He laughed. “Me too. Didn't think he had the guts for a high dive. Has he any relations?”
“Never told me of any. No reason for the suicide? Harry wasn't the one to knock himself off.” Joe jumped from his chair, his face dead-white as he heard my last words.
Max said, “One of those things. No doubt of it being suicide. Night elevator man says Harry came rushing in about twenty minutes ago, seemed sick. In fact the guy followed him into the office to ask if he wanted anything and he saw Harry take off his hat, look at him for a moment, then Harry said it was stuffy and he had a headache. Harry opened the window and went out—all with the same motion. Have another witness—a steno who was working late in the building across the courtyard. Well, send him a big wreath.”
“Nothing in his pockets to indicate why he jumped?”
“No. Usual junk.”
“Thanks for calling me, Max. See you in the morning.” I hung up and Joe and Mady were staring at me, Joe still pale, Mady's eyes big with fear. I grinned. “Every cloud has that well-known silver lining! Hell with the picture... friend Harry has splattered himself all over the sidewalk. Straight suicide and nothing to connect us with...”
“Oh God, I killed him!” Joe moaned.
“Shut up. The cops don't even know he saw you. Anyway, it was my idea.”
“I did it!” Joe said, his voice rising.
I went over and slapped him across his fat face, hard as I could. “Cut that slop, you fool! Harry's dead, good riddance. I didn't see you moaning so loud when he was killing your wife, when he bled you so you couldn't pay for her doctor? You were worrying so much you were getting everybody else sick.”
Joe rubbed his face—the red imprint of my hand on his pale skin, sat down heavily.
Mady gasped, “But this... this... Harry is dead!”
“Good. He won't blackmail any more poor slobs like Joe.”
She said slowly, “You really are... tough.” And burst into tears.
“I'm not tough, but I don't go for sloppy sentiment or dramatics, either. Look, you're sorry when you run over a puppy, but you don't feel a thing when crashing a snake. Harry was a rattler.” I turned to Joe. “And you, stop whining. Probably won't happen, but there's just a chance Harry could have told that creep he works with he was going to meet you. The creep might tell the cops, and they might check. I doubt if they'll do anything, it's plain suicide. But if they do talk to you, don't lose your head and don't lie. Your story is Harry was trying to sell you his hate sheet and you were thinking it over. You met him in the park at his suggestion, told him you weren't buying, and you parted friends. That's all you know. Understand?”
“Why don't you leave me alone? Yeah, I understand.”
“And don't tell anybody else about this—not even your wife. And stop acting like a mope, you got a tough load lifted off your back tonight.”
“Off or on my back?” Joe mumbled.
I went into the kitchen and cleaned up the chemicals, then went to bed. I was angry but didn't know who I was sore at. I couldn't really blame Joe, or Mady... they still didn't know how cheap a life was in our world.
To my surprise I fell asleep quickly and then I had a nightmare. I was back in Korea and down the empty road that ran by the hill where I was dug in, came these figures in white. It was very hot and I sweated and watched them through the sights of my sub-machine gun. And the redheaded beer driver from St. Louis, who had the side of his head completely blown off a few days later, telling me, “Maybe they ain't soldiers, but don't take no chances, Matt. Be careful, be careful as hell.” And then the stammer of the gun as it trembled in my hands... and I awoke, sweating. I grabbed my T-shirt from the chair, wiped my head dry. It was a dream I often had and the bark of the gun always awoke me.
I was thankful for that, glad I didn't dream about—seeing the bloody faces of the little girls, the boy, the women....
I couldn't hear any noise in the house or see a light and I lay back on my pillow, started to doze off, wondering if Mady was sleeping in the other bed, and why. I was just floating off to sleep when I saw this tall, white, ghost-like figure coming toward me... like the figures on the road, only taller and closer. I sat up and screamed and the figure rushed toward the bed and it was Mady in a white nightgown. Mady was sitting on the bed, asking, “What's wrong, Matt?”
“Nothing. A dream... I was back in Korea. How's Joe?”
“All right. He's gone home.” She slipped into bed and put her arms around me.
I asked, “How do you feel?”
“A little frightened... you're so hard, so... so... frightening hard.”
“Why? Because a louse dies and I don't cry? That's crap. I've seen too many people die to...”
“Don't,” she said, placing her hand over my mouth. “Don't talk like that, it makes me cold inside.”
I lay there, surrounded by the wonderful warmth of her, and she started to talk softly in the darkness but I fell asleep.
FRIDAY
I awoke at nine and it was the start of a bright sunny day. I sat up and looked over at Mady and she was lying there with her eyes open and she looked like hell. I kissed her lightly. “What's the matter, been awake all night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Thinking—about us.”
I stretched and grinned. “How did we come out?” I asked, yawning.
“I don't know. Matt, last night... what happened... frightened me.”
“Forgot about Harry, he...”
“I never knew Harry.... I'm thinking of you. You can't live with that slogan.”
I yawned again and swallowed to get wide awake. “What slogan?”
“Protect yourself at all times. Life isn't a boxing match.”
“Well this is a new side, Mady the philosopher.”
“Matt, I'm serious, you sound like everybody in the world was trying to... to... fight each other.”
“Not fight, merely get a foothold on the other guy's back.”
She sat up, and I helped her prop a pillow behind her back. “How about us? Do you have to protect yourself from me, too?”
“Yes and no. Loving and having you love me is a kind of protection. Look, I've been living by that slogan long before I ever thought of becoming a fighter. Ever since I was old enough to be called a Wop or a Dago. Then it was Pops who kept drilling it into me.”
“He must have been a hard man.”
“Pops? No, he was soft. The only true friend I ever had—man friend. He was a little skinny guy in a worn gray suit, battered brown felt hat, no tie, and a torn dirty sweater. His face was leathery, his hair all gray. He was a wino and stunk most of the time. But he wasn't a lush. And if he had a tin ear, a busted nose, a cruel mouth... his eyes were fine, quiet peaceful eyes. Like your—a little.”
Mady said, “You sound like you were in love with him.”
“Lack of sleep makes you nasty. He was like a father to me.”