eggman.
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Snow was careful to walk calmly past the diner’s windows and turn the corner onto Bullfinch Street before giving in to her rage.
“The arrogance of that, that… damn him! If an old man can offer some advice” She mimicked. “I was an adult before your distant ancestors were even born! No one is around forever - hah! I might consider that in a few centuries you, you … Ugh!”
“Did you enjoy your lunch Miss White?” The voice was deep and mocking, its speaker hidden by the stone pillars supporting the gates of the Woodlands building.
“What do you want Mr Wolf?”
“I want to know what you found out, wasn’t that the point of the exercise?” Bigby answered, stepping into view.
“And you couldn’t wait until I got to my office?” Snow snapped.
“I wanted some fresh air.” Bigby replied, hidden by his ever-present cloud of smoke.
“Fine, you want to know?” Snow swept past the unshaven fable, nodding at Trusty John as she entered the Woodlands building, Bigby trailing in her wake. “OK he’s an interfering old mundy.”
When the elevator reached the administration floor Bigby muttered:
“Let’s use my office, I could do without Bufkin or Blue sitting in on this.”
Snow didn’t speak until they reached the Sheriff’s tiny and cluttered office. The dishevelled fable dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk.
“Interfering?”
“Poor choice of words on my part Bigby.” Snow replied sat in the visitor’s chair, calmer now. “He … said some things I didn’t appreciate. I don’t think he’s trouble.”
“Why not?”
“I … I suppose I just got that impression.”
“Well, did he tell you why he’s here?”
“Uh, no”
“Did he tell you what he does?”
“Not exactly”
“Not exactly? What did he tell you, Miss White?”
“I think he went through a nasty divorce some time ago.” She paused realising how little she had learnt. “Er, I think the newspaper he reads might be important.”
To his credit, Bigby had the sense not to say anything; content to stare at her, smoke curling past his face from the cigarette held just in front of his lips. After a pregnant pause he finally said:
“OK I’ll bite, which newspaper?”
“What?”
“You said the newspaper was important, fair enough - which one does he read?”
“Erm, it had lots of columns, letters followed by numbers. Don’t look at me like that Bigby, when was the last time you read a mundy newspaper?”
“Yesterday. What happens to the mundies happens to us, but forget that for now. We need to find out as much about him as we can before tomorrow. You should know as much as possible when you see him again.”
“WHAT?”
“Snow - sorry, Miss White, you spent almost an hour with him and we are hardly any better off than we were this morning. We need to know more and you’ve already made contact with him. Is there anything else you can tell me before we go see Jack?”
“Jack? Why him, he’s a scheming, untrustworthy trickster.”
Bigby’s expression was blank; he seemed to be waiting for Snow to make her point.
“There’s a mundy news-stand not far from here, if you can recognise the newspaper that might make life easier for us.”
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“It’s the Wall Street Journal.” Jack said looking at the newspaper the Director of Operations had dropped onto the desk in front of him. “So?”
“Who reads it Jack?” Snarled Fabletown’s sheriff from somewhere over Jack’s shoulder.
“Well, mundies obviously.” Jack replied, confused.
“Try to keep up, Jack” Bigby spoke more slowly, as if addressing a child, “what sort of mundies?”
“These days? All sorts, Sheriff.” Jack said, looking at Snow across the desk but addressing Bigby.
“Explain.”
“It’s the ‘eighties Sheriff, “greed is good” or hadn’t you heard?” Still staring into Snow’s eyes Jack continued. “Everyone and her dog has stock these days, and the Journal is the easiest way to keep track.”
“So all the mundies read this paper?”
“Not exactly, Miss White, first you need to be able to afford stock, that may not be the super-rich anymore but there are still people who can’t afford to gamble.”
“Not the poor, but not just the very rich, can’t you be more specific?” Bigby’s mouth was so close that Jack could smell the stink of stale smoke.
“Buyers, bankers and brokers, Sheriff, that’s it. Well, sellers too I suppose but it doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so well.”
“Brokers?”
“People who buy and sell stock on behalf of other people. They’re usually responsible for helping their clients get the biggest profit out of their portfolio.”
