Texas by the Tail

creature who looks like a duck, makes noises like a duck and is generally ducklike in its behavior, may safely be presumed to be a duck. But Agate, who bore all the outward aspects of a bank executive, was no more than an implausible facsimile of one. He found fear and not satisfaction in his position. His crisp mannerisms, his sternness, were only an aggressive cover-up for that fear, a growing conviction of inferiority which the job nurtured in him.

So…

So he'd just take the afternoon off, goddamn 'em! That'd show 'em, right? Right?

Right!

Thirty-year man, wasn't he? 'Zecutive. Apisstant ricevedizent. Hee, hee, hee-hee-hee. Uh, uh, heee-hahaha…

Agate suddenly sat erect and made his face stern. He looked around the now sparsely-occupied room, lips thinned severely, eyes flashing sharply behind his glasses. But no one had been watching him apparently… unless perhaps they had looked away very quickly. Or if they had, it was certainly understandable. Ob'sly big man. Capt'n of Commerce. 'D' realize big man had to relax a little, an' get away from his cares.

The waiter brought him a fourth drink, set it down in front of him with a very deliberate gesture. Agate stared at him coldly, and the waiter asked him if he would like to see a menu.

Agate said that he wouldn't. What he wanted was a telephone, and he wanted one now. 'Right now, understand. Let's see a little service around here!'

His eyes glittered triumphantly as the waiter scampered away. He took two long gulps of his drink. He waited in aloof silence while a phone was plugged in at the booth.

In his many years with the bank, he had had frequent contacts with prominent and powerful Houstonites, Zearsdale among them. He was invariably in the role of a glorified messenger boy on these occasions, but he did not remember them that way now. Rather, in the roseate present, he saw himself moving among these people as a friend rather than a flunky. They were his pals and he was their pal, and naturally Jake Zearsdale would want to give his pal Lee Agate an option to buy stock at two-fifths of its market value.

Perf'ly understan'ble, right? Right? Ri- Nope, wasn't right. Not now, maybe later. But Jake Zearsdale had to be called, all ri', al ri-ut! Had to be called about ol' pal Mitch Corley.

Agate straightened himself again. The importance of what he was about to do impressed itself on his sodden brain, demanding all the effort of which he was capable. And getting an outside line, he dialed and spoke into the phone very carefully.

A secretary answered him, passed him on to an executive secretary, and thence, to an executive secretary of an executive assistant. Finally, almost ten minutes after he had placed the call, he was connected with Zearsdale.

He was beginning to fog-up again by then, and he virtually guffawed into the phone. He choked it off, mumbled a blurry, ''Scuse me, Mr. Zearsdale.'

The line was silent for a moment. Then, his voice harshly musical, Zearsdale said, 'Certainly. Who is this please?'

'Dis is dub guy dat called you las' week,' Agate said. 'About Mitch Corley, r'member. Called you last week 'bout Mitch-hic-Corley, I'm duh-'

'Would you mind speaking a little louder, please?' Zearsdale said. 'We seem to have a bad connection.'

'Cert'nly'-Agate raised his voice. 'Said I was dub guy dat called you las' week about Mish-M itch-'

'Louder, please. And just a little slower.'

'I said,' said Agate, enunciating as clearly as he could, 'that I was the guy who called you last week about Mitch Corley. 'Juh get me that time?'

'Mmm, yes, I believe I did,' Zearsdale murmured. 'Do you have some more information on him?'

Agate shook his head firmly. Then laughed in self-depreciation as he realized that the negative could not be seen. 'Little joke on me,' he explained to the phone, and explained the jest in detail. Zearsdale laughed politely.

'I'm a little crowded for time,' he added. 'Perhaps you'd better tell me why you are calling.'

'Wha'? Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure,' Agate mumbled. 'Jus' Wanted to say I was all wrong 'bout Mitch. Checked into it m'self an' found I'd made a terrible mistake. Hesitated- hic-'bout callin' yuh, but figgered man makes mistake Oughta be big 'nough to admit it.'

'I see,' Zearsdale said thoughtfully. 'I see.'

''Mean it,' Agate insisted.' 'S'all wrong. Based on unr'li ble information. Checked it out m'self an'-'

'Possibly. Just possibly.' Zearsdale's tone was judicious. 'But I'm inclined to think that you're not telling the truth. I'm quite a student of voices and you don't sound at all sincere.'

'Oh, yeah?' Agate glared belligerently into the mouthpiece. 'Now, you lissen t'me, buddy-'

'Shut up,' Zearsdale said.

'Huh? What'd'ya mean shut-'

'I mean to shut up, and you'd better do it,' Zearsdale said. 'You'd also better stop drinking. You can't handle it. You're a big enough damned fool when you're sober.'

Agate's mouth was suddenly very dry. His lips moved in a silently futile attempt at speech.

'Now I'm going to give you some advice,' Zearsdale continued. 'I wouldn't take your word for anything, so I'll find out the truth about Corley myself. Meanwhile, he is not to know that you have spoken to me. You will make no attempt to warn him. If you do, I'll make you the sorriest man in Texas, and that's a promise, Mr. L. J. Agate.'

The mention of his name was like a purgative to Agate. He was abruptly very sober, more frightened than he had ever been in all his fear-filled life.

'W-What,' he croaked. 'What are you going to do?'

'Do?' said Zearsdale, and his voice was almost lilting. 'Why I'm going to invite Mr. Corley to have dinner with me.'

He hung up.

Agate hung up. He looked at his drink, started to reach for it, then jerked his hand back as though it had touched a flame.

He had better go back to the bank, he guessed. No, he had better go home. No, he had better go- go-?

The waiter approached, still deferential from the last time Agate had barked at him. Agate straightened himself, patted the thin hair on his scalp, assumed an impressive frown, opened his mouth to speak, and vomited all to hell over everything.

16

The day had been hot and humid; a muggy, sweltering day; and one seemed on the point of boiling in his own perspiration. The kind of day that is not quite so 'unusual' as the city's civic organizations would have one believe. Those organizations may admit that Houston's weather occasionally leaves something to be desired. But they hasten to point out, and with some truth, that however unpleasant the day, the nights are delightfully cool. To someone unaccustomed to the climate, the delightful coolness may bear a striking resemblance to frigidity. And as Mitch had pre-prandial drinks with Zearsdale, he was grateful for the low blaze in the fieldstone fireplace.