would be okay, because I was doing a big job for him. Everything Shirley Angela had said was true. I didn’t get the exact figure, but I wasn’t worried if it came to a split.
It wasn’t dark yet. We were in the back yard, and she was helping me figure placement for a couple of speakers out there. I carried a folding ruler, and kept measuring tree trunks and the side of the house, craning my neck around to make it look good, in case anybody happened to see us.
I said, “You can’t stay out here long. You better keep running back into the house, so you can check on him. Isn’t that what you’d do normally?”
“Yes.”
“Did the doctor have anything to say when you got back?”
“He told me Victor should be in the hospital.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek.
She said, “He didn’t speak to Victor about it, though. Because it riles him up. I told them I’d been shopping. I stopped on the way home and bought a lot of stuff; I just grabbed everything in sight.”
“Good. But we can’t be seen together again, away from this place—not once.”
“All right.”
“You do everything just as you’d normally do it,” I said. “Try to imagine me as exactly what I am—a TV serviceman, who’s installing two television sets and an intercom system in your home. Try and remember that.”
“All right, Jack.”
“One thing we’ve got to be absolutely certain of. If he has one of his attacks, will he positively die if he doesn’t get oxygen?”
She stared at me. She didn’t speak.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
“It just struck me for a minute—what we’re doing.”
“Listen,” I said. “You go soft on this and it’s all off. Got that? If either one of us goes soft, we’ve got to quit.”
She nodded. “I’ll be all right.”
“See that you are. Make damned sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Would he die if he didn’t get oxygen?”
“Yes. It might take a little time, but he’ll die. He’ll suffocate, choke to death. Excitement hastens it. Then when he can’t get air, he gets scared. If nobody helps him, he’ll choke to death. That is, if his heart doesn’t go first.”
“He’s in a hell of a shape, isn’t he.”
She didn’t say anything. I went to the rear of the house, brought back a ladder, and leaned it against the pine tree. I climbed up three rungs and made it look as if I were inspecting the tree trunk.
I said, “Does the doc give him anything to keep his nerves steady?”
“Yes. He takes nerve pills regularly. And he takes some other stuff to help prevent the forming of mucous. He takes nitroglycerin pills for his heart pains, and the doctor gives him shots to help dehydrate him, so liquid won’t form.”
“God. Why does he want to live, anyway?”
“He has spells when he’s quite well,” she said. “He feels good. He thinks eventually all of this will pass and he’ll feel fine again. He was always an energetic man. He won’t believe he’s done for.”
“How often do these attacks occur?”
“You never know. He’s gone as long as three months without any trouble at all. Excitement helps bring them on.”
I hadn’t figured on waiting any length of time like that. Get it over with was my idea. Waiting that long, I would be in as bad shape as she was.
“But,” she said, “sometimes he’s had as many as four attacks in one week. And the intervals are getting shorter. That’s why all the talk about getting him to a hospital, where they could put him in an oxygen tent and administer to him better.’
I came down the ladder, picked the ladder up, and carried it over to a coconut palm by the seawall. I was perspiring and it wasn’t from carrying the ladder. She tagged along.
“You better run in and make a check,” I said. “Come back as soon as you can.”
“How are we going to do it, Jack?”
“I want your ideas, first.” I cleared my throat. “Shirley—it’ll never happen—but suppose after it’s done, we get split up somehow. Say, if we have to. Do I have your word we’ll divide the money?”
“You have my word.” Her lips were a little tense. She turned and headed for the house. I’d had to say that. I watched the way she stuck out in back, with high heels on. She still wore the fawn-colored dress. That walk of hers could drive a man nuts.
I put the ladder against the palm, stared at the Gulf, and lit a cigarette. Then I started up the ladder with the ruler, and it hit me how we would do this thing.
I stood there hanging to the ladder. It was going to be taking one hell of a sweet chance. A single slip, the measliest mistake, the wiggle of an eyebrow at the wrong time, and I was personally as good as strapped into the frying chair.
My palms were wet. But there it was. The one way. The right way. I still wanted to hear what she might have to say, but I knew beforehand that nothing she could ever come up with would be as simple and clear-cut and perfect as what had struck me.
I stood there in a land of trance, till I’d gone over every angle, and the hot coal of the cigarette began to burn my lips. I spat it out.
“Mr. Ruxton?”
I hadn’t heard her come across the lawn. I wondered why in hell she was calling me “Mr. Ruxton,” and turned on the ladder. She stood there, smiling up at me. A medium-sized guy carrying a small black bag stood beside her.
“Mr. Ruxton,” she said. “This is Doctor Miraglia, Mr. Spondell’s doctor. I told him what I was having done, and he thinks it’s an excellent idea.”
I came down the ladder, taking long quiet breaths, trying to get a good look at him. He had a polite little smile and a clean, well-scrubbed look. He wore gray slacks and a white shirt. His face was round and earnest looking, and rimless glasses rode a little low on a pug nose. He had thick black hair. He was maybe forty. I shook his hand.
He nodded in a very polite way and said, “I believe this is a fine idea Shirley has, Mr. Ruxton. It hadn’t occurred to me. But since our tough old boy won’t go to a hospital, this will give Shirley a little more freedom around the place.”
“It should make things easier,” I said.
He looked up at the coconut palm, just to be looking someplace, then at me again, very polite. Then he turned and smiled briefly at Shirley. “I’ll be very interested to see how it works when it’s finished,” he said. His voice was mild and easygoing, gentle. He probably had a great way with the bed-patients. He looked at me, the glasses glinting a little. “Reason I wanted to meet you,” he said, “I wanted to say, be gentle with the old boy when you explain about this intercom system and how it works. He’ll probably get rambunctious, and try to order you around, and he won’t want to listen. Be gentle but stern—and make sure he knows how to operate it.”
“Sure,” I said. “Don’t you worry.”
“There won’t be any trouble, Doctor,” she said.
“Well,” he said. “I’ve got to run. Glad to have met you, Mr. Ruxton. If I have any trouble with our television, I’ll know who to call.”
“Any time. Twenty-four hour service.” I felt like a blabbermouth fool, saying that, and looked at her to see how she was doing. She was doing fine.
“He’s a rough old bird,” Miraglia said.
I didn’t speak. He nodded again, glanced at her, and they turned and walked along toward the front of the
