"Where—where are we?" he asked the cabbie. For some reason, he fingered the business card in his pocket. The one the new masseur, the masseur who apparently did not exist, had given him.
The cabbie, shrugging, told him an address which was not immediately familiar. Then, with a sudden quickening of his heart, Horner realized it was the address on the business card in his pocket.
"You mean," Horner demanded, "we're on Long Island? I don't remember telling you to take me here."
"Well, I didn't dream it up myself, Mac," the cabbie said. "Look, I don't care if you get out or you don't get out. The flag is still down and I'm still making money. So, what'll it be?"
"I ought to call my wife," Horner said.
The driver shrugged. "You getting off here?"
Slowly, Horner nodded. He looked outside. He saw night darkness, a dimly lit driveway, a hemlock hedge twelve feet high.
"Sign said 'Positively no vehicles,'" the cabbie told him. "So I guess you walk from here."
"I guess I walk," Horner said. He consulted the taxi meter, took four dollar bills from his money clip and a half dollar in change from his pocket. Then he got out.