of motivation concerning the final scene where the fat old woman
was murdered, but he did not see that as a fault. In 'The Tell-Tale
Heart,' Edgar A. Poe's finest story, there is no real motivation for
the murder of the old man, and that was as it should be. The motive
is not the point.
* * *
She got very big just before the end: even her legs swelled up to
twice their normal size. At the very end, her tongue popped out of
her mouth like a party-favor.
* * *
After leaving Bombay, Gerald Nately went on to Hong Kong, then
to Kowloon. The ivory guillotine caught his fancy immediately.
* * *
As the author, I can see only one correct omega to this story, and
that is to tell you how Gerald Nately got rid of the body. He tore up
the floor boards of the shed, dismembered Mrs. Leighton, and
buried the sections in the sand beneath.
When he notified the police that she had been rnissing for a week,
the local constable and a State Policeman came at once. Gerald
entertained them quite naturalIy, even offering them coffee. He
heard no beating heart, but then--the interview was conducted in
the big house.
On the following day he flew away, toward Bombay, Hong Kong,
and Kowloon.
The Cat from Hell
By STEPHEN
KING
First appeared in
Cavalier Magazine, 1971
Halston thought the old man in the wheelchair looked sick,
terrified, and ready to die. He had experience in seeing such things.
Death was Halston's business; he had brought it to eighteen men
and six women in his career as an independent hitter. He knew the
death look.
The house - mansion, actually - was cold and quiet. The only
sounds were the low snap of the fire on the big stone hearth and the
low whine of the November wind outside.
'I want you to make a kill,' the old man said. His voice was
quavery and high, peevish. 'I understand that is what you do.'
'Who did you talk to?' Halston asked.
'With a man named Saul Loggia. He says you know him.'
Halston nodded. If Loggia was the go-between, it was all right.
And if there was a bug in the room, anything the old man - Drogan
- said was entrapment.
'Who do you want hit?'
Drogan pressed a button on the console built into the arm of his
wheelchair and it buzzed forward. Closeup, Halston could smell
the yellow odors of fear, age, and urine all mixed.
They disgusted him, but he made no sign. His face was still and
