He hit the top railing a smart blow with his open hand. It moved a good inch or two. His heart beating fast, he knelt down, inspected the long bolts that anchored the balcony to the house. There were four, one on each end of the top railing, one on each end of the bottom railing. They were rusty, a lot of the original metal gone.
That’s thing’s a deathtrap, he told himself as he closed the glass door. Those bolts are nothing but slivers. Geez, what a mess. I have to keep Bunny from bumping that grating too hard while I try to come up with an accident happening to her with me nowhere around. Maybe I could be down below and yell up to her, tell her to look down and tell me what those yellow flowers were called. That balcony’s my only hope. Think, man, think, there has to be a way of using it.
For the rest of the day he wracked his brain trying to think of some scheme with the balcony as the main weapon. He got nowhere. He simply couldn’t come up with anything better than the yellow flowers idea, and the more he thought about it, the more hopeless it looked.
Sunset that evening was even more spectacular than on the previous evening, but it was wasted on Tony. On edge, he kept his eyes riveted on Bunny, ready to grab her if she leaned too hard against the grating. The poor man; everything depended upon his keeping the intended victim alive until he could “take care” of her.
They dined at The Lookout again, the atmosphere festive, the night beautiful, music — loud music — along with exuberant hilarity seeping into the dining room every now and then from the ballroom where a wedding party was in progress. Bunny was again in heaven, Tony far, far below, although he continued to give the impression that he was on top of the world.
There was no festivity in Clara Hogan’s apartment. All evening she had waxed ominously on the way things were going. She was certain that “four-flusher” was up to something.
“I’m a nervous wreck,” she told Midnight. “What if something happened to her and I hadn’t warned her. How would I feel? Well, I’ve had it. First thing tomorrow I’m going to give her Big Mo’s number, beg her to call him, find out what a no-good bum...”
She stopped abruptly. The car had pulled up to the garage behind the house.
“It’s them,” she exclaimed, jumping out of bed in her bare feet, her short pink nightie, “They’re back.” She ran to the couch, which sat under the small screened window (it was always open in summer, the big oak providing shade and a breeze). Midnight took two leaps, landed on the couch, put his two front paws on the window ledge, looked down. Repairs were being made to the garage; the car was being left out.
There wasn’t much to see, the old oak in full bloom, one branch nearly touching the window. But they could listen. They heard Bunny. She seemed very upset.
“I’m still so ashamed,” she was saying, “screaming the way I did. It’s a wonder someone didn’t come running out, thinking I was being murdered.”
“Now, Bunny,” Clara heard Tony say, “I told you it was no big deal. The way that crazy band was playing no one could have heard. Now come on, take my arm, let’s go in.”
That was all. What was that all about, thought Clara as she went back to her bed. Why would she scream? Wait... a... minute. Wait... a... minute, ten to one that rat was up to some shenanigan — maybe trying to shove her off that cliff behind the hotel — and it didn’t work and she didn’t know what he was up to. Well, that’s it.
“That does it, Midnight. I’ve had enough. I’m spilling the beans tomorrow, the chips can fall wherever they fall. I mean it. He’s getting desperate. And I’m gonna throw a sprag in his wheels.”
“Meow (good for you; now let’s get some sleep).”
Once upstairs it didn’t take Tony long to convince Bunny that her hysterics, followed by her confession that she had suffered from musophobia all her life, made no difference to him. He still loved her, and by the time she fell asleep she believed him.
Tony stayed awake, all keyed up. A plan was forming, a complicated plan but it was all he had. He couldn’t stand much more. He had to get back to the tables.
Next morning at breakfast he asked Bunny if she would mind if he borrowed the car, explaining that he needed to consult with the Pittsburgh bankers. Why, of course he could borrow the car. She had a dozen friends eager to take her wherever she needed to go. Which was true, every one of them wanted to learn everything they could about Bunny’s new husband. And Bunny was eager to tell them what a kind, wonderful, gorgeous man he was.
As soon as Tony left, Clara, taking a deep breath (“Here goes nothin’. I’ll probably lose my job, but I can’t wait another minute.”), approached Bunny, who was sitting in the front room looking pensive. Bunny, seeing her, spoke first.
“Oh, Clara, I was going to find you. Sit down, dear. I have... well... have... something to tell you, something of which I’m thoroughly ashamed but I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you.”
Clara sat down with a thump. “Holy smoke, she’s finally got wise, seen through that four-flusher, is gonna divorce him. Thank God.”
No, no, no; that wasn’t it.
Thwarted again, Clara, in a vile mood, went looking for Midnight. As expected she found him in the basement, fertile mouse territory, always the first area checked each day.
“Wait’ll you hear this,” she snarled. “You’re not gonna believe it. Listen to this.”
Midnight assumed a listening pose.
“It was a mouse caused it. Ha, I knew that’d get you.” (At the mention of “mouse” Midnight’s one and a half ears had perked up.) “Anyway, honest to God this is drivin’ me crazy... after dinner last night they went out to the parking lot behind the restaurant. His Nibs opened the door, was holding it open while she was getting seated, when a mouse, probably a poor scrawny little field mouse, jumped right smack into her lap. She screamed to high hell and back. ‘Oh, Clara,’ she told me, ‘I made an utter fool of myself, shrieking bloody murder. Why no one came running out is... oh, it was awful, so, so humiliating.’ Then, guess what, Midnight?”
Midnight hadn’t the slightest idea.
“Listen to what she told me. ‘Dear Tony, so calm, so intrepid, grabbed the creature by its tail, flung it over the cliff.’ Geez, you’da thought he wrestled down a mountain lion. After she calmed down, she told him about her phobia. ‘Now that my shameful secret is out, Clara,’ she said, ‘I have nothing to hide. Tony and I are on firmer ground than ever.’ Makes ya sick, doesn’t it, Midnight?”
“Meow (extremely frustrating).”
“But we’re not giving up, are we?”
“Meow (not for a minute).”
Tony was in a miserable mood by the time he reached Pittsburgh, and having to drive around downtown for almost a half hour to find a vacancy in a parking garage only added to his misery. Dejectedly walking toward the toy store, he told himself that the way his luck had been going the store would be all out of the mouse, the vital element in his plan.
He was lucky.
“You’re lucky,” the salesman told him, “this is the last one, and we don’t figure on being able to get any more.” The store didn’t want any more. It was sick of the technological miracle creature. One complaint after another (“The damn thing keeps running amok.”). Of course the salesman didn’t tell Tony that.
The toy store was a short distance from Point State Park, and not wanting to get back to Hillsdale yet, Tony walked down to the park, found a shady bench. It was a beautiful day. There were dozens of flowerbeds, a huge fountain sent water high in the air, the day was sunny, breezy, perfect. People were in a happy mood, a group of school-children — fourth graders, Tony guessed — in the charge of two teachers, were staring in fascination at the point where the Monongahela and the Allegheny join to form the mighty Ohio.