Jack watched as Snow’s eyes strayed to a point somewhere over his left shoulder. She nodded briefly.
“We’re done now Jack, goodbye.”
The abruptness of the dismissal surprised Jack; he glared at Snow for a moment before standing up.
“So how’s your sister, still causing trouble?”
“Stay away from her Jack” Snow’s voice was crisp with ice. “She has enough problems.”
Jack’s hand was on the door when a snarling voice seemed to vibrate straight up through his boots
“Jack? I don’t know why you know so much about stocks, but when I find out you’re in big trouble.”
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Snow waited until Jack had left and Bigby sat in the empty chair.
“I suppose this means tomorrow I have to take lunch with Randal again?”
“Randal?”
“The mundy.”
Bigby gaze was unblinking.
“So we know his name then?”
Snow was stunned, was it possible she left that detail out?
“Randal Stevens.”
“I know this sort of thing isn’t your normal line of work but little details like that can
be really useful.” Bigby was grinning as he spoke.
“Out!”
The next morning Snow found that she was having trouble concentrating on the everyday troubles of the close-knit community. As her watch ticked along its inexorable journey to midday Snow found herself thinking about yesterday’s meeting with Randal. She realised that she had lasted barely half an hour before loosing her temper. Even more disconcerting was that Snow had been the one doing most of the talking.
“Some interrogator I turned out to be”
“Sorry, Miss White?”
“Nothing, Blue. I’m going out for lunch, I should be back in an hour or so.”
As she left she could feel her assistant’s surprised stare on her back, like an itch between her shoulder blades.
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“May I join you again Mr Stevens?”
“Miss White!” Andy looked up when he heard the familiar voice. “Twice in as many days, if we keep this up you’re going to have to start calling me Randal.”
“Oh, I try to get away from my desk a couple of times a week.” The young woman sat almost exactly where she had been the day before. “I like this place; it’s close to where I work.”
Andy nodded, he was glad to see Snow again. Especially since she was in such a good mood, maybe her sudden departure on the previous day had not been because he offended her. Gratified, Andy smiled and returned to reading his newspaper.
“So are you a banker, Mr Stev- uh Randal?”
Andy’s mind started to race as he looked at the smiling face opposite him. First, the scruffy policeman who always seemed to be watching him, now this question coming out of the blue, was she trying to tell him something? Did they know? After all this time were they still looking for him? As Andy searched desperately for a casual reply, the girl waved a hand towards his newspaper.
“The stock market section of the Journal, not exactly light reading.”
“Oh, that” Andy took a sip of his coffee, hoping to give his heart time to drop out of his throat. “No, Miss White, I’ve just got a couple of investments I like to keep an eye on. Not for the money, you understand, it’s just a little fun.”
“You know if we’re going to be on first name terms you really ought to call me Snow.” She replied with a little smile. “So what do you do Randal?”
“Not much these days, I used to spend a lot of time looking at rocks.” One of the things Andy had picked up in the ‘Shank was you never know how much the other guy knows. If you’ve got to lie go with something you can believably fake.
Those perfect eyebrows shot up, Andy could see the question forming and smiled a little at the confusion he had caused.
“Geology? The study of the Earth.” He explained.
“If that’s what you used to do what brings you here, I mean here, here?”
“I like it, people don’t seem to rush around as much and there are hardly any tourists - both are unusual in New York.”
“I’m glad you’re happy but that wasn’t really my question.” She was smiling playfully. Andy wondered if maybe there was also some satisfaction at seeing through his half-answer.
She’s too smart for a straight out lie, Andy realised but how much can I tell her?
“Good point,” Andy tried to sound light-hearted, all the while carefully censoring himself. “As I said, I don’t actually do much anymore. I own a small hotel, we… I do enough business to keep me comfortable. These days the place pretty much runs itself, I… came here to get away from things for a while.”
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I haven’t heard someone sound like that since we got away from The Adversary. Snow realised with the shock of the familiar. He’s hiding from something, maybe a few things, but I don’t think there is any in him. I’ve been married to a selfish son of a bitch and have to kiss up to a psychotic one. I don’t care what the amnesty says I’ve known most kinds of evil; Randal is nothing like any of them.
