Nothing More Than Murder

I looked blank. 'What the hell are you driving at?'

'I'm makin' you a swap, Joe. I'm going to give you the Bower for the Barclay.'

You know, it was a funny thing. It was what I'd expected and wanted. It was what I'd been edging him toward from the start. But now that he'd fallen for it I didn't have to pretend to be sore or surprised.

It burned me up just as much as when I'd heard about Panzer moving in. It's funny; maybe I can't explain. But that show-that show-

No, I can't explain.

I came to my senses after a minute, but I kept on cursing and arguing awhile to make it look good.

'That's not reasonable, Andy,' I said. 'The Barclay's a first-class house. The Bower's just a rat trap.'

'It wasn't always a rat trap. Maybe you can build it back up again.'

'Like hell. I see myself building the Bower up with the Barclay as competition.'

'Oh, I ain't no hog, Joe. I won't shut you out. Prob'ly wouldn't know how even if I wanted to.'

'Why not do this, Andy,' I said. 'We'll be partners. I'll run the business, and we'll-'

He let out another cackle.

'Oh, no, we won't, Joe! I've had a little experience running things on shares with you. The first thing I knowed I'd be out in the cold.'

'But how's it going to look,' I said, 'to make a trade like that? I ain't got any reputation for being crazy. People will know there's something screwy about the deal.'

'Now, you're smarter'n that, Joe.' He shook his head. 'They won't know a thing more'n we tell 'em- and I reckon neither you or I is going to talk. We'll make it a trade, plus other valuable considerations. Just like ninety- nine per cent of all real estate deals is made.'

'But Appleton-'

'Appleton'll be gone from here when I take over. Like I said, Joe, I ain't operatin' no kind of business with you. You go ahead and operate the Barclay until the end of the season. I'll take it then.'

'Andy, can't we-'

'Yes or no, Joe?'

'Oh, hell,' I said. 'Yes!'

He went up to the front and brought back some legal forms and his rickety old typewriter, and we finished the business then and there. We drew up a contract agreement to a transfer of deeds at the end of the season, and he gave me a check for a dollar and I gave him one, each carrying a notation as to what it was for.

That made the deal airtight, even without witnesses. There was no way either of us could back out.

I offered to shake hands as I was leaving, but he didn't seem to notice. I let it pass. He'd feel a lot less like shaking hands when the end of the season came.

It was about one in the morning, now. I debated going home and decided against it. It would save arguing and explaining, and, anyway, there wasn't much time for sleep. I wanted to be in the city when the business offices opened in the morning.

I went over to the show, got the clock out of the projection booth, and set the alarm for two hours away. I sat down in one of the loges, put the clock under the seat, and leaned back. The next thing I knew I was back as far as my memory went.

With my mother, or the woman I guess was my mother. I was living it all over again.

The big hand of the clock was pointing to twelve and the little one to six, and she was coming up the stairs, slow-slowly-like she always came; like she wasn't sure where the top was. Then a key scratched against the lock, and finally it turned, and the door opened. And she tottered over to the bed and lay down and began to snore.

She'd brought something in a sack with her, and she was half lying on it, and I had to squeeze and tug to get it. It was a piece of jelly roll and a hamburger, all squashed together, and I hogged it down. After that I felt through her pockets until I found the crisp green pieces of paper she always brought me; and I hid them in the bureau drawer with the others.

Then it was morning, and she was gone again. I filled my tin cup with cornflakes and canned milk, and ate it. And I played with the green pieces of paper and looked out the window; and I ate a little more of the cornflakes and milk.

The big hand of the clock pointed to twelve and the little one to six. It pointed to them, and passed them. I laughed about it, holding my hand over my mouth so no one would hear me.

I was still laughing when I went to sleep.

She was gone in the morning, but she was always gone in the morning. I ate some of the cornflakes and milk, and played with the green pieces of paper and looked out the window. And the big hand of the clock pointed to twelve and the little one to six, and -and-

It was like a dream inside of a dream. I was chewing the wrapper inside the cornflakes box, and the tip of my tongue was cut where I'd tried to stick it through the little hole in the milk can, and the water pitcher was red from my licking. I wasn't looking out the window any more. I was on the bed. I had been on the bed for a very long time, and the green pieces of paper were scattered all around me.

Then, and then, it was another room, and a big fat woman with crossed eyes, was holding me in her arms and rocking me.

'Mommy? Sure, now, an' we'll get you a whole raft of 'em! I'll be your mommy meself.'

'My money! I got to have my money!'

'An 'am 't I the one to know it, now? Bring his bundle in, Mike- That mess of whisky labels…'

The alarm clock went off, and I woke up. I went into the men's lavatory and washed and headed for the city.

25

Sol Panzer didn't make nearly as much fuss as you might have thought he would. He was on the spot and we both knew it, and he wasn't the kind to cry.

I was in his office at nine. By eleven, it was all over and I was on my way home.

I got into Stoneville about dusk, stopped at the show, and ran up to the booth. Hap wasn't there. Jimmie Nedry was running the machines.

'How's it going, Jimmie?' I said. 'Giving Mr. Chance a relief?'

'I guess so,' he said, not looking at me.

'How soon will he be back, do you know?'

'He ain't coming back,' Jimmie said. 'He's taking the night off.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Well, I appreciate your working for him, Jimmie.'

'Don't mention it.'

He got kind of red in the face and moved over between the projectors. I could understand his being embarrassed. Unless he was a lot dumber than I thought he was, he probably knew that I knew what he'd been up to.

I told him good night, just like we were the best pals in the world, and drove over to Hap's hotel. He wasn't there, either. I went on home.

There was a big new black coupй standing in the yard. Hap's, of course. I was plenty glad I'd swung that deal with Panzer. Hap had finished waiting.

He was flopped down on the living-room lounge, a glass and a bottle of whisky at his side; and he had his shoes up on one of Elizabeth's crocheted pillows. The ash tray was full and running over. There was a big circle of ashes and butts on the carpet.

I looked at the mess, and then looked at him. He sat up slowly, grinning.

'Well, laddie,' he said. 'I get the impression that you've pulled a plum from the pudding-or, shall we say, a phoenix from the fire? Have a drink and tell me about it.'

I forced a smile. 'Sure, Hap. Where's Carol?'

'In her chambers, I believe. She doesn't seem to be frightfully keen for my company.'

'I wonder why?' I said.

I went into the kitchen and brought back a glass and an old newspaper. I spread the paper under the ash tray