on a well-rounded hip that brought forth a squeal and a giggle.
But the instant he closed the door his expression changed. Beneath the little mustache the mouth flattened, the tan face twisted, and the pale eyes were arrogant and resentful. His voice was cold, impatient, and accusing.
'What the hell do you want?** he demanded.
The Jekyll-and-Hyde performance came as no surprise to Jeff, but he still wondered if some of the things he had recently read about multiple personalities could apply to his stepbrother. The animosity displayed was of long standing, for he understood that Arnold had always felt that, as the stepson, he had never had the breaks that had been given to Jeff. Now, trying not to show his displeasure, he disciplined his voice.
'You know what I want, Amy.'
^Not today,' Grayson said, turning on his heel and starting along a short corridor, which led past a smaller office to a larger room very elegantly furnished in a heavy, mascu-
line way. 'I'm busy. I've got more important things to do/'
Jeff considered the oversized desk, the oversized divan. An open door revealed a small bathroom and in an alcove was a water-cooler, a cellaret, and an icebox. Apparently Grayson conducted his business with all the privacy and comforts of home but at the moment his customary arrogance and assurance were missing. He was tossing papers into an open attache case on the desk with hands that were fumbling and uncertain. He seemed charged with a nervous tension that was beyond his control. Then, remembering Carl Webb and his mission, Jeff thought he had the answer.
'Did you find the cash?**
Grayson wheeled. 'What cash?'
'The cash you took to the Tucan last night/*
Grayson's tongue flicked across the lower edge of his mustache.
'What do you know about it?' 3
'All I know is that someone grabbed it before Baker could make the pay-off.'* Jeff spoke of his talk with Carl Webb and then he stopped, aware that this was none o? his business and that he had a mission of his own to accomplish. 'Look, Amy/' he said,
'You look.' Grayson advanced, his face twisted and the pale eyes bright and threatening. 'I told you to get out. I mean it/*
Jeff stood his ground. 'All I want is your word that youll vote your stock with us. After all, I didn't have to come here/*
'Hah!' Grayson sneered at him. 'Don't kid yourself, You've got scruples. You promised your old man you'd try to find me. You wouldn't be able to sleep nights if you didn't try. It's no credit to you, you're just built that way. Now come on, goddammit, get out of here/'
He grabbed Jeff's arm as he spoke, wrenched him round
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
and started propelling him from the room. Jeff took two uneven steps and then braced himself as something that had been building inside him for a long time finally demanded expression. At that moment it seemed to him that all his life he had been pushed around by his stepbrother without once being able to push back, and now, as his temper flared, he took a savage delight in resisting.
It was not his intention to swing on Grayson. He simply wanted to defy him, and now he twisted sideways, freeing his arm as he spun about and pushing his stepbrother away. Apparently Grayson misunderstood the intention, or maybe he just didn't care. Whatever the reason, he attacked at once, and in a fashion that Jeff had never experienced before.
Later he was to wonder where Grayson had learned his tactics, but in that first instant all he knew was that pain exploded in his left leg as Grayson kicked him in the shin, that as he hobbled and started to reach for his leg the right fist came whistling at his jaw.
It caught him a glancing blow at the corner of the mouth as he twisted his head and then he forgot about the pain in his leg. He forgot everything but the overwhelming desire to smash the man who had caused him so much trouble.
It surprised him a little to find how easy it was as he swung his right into the pit of the soft stomach and heard the 'whoosh' as Grayson's breath whistled out. He jabbed a left to get the chin up as he came forward. He slugged once with his right, feeling the welcome shock in his hand. Then, as the big man started down, he hooked once more with the right and stepped back.
Grayson dropped on his haunches and put out his hands to keep from toppling over. He shook his head to clear his vision. As the pale eyes focused there was a second or two when surprise was mirrored from their depths, and then the ugliness came, shocking in its intensity.
'Get up!' Jeff said.
Grayson stayed where lie was, Ms face dark with fury and the side of his jaw beginning to swell.
'There's a gun in the desk/' he said, his voice checked, 'If I get up I'm going to kill you.'
Jeff started to reply; he wanted to dare Grayson to try to reach the desk. Then, because he had begun to shake inside, because he realized his own anger could not long be contained, he wheeled and strode from the room.
By the time he reached the street reaction set in. He was breathing heavily and he could feel his knees trembling as a strange weakness seized him. He crossed the pavement and turned to look back at the entrance, no longer aware of his surroundings until he saw someone stop in front of him and heard the familiar voice.
'Hi.'
Jeff had to concentrate. He had to steady himself. He had to remember where he was before he could actually see the round-shouldered figure with the hairy triangle in the V of the sport shirt, the shaggy, mouse- colored hair, the pipe that jutted from the sallow face of Dan Spencer.
'I just stepped out for a beer/' he said.
'Stepped out?' Jeff said vacantly.
'Sure. The Bulletins just down the street.' He took Jeff's arm, turning him so his back was to the street. 'How about it?' he asked. 'Join me?'
Jeff freed his arm and tried to smile. The one thing he did not want just then was company of any kind. He had to get away, he had to think. He made his excuses as best he could as he began to back downhill.
'No thanks/' he said. 'Not just now. I—I got a date.' He made a pretense of glancing at his watch. 'I'm late already/*
He knew Spencer was eying him curiously but he could not help it. He could not stand inspection and he turned
at once and started blindly down the narrow sidewalk, walking fast until lie came to the corner and then slowing
down, as he approached Urdaneta.
Still not knowing where he was going or what he intended to do, he turned right with the traffic light, walked a block, and then crossed over to his left when the light changed, His steps began to drag. The trembling in his knees stopped and his breathing became regular. The shrill summons of a policeman's whistle at the next corner made him conscious of his wandering and he hesitated while the traffic piled up in front of him.
Not until then did he realize that the corner of his mouth was wet. When he licked it, it tasted salty, and now he took out his handkerchief. There was blood on it when he wiped his lips and he could feel the puffiness at the comer. He began to mutter under his breath as he continued down the street looking for a bar.
He took his first whisky straight and that helped settle his stomach. He poured the second into the iced soda and took his time with it. He was not sure how long because he had begun to think again. When he noticed that two of his knuckles had been scraped each detail of the encounter came back to him. He felt no regrets at what he had done to Grayson, but doubts began to nag him as his mind moved on and he considered the contributing factors.
When he tried to add them up the result was only more confusion* Grayson had not only been worried but very much concerned about something that had nothing to do with his inheritance. Apparently he was expecting someone. Who? Webb? Karen Holmes? Suppose Grayson had in some way located the missing cash? Suppose . . .