“What were you getting away from, Randal?” Snow asked, trying to drag as many memories of the invasion and exile to the surface as she could.
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Andy looked at Snow’s expression and the blithe change of subject slipped from his mind.
How can someone so young look like that? On their worst days not even Brooks or Red looked that jaded.
“I…” when he started talking again it was not to a naive girl three times his junior, but to a sympathetic peer. “For a long time I had a really close friend. Honestly, you can’t imagine what we went through together, I was there and I have a hard time believing it. We went through hell together. Until I left, I got out early and I couldn’t bring him with me, I wanted to but I couldn’t. Eventually he made it out, it took years but he made it out and tracked me down.”
He took a deep breath and put his coffee mug onto the table with a shaking hand.
“I… he… It was good to see him again. We didn’t pick up where we had left off, that would have meant stepping backwards. We started somewhere else; somewhere we’d only ever talked about. It was good but…”
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“But he died.” Snow knew the end of this story, she wouldn’t try to count the times she’d seen it in the old countries, or heard it since coming here.
Randal started to nod. “Yes, when he got out Red wasn’t that much older than I am now but… the things he had been through had stolen years from him. I was there at the end - well in a way. I suppose it should say I was the last to see him and the first to find him; I wasn’t there when he… passed.”
Snow stayed silent, shooting a pointed look at the approaching form of Agnes to keep her away. She reached across the table to squeeze Randal’s fingers.
“You don’t-”
“No, I’m fine it’s been over a month since it happened.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “I miss him but I think he was happy at the end. We found him with his back to a tree and his toes in the ocean. He was smiling.”
Snow didn’t let go of Randal’s hand; a month was hardly enough time to get over loosing a friend like this man “Red,” no matter how peacefully he passed.
Snow decided to lighten the conversation and at the same time tried to move to something Bigby might find useful. “Toes in the ocean, that doesn’t sound like New York.”
“Hah!” Randal smiled. “No, we were a lot further south. A little place in Mexico no-one’s ever heard of called Zihuatanejo.”
“You know, you’re right. I’ve never heard of it.” Snow said; pleased when Randal’s responding laugh sounded genuine. “So was that why you left because of your friend?”
“Well in a way, I stayed for a while, carrying on as if nothing had happened; but I started to realise that the whole place reminded me of Red.” Randal’s eyes started to develop that far away look again, his fingers slipped out of Snow’s grasp. “When I built the hotel it was on the assumption that my friend would join me. Now he was gone and all I could think about were the conversations we would never have, that sort of thing. I had to get away.”
“So now you’re here.” It was more of a statement than a question and seemed to snap Randal back to the here-and-now.
He blinked and nodded “Now I’m here.”
The conversation moved to small talk, and stayed there. Snow let Randal persuade her to order some food. Eventually he was the one to notice the time:
“I don’t want to chase you away Snow, but I think your lunch hour has been over for the past ten minutes. I hope won’t have problems when you get back?”
“No… I have a certain amount of discretion, I should be fine.” Snow said as she stood up. “Thank you Randal, I hope we can do this again.”
“I’d say it went better this time.” Bigby had been loitering in the lobby of the Woodlands building when Snow returned.
“Do you really have nothing better to do than lurk around Sheriff?”
Bigby pointed his thumb at a gangling figure dressed in a bright orange boiler suit who was setting up a colossal floor waxing machine.
“Fly has community service again, I just came down to make sure he was doing his job.” Bigby grinned, displaying altogether too many teeth for Snow’s liking. “Not everything I do revolves around you, Princess. Since you are back why don’t we go have a chat in my office?”
“You’re right, he does sound like an ex-soldier.” Snow had just finished describing her conversation with Randal to Bigby. For the most part, he had seemed relaxed, scribbling the occasional note on a pad on his desk. When Snow reached the part about Randal’s friend Red and what they had been through together, Bigby became very still and attentive. “But it doesn’t add up. Literally, the numbers don’t make sense. He would have been too young for World War Two, besides if Red was Randal’s current age in, what? Nineteen fifty-six, he would be long gone by now. You get similar problems with Korea. Vietnam would make far more sense but by then this “Red” should have been too old to see combat.
