“Peter Roche speaking,” he said, and a masculine voice responded that he didn’t immediately recognize.
“Good-evening, Mr. Roche. Dr. Norton Foresman here.”
He waited, aware that his breath was caught painfully in his suddenly constricted throat, but after a while he spoke quite calmly, somewhat surprised that he could manage it.
“Yes?”
“I dislike bringing this to your attention,” Dr. Foresman said, “but I’m quite sure you’ll understand. It’s your dental bill, Mr. Roche. For professional services. It’s now delinquent, and I’m afraid I must insist upon immediate payment.”
“You mean Etta’s bill? The one she made before her accident?”
“Yes. Surely you’ll want to assume her obligations.”
“Certainly. Legitimate ones. That particular bill, however, has been paid in full.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Roche. Far from it. A small initial payment was made. No more.”
“Ten thousand dollars, I believe.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s a small payment?”
“Under the circumstances, yes. For the type and quality of the work, I mean. A very small payment, I should say.”
His voice was bland, a smooth, smooth voice, and Peter wondered if this was the sound of destruction, a sound as soft and smooth as a dentist’s dun, and he felt the return in force of the cold hatred that had begun and grown with persuasion, and he was all at once no longer depressed, no longer anxious on the dark edge of terror, and he felt, instead, nothing but the cold, complete hatred and a kind of excitement that was collateral to the realization that twice was not enough and that there would have to be, after all, one more a third time.
“What’s the balance of the bill?” he said quietly.
Foresman’s voice took on a tone of expansion, of subtle patronage. “You understand, of course, that we dentists are rather like doctors in that we try to keep our fees flexible. In this way, they can be made commensurate with the patient’s ability to pay. I hear that you have come into quite a considerable amount recently, Mr. Roche. The balance of the bill is fifty thousand dollars.”
“Don’t you think that’s rather exorbitant?”
“Not at all. In the beginning, you’ll recall, the actual fee was reduced in consideration of a bonus of sorts. It is now apparent even to an optimist like me, Mr. Roche, that the bonus will never be paid. In lieu of the bonus, the fee itself has been raised.”
“I see. I think we’d better meet to discuss this.”
“I thought you might want to do that, and I’m perfectly agreeable.”
“When?”
“No time like the present. I think we should get this settled as quickly as possible.”
“Where?”
“My apartment should be a congenial place. I’m calling from there now. It’s in the Bellmar Arms on Northeast Boulevard. The corner of 76th. The apartment is first floor rear on the left as you enter. Just walk straight down the hall from the entrance. I’ll have a cocktail waiting for you.” His voice was friendly.
“Thanks very much.”
Cradling the phone, he went back into his room. He looked at his watch and saw that it was close to nine o’clock. Moving with certainty under the impulsion of the cold hatred and intense excitement that left him strangely assured and decisive, he put on coat and hat and removed a .38 calibre revolver from the top drawer of a chest. With the .38 a kind of definitive weight in his pocket, as if it were the final answer to everything, he went downstairs and outside to the garage. Driving with a light foot on the accelerator, he followed the bluff road to the corner where Etta had died, not long ago, by proxy, and turned up the short grade to the crest and down toward town.
On the lower level of the town, he hit Northeast Boulevard at 52nd and turned right toward higher numbers. At 76th, he passed in front of the Bellmar Arms and made a left turn, parking at the curb in comparative darkness near the alley. Getting out, he walked back along the side of the building and around to the front entrance. Through the glass of the doors, he could see the first floor hall running from front to rear directly ahead of him. He went inside and up three shallow steps and down the hall to the last door on the left. He rang a buzzer, and the door opened, and Dr. Foresman was very polite and gracious with a smile on his face.
“You’re very prompt, Mr. Roche. Won’t you come in, please?”
Peter went past him into the room and turned. Dr. Foresman followed and stopped, his deteriorated athlete’s body poised with a kind of vestigial grace, the ceiling light glittering on the hard waves of his hair. He gestured toward a table on which sat a cocktail shaker and glasses.
“I promised you a drink. Martinis. May I pour you one?”
“No, thanks. I’m only staying a minute.”
“Oh? In that case, I assume you want to get right down to the matter of the fee.”
“The blackmail, you mean.”
Dr. Foresman smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. You will agree, I’m sure, that I was led to anticipate a bonus. I won’t say that I was actually double-crossed, but at least I was permitted to believe something that was never really intended. However, I’m prepared to be agreeable and accept the additional fifty thousand instead. You, of all people, will surely not consider that amount excessive for such a bonus.”
“How much will the next fee amount to? And the next, and the next?”
“No. I thought you might be afraid of something like that. This closes our association. I give you my word.”
“What makes you think you can get away with this? You’re in this yourself, you know. Suppose I simply refuse to pay.”
“That would be unfortunate. It’s true that I’m involved, but not so deeply as you, I think you’ll admit. I’ve thought it through very carefully, and I’m sure I could manage to escape any very serious consequences for my part in this business. At any rate, Mr. Roche, don’t make
