“I’ve made a pot of coffee. Suppose you go in there and sit, huh? Give me five minutes.”
Accepting the situation, Perry walked into the living room, He found the dining table laid. This man had found the cutlery, the salt, pepper and mustard.
He realized how scared he was. He was tempted to go to the liquor cabinet and pour himself a shot of Scotch, but resisted the temptation. Instead, he walked to the big window and, pushing aside the curtain, looked out at the rain, the mud and the dripping trees.
Play this off the cuff, he thought. There’s nothing I can do about it. This man holds all the cards.
He moved restlessly around the room until Brown came in, carrying a tray. He put down two plates, loaded with perfectly cooked steaks, peas and fried potatoes.
“Here we go,” he said. “You have a fancy setup here.”
They sat opposite each other and began to eat. This man could cook, Perry thought. The steaks were excellent. Halfway through the silent meal, Brown paused and looked at Perry.
“Buster, I’m sorry about this. I’m really sorry.”
Play it off the cuff, Perry told himself. He cut off a piece of steak, smothered it with mustard, then before conveying it to his mouth, he asked quietly, “What are you sorry about, Jim?”
“I needed sleep,” Brown said. “I haven’t slept for the past two days.” He began to eat again. “This steak is good, huh?”
“You’re quite a chef, Jim,” Perry said, “and will you cut out calling me buster? My name’s Perry to you. Okay?”
“I’m with you. Sure.” Brown spoke with his mouth full of food. He ate savagely, the way a wolf eats. He paused to pour coffee and shoved a cup towards Perry.
“I can fix the phone, and the TV. I just wanted to be sure I could get some safe sleep. I didn’t want you to start telephoning or to listen to the cop talk. I just had to have sleep.”
Perry began to lose his appetite. He began to push the food around on his plate.
“Are you in cop trouble, Jim?”
Brown wolfed down the last of the steak, then sat back. His thick lips moved into an ugly grin.
“Yeah.” He sipped coffee while he stared at Perry with his ice cold eyes. “That’s for true. Cop trouble!” He brought his clenched fist down on the table in a thump. “You can say that again.”
Perry found he couldn’t finish his steak. He drank coffee while he looked anywhere but at Brown.
There was a long pause, while the rain continued to hammer against the windows, then Perry said quietly, “Want to tell me about it?”
“Why not?” Brown finished his coffee and poured more. “It’s a big deal, if you want to hear about it.”
Perry pushed back his chair, stood up and crossed to the occasional table for a cigarette. He took time to light the cigarette, then returned to the table and sat down.
“What’s the big deal?”
“Yeah.” Brown leaned forward, his powerful hands resting on the table. His ice cold eyes stared at Perry. “A good question.” With a flashing movement of his hand, Mason’s .38 revolver appeared in his hand. The gun pointed directly at Perry. “A good question.”
Perry felt a cold wave of fear run through him. He stayed motionless. “You don’t have to do that, Jim,” he said, aware his voice was hoarse. “If I can help you, I will.”
Brown studied him, grinned, and the gun went back into its holster. “No, Perry, you won’t try to help me. You are going to help me. Okay?”
“Can’t you tell me what this is all about?” Perry said, relaxing.
“That’s what I’m going to tell you. You like the coffee?”
“It’s fine.”
“Yeah. I make good coffee. I cook well. There’s not much else I can’t do except make money.” The sour bitterness in Brown’s voice bothered Perry.
“Now you, you write for the movies. Look at what you’ve got.” Brown waved in all directions around the room. “Very fancy. You’ve got talent. I’ve got nothing.” He scowled. “A guy like you wouldn’t know what that means, to have nothing.”
Perry kept silent. He sat still, his heart thumping. He had a growing uneasiness that at any moment this man, sitting, staring at him, could turn violent.
“Nothing,” Brown repeated. “You wouldn’t know, would you, what nothing means?”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Perry said. “I’d guess you are not more than twenty four, I am fourteen years older than you. When I was your age, I thought I had nothing. All I did was to sit around and read books. My parents kept pressing me to find some job, but all I wanted to do was sit and read. It wasn’t until my parents were killed in a plane crash and I found there was no money that I was forced to get a job. I had to or I’d have starved. So I took up writing. I sat in a one-roomer and wrote and wrote.
“For two years I lived on hamburgers if I was lucky. I thought I was kidding myself. I kept thinking I had nothing. I didn’t think anything of the book I was writing. There was a time when I was on a garbage truck to earn eating money. I worked as a dishwasher in a greasy spoon, but I kept on writing. I finished the book. I still didn’t think much of it, but a publisher did. It hit the best seller’s list. From then on, I wrote and wrote, and finally I got into the movie racket.” He paused to stub out his cigarette, then, looking directly at Brown, he went on, “I do know what nothing means.” He was surprised to see interest on the hard, unattractive face and surprised to see this man was listening.
“A garbage truck, huh?” Brown said. “That must have been rough.”
“It was eating money,” Perry said. “At your age, it’s a mistake to think you have nothing.”
“You know what I’ve got?” Brown leaned forward. “If they catch me, I’ve got thirty years in the slammer.” He clenched his powerful hands into fists. “Thirty years of nothing!”
Perry poured more coffee into his cup and pushed the pot towards Brown.
“What’s the problem, Jim?” he asked. “Look, we’re here. We are stuck here as long as this rain lasts. Do you want to talk about it?”
Brown stared at him for a long moment, then got to his feet. “Maybe.” He took up the dishes. “I’ll fix these. My old man was a cripple. My ma left him. I looked after him: did everything. I like doing things.” He carried the dishes into the kitchen and Perry heard him begin to wash up.
Perry finished his coffee, then carried the cup and saucer into the kitchen.
Brown, at the sink, whistling tunelessly, ignored him. Perry put the cup and saucer down, then returned to the living room. He sat down in one of the lounging chairs and listened to the rain.
Some situation! he thought. This had to be played very carefully.
It was like having a tiger in the house. One false move and the tiger would strike.
Perry was sure of this. He must relax. He must show no fear. Be casual, he told himself. Give this man no reason to turn vicious.
He forced himself to relax, stretching out his long legs and resting his head against the padded cushion of the chair. For a long ten minutes, he listened to the rain and the wind moaning in the trees, then Brown came in from the kitchen.
He watched Brown walk to the window, part the curtains and peer out. He stood with his broad back toward Perry for some minutes, then he pulled the curtains shut and moved to a lounging chair near to the one in which Perry was sitting.
“You sure have more than nothing now,” he said as he sat down. “That’s a real fancy kitchen. You should have seen the hole I cooked my old man’s meals in.”
“When I was your age, Jim, I didn’t have a kitchen. I ate out of plastic sacks.”
“As long as this rain keeps up, they won’t come looking for me,” Brown said, half to himself. “Cops don’t like getting wet.”