I just don’t know Snow, but we have enough now for me to do some checking. You said that he didn’t seem too curious about us so I doubt we need to do anything hasty. If you could look in on him occasionally, at least until we know something for certain, that would probably be a good idea.”
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And so it went on, at first Snow would only allow herself a weekly trip to the Eggman and never for longer than an hour. By the time the trees around the Woodlands building started turning brown, Snow and Andy had become daily sight in the diner. It came to point that people started talking about “Snow and Randal’s booth.” As the meetings became more frequent, Snow found that she started to build her day around that hour. That table became a sanctuary. The most basic rule of Fabletown insisted that mundies could not learn the true nature of the community, so while she was with Andy no one would drag Snow away to solve some minor crisis.
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Their first game of chess had been a revelation. One day, Randal had mentioned that he missed the occasional games he used to play with his guests (apparently despite Randal’s best efforts Red found chess a total mystery). The look on his face when she produced a board the next day made Snow smile whenever she pictured it. It took a week to finish that first game. Patience was rare enough in a Fable, people for whom decades could pass unnoticed still seemed be incapable of taking time to breathe. Mundies were different though. Their time is limited; every second brings them closer to the end but somehow despite it all Randal found time to wait. That was refreshing.
It had reached that annoying almost-there point of the morning. Too early to justify leaving for lunch but close enough that starting anything big didn’t seem worthwhile. In the old days Snow would have just started something and grabbed some food if she got time. The old days were gone and now Snow was glaring at the clock and trying to find some of Randal’s patience. She was on the verge of admitting defeat and leaving early, when Bigby walked into the office without even a cursory knock at the door.
“What is it Sheriff? I’m busy.” She saw him glance around and became acutely aware of her empty desk.
“So I see. Where are Bufkin and Blue?”
“Blue is running some errands; he’ll come back after he has had something to eat. I sent Bufkin for something from the back of the office about twenty minutes ago. I doubt he will be back for a few hours.”
“Good.” Bigby draped his trench coat over one of the chairs in front of Snow’s desk before dropping into the other seat. “We need to talk about the Mundy.”
“Randal.” The correction had become automatic, Snow had grown tired of hearing about her mundy as if Randal was some pet.
“Well that’s where things get interesting.” Bigby was smiling, there was something about his expression that Snow disliked, but she could not quite place it. Not gloating but perhaps a little triumphant?
“Randal Stevens is a remarkable man, but you already know that, right Princess?”
“Save the insinuations Sheriff, just get on with it.”
“It’s hard to know where to start” Bigby paused to light another of his seemingly endless cigarettes. Snow tried to remain calm. Her left hand, resting in her lap, curled so tightly into a fist that her fingernails almost drew blood from her palm. “You’re a busy woman so I’ll just give you the big picture shall I?”
It was clear that Bigby was enjoying himself; milking every moment for all that it was worth.
“Absolutely,” Snow managed to keep her voice level and dispassionate. “Why don’t we start there?”
“Randal Stevens does not exist.” He was so offhanded he could have been discussing the cost of groceries or whether he would need a coat for his afternoon walk.
“What?” Snow could not have been more astounded if Bigby had walked into her office claiming to be vegetarian. Stunned out of full sentences she snapped. “Explain.”
“So now you want the little picture?” Bigby began, but he seemed to realise he was pushing his luck. “OK from the beginning then. Do you remember the second meeting you had with… well let’s keep on calling him Randal for now, shall we?”
When Snow nodded he continued, “Well that was enough for me to start looking. The world seems to run on paper these days; I imagine you know that better than I do.”
Snow’s grimace at the thought of her overflowing intray must have been enough Bigby hardly paused.
“All of that paper leaves a trail, with enough patience and a hint or two you can track a mundy all the way back to birth. If you know the right doctor, you can go even further.”
He raised a hand, anticipating Snow’s objection.
“This is important Miss White. You have to know this because you have to understand what it means when I say that Randal Stevens does not have that paper chain.”
“None at all?” It had been Bigby’s tone of voice that drove home the magnitude of what he was saying.
