I found the phone and called the operator and got the police. They were on their way, I’d sleep on it before calling the T-men in the morning. Right here, right now, and I didn’t care if there were a dozen corpses in the parlor. If the cops would let me, which they wouldn’t.
I was low. Morbid. Feeling like you get to feel in Korea. Worse. I didn’t want Karen to see me that way and I thought some liquor might help. I tried a few stiff ones in the living-room and when that didn’t work tipped up the bottle and drank. That didn’t work, either. I gave it up as a bad job and sought Karen.
That’s the trouble with me. Stupid.
Can’t figure what’s good for what ails me. Karen’s medicine. My medicine, anyway. She was pale and haggard. She had fingermarks around her neck like a livid necklace, but she carfle to me as the police sirens wailed distantly and I didn’t feel so bad.
Morbid? Who was morbid?
We’d find ourselves a big chunk of time, all of time, and get lost in it together. We had a drink on it, too. This time it worked.
me with fair frequency. And that attitude on my part was like feeding him poison. Harry and Job were weaker stuff. They took it. But Bill didn’t. And because he was the man he was, he reacted in the way he did. Violently, but subtly.” Vickers shook her gently. “So you see, Cleopatra, it’s more my fault than yours.”