“You do that,” Adam said. “I want you to meet some of the boys.”
After Duke went upstairs the silence that followed was normal, almost comfortable: Grant had his nerves under control and was waiting for Adam to leave without visible impatience. They sipped their last drinks and watched the fire, seemingly suffused with lazy contentment Finally Adam said. “There’s something I forgot, Hank. I ran into Hairy Davis yesterday and he asked me if you still wanted that job done on the roof. Said he’d drop out and give you an estimate if you were interested. I told him I’d ask you.”
“I don’t know,” Hank said, shrugging lightly. The wrong word here might finish them; Harry Davis was no contractor, he was the sheriff of Williamsboro. “It’s a job for him, all right,” he said finally. “But I’m worried about the price. It may be pretty steep. He can’t handle it alone, I know.”
“The longer you let it go, the worse it gets,” Adam said. “Like me, for instance. I let a leaky roof go one year, next thing I knew I had a plastering job on my hands.” Puffing on his pipe, he seemed completely relaxed and at ease. “So I’ll tell him to come out, eh?”
“Okay, do that,” Hank said.
“Now I’ve got to be going. Eddie, I hope you can stop by the store before you leave. I’d like to have you all up to my place for a bite to eat. And who knows? Even a drop to drink.”
“That sounds good.”
“Come when you can. I don’t need advance warning.” They all went to the door, and Hank said, “Watch the road, Adam, you’ve been belting that rum tonight.”
Adam laughed as he put on his hat. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. Smiling at Hank, his expression changed slightly. “Don’t worry about a thing, boy. Get back to the fire now, both of you.”
“So long,” Grant said. “Take it easy.”
“That’s my middle name. Good-by now.”
Grant closed the door and listened for a few seconds to Adam’s heavy footsteps crossing the porch. Then he shook his head and took out cigarettes. “The local wit, eh? The Jackie Gleason of the crackerbarrel crowd.”
“He’s a pretty nice guy,” Hank said casually. He was estimating the time it would take Adam to reach Williamsboro, find Harry Davis — an hour at least. Then Davis would be back out here in another half hour...
“These village clowns are all nice guys,” Grant said, strolling toward the fireplace. “They haven’t got brains to be anything else. I’d hate to be stuck with him in a stalled elevator, that’s all I can say.”
But supposing Adam couldn’t find Harry Davis? Would he call the State Police? Yes, of course. They could make it in two hours or less. Hank glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. By twelve-thirty then...
A heavy footstep sounded on the front porch. Grant straightened spasmodically, the tendons in his throat drawing tight with fear. “You expecting anybody else?”
“Don’t do anything in a hurry, Eddie. Adam might have forgot something.”
“Shut up! Just sit there.”
The door was pushed inward with force; it swung around, crashing against the wall, and a blast of cold air swept into the room, shaking the windowpanes and stirring the smouldering logs into a guttering panic.
Hank came to his feet as he saw Adam standing in the doorway, his face white against the night, a dark, liquid mass gleaming on his forehead. “Adam!” he cried.
And then Adam staggered forward and went down to his knees, his breath coming in deep, laboring gasps, and behind him Hank saw Duke standing, with a piece of firewood in his hand, an expression of sullen fury on his dark features.
“You crazy maniac!” Grant yelled at him. “What the hell have you done now?”
“Saved your goddamned necks, that’s all,” Duke said.
Hank knelt beside Adam, hardly hearing the argument crashing above his head.
“You’re acting like a madman,” Grant said in a high, wild voice. “The cops will be out looking for him. Didn’t that enter that crazy thick head of yours?”
“He was on his way to the cops,” Duke said harshly. “So relax, Eddie. I’m getting tired of your temperament. If you can’t keep calm, maybe you’d better go upstairs with the women.”
“What do you mean, on his way to the cops?”
“He didn’t have any reels for Junior here in his car. I checked that.”
“He might have forgot ’em. I tell you, Duke—”
“Don’t bother telling me things,” Duke said. “They threw signals past you as if you weren’t here. Harry Davis! Roofing job! Lucky for us I waited on the stairs. Harry Davis! He is the sheriff of Williamsboro. His posters for reelection are plastered on every telephone pole in town. And Adam was on his way to get him. I got a window open and slid down a drainpipe — and just in time, Eddie.”
“But what do we do now, Duke? I–I can’t think.”
“We keep him quiet. That’s all. He’ll phone his store in the morning, tell them he won’t be in. He’ll—”
“He won’t do anything,” Hank said. “He’s dead. You killed him.”
“Don’t talk a lot of foolishness,” Duke said. “I just tapped him.” Kneeling, he slipped a hand under Adam’s coat. “Just enough to put him out for a few minutes. I can time that swing to the second, kid. If I’d wanted to—” He stopped there, frowning faintly, staring at Adam’s face. For a moment or so no one spoke; Grant’s heavy breathing was loud in the silence.
“Duke?” he said.
“Yeah, the kid was right,” Duke said thoughtfully. He rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “I can’t understand it. Eddie. I just tapped him.” He stared across the still body at his brother. “You see, kid, he asked for it. It wasn’t my fault. He was trying to be a smart guy.”
Hank got to his feet. “You don’t believe that. Nobody else does either.”
“He wanted to cut himself into the deal,” Duke said. “He just wanted to be smart, that’s all.”
Hank looked at his brother, seeing him clearly for the first time, the image unsoftened by the filters of guilt and fear and sentiment; he saw the grossness, the twisted mixture of cunning and boldness, the defiance and fear — yes, over all of it, the mark of fear.
“He asked for it,” Duke said, dismissing responsibility with a little shrug.
“And the baby upstairs asked for it,” Hank said. “And the nurse. Every time you club somebody from behind you limp away, whining that they asked for it. Aren’t you getting sick of that routine?”
“Now you just better shut up,” Duke said slowly, but the contempt in his brother’s face stung him into a defensive anger. “Go on, stare all you like. Make gags about my crooked leg. It’s a sure-fire laugh. Anybody with two good legs loves it. I—”
Duke stopped abruptly as the upstairs door opened and Belle stepped into the room. “Eddie, I thought—” Then she saw Adam’s sprawled body and a little cry of terror broke through her lips. “What’s the matter with him? Who is he, Eddie?”
“He’s dead,” Grant said.
“Oh, God!” she whispered, and her eyes became wide and dark in her pale face. She turned slowly to Duke who had stretched out in a chair and clasped his hands behind his head.
“Did you do it? Did you do it, Duke?”
“That’s right, look right at me,” he said with an ironical little smile. “There’s a dead body around, so good old Duke must have done it. Sure, I killed him, Belle. I busted his head open with that hunk of wood you’re almost standing on.”
She stepped back quickly, her breath coming in uneven little gasps. “Don’t joke about it. For God’s sake, don’t joke about it. He’s dead. Why did you do it?”
“Because I’m crazy,” Duke said. “I’m a screwball. That’s what Grant says, and he’s the boss so he must be right.”
“Please, please!” she whispered.