“No, he has the important things. Enough to get by if no-one actually looks at his past. What’s missing are all of the incidental things that make a story true. It’s as if he just appeared as an adult. No, actually it’s more like he was born and disappeared until adulthood. He has a birth certificate but no childhood, no records of enrolment at any school. A geologist must have graduated from university, but where did he go?”
Snow’s heart had climbed into her throat. She had sworn it would never happen, how could she let herself be taken in again?
“So is that it Sheriff? Are we back to square one?”
Bigby exhaled a colossal plume of smoke before shaking his head.
“I thought you had more faith in me than that, Princess. It didn’t take me this long just to get to a dead end. Like I said Randal Stevens might not have a childhood but he does have a past, around nineteen sixty-five he opened up a few bank accounts. Individually they were small but added together-” Bigby raised his eyebrows and whistled. “A little while ago I took a trip to Maine where those accounts had been opened and a few years later closed. I spent some time in the local public library and I noticed a surprising coincidence.”
Yet again Bigby stopped talking to grind out his spent cigarette. It wasn’t until he had lit another and started talking again that Snow realised she had been holding her breath.
“The big story, front page news on all the local newspapers around the time that Mr Stevens decided to close his accounts, was of a prison break. Apparently sometime during previous night a double murderer made a miraculous escape, the next morning the warden shot himself and one of the senior guards was arrested for murder.”
“That’s quite a story, but it doesn’t mean anything.” Snow was not sure whether she was disagreeing with Bigby or the spiteful little voice that had started whispering in the back of her head. “Those things could be completely unconnected. That they occurred together, well that’s just happenstance.”
Bigby stared at her, waiting for the interruption to finish and then he continued as if Snow had not spoken.
“Prison records can be tricky to get hold of but I know a few people, who know some people, who - well you get the idea. The man who escaped, an “Andy Dufresne” was in a cell on the same tier and block as a man named “Ellis Boyd Redding” also known as “Red.” Redding was released a couple of years after the escape and within months jumped his parole. Are we still dealing with happenstance, Miss White?”
Snow shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
“I didn’t think so either. So, in summary, we have an escaped double murderer who has lunch every day with the deputy mayor of a secret community that has managed to keep a low profile for centuries. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“He’s harmless Bigby,” Even Snow thought she sounded small and defeated. “I know him now and I just can’t believe he killed anyone.”
“Can’t or won’t, Miss White?” All of the earlier mockery had left his voice. Bigby’s tone was professional but touched by a little sadness. “Besides it doesn’t matter whether he actually killed anyone, he’s still an escaped prisoner. If someone recognises him they’ll arrest him. When that happens the police are going to start trying to find out who has been protecting him for so long and they’ll start by looking here and questioning you.”
“I realise that Bigby but it’s been nearly twenty years I doubt they are still looking for him.” Snow felt her temper start to rise. “Besides this is Fabletown, who is going to recognise him here?”
“Does it matter?” Bigby barked back. “You know the rules as well as I do, probably better. We can’t take any risk that might expose us to the mundies. Besides what are you going to do, keep him around and run the risk that he notices something?”
Snow knew he was right and she hated him for it.
“You are asking me to convince him to leave aren’t you? You want me to chase my friend away!” She was on her feet, palms flat to the desk, glaring at the impassive sheriff.
“Yes.” Bigby stood up and took his coat from the chair next to him. “It really is that simple Snow, but if you don’t think you can do it I’ll have to. Goodbye, Miss White.”
It was raining when Snow left the Woodlands building, the fat kind of rain where each drop seems to splash as it hits the sidewalk. Despite quickly becoming saturated Snow refused to hurry or turn back for an umbrella. A little rain was a fair exchange for the time to plan what she would say to the first person to fool her so completely since her divorce.
In the end it was Andy who spoke first. He had turned around when he heard the door open. In moments he was on his feet.
“Snow you’re soaked! What’s wrong?” Without waiting for a response he hurried Snow over to their table and sat her down. “Stay here I’ll find you a towel or something.”
