I said, "That's what you're really after, isn't it, Tina?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're getting your revenge, aren't you? After all these years. It's quite a production. First you take me from my wife, to show you still have the power to do it; and then you turn around and use my children to ruin me. You don't really care whether Amos Darrel lives or dies, not you! After the way this job's gone sour, the people you work for would probably prefer to have you pass it up now, rather than call further attention to their murderous activities. But you can't give it up, because you can't bear to think of me going back to my family and forgetting about you for the second thne. I stood you up once, after the war, and I've got to pay for it."
She was silent for a little; then she sighed. "There is a lot of truth in what you say, but I do not think you're being quite fair."
I said, "Perhaps not. It doesn't really matter, does it?"
"No," she said. "Not now… You know Dr. Darrd quite well, of course, but I have here some data on his habits that may be useful to you. It's up to you, of course, but I'd like to point out that he drives the Los Alamos road every morning and evening. We could supply you with a heavy, fast car. It is a steep and winding road…
I laughed. "Yes, sweetheart, and just how the hell am I going to catch Amos' souped-up Porsche on a steep and winding road in a heavy car? He could outrun a Jag on that hill. And even if I could run him off into the canyon, that little heap is built like a bank vault and he wears a safety belt; he'd bounce like a rubber ball and come up grinning… That's no good."
She said, "You see? That's why I picked you, because you know these things, not just for revenge. Well, choose your own method. I was just hoping you could make it look like an accident, for your sake… Eric?"
"Yes?''
"I asked you once not to hateme. Don't you see? We all do what we have to do. There is no choice."
"No," I said. "No choice at all."
Then I hit her.
CHAPTER 30
MAC used to have a little lecture he gave when he was putting the final polish on us.
"Dignity," he'd say. "Remember that dignity is the key to any man's resistance, or any woman's~ As long as your subject is allowed to feel that he's still a human being with rights and privileges and self-respect, he can usually hold out indefinitely. Take, for instance, a soldier in a clean uniform, lead him politely to a desk, seat him decorously on a chair, request him to place his hands before him, stick splinters under his fingernails, and set fire to them… and you'll be surprised how often he'll watch his fingertips cooking and laugh in your face. But if you take the same man, first, and work him over to show that you don't mind bruising your knuckles and don't have a bit of respect for his integrity as a man-you don't have to hurt him much, just mess him up until he can no longer cling to a romanticized picture of himself as a noble and handsome embodiment of stubborn courage…"
I'd caught her completely by surprise. She went back against the wall with a crash that shook the cabin; then she slid to the floor, her legs gracelessly apart, her eyes wide and stunned. Slowly, looking up at me in shocked wonder, she put her hand to her mouth, took it away, and looked at the blood on the palm. Outside, the compressor kept up its outboard-motor clatter.
Tina shook her head to clear it, and pushed her hand along her thigh to wipe it clean, leaving an ugly smear on the white trousers. She started to push herself to her feet. I reached down and hauled her up by the front of her fancy shirt, feeling buttons, cloth, and stitching give way under the strain. Holding her by the bunched material, I slapped her repeatedly until her short, dark hair was whipping across her face and her nose was bleeding. Then I shoved her away from me hard. She stumbled backwards, turned, tried to catch herself, and went heavily to hands and knees. It was too good an opportunity to miss. I put my foot in her rear and pushed, so that she pitched forward and slid a couple of feet across the dusty wooden floor on her face and stomach. Since we were evening old scores, I might as well collect for the time I'd got the short end of that horseplay on~the desert.
I waited for her to pick herself up and pull herself together. I had shut off my mind completely. There was nothing to think about-except what I had to do.
Waiting, I said, "If you come up with a' weapon, darling, I'll kick your face in."
It was a different Tina who climbed slowly to her feet and turned to face me: a torn, dirty, and bloody creature-oddly sexless, thank God-that wiped its mouth and nose on the rags of its shirt and cleaned its hands on the seat of its pants without a downward glance at the damage that had been inflicted upon it. Not a pretty woman who'd been hurt, with some instinctive concern for her appearance, but a wary, wounded animal at bay, with eyes only for the hunter.
"You fool!" she breathed. "What do you think to gain?" She had taken a step sideways; suddenly she was at the window. The blind flew up with a clatter. She wheeled to face me again. Her expression was savage. "There! Loris will go now! I warned you. Now it is too late. No matter what you do to me, it is too late!"
I grinned at her, and picked up the paper-wrapped package from the bed, and tossed it at her. She wasn't prepared for the weight of it. She caught it all right, but it pushed her back a step.
"Open it," I said.
She glanced at me. I saw her eyes widen slightly with speculation, perhaps with a hint of fear. She came forward to the bed, set the package down, and ripped off the paper, revealing nothing but mink and satin lining. She glanced at me again, and started to unfold the stole carefully, and stopped, staring at what it contained. I heard her breath catch at the sight of Loris's big revolver lying there. Around it, the glossy fur was matted with the half-dried blood that had been on the weapon. It looked like something ugly and dangerous that had fouled its nest.
"You would send warnings to my wife," I murmured. "Tina, you're a fool. I didn't get to be Mac's best boy by trembling at dead cats."
She recognized the gun of course. After a moment, she reached out and touched it, quite gently. "He is dead?"
"Probably, by this time," I said. "He'd have needed a new heart and lungs to keep on living. You're through, Tina."
She swung about to look at me. She hadn't really heard me. She was still thinking about Loris. I don't suppose she'd loved the man, and certainly, from what
I'd seen this morning, he'd felt no need to be faithful to her. I think it must have been for her something like losing an arm-a strong and useful appendage, unable to think for itself of course, but how much do you expect of an arm, anyway? They'd made a good team, I suspected, better than she and I; we'd had too many brains and ambitions between us.
She said softly, "He was a better man than you, Eric."
"Probably," I said. "In the strict sense of the word. But I wasn't competing with him in the matter of masculinity. He may have been a better man, but he wasn't much of a killer."
"If he'd got his hands on you..
"If that bed had wings we could fly it," I said. "When did I ever let a big hunk of beef like that get its hands on me? Well, once, granted, when I wasn't expecting trouble. But I'm back in the old groove now,' darling. You've put me right back into it. And I never saw a muscle boy yet who worried me, certainly not this one, with ivory between the ears." I looked at her standing before me in her wrecked shirt and her silly white pants, soiled and split at the knees. She looked very much like a kid that had got into a scrap and got its nose bloodied… I put the thought aside. It was no time for drawing sentimental valentines. She was no kid. She was a dangerous woman, responsible for many deaths and at least one kidnaping. I said it again: "Tina you're through. Mac sends his greetings."