One Night Stands and Lost Weekends

One Night Stands and Lost Weekends Page 19

She nodded. I asked for the cash, and she passed it to me under the table. I gave it a quick count and pocketed it.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll see you tonight.” I waited for her to get up and leave, but she didn’t move.

“You’re young for this business, aren’t you?” I almost broke out laughing.

“Not that young,” I said. “It beats petty larceny.”

She kept looking at me. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“I haven’t got one,” I said. It was the truth. I had had ten names in the past year and a half, and I was between aliases at the moment.

She was still staring at me. “Do you live around here?”

“Yes.”

“Take me to your room.”

I hadn’t expected it, but it wasn’t a shock. I stood up, threw a dime on the table for the beer, and led the way. She didn’t say a word.

When we reached my room I discovered I had been right—the suit couldn’t hide her perfection.

When she left, still without a word, I lay on my back staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Tonight would be a pleasure. Bodies like that should not be wasted on rich old men. I felt like a public servant.

I dressed again and went back to the bar, reclaiming my table and watching another beer get flat. I read some more of the Spanish poetry, but it was anticlimactic. I had made love to a poem, and the printed page cannot compete with that.

Then he came in, and I saw he was another client. He looked no more at home in Eddie’s Bar than she had. He looked a little like my uncle Charlie, and I liked him right off. He didn’t hesitate, but came right over and sat down.

“I have a job for you,” he said. “Al sent me. Here’s your fee and the address of the party in question.” He slipped an envelope under the table, and I pocketed it.

“I’ll be home,” he said. “In case they ever pick you up, I’ll refuse to identify you. Force an entrance, do your job, and leave.”

He was one hell of a guy, businessman right down the line. I don’t normally enjoy people telling me the way to operate, but I didn’t mind it coming from him. He was sharp.

I nodded, and asked him when he wanted the job done.

“Tonight,” he said.

I shook my head. “I can’t make it,” I said. “How’s tomorrow?”

“Tonight,” he said. “It has to be tonight.”

I thought for a minute. I didn’t relish the idea of two jobs in one night. It just doubled the chances of getting caught. But I could use the money, and I knew I couldn’t stall him. “All right,” I said. “I’m not sure on the time, but I’ll make it tonight.”

He didn’t waste any time. He stood up and left. The heads in the bar followed him until he reached the door, then returned to their glasses of port. I returned to the Spanish poetry.

I read for about an hour, threw another dime on the table, and left. I walked up to my room, placed the money in a strongbox, and put two hundred dollars into my wallet. I’d need two guns tonight, one for each job. I hoped that Sam had them on hand.

Then I glanced at the address and flushed the slip of paper and the envelope down the hall toilet. I walked downstairs, and I got all the way to Sam’s hockshop before it hit me.

I bought one gun. I bought a Luger with a silencer, and loaded it. It cost one hundred dollars across the counter, with no record of sale.

Sam was a good businessman himself. I could be sure that the gun would never be traced to me, and that was important. I made it back to my room and ate dinner.

Dinner was the usual—three fried eggs and two cups of black coffee. I live on eggs and coffee. It’s cheap and nourishing, and I like it. I suppose I could afford caviar if I wanted it, but I’d rather let the money accumulate in the strongbox.

You see, a real businessman never worries about the money. He doesn’t care about spending it, and he doesn’t count up the pennies. The money’s just the chips in the poker pot, just something to keep score with. A real businessman is interested in running a straight business, and he gets his kicks out of the business itself. A real businessman is along the lines of an artist. And I am a businessman. I do a clean job. It’s the way I like to live.

I finished the meal and washed up the dishes. I didn’t feel much like reading, so I sat around thinking. I had come a long way from the days when I used to steal food and swindle hockshops for a couple of bucks at a time. I was established in business, and the competition was nothing to speak of. I could raise my prices sky-high, and I’d still have more work than I could handle. There’s a remarkable shortage of free-lance gunmen in town.

I sat around till 8:30 and then caught the subway to Times Square. I transferred to the Broadway IRT train there, and got off at 96th Street. It was a short walk to Riverside Drive.

The elevator was a self-service one, which cut down the chances of an identification. I rode to the top floor and rang the bell.

He answered it with a smile on his face. I walked in, and noticed that the television was on good and loud. He hadn’t realized that I used a silencer.

I closed the door, took the gun from my pocket, and shot him. The bullet caught him in the side of the head and he didn’t have time to be surprised. He fell like an ox.

She jumped up and came to me. She was wearing a skirt and sweater this time, and I could see every bit of that body. She was the kind of woman I could fall in love with, if I believed in love. But in my business I can’t afford to.