As she watched him rush away Snow was surprised to realise that this was the first time she had seen Andy on his feet. He was taller than she had expected and lean under the well tailored suit. From the way he moved, Snow would guess that he wasn’t suffering from the aches and stiffness that start to visit the mundies around his age.
In moments he was back, with Agnes the waitress in tow.
“Here, use this,” he was offering her what looked like a towel used for drying dishes.
“Is everything alright, Miss White?” Agnes was hovering just behind Andy, wringing her hands together. Snow looked around and realised that half of the diner was straining to hear what was going on.
“I’m fine, Agnes,” she lied, her voice just loud enough to carry. “I was caught out by the rain and splashed by a taxi, that’s all.”
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Once the waitress was gone Andy gave Snow a hard look.
“Come now Snow, honestly. You’re soaked to the skin, no run through the rain does that, taxis and puddles not withstanding.”
Snow was rubbing her hair dry; Andy couldn’t see her face when she replied.
“Well, if we’re being honest I’m wet because I walked very slowly.” Snow’s tone was conversational. “I’d learnt something surprising about a friend of mine and to be honest I didn’t mind getting a little wet if it gave me time to think. That is if we’re being honest Mr Dufresne.”
Snow stopped drying her hair and looked at Andy. Her expression was as mild as her tone had been, but Andy could see her temper was only held in check by iron self-control. Those flawless blue eyes pinned him to his seat. For a short time Andy did nothing. His mind flew through his thoughts like a hummingbird, hovering briefly at each but never landing for long enough to reach a conclusion. After a moment he drew a shuddering breath and offered his hand to the motionless woman opposite him.
“Andy Dufresne, Miss White. Do I have time to tell you a very long story?”
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No-one on Bullfinch Street that afternoon took the time to look through the windows of the Eggman. So no-one saw the table where a man was staring intently at an unfinished game of chess apparently unaware of the tears on the cheeks of the woman opposite him.
By the time Andy finished talking the wind had died and the rain had stopped. The people walking past the window had stopped scurrying between patches of shelter, but were still moving with at the strange half-run of people waiting for the clouds to remember why they had come to New York.
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“So what happens now?” Andy asked, staring at the dregs of his coffee. Snow wondered why he had not asked her how she knew who he was.
“You can’t stay here Andy. I believe you when you say you didn’t kill your wife.” She saw his shoulders slump. “No really Andy, Red was right. Blame yourself for her being in the wrong place at the wrong time if you have to but that’s all you can claim. The other things that happened that night were not your fault. But you can’t prove you didn’t do it any more, so if someone recognises you you’re going straight back to jail.”
“I doubt anyone is still looking, it’s been too long. There must be more urgent cases to take up their time, cases people actually care about.”
She knew he was right, by now his case was probably in the bottom of some filing cabinet in a drawer marked not worth the effort. If he was really unlucky there might still be a policeman somewhere in Maine who remembered the name Andy Dufresne, but that would be about it. He could probably walk down the sidewalk in New York every day for the rest of his life and be perfectly safe; it would be Fabletown’s secrets at risk.
“If I can find out that means other people can.” Snow argued, although she couldn’t imagine why anyone else would bother. “Go home Andy, go back to Zihuatanejo.”
He looked up; Snow didn’t give him time to interrupt.
“You gave me some advice once, now take some of mine. Painful memories or not you love the place; you can’t even say its name without smiling. I know what it’s like to miss somewhere that much, all you have to do is get on a plane. After all that you went through to get there giving up on it now would be tragic.”
“Is that it?” His voice was flat. “Or are you just trying to get rid of the criminal?”
“If that were the case,” Snow replied matching Andy’s tone exactly, “do you think you would be talking to me or the police?”
Andy stared out of the window at the rain-slick streets before he nodded and stood up.
“No time like the present. I can probably get a flight into Mexico today.” He sounded bleak but resigned. “I’ll hire a car once I’m there.”
“I’ll see if I can get us a cab.”
“Us? Are you coming to make sure I get on the plane?”
“I was going to see my friend to the airport and wish him a safe journey.” Snow said, hurt. “If you don’t want that I have plenty of work to get back to at the office.”
