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And hell, hell, it didn't matter whether the druggist thought he'd been stood up by a date, or was planning to hold up the drugstore, or was just lonely or worried or crazy, hanging around this corner an hour and twelve minutes. The druggist would remember him… That was a basic principle, and only common sense, in planning anything underhand and secret-from robbing Junior's piggy bank to murder: Keep it simple. Don't have too many lies to remember, don't dream up the complicated routine, the fancy alibi. The way he'd designed it was like that-short, straight, and sweet. Now, if he went on with it that way, there'd be the plausible lie to figure out and remember and stick to: just why the hell had Morgan been hanging around here, obviously a man waiting for someone?

Half-formed ideas, wild, ridiculous, skittered along the top of his mind. You know how it is, officer, I met this blonde, didn't mean any harm but a fellow likes a night out once in a while; sure I felt guilty, sure I love my wife, but, well, the blonde said she'd meet meI tell you how it was, I'd lent this guy a five-spot, felt sorry for him you know, guess I was a sucker, anyway he said he'd meet me and pay-Well, I met this fellow who said he'd give me an inside tip on a horse, only he wouldn't know for sure until tonight, if I'd meet him All right, he thought furiously, all right; of all the damn-fool ideas… So, produce the blonde, the debtor, the tipster! It couldn't be done that way.

He stood now right at the building corner, close, out of the druggist's view. Think: if, when Smith comes, what are you going to do now? What can you do?

The little panic passed and he saw the only possible answer: it wasn't a very good one, it put more complication into this than was really safe, but that couldn't be helped. Obviously, get Smith away from this place. The farther away the better. In the car. Stall him and get him into the car, and Christ, the possibilities, the dangers that opened wouldn't drive far, maybe not at all, without getting him suspicious. Sure, knock him out with a wrench or something as soon as they got in, fine, and have it show up at the autopsy later on. Great, shoot him in the car under cover of the revving motor, and get blood all over the seat covers. All right: think.

Yes. It could be managed, it had to be: the only way. In the car, then, right away, and in the body, so the clothes would get the blood. Have to take a chance. Then quick around to Humboldt or Foster, only a few blocks, both dark streets too, thank God; park the car, get him out to the sidewalk, get his prints on the gun, make a little disturbance, fire another shot, and yell for the cops. I was on my way to visit this case I'm on, when- And the druggist no danger then, no reason to connect a holdup there with his corner.

Not as safe, but it could work: maybe, with luck, it would work fine. Now let Smith come. Morgan was ready for him, as ready as he'd ever be. He looked at his watch. It was seventeen minutes past eight.

And suddenly be began to get in a sweat about something else. Smith had made him wait on Saturday night, deliberately, to soften him up: but why the hell should Smith delay coming to collect the ransom he thought was waiting?

Cops, thought Morgan-cold, resentful, sullen, helpless-cops! Maybe so obvious there outside, inside, that Smith spotted them-and thought, of course, Morgan had roped them in? God, the whole thing blown open

ELEVEN

Cops, Marty thought. Cops, he'd said. Funny, the words meant the same, but seemed like people who didn't like them, maybe were afraid of them, said "cops," and other people said "policemen."

He sat up in bed in the dark; it was the bad time again, the time alone with the secret. And a lot of what made it bad was, usually, not having outside things to keep him from thinking about it, remembering; but right now he had, and that somehow made it worse.

He sat up straight against the headboard; he tried to sit still as still, but couldn't help shivering even in his flannel pajamas, with the top of him outside the blanket. If he laid right down like usual he was afraid he'd go to sleep after a while, even the long while it'd got to taking him lately; and he mustn't, if he was going to do what he planned safe. He had to stay awake until everybody else was asleep, maybe two, three o'clock in the morning, and then be awful quiet and careful… Like a lesson he was memorizing, he said it all over again to himself in his mind, all he'd got to remember about: don't make any noise, get up when it's time and put on his pants and jacket over his pajamas and get-it-and remember about the key to the door, take it with him so's he could get back in. He knew where the place was, where he was going; it was only three blocks over there, on Main Street. Wouldn't take long, if nobody saw-or if This was the only way to do it if he was going to, and the worst of that was it didn't seem like such a good idea now, a kind of silly idea really but he couldn't think of anything else at all, without breaking the promise, doing the one unforgivable thing. He'd tried this morning, he'd waited until she was busy in the kitchen, thought he could pick-it-up and call out good-by and go off quick, before- But it'd gone wrong, he wasn't quick enough; and she'd come in, looked awful queer at him-funny, a bit frightened-and said sharp, "What you up to, still fooling round here?-you'll be late for school, you go 'long now," and he'd had to go, with her watching. So now he was waiting until there'd be nobody awake to see.

And maybe it was silly, it wouldn't make anything happen. Cops, he thought confusedly: but he did remember Dad saying, all new scientific things and like that, they were a lot smarter and some real high educated now, from college. It might Cops. He didn't like loud voices and people getting so mad they hit each other. It made him feel hollow and bad inside-in the movies you knew it was just put on, and when you were interested in the story you didn't mind so much, but even there sometimes it made you feel kind of upset. That was the first time, tonight, he'd seen Danny's dad-since he'd come with them. Danny didn't seem to be ashamed at all, tell his dad had been in jail back east, said it like it was something to brag about, but that was how Danny was. Marty sure didn't think he could be much of a dad to brag on, jail or no jail.

He shut his eyes and just like a movie saw it over again-himself going up the stairs to Danny's apartment, as if he wanted go to the movies with him, Ma'd given him thirty cents, said he could go-and the loud voice swearing inside, " Cops! You think I can't smell a cop?-yeah, yeah, you say that to me before, so you walk right past a couple the bastards outside an' never see 'em more'n if they was-listen, what the hell you been up to, bringin' cops down on the place-"

And Danny, shrill, "I never done nothing, I-"

"Don't talk back t' me, you little bastard-I ain't fool enough to think, him-I got him too damn scared! If I hadn't spotted them damned-might've walked right into- What the hell else could they be after, watching the house? Couldn't've traced me here-you been up to some o' your piddling kid stuff, heisting hubcaps or somethin', an' they-"

"I never- Listen, I-"

And the noise of fists hitting, Danny yelling, and something falling hard against the door-Danny, he guessed, because then it opened and Danny sort of fell out and banged it after him and kicked it. It was dark in the hall, Marty had backed off a ways, and Danny didn't see him. Danny leaned on the wall a minute there, one hand up to the side of his face, maybe where his dad had hit him-it looked like his nose was bleeding too-and Marty thought he was crying, only Danny never did, he wasn't that kind. And then the door opened again and Mr. Smith came out.

A tough-looking man he was like crooks in the movies, and there in the room behind that was just like the living room in the place Marty lived a floor down, was Danny's ma, he'd seen her before, of course, a little soft-looking lady with a lot of black hair, and she looked scared and kept saying, "Oh, please, Ray, it's not his fault, please don't, Ray."