“Clear,” said Blinney. “Would you now stop pointing the gun at me? Or better still, put it away.”
“Are you afraid of guns, Mr. Blinney?”
“Mortally,” said Blinney.
“Capital,” said Bill Grant, grinning approval. “You know, I like you, Mr. Blinney. I wasn’t certain whether I would. But I do. It makes matters so much more pleasant, dealing with people you like. You know?”
“I’m still uncomfortable, Mr. Grant.” Blinney pointed. “The gun.”
“But you’re quite a marksman yourself, aren’t you, sir?”
“How do you know?”
“I know, I know.” Grant’s head moved up and down. “I know so much about you, Mr. Blinney, I’m fairly leaking information. I’ve devoted the last six weeks of my life to you, Mr. Blinney. To you, almost exclusively.”
Grant lowered the gun, and his shoulders moved as he chuckled. “All right. Sit down. Over there.” He pointed to an easy chair facing his. “Sit, and let’s stop making with the charming palaver. We have serious talking to do, you and I.”
Blinney sat in the chair indicated.
Grant rose and placed the gun on a mantel behind his chair, returned to the chair, sat, slumped, crossed his legs and clasped his hands. “Where do you want me to begin, Mr. Blinney?” he said.
“Since I have no idea why I’m here, or what you want to begin — begin wherever you like, Mr. Grant.”
“Now you’re getting annoying, Mr. Blinney.” Grant unclasped his hands and straightened in the chair. “Don’t annoy me. I don’t like it.”
“What do you want of me, Mr. Grant? You called me. And how did you know to call me there?”
“Now come off it, pal. I told you I’ve practically been living on your tail these past six weeks. I know so much about you, it makes me sick. I know about your Mama and your Papa and why you were called Oscar and your fight-career and the bank and Alfred Hodges and Mr. McKnish and the Board of Directors and the fancy chick you’re living with. I know so much about you, Mr. Blinney, I’m regurgitating with it.”
“Why?” said Blinney.
Grant wrinkled his nose and his voice touched falsetto. “Because I’m going to help you, that’s why, Mr. Blinney.”
“Look,” said Blinney. “Are you in love with Evangeline? Is that what all this back-scratching is about? Because, if you are, first I want to tell you—”
“In love with that two-timing little tramp!” Grant’s eyes went round and he raised a hand and pushed it against the air as though holding something back. “Are you out of your mind? Look here, Mr. Blinney, you married that bum, not me. You married her, remember? And she’s trouble, big trouble, especially for a guy like you. And I’m here to get you out of your trouble.”
“How?” said Oscar Blinney. He rested his elbows upon the arms of the frayed easy chair and he touched the fingers of one hand to the fingers of the other.
“May I start at the beginning now?” said Bill Grant.
“Please do,” said Oscar Blinney.
“No. I’ll be kind. I won’t tell you all about Evangeline. Only as applies to us, you and me. First off, even crud like that had somewhere, hidden within it, emotion. And I” — he lowered his head in a form of bow — “am the fortunate recipient of the flow of her emotion. You, for instance, are the jerk of jerks to her. Me? I’m God. Sort of gives me a bit of power, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” said Blinney.
“We were friends in Miami. She knew I’d gone to Havana. And when she got sick and tired and bored to death of you, she came to Havana seeking me. She did not need an abortion, Mr. Blinney.”
“Oh, no. No...”
“Oh, yes. Yes. She did not need an abortion. She knew you for the jerk you are and she knew how to work her points. She held you up for that two thousand, like expense money, to pay her way while she tried to find me. She found me. She knew I had no interest in her but she knew I had an interest in a big score. A big score. Do you know what that means, Mr. Blinney?”
“Yes. I think...”
“She knew my interest in a big score would freshen up my interest in her. She told me all about you. Everything. All about you. Naturally, she’s a crumb. She threw the pitch but she threw the wrong one. You know what her idea was, Mr. Blinney?”
“No,” he said.
“To let you out. To ease you out. I was to convince you that a proper divorce, at any price, was cheap — which, of course, in your case, it is. You’d pay, right through the nose. You had seventeen big ones in the bank. You gave two to her. That left fifteen. Your house in Mount Vernon is now worth thirty thousand dollars. In case you don’t know that, I’m telling you. Your wife made discreet inquiries. Thirty and fifteen is forty-five.
“A guy like you figures to be able to borrow like fifteen. Total, sixty large ones. That was her proposition. That I come up to the States, and use my... er... persuasion to convince you. For a guy like you, it would be worth it. Aside from the job-business, you’re not a guy who can mix in filth. You weren’t brought up that way; it’s not in you. Free and clear and no complications, I could convince you.”
“And that’s why you came up here?”
“No.”
“But didn’t you say—”
“Mr. Blinney, you married into another world. We’re people who don’t even speak your language. I’m trying hard to get through so that you can understand. Understand?”
“No.”
“I’ve worked it out for you, Mr. Blinney. I’m your deliverer. I’ve planted a double-frame, it’s so perfect, it tickles me. You’re protected, I’m protected — and even your banker’s mind won’t be able to figure out a flaw. And you’re out — clean, clear, once and for all — and it costs you nothing, you hang on to your sixty gee.
“There’s only one way, Mr. Blinney. Way down deep in your heart, you know it. What you’ve been pushing away, what you don’t dare let yourself think about. There’s only one way, Mr. Blinney, and you damned well know it.”
Faintly: “What way?”
“We kill her, Mr. Blinney,” said Grant.
“No!” Blinney half-rose from the chair.
“Sit down.”
Blinney sat.
“We’re going to kill her, Mr. Blinney. It’s so perfect, it’s beautiful. You read in the storybooks about a perfect crime. Daddy, this is it. I’ve already put the thing into operation, the gears are meshing like crazy. Everybody is going to be protected. Nobody is going to be able to put the finger on anybody. And everybody’s going to be protected a hundred percent. One hundred percent. You’re going to be out — clean, clear, a hundred percent. And you’ll probably wind up marrying that Adrienne Moore of yours and live happily ever after.”
“No.”
“You don’t want to live happily ever after?”
“I don’t want to—”
“You don’t want to kill her, Mr. Blinney. Is that it?”
“Are you mad? Of course I don’t!”
“Well, you’re not going to, pal. I am. I’m going to kill her on your behalf. I’m going to do you the biggest favor that ever happened, except, actually, I’m not a hundred percent Samaritan. I figure to make a score on this myself. A nice lovely score for me, and a nice lovely score for you, only different kinds of scores. Me? I’ll have loot to burn. You? You’ll have Adrienne Moore, and you’ll get married, and you’ll live happily ever after.”