They were silent for most of the taxi ride. Snow stared out of the window, watching the traffic pass and trying to sort through a maelstrom of emotions. When they reached the hotel he had been living in Snow stayed with the cab while Andy went inside to pack and check out. This distance gave Snow time to come to terms with herself. She didn’t feel angry at Andy lying to her for so long, if anything she felt guilty that she had forced him to reveal his big secret but wasn’t able to reciprocate. There was more than that, since leaving the Eggman there had been a dull, leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was not until Andy reappeared from the hotel that Snow realised that feeling was because she was loosing the only person who just treated her as Snow, not Director of Operations White. Andy accepted her without the complications of position or authority. In all the conversations they’d had over the last few months he had always respected Snow’s need to keep things to herself. In that moment she realised how bitterly she was going to miss his company.
“There’s still one thing I have to ask. Why New York? Why my neighbourhood?”
“No one knew me here, the biggest mistake when you are running is to go somewhere familiar, people will look for you there. Your neighbourhood is quite a long way from my hotel, you would have to actually make an effort to find both where I was staying and where I spend my day. Besides you hardly ever see any policemen there, just some scruffy plain clothes guy and he was so obviously a cop it wasn’t hard to avoid him.”
“There must be plenty of places where no-one knows you, why specifically New York?” Snow said, smiling as she imagined Bigby’s expression when she told him about that last comment.
“I… I don’t know. When I decided to leave Zihuatanejo it was more about getting away from somewhere than going anywhere in particular, I suppose I could have gone to California or Mississippi or even Hong Kong, I just didn’t. Now that I think about it though it’s easier to be unnoticed when you’re just one of the crowd instead of “the American” or “that guy from New England.” New York has to be one of the easiest places to be anonymous, they get so many tourists and people on business they seem to pride themselves on not being impressed at that sort of thing. I didn’t worry about that when I first went to Mexico, fortunately back then enough money bought you a lot of looking the other way.”
The cab pulled up in JFK’s central terminal area. After thanking the driver neither Snow nor Andy spoke again for a while, walking through the terminal in a companionable silence. Snow knew they had done all of the talking they needed to for a while. Since entering the airport Andy had become Randal again and the tension that had been hanging between them for most of the day evaporated into the easy relationship of the past few months.
Eventually they were sat in the departure lounge, Andy’s carry-on luggage at their feet. Small groups of people were sitting watching the departure screens, most looked like families trying to escape the cold, if only for a while. Annoying tinny music was playing from somewhere nearby, just loudly enough to hear but not to make out the lyrics or follow the tune. For a while Andy and Snow sat elbow-to-elbow, staring into the middle distance. An announcement declaring Andy’s flight ready for boarding interrupted the music. Andy picked up his bags and started walking towards the people showing boarding passes to the waiting attendant. Just before he reached the queue he turned back to Snow.
“Thanks for coming along Snow; you were right New York just isn’t for me. I think the only thing I’m going to miss will be meeting you for lunch every day.” He smiled at her and held out his hand for her to shake. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you Miss White.”
On an impulse Snow stepped towards Andy, raised herself onto her toes and brushed her lips gently across his. To anyone watching, anyone failing to notice Andy’s expression of utter shock, it would have looked entirely chaste. An observer might have assumed Snow was saying goodbye to her father. But as Snow stepped back she knew better. If she was honest Snow was almost as surprised as Andy. She had only meant to say goodbye to her friend, but the sensation of that feather-light touch was still on her lips and she could still smell a hint of Andy’s aftershave. Now she had to fight not to ask him to stay.
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“I’m owed some vacation time Mr Stevens.”
Andy heard Snow’s voice and tried to pull himself together. It wasn’t easy; he kept seeing those perfect, deep red lips and wondering if the last few seconds had really happened.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said I have some vacation coming up and I’ve never been to Mexico.” She was smiling now, with a look in her eyes that Andy had not seen in a very long time. “I was hoping we might be able to finish that game of chess we started yesterday; I really think I’m going to beat you this time.”
“I hope I’ll see you soon then, Miss White.” He glanced back, smiling as the attendant took his boarding pass. “Oh and Snow?”
“Yes?”
“No chance, checkmate in ten.”