I leveled the gun again and squeezed the trigger. Her eyes opened in horror before the bullet hit her, but she didn’t have time to scream. I shot her in the head, and she died immediately.

It was a shame I had to kill her. But I had made an agreement, and I stick to my word even if my client is a corpse. Business is business.

NOR IRON BARS A CAGE

THE FIRST ALTHEAN SAID, “Well, the tower is completed.”

The second Althean smiled. “Good. It is all ready for the prisoner, then?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure he’ll be quite comfortable? He won’t languish and die in such a state?”

“No,” said the first Althean. “He’ll be all right. It’s taken a long time to build the tower, and I’ve had ample opportunity to study the creature. We’ve made his habitat as ideal for him as possible.”

“I suppose so.” The second Althean shuddered slightly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose it’s nothing more than projection on my part, but the mere thought of a prison…” He broke off and shuddered again.

“I know,” said the other, sympathetically. “It’s something none of us have ever had to conceive of before. The whole notion of locking up a fellow being is an abominable one, I’ll admit. But for that matter, consider the creature itself!”

“It wouldn’t do for him to be loose.”

“Wouldn’t do! Why, it would be quite impossible. He actually murders. He killed three of our fellow beings before we were able to subdue him.”

The second Althean shuddered more violently than before, and it appeared for a moment as though he was about to become physically ill. “But why? What type of being is he, for goodness’ sake? Where does he come from? What’s he doing here?”

“Ah,” said the first, “now you’ve hit upon it. You see, there’s no way of knowing any of those answers. One morning he was discovered by a party of ten. They attempted to speak to him, and what do you think his rejoinder was?”

“He struck out at them, the way I heard it.”

“Precisely! Utterly unprovoked assault, with three of their number dead as a result. The first case of murder on record here in thirty generations. Incredible!”

“And since then…”

“He’s been a prisoner. No communication, no new insights, nothing. He eats whatever we feed him—he sleeps when the darkness comes and wakes when it goes. We have learned nothing about him, but I can tell you this for a fact. He is dangerous.”

“Yes,” said the second Althean.

“Very dangerous. He must be kept locked up. Of course, we wish him no harm—so we’ve made his prison as secure as possible, while keeping it as comfortable as possible. I daresay we’ve done a good job.”

“Look,” said the second, “perhaps I’m squeamish. I don’t know. But are you sure he can never escape?”

“Positive.”

“How can you be sure?”

The first Althean sighed. “The tower is one hundred thirty feet high. A drop from that distance is obviously fatal. Right?”

“Right.”

“The prisoner’s quarters are at the top of the tower, and the top is wider than the base—that is, the sides slope in. And the sides are very, very smooth—so climbing down is quite impossible.”

“Couldn’t he come down the same way he’ll go up? It only stands to reason.”

“Again, quite impossible. He’ll be placed in his quarters by means of a pneumatic tube, and the same tube will be used to send him his food. The entire tower is so designed that it can be entered via the tube, and can only be left by leaping from the top. The food that he doesn’t eat, as well as any articles which he tires of, may be thrown over the side.”

The second Althean hesitated. “It seems safe.”

“It should. It is safe.”

“I suppose so. I suppose it’s safe, and I suppose it’s not cruel, but somehow…Well, when will the prisoner be placed in the tower? Is it all ready for his occupancy?”

“It’s ready, all right. And, as a matter of fact, we’re taking him there in just a few minutes. Would you care to come along?”

“It might be interesting at that.”

“Then come along.”

The two walked in silence to the first Althean’s motor car and drove in silence to the tower. The tower was, indeed, a striking structure, both in terms of size and of design. They stepped out of the motor car and waited, and a large motor truck drew up shortly, pulling to a stop at the base of the tower. Three Althean guards stepped out of the truck, followed by the prisoner. His limbs were securely shackled.

“See?” demanded the first Althean. “He’ll be placed in the tube like that, and he’ll discover the key to his shackles in his quarters.”

“Clever.”

“We’ve worked it out carefully,” the first explained. “I don’t mean to sound boastful, but we’ve figured out all the angles.”

The prisoner was placed in the tube, the aperture of which was located at the very base of the tower. Once inside, it was closed securely and bolted shut. The three Althean guards hesitated for several moments until a red light at the base indicated that the prisoner had entered his quarters. Then they returned to the motor truck and drove off down the road.

“We could go now,” said the first. “I’d like to wait and see if he’ll throw down the shackles, though. If you don’t mind.”