myself, and I knew I couldn’t have carried the glass to my mouth with him there to watch the
unsteady journey.
And it was unsteady. I slopped most of it, but I got the rest down. I poured myself another
slug. I hoisted that one without spilling a drop, and the tight horror that was coiled up inside
me began to loosen up.
I lit a cigarette, and dragged down smoke, staring at the face of the clock just above my
head. Eight and a half hours! What in hell was I going to do with myself all that time?
I poured another slug. The back of my throat was burning, but I didn’t care. It had to be
Scotch or I’d dive off the deep end. I kept thinking of the black Buick out there below the
terrace, and how easy it would be to get in it and get out of here. In that car I’d be miles away
with an eight-hour start.
I drank the Scotch and dragged down more smoke. I was feeling steadier now; not so
scared. My nerves weren’t jumping; maybe fluttering, but not jumping any more, and the
Scotch was hot, comforting and good. I reached for the bottle again when from behind the
curtain a telephone bell began to ring. The shrill sound made me jump, and I nearly knocked
the bottle on to the floor.
I heard the barman say, “He’s not in the bar, miss. No, I haven’t seen him since lunch-time.
He looked in around one o’clock, but I haven’t seen him since.”
I stubbed out my cigarette. The muscles in my face had stiffened until they hurt.
“Yeah, if I see him,” the barman went on, “I’ll tell him.”
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He hung up.
They were looking for Reisner already! I had to do something. She had said my job was to
keep them away from the cabin. If they began looking for him …”
“Hey! You!”
The barman pushed aside the curtain and came out. His eyes went to the bottle. I could see
him counting the number of slugs I had had.
“Yes, Mr. Ricca?”
“Who was that on the phone?”
“Miss Doering, Mr. Reisner’s secretary. She has an urgent call for him. Would you know
where he is, sir?”
I knew where he was all right. Just to hear his name brought up a picture of him, lying on
his back, his face smashed in and his right eye cut in half.
I wanted to pour another slug, but I was scared he’d see my hand shaking. Without looking
at him I said as casually as I could, “He’s with Mrs. Wertham, but they’re busy. They’re more
than busy, they’re not to be disturbed.”
I felt, rather than saw, him stiffen. He had got beyond the bees and flowers stuff. He knew
what I meant.
“Better tell Miss Doering,” I went on. “Nothing is as important as what they are doing right
now.”
“Yes, Mr. Ricca.”
The shocked, cold tone in his voice told me I’d driven it a shade too far into the ground. He
went back behind the curtain.
I nearly knocked the bottle over again in my haste to fill my glass.
I heard him say, “Mr. Ricca is in the bar. He says Mr. Reisner is with Mrs. Wertham, and
they are not to be disturbed. That’s right. It doesn’t matter how important it is.”
I wiped the sweat off my face and hands with my handkerchief. Well, I’d played it: a little
rough, perhaps, but I’d played it.
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