A wonderful woman, he thought, a truly wonderful woman. He envied her husband. A fine man, that Walt Clinton. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, fantasying the way it would be with Walt at the moment his wife told him their mutual nightmare was over.
Then, humming softly to himself, he drew a ruled yellow pad from a drawer and began the draft of a paper he wanted to read at the next congress of the Association for the Advancement of Psychoanalysis. He had, in Mrs. Clinton’s case, gained new insight into certain facets of kleptomania, and he was anxious to share them with his colleagues.
He had been working steadily for over an hour when the phone rang.
He lifted the phone absently, still writing rapidly. “Doctor Kleist.”
“Hello, Doctor. This is Walt Clinton.”
Doctor Kleist smiled and put down his pencil. “Well, Walt. How are you?” Walt, he was sure, had just received the good news and was calling to add his thanks to those of his wife.
“Doctor, is my wife still there at your office?”
“Why, no, Walt.” He glanced at his watch. “She left better than an hour ago.”
“Oh. Well, I just wondered. She said she intended to come straight home. We had an engagement, and... well, never mind, Doctor. She probably forgot. Maybe she stopped off to do a little shopping.” He laughed, a little thinly. “You know how women are.”
“I know,” Doctor Kleist said. “She’ll be along soon, Walt.”
“Sure. Well, I’m sorry I bothered you for nothing, Doctor.”
“No bother at all,” Doctor Kleist said. For a moment he debated hinting to Walt that there was a bit of wonderful news coming his way, but decided against it. That should be Mrs. Clinton’s show.
He had scarcely replaced the phone in its cradle when it rang again.
It was Mrs. Clinton. “Something ridiculous has happened, Doctor Kleist...”
“Really? What’s that?”
“Well, I went several places before I came to your office this afternoon. I’ve just finished revisiting the last of them, and — this is really ridiculous — I thought I’d better call and — well, the thing is that I’ve lost my cigarette case somewhere. I didn’t use it while I was in your office, and I don’t think here’s much chance it could have fallen from my purse, but...”
“I’m sorry,” Doctor Kleist said. “It isn’t here, Mrs. Clinton. You say you’ve gone back to the other places you visited?”
“Yes. I just can’t imagine... It’s one Walt gave me on our anniversary, and that’s why it’s so important.”
“There’s only one thing important today, Mrs. Clinton,” he said. “And that’s the news you have for Walt.”
She was silent a moment. “Yes. Yes, I guess you’re right. It is silly to let such a small thing...”
“Of course it is.”
He said goodbye, put the phone down very gently, and then reached into his inside jacket pocket for the thin platinum case.
It was a shame he didn’t smoke, he reflected. But still, it would give him so much satisfaction, knowing it was there in his desk drawer with all the others.
Judgment
by G. H. Williams
In twenty years he’d never had to use the gun. Now it looked as if he might have to break his record...
Jess had kept his eye on the two of them since they had come in. Both of them were young hardly more than kids, dressed “cat” style in Mr. B shirts, draped coats and peg pants. They had not caused any trouble. All they had done was sit quietly at the end of the bar drinking beer.
Still Jess did not like their looks. Hoods he could handle because he always knew what they were thinking. Kids were different. They were always surprising you. You couldn’t trust any of them.
Standing behind the bar he watched the place slowly empty. The two of them did not move.
Jess was not afraid. He had owned the bar for twenty years and had yet to use the forty-five that rested on a shelf beneath the register. Occasionally he would have a troublesome drunk but very seldom. Usually the drunk would take one look at the scar tissue around Jess’ eyes, his flattened nose, and cauliflower ear, then decide to move on.
Finally the kids were the last customers left. Slowly, dabbing at glass rings on the bar with a rag, Jess moved down toward them. “I’m sorry, fellows,” he said, “I’m closing up. You’re going to have to come back another time. Sorry.” He grinned, showing his two gold teeth.
They only stared at him and drank their beer.
Little punks, he thought. Trying to act smart. They’re all alike. They’re what’s wrong with the world. Punks.
“It’s after curfew, so I can’t serve you, anyway. So would you mind finishing up and moving along?” Jess was still grinning. “Come back any time between five and midnight. I’ll be glad to have you.”
One kid turned to the other. “Did you hear the man say something, Phil?”
“No. I sure didn’t. Maybe he just coughed.”
“Yeah. That must have been it.”
“He’s real clever,” the one called Phil said.
If it had not been for the hardness in their eyes Jess would have laughed at them. They were talking like a couple of movie tough guys. “I’m going to have to ask you to move on,” Jess said again.
“I don’t think he wants us here, Phil. He’s trying to get us to beat it.”
“That makes me feel lousy, when somebody tells me to leave a place.” Phil sipped his beer. “I hate for people not to like me. It makes me feel lousy. Know what I mean?”
Jess wanted to tell them to act their age but instead he said, “Look, I know how it is when you’ve had a couple too many. Go on home and sleep it off. No hard feelings.”
“That’s damn white of you,” Phil said. “It makes me feel good all over. There’s only one thing that would make me feel better.” Phil grinned and took a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. “You know what that is?” He lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke through his nose. “Well, it would be for you to open that register and give us a little going-away present. That would make us feel real good.”
All the time the boy had been speaking the two of them had not taken their eyes from Jess. He was beginning to sweat. He felt it trickle down his back and knew his shirt was turning dark beneath the arms.
“All right,” Jess said, making his voice hard, “you guys had better cut it out now and beat it. Go on now and I won’t remember what you look like. If you don’t, I’ll see that you spend a little time on the roads. If you don’t believe me, just keep up the way you’re going.”
“You’re real tough, aren’t you?”
“Tough enough to handle two punks like you.”
Phil put his hand inside his coat and let it stay. “If I have to take my hand out you know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”
“You’re making a big mistake,” Jess said.
“Yeah. I’m going to lose all kinds of sleep over it.”
“Cut out the stalling,” Phil said. “Open the register.”
Jess watched the two of them as he edged toward the register. “You kids had better think this over.”
“Come on.”
As Jess reached the register he laid his hand on the butt of the forty-five resting on its shelf. It felt cold and heavy in his hand as he turned and fired.
He had hurried his first shot a bit and it was wild, smashing the neon clock above the men’s room. But the next two shots were not wild. The kid beside Phil was hurled from his stool to the floor beside one of the booths.
It was not like the movies. He didn’t wobble or groan. One moment he was sitting on the stool, the next he was laying on his back beside one of the booths.