He turned into the driveway of the oil man's home, feeling very dead inside, and deeply puzzled, although he no longer gave a particular damn about anything.
Why was she doing this? What kind of sense did it make to go to a party when she was planning a thing like that?
He parked the car, and helped her out. They went up the steps together, Red keeping a little away from him. Her lips were set in a nervous little smile. The color was high in her cheeks.
Zearsdale himself answered the door, as he had the night of Mitch's visit. Chatting amiably, he guided them into a small reception room and offered drinks. Red shook her head, a slight frown on her face.
"Not now, thank you. Are we the first ones here?"
"First?" said Zearsdale.
"Your first guests," said Mitch, and he too was frowning a little. "There doesn't seem to be anyone else here."
Zearsdale said casually that there were others around. "It's a big house, you know. How about you? Drink?"
"No, thanks. We'll have one with the others, if you don't mind."
"Better have something," Zearsdale said, and then as Mitch again declined firmly, "Well, come along then. Got some pictures I want to show you."
Somehow, he got himself between them as they left the room. He was still between them when they entered another, somewhat larger than the first. A motion picture screen hung from a stand about halfway down the room. Near the door they had entered stood a heavy 16-mm projector.
"Now, you sit down there, Corley. That's right, over there!" Zearsdale pointed. "And you, miss-may I call you Red?-you sit over here, Miss Red. The others have already seen these pictures, so-Sit down, Corley!"
"No," said Mitch. "No, I am not sitting down, Zearsdale. I'm walking out of here, and Red is coming with me, and don't try to stop us."
The room went silent. Zearsdale's expression froze between joviality and anger, and for a moment he looked pudgily foolish as he tried to adjust to the situation. Mitch silently cursed himself.
The mirrored ceiling above the crap table-the sudden clatter from the room above as he and Zearsdale had gambled. And then today, the way Zearsdale had thrown his weight around with Gidge Lord. Using the muscle of all his millions to make sure that he, Mitch, attended this "party."
How could he have missed it, for God's sake? How could he have led Red into the trap?
Red. He looked at her, so small and helpless, almost lost in the huge lounging chair. He looked at her, and her unreasoning anger-the deadly evidence of her intentions-was wiped away. And nothing mattered but getting her out of here safely.
He smiled at her, spoke with firm reassurance. "Don't be afraid, honey. We'll leave now."
She smiled back at him tremulously. Started to rise. Zearsdale's heavy hand came down on her shoulder, shoving her back in the chair.
"She stays," he said. "You're both staying."
"Zearsdale"-Mitch moved toward him. "You are so wrong."
Zearsdale stood where he was. Red let out a little scream- a warning. Mitch started to wheel, and a fist exploded against the back of his neck and a kidney punch blazed fire through his body. And then he was yanked backwards, slammed down into a chair with spine-rattling force.
26
Three men stood over him. Young wiry types, preening in their toughness. Smelling faintly of pool-chalk and bowl-and-pitcher bathing. If you knew anyone who knew anyone who knew anyone, you could pick them up for a couple of bills each. But you had to catch them fast, for the man with the scythe was already reaching for them.
One of them, at least one out of three, was destined for the death cell. The lad with the tiny head and the close-set eyes was a likely candidate. The second youth? Well, to him who passeth it out, shall be returned a hundred fold. So beat his head in-he never used it, anyway- -and leave him in some dark alley with his brains spread out around him. As for the third young man (call him Pretty Boy), here surely is a victim of five-dollar sinning, for he will never spend five dollars to visit a doctor. So he also, in a different way, is a sure prospect for brain damage. Come in a little closer, look a brief distance into the future, and observe. Note the lowered trousers, the reddish stains on his shorts. Note the hard-rubber dosing gun, filled with that ol' reliable remedy. (See our ads in your neighborhood toilet.) Note the downward thrust of the plunger, the shrill suddenly stifled scream as the stuff hits his cerebrum. That liverish-looking object that plopped to the floor is his tongue. Must these kids always bite their tongues in two! Well, half a tongue is better than none, right? Ha, ha. Anyway, why does a guy need a tongue when he's drowning in his own blood?
Zearsdale gestured and the three fell back behind Mitch; poised, ready to pounce at another gesture. Red was recovering fast from her fear, and her eyes were icy as the oil man gave her a smile of apology.
"I'm sorry if I was a little rough a moment ago, Miss Red. These movies I was about to show, well, I thought you should see them. But if you'd really rather not-"
"She would rather not," Mitch said. "They're pictures of the dice game our host and I had the other night, Red. I think he feels there was something wrong with the game."
"Does he now?" Red said. "And just what does he think he's going to do about it?"
Zearsdale obviously didn't like her tone. But with what was patently an effort, he managed a fatherly smile. "I understand your feelings. You're far more a victim of this man than I am. I know, of course, that you're not his sister."
"So you know I'm not his sister," Red said. "What about it?"
"Child, child…" He shook his head gravely. "He's led you to believe that he's going to marry you, hasn't he? He's promised to marry you. But what you don't know is that he's already married. I've gone to a great deal of trouble to find out about this man, and-"
"Why?"
"Why? Well, I, uh-"
"Why?" Red repeated. "Who asked you to? What business is it of yours? Who do you think you are, anyway?"
"He thinks he's God," Mitch said. "He told me so himself."
Zearsdale flushed angrily. He said they would do well to shut up, and Red told him to shut up himself.
"I mean it, doggone you! I know Mitch is married and I know he's getting unmarried, and as soon as he does he's marrying me. Oh, yes, you are, darling!" She gave him a dazzling smile. "I was angry enough to kill you when I found out. I went out to the airport tonight, swearing that I was going to kill you. But your plane was late, and I began to get frightened and worried about you, and-and-"
She turned back to Zearsdale, eyes sparkling with tears.
"Don't you tell me anything about Mitch! He didn't know he was married when he met me. When he found out, he couldn't tell me, because I would have been hurt and he loved me and wanted to protect me, and-an'-Never mind. Never mind. It's n-none of your business, you big ape!"
She broke off sniffling. Mitch swallowed lumpily, and for a moment he would have given both of his arms just to have them around her. Now, everything fell into place, and he knew why she had been so strained and awkward with him, why she had wanted to be around others for a while before facing him alone. The crisis in their relationship had given her a new and mature insight, and she had needed time to adjust to the unexpected depths she had found within herself. Also, doubtless, she had wanted to dispose of-